bottled cap


Notes: My best friend in all of the internet and fic soulmate literally had the week from hell and it pains me that she’s just having such a rough time while I’m six hours and an ocean away and can’t do shit about. Anyway, this dumpster fire fic is dedicated to my bestie @welllpthisishappening​ who is my favorite person aside from Dan and deserves all the love and good fortune in the world. This isn’t my best writing, but if it makes her smile, that’s all I care about. Special thanks to @cocoa-and-rum​ for riffling through this nonsense and making it more coherent. Tagging @the-girl-in-the-band-tshirt​, @idristardis​, @1handedpiratewithadrinkingprob​, @imhookedonaswan​ because they asked to be tagged in this nonsense and are incredibly supportive.
Summary: Killian Jones has been a pain in Emma Swan’s ass since grad school. A game of dodgeball changes that.
Rating: T
Word Count: 3,100+

Looking back at it, Emma Swan doesn’t know how she ever thought the incident was her fault. In all honestly, it was only a matter of time before she retaliated and he got what he finally deserved.

Killian Jones had been torturing her since kindergarten. When they were six, he had pulled her pigtails. In middle school, he had doused her with water balloons. Now, in their senior year of high school, he had decided the best course of action would be to taunt her during gym class. It didn’t matter whether they played water polo or handball, he would wait for her outside the locker rooms during gym class and taunt her until Coach Teach’s whistle blew ten minutes before the period ended.

Today was no different and as Emma walked out of the girls’ locker room, he was waiting for her; leaning against a row of stacked bleachers with his arms across in front of his chest and that signature lazy smirk spread across his face. He was already dressed in his gym clothes and Emma was doing her best not to look at the snug fit of his athletic shorts.

“Ready to lose, Swan?” Killian asked.

Emma narrowed her eyes at him, lips pursed into a deep frown as she regarded her childhood rival. She unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and began filling it at the neighboring bubbler.

“Not on your life,” she replied. “If anything, I can’t wait to wipe that smug look off your face.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” he chuckled. “You like my face.”

She scoffed, looking down at her water bottle, focusing on it to fight the blush that was threatening to stain her cheeks.

“I don’t know what drugs Jefferson’s been selling but you should reconsider. They’re really messing with your brain if you think there’s anything about you I like,” she replied, still looking at her water bottle.

“Not on drugs, love,” Killian responded, not even remotely phased by her barbs. “You know school policy. Athletes can get randomly tested. Can’t risk that,” he replied, chuckling.

“Right, Captain,” Emma replied, sneering at  his title as she capped her bottle and turned to face him. “I forgot. You’re naturally this stupid.”

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A secret switch. A fear submitted by May to Deep Dark Fears - thanks!

My new book “The Creeps” is available now from your local bookstore, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Book Depository, iBooks, IndieBound, and wherever books are sold. You can find more information here.


Focused on environmental change rather than flavor, art students Hung I-chen, Guo Yi-hui, and Cheng Yu-ti from the National Taiwan University of the Arts concocted a line of “frozen treats” titled Polluted Water Popsicles. The group collected polluted water from 100 locations in Taiwan, first freezing the collected sewage samples and then preserving their creations in polyester resin.

At first glance the visually pleasing treats seem to imitate the aesthetic of recent craft and artisanal food trends. However on closed inspection you can identify the trash contained within each mold—bits of plastic, bottle caps, and wrappers lying within the popsicles’ murky waters.

The project is intended to spread awareness about water pollution and its deep effect on our world’s population. (Source)

  • guy who survived the apocalypse in fallout: the government is destroyed, what will we use for currency?
  • asshole with bottle cap collection: i have an idea
Tools for Mentally Ill Students #1

Hey guys! So I’ve been thinking a lot about what I use to control my mental health and keep me on track to recovery. Little things that make life easier for when everything seems hard. They’re not going to work miracles, but they can at least help, so I thought I’d share them with you. Here’s part one.

The DBT Wellness Planner

This planner uses dialetical behaviour therapy to help you bring order to your life and keep track of your emotions. I received it as a gift a few months ago and it has helped SO much. I really recommend this.

Anxiety and Worry Workbook

A lot of students cannot access therapy, whether because of money or your family or whatever. Workbooks can help you start developing skills by yourself. It’s hard, but if you put just a small amount of time into it consistently, you could really help yourself overcome symptoms. Add it to your schedule like homework. I have chosen this workbook because anxiety is something so many students struggle with.

Fidget Pen

We all know by now that fidget toys can be more distracting than anything. However, a lot of people with anxiety and similar symptoms can find fidget toys grounding. This pen is perfect for study, as it’s less likely to be taken away from you by an ignorant teacher. Just make sure you’re the kind of person who is helped by these things!

Sleep Supplement

Sleep is something most students struggle with, and the side effects can be seriously damaging to your mental health. You may be able to get a sleep aid from your doctor, but many don’t prescribe them to young people for fear of them forming a habit. A natural sleep supplement might be a good alternative. Though they don’t work for everyone, and are not as strong as prescription meds, supplements with things like melatonin, magnesium, and valerian root can give you a little extra push towards sleep. I find them especially useful when I can’t sleep because of anxiety. (Always keep in mind your specific body and needs before taking supplements).

Pill Reminder Clock / Reminder Bottle / Portable Bag

Remembering to take meds can be hard. Even apps can be easy to miss and ignore. That’s why I’ve added three different options to help you remember your meds. The first is an amazing alarm clock that says stuff like “Good morning, please remember to take your morning pills”. The second is pill bottles with caps that automatically count down from when you last took your meds. The third is a set of containers that fit into a small, discreet portable bag. 

Fitness Tracker

Regular exercise can be vital to help you regulate emotions and sleep. A fitness tracker can help you keep this up. You don’t have to fork out for a Fitbit, especially since you’re a student. There are plenty of cheaper options out there. One like this, with a heart rate monitor, can also be good for tracking anxiety. 

Intake-Tracking Water Bottle

We’ve all heard it a million times- we should drink more water. It’s not gonna cure us, but it does help our overall health. However, it can be hard to remember to drink enough, which is where bottles like this come in. It’s clearly marked showing you how much you should have drunk by different times of the day.


Urban Spell Components

So, as an urban witch, I have a thing for weird spell components. Probably people have done this before, but i’m going to go ahead and throw mine out there. I’m going to try and do several of these.

First things simple, any small object can be enchanted to do anything you want it to. I have been known to grab small objects and just drop an enchantment on them cause i need a magical object right then and it’s what I have at hand. So don’t be afraid to grab anything you want and drop a blessing, curse, glamor, or basically any kind of spell you want on it.

Hell, my most popular post ever on this hellsite out of four blogs is a jinx using pennies. Make of that as you will.


Soda Tabs:

I mean, come on. It’s a tiny piece of metal. All the potential.

But more importantly, it’s a symbol. On the one hand, it represents a seal and on the other it represents a key.

Want to not just lock something up, but make it airtight, completely and utterly closed? Stick a tab in your spell.

Need a charm to open doors to you, to open people to you, to make friends more easily? Soda tab pendant, or in a mojo bag.

Want to release pressure, vent power, or make a magical bomb? What do we know that pops pressurized containers? Soda tabs.

In the more abstract sense, they’re associated with effervescense. Need to be more bubbly, more sparkly, more light and sweet? Work a tab into your spell as a symbol of releasing that into the world.

Want a variation and like the idea of provenance? Get one from a beer can and use it to symbolically relax your inhibitions so you can be more open to people, cut loose easier, and so on.

Bottle Caps

All that shit I just said about tabs? Conceivably, you could use that shit with a bottle cap. But you could also do a number of other shit.

Now, some y'all may notice I used a screw cap rather than a metal cap. That’s reasons.

Bottle caps make great curse anchors, for one simple reason that can be summed up in two words: “screw you.” Eh? Eh? Who doesn’t like a good pun in their magic?

You can use them to close things, true, but you can also use them as a valve. Ever had to open a soda slowly to release the pressure a little at a time? Now imagine using that as a component. Where the tab is a sudden release, the cap can be metered. There’s a host of reason to use it in that capacity.

Need a charm to help control your third eye? Crank it up or close it down with a bottle cap.

Bottle energy by filling a soda bottle with a charged medium and set it to slow release with a cap only partially sealed.

Need a charm like the soda tab to be open and effervescent, but don’t want it always on? Bottle cap.

And, of course, there’s the lovely little spikes on the damn things. Ever step on one? Yeouch.

Press into your palm if you’re doing an evil eye and want to transmit pain. Add to wards as a deterrent. Work it into curses as a literal stumbling point.

Want to take your sympathetic sacrifice to the next level? Stick one in your shoe for a day and use it to charge up an inconvenience or pain curse, or flip the script and use the pain as a sacrifice to pull down good luck, good fortune, or blessings by trading bad now for good later.

(This, as a sidenote, will work with anything uncomfortable in your shoe.)

Ballpoint Pens

Ok, so at the basic, you can write spells and draw sigils with them. Let’s get that out the way to start.

Moving right along, one of the other basic uses is as a stand in for a wand. The pen makes indelible marks, so it can be added into the casting to make a spell more durable.

But the real fun begins when you consider: it can be taken apart.

Want to banish something? Consider how fricken easy it is to lose a pen. Get a piece of paper and write what or who you want gone. Make it small, because the next thing you’re going to do is open the pen up and wrap that paper around the ink tube. Stick the whole thing back together. Let nature take its course, and when the pen is gone, so’s the issue.

(While I won’t tell you not to use this to banish things that can become someone else’s problem, this is best for things and people that you just want out of your life, not problems you want to pass along.)

And that ability to make scrolls has a thousand and one uses!

Make a lucky pen. Make a money pen, so every time you write a check or balance your books, you call money back to you.

Make a wand more potent. Make cheap and effective curse artillery. Curse that shit and set it loose, if you’re into that sort of thing.

Make a homing missile by writing a targeted spell in it and setting it loose to seek an approproiate target.

Make a whole bunch of lucky pens and cut them loose to bless everyone.

Make a pen to help you with your handwriting, spellcraft, and what not.

And that’s not even getting into blessing a pen so the ink can be used to draw temporary tattoos on your skin that have extra potency, or sigils that are primed for charging, or for magical vandalism. (Vandalize at your own risk.)

Go Wild!

So that’s it for this one. I'mm try and sit down and explain more of this shit that i do in the hopes that you fuckers get some use out of it.

Go forth and be magical!

Resources for Binding Magic

Updated: June 22nd, 2017

For the purpose of this masterpost, I am defining binding as “any spell that can be utilized to prevent a person from performing any specific action, generally harmful in nature, by rendering them incapable or unable of doing so.”

There are other ways to utilize bindings of course - in the instance of keeping something closer to you - but the spells in this list will be relating to the definition I have listed above.

General Resources

General / Multipurpose

Hinder Harmful Actions

(cw for all the spells in this section: mentions of abuse / abusive benhaviour)

 Stop Other Magic / Magic Users

Halt Gossip / Speech

Prevent Touching

Remove From Your Life / Prevent Contact

(akin to banishing)

Block Unwanted Love

Self Binding

Spirit Binding


As a botany major, Elise expected some weirdos to approach her. Asking her to grow weed for them, which she always declined because she was not getting in trouble for that.

Her days at Elsewhere University were oddly, uncharacteristically, unclimactic.
She passed off the weird, shifting shadows. She passed off the odd feeling of being watched, and always carried an iron screw in her pocket. She fed the crows, never stayed in places were time felt warped for too long, was respectful to strangers, and it paid off for the most part.

You see, Elise’s encounters with Them were limited -Thank God- so maybe it was a bit of a surprise to her when she set her Rosemary down, grabbed something from her bag, turned around, and they were gone.
Not just knocked-off-the-table gone or some-freshie-is-playing-a-prank-on-me gone. But absolutely, they-were-never-there in-the-first-place, was-I-even-carrying- anything, vanished-into-thin-air gone.
No biggie, right? A shrug, a slight scratch of her head, and she made her way back to her dorm. There was a little bit of time between classes to grab her backup Rosemary, so she wasn’t that concerned. At least she wasn’t the one that got Snatched, right?

Except, when she stepped into her dorm, her belongings seemed shifted but also in the same place they’d been when she left. Which was fine, it had happened to her English major of a roomate once or twice, but things were definitely missing from her possessions.

Most noticeably, all the flowers she’d left to grow in the windowsill were gone. And her collection of bottle caps had disappeared along with them.

13.04 “The Big Empty” Coda.

What Jack soon comes to realize is that there is a lot to keep track in the world. Every day, he learns something new, and every day, he adds it to his list.

With Sam, it’s more straightforward. He never seems to mind explaining things; in fact, he’s the one who seeks Jack out. He answers Jack’s questions and shows him Star Wars and tells him it’s polite to always knock. Jack is convinced that Sam is his friend, until he learns why Sam is keeping him around.

“You’re using me,” he says with a frown, and he knows that’s bad. Lies are bad. Dean said lies were what killed Castiel.

Except all Sam wants is to save his mother, and that’s something even Jack can understand: a void in his heart that’s been there from the start, and the ever-present need to try and fill it. Sam wants to save his family, and family is good, something worth protecting no matter the cost. Somehow, the logic makes it possible for Sam to be good and bad, and that gives Jack a lot to think about.

With Dean, it’s more complicated, though Jack learns quite a bit from imitation alone. Open bottles by twisting the cap, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, brush your hands together to clean off the crumbs, put one foot on the table when you’re sitting on the couch- He wants to know more, he wants to observe, except Dean doesn’t like it when Jack copies him. And the last thing he wants is for Dean to be mad. He already hates Jack enough to begin with.

He knows Dean blames him for Castiel’s death, and that even though Castiel is family to both of the brothers, there’s something deeper when it comes to Dean. Jack hears sadness when Sam says “Cas,” but with Dean, it’s fiery anger. It’s all desperation, explosive grief, like losing Castiel left a void so big that it hollowed Dean out. Thoroughly. Completely.

“Castiel,” Jack calls like a wish. He can’t be the cause of Dean’s devastation.

But it’s not till the hunt that Jack understands, fully understands how Dean operates. Not till Dean tells him quietly, “You did good today, Jack.” Not ‘kid’ or ‘inter-dimensional can opener’ but ‘Jack’ without any disdain. Because Jack protected Sam from harm. He protected Dean’s family. He did something good. And as long as he continues to protect Dean’s family, he could perhaps be a part of it too.

He runs into Dean that night as he heads to bed, and it’s still a little stilted but he says “Good night,” and Dean smiles only slightly but replies, “Night, Jack.” His expression is tired and somber again, as if the thought of being alone in his room is too much sudden emptiness for him to bear.

Jack watches the door close behind Dean’s back, hears the deep sigh beyond it and slow, drained footsteps. He remembers the way Dean said Castiel’s name, gutted and aching and furious. There’s still a lot he doesn’t understand, but he knows that Dean isn’t whole without Castiel. He thinks he understands what Dean and Castiel had, and hopes - so much - that Castiel heard him.

They call you Magpie, occasionally— Bloodhound more recently— and you like to collect things.

You’ve always been careful about it, of course— learning where, if they exist at all, the lost and founds are, how to stumble across the people around who have the uncanny ability to know everyone and everything that matters to them, the places locals always check for items gone adrift— and you’ve heard strange things about EU, even before you actually arrived. Nothing concrete, nothing substantial, but enough on the forums and ratemyprofessors and hidden in deep corners of the web that you take extra care this time before continuing your finding (and returning, which is, admittedly, more of an entertaining challenge).

So instead of picking up the curiosities or collecting the feathers and bits and baubles, you watch, as you always do, and you’re thorough, as you always are. It takes some months and some seeing things you perhaps shouldn’t have and some time spent imagining solutions you likely couldn’t spare, but when all is said and done you think you’re ready to begin.

When you take the feathers, you leave behind piles of birdseed (your cockatiel’s favorite, and millet too when the plumage is especially colorful). When you find bottle caps, you bring them to the fountain and throw them in the highest tier; for the koi in the pond and their gasping mouths, you bring stories (words, the important thing is the words) whispered in the dead of night and shut up in the pretty green bottles left for you on the sidewalk. You find marbles in your pockets, bright as bubbles catching the sun, and make earrings out of them using the delicate wire you’re given every time you leave interestingly-shaped driftwood in that hole beside the dumpster (the earrings you keep, and sometimes give away to classmates worried about getting caught (or getting Caught, depending) in the rain). You give poetry and songs (whatever’s in your head, be it Bon Jovi for a week, the lines of that play you’re struggling with, or the rhymes that occasionally overtake your thoughts) to the crows and the trees and they give you nothing, but nor do they take.

The squirrels you know better than to deal with. A senior warned you (indirectly, eyes straight ahead as you both walked along), and when you accidentally leave your doodle notebook under the tree, you are left shaking pine needles out of your hair for weeks (it does smell nice, to be fair).

You never take found things without giving in return, and never give without expecting to leave empty-handed. It is a kindness, all of it, and you treasure the thanks you get (you do not always get thanked, and you do not mind).

With the lost things, you tread more carefully. You peek at them from the corner of your eye and wait a day (sometimes two, sometimes three, depending on how hard it is to only cast a glance) in order to see if the item is claimed; eventually (reluctantly, sometimes, but you do know how to help lost things find their homes, and you don’t want to leave them), you pick them up.

If it’s made of anything shiny, you leave it by the crows, rattling off as many interwoven lines of poetry you can cobble together about guarding and glittering, returning and finding, dropping off folded tinfoil sculptures as well (the crows have never given you anything back, but nor has anything been taken, and so you figure it’s fair they keep whatever they feel they’re owed). Though you only intend for them to keep watch and draw attention (whenever something pretty is misplaced, everyone looks at them), you begin to leave them your little aluminum figures whenever you catch wind of anything (or anyone) disappearing as a good luck charm, fond of how they watch and listen and protect what’s them and theirs. It is meant to be an idiosyncrasy, but you start to notice that they gather around the places those lost things turn up. You don’t give thanks and you pick up no more of their feathers than usual. When something is returned you make sure those involved discover a sudden and temporary interest in reading classic poems aloud.

When it’s anything that seems personal (or urgent), you hunt It down; a sigil that looks like an abstract swirl or perhaps an eye or perhaps a hand. Usually someone’s wearing it, frequently it’s purple, and always it’s on the softest-looking piece of fabric around; you drop the item nearby, wrapped in pairs of the warmest socks you can get on short notice, and grin before moving along. After the third time, when you get pins and needles walking away, you also start folding paper flowers out of the lists you keep of what you pick up where (and, if applicable, what you left in return). You leave those stuffed inside the socks, and notice that in certain places nothing turns up anymore (you do not blame It for being more skilled than you).

When it’s just an ordinary lost thing, you bury it, and leave a circle of pebbles above; later, you place a crow’s feather in the middle as well. You check back in a week and usually it’s gone. If it’s still there in two, you put it in the school’s lost and found, and at that point, more often than not, you later end up discovering it in your room.

You begin to get a reputation.

You hope, perhaps (probably) vainly, that it will do you no harm, and that you will not become one of the lost things you are so fond of.

You do what you can to keep safe; you owe no one a thing, and there are quite a few that owe you (and owe you very much).

You like to collect things, but you don’t collect debts. You do much freely, and you find value in kindnesses, but you value yourself, of course, most of all.

You hope you will not become lost, one way or another. You try to remember that, before, your help was freely given and the debts you were owed forgiven more often than not. You hope your (what-started-out-as-)innocent hobby will do you no harm.

You begin to get a reputation.


The Alpha And The Beta

Originally posted by berezneva-tw

Characters: Y/n, Derek

Pairing: Derek x Y/n (FEMALE READER)

Warnings: Mostly smut, pissed off reader at first, then just smut, fingering, pussy eating, Daddy Kink, Alpha/Beta kink(not the A/B/O kind), more smut, anal, rough sex, unprotected sex, added sickening fluff at the end, cos why the hell not?

Word count: 2300

Summary: You finally get sick of Derek’s constant need to train. But when you decide you’ve had enough, he decides he’s not about to let you leave so easily.

A/N: Ok, so…requested fic by anon-hi. could you do a derek hale smut (female y/n) where she’s a new beta in his pack+ derek and her are sparring together. y/n gets tired, tells derek that she doesn’t want to train anymore bc its frustrated how he keeps beating her, starting to shout and swear. derek gets mad at her before pinning her down by her wrists and basically telling her off which she finds sexy. he smells her arousal and he starts teasing her about it and they have rough sex where derek is being really dominant ???? Ok, so it’s basically sticking to the request, but I added some more stuff. Also, sorry this took sooo long!! Hope u like it!!

Tagged peeps: @sallyp-53 @greyravenvixen @helvonasche @chelsea072498 @the-latina-trickster @aingealcethlenn @squirrels-angels-and-moose @lucifer-in-leather @kumaartz @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @mogaruke 



Your back slammed against the mat, your breaths coming out in pants, body covered in sweat.

Aching muscles and a pounding head had you completely tired out.

“No more”, you panted, rolling over and attempting to stand, but your legs were like jelly, buckling under your weight as you fell to your knees again.

You didn’t care how pathetic you looked, deciding to crawl over to the bottle of water in your bag, your throat dry.


You rolled your eyes at his voice, looking over to see Derek, drenched in sweat, but barely out of breath.

“Fuck you, dude! You’re like 50. You’ve had time to adjust”.

You got to your bag, rummaging through it, until your hand gripped the bottle.

You didn’t hesitate to rip the bottle cap off, drinking the water as though you’d been in the desert for weeks.

Derek watched you, shaking his head with disappointment.

“Get up, y/n. We’re not finished yet”.

You looked at him, eyes wide and nose flaring.



You crossed your arms like a petulant child.

“No. I’m doing anymore today. We’ve been training non-stop for days. I’m sick of it! You don’t go easy. You’re mean. You shout all the time. And you’re sweaty as hell”.

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