a little plastic

Your sea salt likely contains a little sea plastic

  • A recent study suggests that your salty caramel gelato or potato wedges have a little dash of “secret ingredient” in them — tiny bits of plastic, also known as microplastics.
  • Scientists tested 16 popular brands of sea salt farmed from a long list of countries, including New Zealand, Iran, France, Australia, Japan, Malaysia, Portugal and South Africa. Every single sample had microplastics in them, likely because microplastics can float on the ocean’s surface and get picked up by salt skimmers.
  • Although the discovery is alarming, the microplastics weren’t detected in high concentrations. Read more (5/22/17)

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108 Things That Make Me Happy

I’ve tried to kill myself twice in the past month so I’m making this post to look back on once I’m not feeling so great again, feel free to ignore it.

Things that make me smile:

  1. Dolls
  2. Nirvana
  3. Marilyn Manson
  4. Beetlejuice
  5. Stephen King Books
  6. The Color Black
  7. Spider webs
  8. Spiders
  9. Doll Heads
  10. Doll Arms
  11. Really any part of a doll
  12. Horror Movies
  13. Old cartoons from when I was a kid
  14. Scream
  15. Randy Meeks
  16. Tatum Riley
  17. Talking to my bisexual grandmother with the face tattoo (She’s cool as fuck)
  18. Speaking in Russian
  19. Girls in fishnets
  20. Boys in fishnets
  21. Trent Reznor
  22. Snakes
  23. Tacky halloween decorations
  24. Vodka
  25. Vodka again
  26. Pall Mall cigarettes
  27. Crows cawing
  28. Rainy days
  29. Venus Fly Traps
  30. Clowns
  31. Reading Stephen King
  32. Black and White Horror Movies
  33. Dita Von Teese
  34. My favorite Nirvana Album (In Utero)
  35. My favorite Manson album (Portrait of an American Family)
  36. Drawing with crayons
  37. my little plastic dinosaurs
  38. black lipstick
  39. green lipstick
  40. blue lipstick
  41. lollipops
  42. Jack Off Jill songs about growing up
  43. Candles
  44. Saying “Happy Halloween” Even though it’s May
  45. Clown dolls
  46. Pretty capes
  47. Good cape weather
  48. falling leaves
  49. Graveyards at dusk
  50. Graveyards at Dawn
  51. Fog
  52. Russia in the winter
  53. Spiking up my hair
  54. Candy
  55. Mutilated Barbies
  56. Pink Floyd
  57. Seeing scary movies in theaters
  58. Ouija Boards
  59. Pear Wine
  60. Corpse makeup
  61. The Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy
  62. Whipped Cream
  63. Pumpkin Pie (expecially at innappropriate times, like January or August)
  64. Decorating my room with Halloween decorations
  65. Bats
  66. Heavy chokers
  67. 1990s/2000s Jelly Braceletts
  68. Exploring abandoned houses
  69. Black tiles
  70. Painting gore
  71. Kindergoth style
  72. KoRn memes
  73. Tacky ADIDAS track suits
  74. Jonathan Davis’ Dreads
  75. Colorful dreadlocks
  76. Driving at night listening to Nine Inch Nails
  77. Aliens
  78. Skateboarding and listening to Slipknot
  79. Jessicka Addams’ dresses
  80. Jessicka Addams’ dreads
  81. 1600′s style dresses
  82. Getting blood taken
  83. Post-mortem photography
  84. Piercings
  85. Tattoos
  86. Lestat and Louis
  87. Doll music boxes
  88. Coffee after a long night
  89. Burying myself in my blankets when I’ve had a little too much to drink
  90. Listening to Nirvana when I need to calm down
  91. Carnivals
  92. Rollercoasters
  93. HALLOWEEN OF COURSE
  94. Telling people that say I’m too old for Halloween to fuck off
  95. Dying my hair
  96. Working on my dolls
  97. Writing dumb poems about my traumatic childhood
  98. Baby toys to play with when I’m regressing
  99. Reading in the dark
  100. Art by Edvard Munch
  101. Platform boots
  102. Playing”The Nobodies” on keyboard
  103. Getting sweet asks
  104. Anything green
  105. mac n cheese
  106. Haunted houses
  107. My best friend in the entire world (he knows who he is)
  108. Drinking with my best friend and crying about shit that’s on our minds

it’s not about that i know how to do laundry. it’s that when i was four i knew how to fold clothes; small hands working alongside my mother, while my older brother sat and played with his toys. it’s that i know what kind of detergent works but my father guesses. it’s that in my freshman year of college i had a line of boys who needed me to show them how to use the machine. it’s that the first door they knocked on belonged to me. it’s that they expected me to know.

it’s not that i know how to cook. it’s that the biggest christmas present i got was a little plastic kitchenette i never used except to climb on. it’s that my brother used it more, his hands ghosting over pink buttons and yellow dials. it’s that when my work needs cake for a birthday, they turn to me. i get it from costco. i don’t even like cooking. a boy burns popcorn in the dorm microwave and laughs. a week later, i do the same thing, and he snorts at me, “just crossed you off my wife list.” it’s that i had heard something like this so many times before that i laughed, too.

it’s not that i don’t love being feminine. it’s that i came home with bruises from trying to be a trick rider on my bike and heard the word “tomboy,” felt my little mouth say, “but i’m not a boy, i’m a girl”. it’s that they laughed. it’s that until i was sitting in my pretty dress and smiling with a big pretty smile and blinking my big pretty eyes, i wasn’t given back the title “girl”. it’s that until i wore makeup and styled my hair i was bullied; it’s that when i don’t wear makeup i’m a slob, that my mental health diagnosis hangs on the hook of being dressed up. it’s that my therapist sees me returning to bright red lipstick and tells me i am looking happier and i have to explain that i am more sad than i have ever been. it’s that i dress myself in as many layers as i can every time i ride a train because it’s better to be laughed at than harassed. 

it’s not that i know how to clean, it’s that my brother’s chores were outside where i wanted to be, and mine were inside. it’s that i would have weeded the garden better than he did if they had just let me. it’s that i am put in charge of fixing other’s messes, expected to comply without complaint.

it’s not that i can’t open the jar. it’s that you ask my brother first every time. it’s that i am pushed into docile positions, trained to believe that my body when it’s strong and healthy is ugly, trained into being less, weaker. it’s that the jar is also science, is also engineering, is also every job, every opportunity. it’s that you laugh faster when he tells a joke, that you take him seriously but wave off me, that when he raises his voice he’s assertive but when i do i’m hysterical. the jar is getting into a car with a stranger as a driver and wondering if this is our last ride. the jar is knowing that if something happens to us, it’s our fault. 

it’s that i’m weak and i don’t know if it’s because i just am or i was trained to be. it’s that we need to sit pretty with our pretty smiles and our pretty words trapped pretty and silent in our throats, our hands restless but pretty when idle, our bodies vessels for nothing but a future white dress. it’s that we are taught someone else needs to open the jar for us.

here’s the secret: run metal lids under hot water, they’ll expand faster than the glass they’re around. here’s the secret: when you keep us under hot water, we do more than boil. we expand over our edges. and we learn how to open our mouths, our claws, our screams hanging in kites over cities. just give me a chance. give me a chance when i am four when i am seven when i am twenty-three. i promise i can be amazing. give me the jar. i’ll show you something.

100 Art Journal Materials.

1) Pressed flowers
2) Coloured Sand
3) Thin buttons
4) Embroidery thread
5) Second hand postcards
6) magazine clippings
7) Patches for mending clothes
8) Denim from old jeans
9) Pages of old books
10) Pressed insects
11) Newspaper articles
12) Calligraphy inks (more vibrant and transparent than water-color)
13) Paper bags
14) Envelops
15) Washi tape
16) Spray paint
17) Scrapbook paper
18) House paint (paint stores give away mistinted paint for extremely low prices, can confirm: I work at a paint store and get free paint every day.)
19) Colour chips (get these while you’re at the paint store :p)
20) Tin foil
21) Candle wax
22) Nail polish (if you pour it on the page and let it dry its beautifully shiny and textured. I use it to make eyes that glisten).
23) Oil pastels
24) Locks of your hair
25) Perfume samples
26) Resaraunt coasters
27) Gold leaf pen ( found at art stores)
28) Chalk
29) Black coffee
30) Postage stamps
31) Junk mail
32) Leaves
33) Dead butterflies and moths
34) Food lables
35) Coffee sleeves
36) Ribbon
37) Unused pages from previous journals/ notebooks.
38) Duct tape, patterned or otherwise.
39) Watercolor
40) Sharpie
41) Makeup (lipstick especially)
42) Lino Stamps (art stores sell ones you can carve yourself.)
43) Door numbers and letters (home depot has a whole wall of them).
44) Lables from a lable maker
45) Ticket stubs
46) Receipts
47) Resaraunt menus
48) Other people’s drawings
49) Baggage tags
50) Recipe cards
51) Pencil crayon
52) Regular crayon
53) Acrylic paint
54) Pressed mushrooms
55) Little plastic bags
56) Felt pen
57) Charcoal
58) Straw and dried grasses
59) Old school notes and assignments
60) Printed photographs
61) Business cards
62) Parcel packaging
63) Yarn or wool
64) Book marks
65) Stickers from Starbucks coffee bags (you can ask for these without buying the coffee)
66) Tea and tea bags
67) Spider webs
68) Snake skin (pet stores)
69) Scraps of fabric
70) Pet fur
71) Hair dye
72) Berry juice
73) Wood stain
74) Sawdust
75) Masking tape
76) Glitter
77) Notes from family members and loved ones
78) Beer and wine lables
79) Cellophane
80) Cardstock
81) Birthday cards
82) Oragami paper
83) Shoe laces
84) Dictionary entries
85) Plasticine
86) Melted Crayons
87) Chalk board paint and sidewalk chalk
88) Metallic foil
89) Coin rubbings
90) Wallpaper
91) Thin tile
92) Spray on velvet
93) Cue cards
94) Name tags
95) Invitations
96) Squished bottle caps
97) Paper doilies
98) Stencils
99) Dried herbs
100) The inside of correlated cardboard.

Reasons To Watch UNHhhh

-Johnny Test whip cracks
-Contact™
-“Cause Honey what you see…”
-Trixie’s impressions of Rupaul
-Peter, Ron, and Chris
-Katya’s old woman, black lung, airless scream/gasp
-*Thworp*
-Trixie and Katya’s introductions
-Maureen
-“Oh y'all wanted a twist?”
-Katya touching Trixie with her fan
-Katya getting up and walking away
-Somewhat good advice buried under a shit ton of other things
-Rap Poses
-Katya’s little plastic hands that go on her fingers
-“Care for a fucking?”

The professor who teaches metalworking and shop classes gets called the Old Professor, but he isn’t old. At least, he doesn’t look it. He gets called the Old Professor, but he calls himself Sequoia.

Sequoia is eight feet tall, with metal in his eyes and kindness in his hands and silence in his mouth. You’re a psych major without a drop of poetry in your soul but when you first heard his voice, something in your lizard-brain said “this is what a forest’s voice would sound like.”

There are indeed forests, inked into his dark brown arms - woods going up into misty mountains, ancient trees in forests primordial growing amongst ferns the size of houses, twiggy saplings rearing their heads above the fertile ash of pyroclasric flow.

There’s probably iron in the ink, an art major tells you. “Lots,” says another, subdued. “Red caps chased me to the shop building. He caught the leader by the arm and…I saw it burn.”

You don’t believe that, but it makes you shiver anyway. Even if his touch did burn Them, wouldn’t it be from the iron in his skin thanks to his line of work?

Among his red-black locs are iron rings made from old nails, silver rings so pure one of Them grumbled to you that they sing, and beads of green sea-glass and jade and one glittery chartreuse pony bead that Jimothy gave him in exchange for a whole sack of red ones. He’s free with the rings (usually to students) and the glass (usually to Them) but he treasures that damn ugly little plastic bead and you’ve seen him press it lightly to his mouth when he’s thinking.

Sequoia must have been a false name when he chose it. You don’t think anyone on campus would claim it is now. Really, you find that the most telling thing of all - though what it tells, you’re never sure.

But there is kindness in his hands, and welcome in his silence, and when you’ve all but fallen through his doorway with the tang of blood in the back of your throat from running and the sound of hooves behind you (not running; it would have been less frightening if whatever was back there had bothered to RUN) there is tea in his hands too, and you feel the hollow in your chest begin to heal as you pour out your story and your terror to a watchful face full of quiet interest and altogether free of judgement.

[x]

a hard-won lesson: a married bawson smut fic

As promised, my dear Jennifer @magicinhermadness​ , who is my face and also just the best ever. They are married in the fic but Mike still calls her Baker, I think of them as like the baseball Jim and Pam.

Basically: Ginny is a little shit, does something on purpose to rile Mike up and he tries to teach her a lesson. 

(There is some spanking and a little bit of dirty talk, just as a warning – and this gif is purely for the hand porn…and the neck porn…and the arm porn…and beard porn…and…)

(cross posted on ao3)

Originally posted by kalichica12

Mike walks into his house and immediately understands why people are sometimes driven to commit murder.

He takes three deep breaths, rolls his neck, and calmly closes every cupboard that Ginny has left open. Mike cannot count the times he’s chided her, made fun of her, outright begged her to stop leaving the fucking cupboards open. 

It’s one of his pet peeves, just one of those things that makes him want to scream into a pillow with rage.

Ginny knows this, has seen him rant to her while she stands to the side, barely trying to hold back her amused smile at the obvious torment she’s causing him.

He doesn’t know if she’s doing it on purpose, but it feels a little cruel. If she knows it makes his blood boil, why in the world would she continue to do it? She’s not that inconsiderate or unaware of herself. 

So, why is his wife doing this to him?

“Ginny!“ 

"Up here, old man!”

Her voice carries down from the bedroom and he debates asking her to come downstairs but decides to go to her. He’s always loved seeing her in their bed, she loses tension, spreads out, is at her most vulnerable. 

Christ.

She’s laying on her stomach, reading a book on top of the covers. She’s wearing a pair of Padres boy shorts, a personal favourite of his, and a dark tank top. Her hips bounce a little on the bed and she stretches, lifting her ass into the air.

His hands itch with a need to touch her.

Once again, she has to know what she’s doing.

She must.

Keep reading

Dean surprises everyone when he hands Cas the iPhone, brand new in its pristine white box. The angel is overwhelmed; he knew his flip phone was outdated but this…

“And wait,” Dean smiles, grabbing another package from the bag. “I haven’t even shown you the best part yet.”

They’re headphones, large ones in a big box and a little plastic container of smaller ear buds. They both have the label Shure on the side, a fact that has Sam’s hazel eyes wide and Castiel blushing under the lavishness of the gifts. “Dean, I don’t need–”

“I know,” Dean says. His smile, though hesitant and shy, is beautiful. “I, uh, I wanted to. ‘Sides, can’t have you listening to shitty tunes on shitty headphones, y'know?”

The phone has already been set up, a fact Castiel is eternally grateful for. The angel watches as Dean explains how the device works, tapping at the screen and plugging in the huge headphones and carefully placing them over Cas’s ears. Castiel flinches in response: “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Dean replies. His smile is brave and fake, and Cas hates it. He wishes he could relax. He wishes he could stop being anxious and sad. But ever since he expelled Lucifer and killed Amara, things have been—different. Loud noises make him jump, unexpected touches make him cringe and flinch, and he often loses himself in his own thoughts.

“Hey, here, I wanna show you something.” This time, Dean warns him before touching him, his calloused fingers smoothing over his arm as his other hand hovers over the phone. “I’m gonna press play, okay? You’ll like it, I promise.”

With the knowledge that the song will be a surprise, Castiel tenses up, his shoulders almost touching his ears. He nods and bites his lip, almost to the point of blood.

Dean’s green eyes become dull and worried in response, and the hunter gives a little nod of his own. He presses play. Cas flinches pre-emptively.

And then it’s just… alright. Good, even.

In the place of music, the sound of rain filters through his headphones. It’s a little bit of a shock at first, he has to turn the volume down because the bouts of thunder make him jump, but after a while, it becomes—relaxing. The sound is repetitive, soft, the thunder is low and grumbly, and it soothes Cas until he’s comfortable enough to slump in his seat. Dean, who at some point has sat down beside him, easily takes Castiel’s weight against his shoulder. When he wraps an arm around the angel, Cas doesn’t even flinch.

Soon after, the rain changes to the hum of a washing machine, but instead of another ten minutes of blissful white noise, the sound is soon interrupted by something sharper. It’s still a low sound, though, and with how relaxed Castiel is, the angel doesn’t startle.

It’s Dean.

So, uh, hey Cas, it’s me. Ah… Dean.

A smile begins to creep across Cas’s lips.

Shit. Fuck, of course it’s me—um, yep. So, it’s Dean. And I just. I just wanted to talk, I guess. I know it’s been kinda, uh, tough since you got back, and I know we don’t talk about it, but I’m… I’m worried, Cas. And I know I’m a coward. And I know I’m probably bein’ selfish right now, but it’s killin’ me to watch you waste away to nothing, man. I, ah, I love you too much for that. Like, I love you a lot, a-and—fuck. I’m not… doin’ this right.

Look, what I, I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that… I don’t care why you did it. I don’t. I care about you, Cas. And if you don’t love me back, that’s cool, and if you do, well… A shaky breath. Well, then, we move at your pace. But you’re all I care about. You gotta believe that.

Kay, um, well, I love you.

Okay.

Uh, bye.

Cas doesn’t know he’s crying until Dean is wiping at his cheeks, freckled skin drowning in ruby red warmth as the hunter coos and hushes him. Castiel grasps Dean’s wrists tightly and carefully leans in, his breath shaky and laboured and nervous before he presses the sweetest of chaste kisses upon the other’s lips. Immediately after, Cas buries his face in Dean’s neck and hugs his hunter tightly. “Thank you,” he breathes.

Dean’s small, relieved smile presses against the top of Castiel’s head. “Yeah, god, anytime, Cas,” he breathes. “L-love you.”

It takes a handful of seconds before Cas can gather up the air to answer—before he’s absolutely certain this is real. Fingers twisting in the material of Dean’s shirt, the angel nods, throat clicking with his swallow. His lips part.

“Love you.”

So about a month ago was the ASB elections at our school and to run you make a short video and people usually make posters as well. So there’s this one sophomore boy who was running for Activities coordinator and we’re all watching the videos at an assembly and his starts to play. Five minutes of him eating fruity pebbles and telling you to vote for him-that was the whole video. Just him and a soggy bowl of cereal.

Cut to a few days later I’m at my locker and I look up and there’s this tiny little white sticker stuck to the white wall. The kid didn’t make posters he made labels. The whole school was covered with those little plastic printout label maker label stickers ‘vote Francis". That was it, just labels and cereal. That was his whole campaign.


He fucking won. He beat some popular 6'3 baseball player. He fucking won.

heello! i recently ordered from acorn press and still have a couple chillypig charms still in my possession so i thought it’d be a good opportunity to do a comparison/review! all the charms are 2″ clear acrylics

this’ll mostly be for people scoping out new companies, or for people who’re interested in making charms for the first time!

NOTE: in all the pictures, charms with a phone strap are chillypig and without are acorn press

i’ll be fairly nit-picky about everything and be as in depth as i can to provide max info, but please keep in mind this is all from personal experience! it’s not the end all be all

this is gonna get pretty long so under the cut we goo

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