coffee stirrers

anonymous asked:

“great. perfect. nice. fuck this.” spideypool!!

Peter was more exhausted than he had been in weeks. He had been so good about sleep lately–he had even made a schedule to keep himself from having another falling-asleep-during-an-acid-lab incident–but this week had decided to be a serious dick to him.

So he found it perfectly understandable to skip his last class of the day (which was advanced mechanical engineering, so it wasn’t like he couldn’t catch up later) in favor of going home and napping. Because he had almost used his phone as a coffee stirrer an hour ago, and that seemed to make it clear the coffee wouldn’t really cover only having six hours of sleep in the past two nights combined. 

Peter yawned for about the millionth time that day and scrubbed a hand over his face as he walked up to his apartment door. He started to lazily pat at his pockets for his keys with his other hand–and came up empty.

He frowned and patted himself down again. No jingle. No pointy key-ends. Frowning harder, he dropped his backpack and started to paw through it, even though he rarely kept his keys anywhere but his pockets (they’d been stolen from his backpack once and he still wasn’t over it). Unsurprisingly and unfortunately, he came up with nothing.

Peter briefly felt the urge to cry. All he wanted was a nap. He thought back through his day. He didn’t take them out when he was in the coffee shop–he didn’t even sit down. From what he could recall, he didn’t take them out in class either (because why would he?). Which left him with one, horribly stupid option–they were still sitting on his kitchen counter.

Inside his apartment. Because he was an idiot. 

Great. Perfect. Nice. Fuck this.” he snapped at the door.

Despite being a functional adult who could deal with this problem in a rational way, Peter was very tired. So he did a rather petty thing and kicked his door, hard. 

Crying was seeming like an increasingly appealing option. Peter’s landlord already didn’t like him. He didn’t need to give him another reason to think he was a bad tenant (which, to be fair, he was, because with his superhero agenda–and his superhero friends–his apartment had been through a lot) by saying he’d lost his keys…again.

Peter sighed and sat down, leaning against his door and throwing his backpack next to him. He honestly didn’t think he had the energy to suit up and climb up to his window. He wasn’t even sure he would be able to find his window.

But he still needed to get in his apartment. Maybe he could magically learn how to pick locks without any effort. Or he could see if any of his neighbors would pick his lock for him–

Wait. I know someone who can pick locks.

Peter was both suddenly grateful and suddenly dreading what he knew he had to do. He sighed very hard and pulled out his phone and for the first time EVER dialed a number he never thought he would need to.

After two rings, he got an answer.

“Deadpool speaking.” Wade’s voice growled at him.

“Wade? It’s–Spider-man.” Peter awkwardly finished, almost just saying ‘Peter’.

The change in Wade’s tone was instant. “Yo, Spidey!” he screeched.

Peter winced and immediately regretted his decision. “Hi, Wade. I need a favor.”

“…Is it a murder-y favor? Because I’ve been trying not to do that so much and–”

“It’s not a job, Wade. I’m locked out of my apartment and I need you to pick my lock.”

There was a pause, and Peter swears he heard a snicker. “Did you web your keys to the wall or something?” Wade joked, then started to poorly cover up a laugh.

“I’m hanging up.” Peter snapped, and started to.

“Wait, wait!” Wade shouted, and Peter didn’t hang up. “I’ll help you, Spidey. Can you text me the address?”

“Yeah. Please show up before I have to sleep in my hallway.” Peter requested, then hung up. He typed out his address and sent it to Wade, who responded with a thumbs-up emoji, a winking-tongue-face emoji that Peter never understood, and informed him he’d be there in fifteen minutes.

Peter sighed and pulled out his Spider-man mask from his backpack. He really didn’t want to put it on, but Wade didn’t know his identity and Peter didn’t really think trusting him with it was a good idea.

Then again, he had just given him his address. That was almost worse, in a way. Wade was unarguably the most unstable man he knew, and he was coming over to pick Peter’s lock for him. 

Peter briefly wondered if this was how he was destined to die. Not by some super-villain, but by letting a crazy person know his address. 

I’m literally letting an axe-murderer into my house. Oh my god, this is how I die.

Peter was still busy imaging scenarios of Wade brutally murdering him when Wade showed up and raised an eyebrow at Peter’s sad scene. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, which was surprising, though he still had both his mask and gloves on.

“Spidey?” he asked, then it clicked why Wade was looking at him funny.

Peter had forgotten to ever put his mask on.

“Uh, yeah. Hi, Wade.”

Wade suddenly slapped a hand over his eyes. “You forgot your mask.”

Peter sighed. “I guess I did. But I also gave you my address, so I figured if you were gonna murder me I couldn’t stop you.”


“Never mind. I’m tired. Please break into my apartment so I can sleep.” Peter said, gesturing at the door handle by his head.

Wade chuckled and walked over. He knelt down next to Peter and started to work on the lock with a bunch of tools that looked like torture devices. “So, not that I’m complaining, but why did you call me for this? You’ve never even used my number before.”

“Long story short, my landlord hates me already and everyone else would never let me live down leaving my keys in my apartment and not realizing it until now.”

That’s fair.” Wade shrugged, then the door made a click and Wade turned the handle, and to Peter’s sleepy amazement, it opened. “Ta-da. All better.”

Peter gaped at how fast Wade had done that. After a second of chuckling at him, Wade offered him a hand. Peter took it and was heaved to his feet. He grabbed his backpack and entered, expecting Wade to follow.

But he didn’t. Wade stayed in the doorway, rocking back and forth on his feet.

Peter turned back and looked at him. He looked like a lost puppy. Well, a lost puppy who was trying to see as much as he possibly could from a doorway. Peter sighed. “Just come in.”

Wade giggled and ran in, immediately going everywhere. “I’m in Spider-man’s apartment!”

Peter slowly followed him, eventually ended up in his bedroom, where Wade was fiddling with things on his desk. “Don’t break anything.” he ordered, then promptly collapsed onto his bed face-down.

After a moment, he felt a weight on the other side of the bed. “Aw, is Spidey sleepy?” Wade cooed.

“Fuck off.” Peter snapped, and Wade laughed.

“That’s fair. I like your apartment, by the way. Tasteful.”

Peter snorted. “Does it accurately show off my college student budget?”

“Impeccably.” Wade said, flopping down on the bed next to him. “Dude, how old is this mattress?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it witnessed JFK’s murder, to be honest.”

Wade laughed, then they fell into silence. Peter was honestly half-asleep before Wade broke the silence again, and even then he didn’t really wake up. “Should I go?”

“Hmm?” Peter asked, turning to look at him.

“Should I leave? You seem about two seconds away from hibernation.”

Peter shrugged. “Probably. I’m gonna sleep for about fifty hours now.”

Wade smiled at him and sat up. “That’s fair. See you on your next patrol?”

“Considering you know where I live, I don’t think I can stop you from showing up to all of them.”

“Probably not. Sleep well, Spidey.”

Peter just hummed an answer and snuggled deeper into his pillow, listening to Wade’s footsteps get fainter–then get louder again.

Wade poked his head back into Peter’s room. “For the record, I like your face.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Go home, Wade.”

“It’s a nice face. Excellent face. That hair is killer. Do you condition?”


Right, right. I’m going. Call me if you need a number for an actual locksmith, baby boy.” Wade chuckled, then left for real.

Peter threw his cover onto himself, rolled over into the spot Wade had made surprisingly warm in his short time there, and slept better than he had in what felt like years. 

Funny Story

So my 7th grade biology teacher was a little kooky. He liked to make a bunch of different little tiny jokes and get us in tune with the class.
He also always drank coffee all the time, and his coffee stirrer was some sort of bone, but whenever someone asked him what bone it was he would always answer with “You’ll all learn eventually” and then changed the subject.
The end of the year rolled around and our last couple of lessons were the sex ed unit. My middle school was pretty liberal but it is still Texas and there are some laws about sex ed in place that make it a short unit. Anyway, we went over male genitalia and he was talking about how penis-havers don’t have any bones in their penises, but there are some animals that do, including the raccoon. He then held up his coffee stirrer to show the class what a raccoon penis bone looked like. Let me repeat, he had been stirring his coffee with a raccoon penis bone all year and didn’t tell anyone.

modern au in which guts agrees to get brunch at panera with his hot ex he accidentally pissed off and griffith sits across from him and keeps doing this with the wooden coffee stirrers

anonymous asked:

Dryad made me want more family fic, but YOUR family fic! How's about a little drabble with Scully nursing William? Thanks, you queen. xoxo

They ventured out to the nearest of the three Starbucks in Scully’s neighborhood, sipping iced coffee in the October sunshine. The cafe table wobbled on the pavement, and Mulder stabilized it with a stack of napkins and two Sweet ‘n’ Lows.

William, at five months, was deeply interested in the expanding world on which he could now focus. He lunged at dogs, flung coffee stirrers, and beseeched pigeons to accept fragments of his mother’s scone. He shrieked in dismay when they scattered. Wailing softly, he began gumming his father’s shoulder.

“Time to open the breastaurant,” Mulder said, peeling William from his shirt.

Scully fumbled under her sweater at her nursing bra, then accepted her grouchy son. She cradled him in her arms, and fondly told him that he was a destructive gremlin. William, unbothered, latched on immediately and began making contented whuffling noises.

“What a life,” Mulder said, dabbing at the saliva on his shoulder with a teddy bear print blanket that Scully loathed. It had been a gift, and was primarily used for wiping up effluvia.

Across from them, a pinch-faced woman glared at Scully with frank disapproval. She made clicking sounds and sucked her teeth every few minutes to ensure that her contempt registered.

“Look at you, Scully,” Mulder said with great amusement. “Just sitting here, tits to the wind, flagrantly using them for their intended purpose. Hussy.”

Scully, expressionless behind her sunglasses, offered a moue in reply.

An immense Husky loped by and William, unable to contain himself, lurched forward to greet it. He squealed like a bald tire, and Scully’s nipple contracted in the sudden chill.

This display proved too much for their nemesis. She shoved her chair back and stalked over. “That is absolutely indecent!” she informed Scully, who had already reattached the baby.

Scully slid her sunglasses down her nose to blink more effectively. Then she pushed them back up.

“Excuse me, but that is unacceptable,” the woman continued, as though either of them had expressed interest. “You could at least use a blanket to cover up.”

“A blanket?” Mulder said, feigning confusion.

“Yes! If you must do…that in public, which you really shouldn’t, you could at least cover up so no one’s offended.”

Mulder cocked his head, considering. Then he rose, removing the teddy bear blanket from his shoulder. He dropped it over the woman’s head.

“There,” he said. “Now you won’t see anything offensive.”

So Close (Part 3 of 5)

Pairing: Lin-Manuel x Reader

Summary: This started as a 4+1 setup on Lin asking you to marry him. It devolved into a study of a year plus some in a relationship, and how you can be so close to the end and yet so far in the blink of an eye.

Word Count: 7414 (oh god I’m so sorry)

Warnings:  Badly translated Spanish, lots of swears.

Notes:  I do not speak Spanish, nor have I ever been on Broadway. I put a lot of research into this stuff to make it seem as realistic as possible, but if you can tell me how to fix a situation or change a translation to make it better, please let me know, I’m happy to listen.

I took a lot of inspiration from random things, but I want to point out some of my sources because they are important.

  • The Hamiltome gave me most of the original cast/crew names and timelines for when things happened (transfer to Broadway, opening night, etc.) I also heavily relied on the timeline on the Hamilton Wiki page.
  • One of the recurring quotes throughout this work comes from Peter Pan. Kudos if you know it.
  • The song [Y/N] sings is Still Hurting from The Last Five Years. Many versions exist of this beautiful musical now, and one movie adaptation. Link
  • One text and the last lines come from prompts by @caceerps. There are plenty others where they came from, please go look!
  • Ileana Ferraras really is Alex Lacamoire’s (very beautiful) wife and she is a professional life coach, which came in handy here.
  • Spanish translations are courtesy of Reverso Contexto. Better than Google, but I’m sure, not infallible. Let me know if I’m way off the mark.
  • Title comes from the Jon McLaughlin song of the same name. It is the over arcing theme song for this fic. Link

This is the first thing I’ve written in at least 5 years, and it’s the first thing I’ve written for a Broadway fandom in 10+ years. Please be kind.

Tags: @musicalmoriarty (my beautiful Goddess, thank you for being my cheerleader!) / @invisiblerambler / @mistressofdawn / @hamwriters​ / @keikoraventeller​ / @spicydice​ / @defenestrate-yourself-please​ / @helplesstoday​ // if you would like to be tagged, just ask ☺

Part 1 // Part 2

Keep reading


Here goes nuthin! I’m about to pour the molds for these. Last time I made a mold was in art school and I think that was plaster of Paris. This time I’ll be using a silicone rubber called Dragon Skin made by Smooth-On. Pot life is about 8 minutes and it should set in a little over an hour. On the main piece I’ve added air vents made from coffee stirrers to prevent bubbles from getting trapped. The larger drinking straws are going to be the pour spouts for the casting material. Hopefully, this will be a successful first attempt, cause Dragon Skin ain’t cheap!

The Escort (Part 1)

Summary: Grad School AU! You are a grad student, one year away from completing your Master’s degree. Despite your successful life, your family won’t let go of the fact that you are single. It makes your yearly family vacation a living hell. On a whim, you call the number you find on an ad for an escort to events, and you meet Dean. He’s gorgeous, charming, and perfect to help get your family off your back. What more could you ask for?

Word Count: 2164

Warning: None for this chapter

A/N: This first chapter sets up the story. I hope you like it, and that you stick around for all the smutty, angsty, fluffy goodness I have in store for you!

You twirled the coffee stirrer between your fingers and stared at the antique clock on the wall. There were still five minutes before Jo was supposed to meet you to discuss the plans for the upcoming week, which probably meant she’d show up in fifteen. The specials board in the little coffee shop advertised several pastries, and you idly wondered if you wanted a snack to go with your drink while you waited.

Why not? You sighed and got up to place your order, ignoring the weight in your pocket as you fidgeted in line.

Keep reading

I am rewatching Numb3rs and simultaneously revelling in how glorious it was and lamenting over how much I miss it.

Charlie Eppes was by far the floofiest most adorable floof in the history of mathematics - but DON……… I just…. Blimey. He made aggressively chewing gum and licking coffee stirrers far sexier than either of those actions ever needed to be!!!

It’s not just Supernatural fans who struggle over being in love with two brothers at once, y’ know…!!

Rainy Day

Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda x reader (and the reader can be any gender, 99.99% positive i did that)

This is set when Lin was still in the show

Word count: 864

Warnings: none, i don’t think i swore

Requests: anon: You should write some Lin fluff to celebrate :) and anon: But for real, can you do a fluffy Lin x reader?

A/N: it was raining last night and that inspired me to write this. it’s my first x reader fic (that’s what an imagine is, right?) so please tell me if you’d like to read more of those in the future.

this is to celebrate getting 100 followers (what the actual heck)

and also, i live in the united states, and as you probably know, the inauguration was today. personally, i’m terrified as to what the next four years are gonna bring (i’m a part of the lgbtq+ community so who knows what kind of discriminatory legislation is gonna be passed against me [and against others who are far worse off than me for that matter]), and i don’t want this to become a political author’s note, but this is some pretty big stuff going down. just stand up for what you believe in unless it puts you in danger. then stay safe.

okay i didn’t mean to ramble this much. have some fluffy Lin x reader



“It is pouring out there,” Lin remarked, staring out the cafe window. Rain was streaming down the glass, and it was dark and gray outside. You shivered and sipped your coffee.

“I can’t believe I have to go back out in that,” you complained. “It was hard enough getting here, and my socks are soaked.”

Lin turned back to you. “Well, we could just spend eight hours in here if you’d like.”

You pretended to consider this, making Lin laugh. He flicked a crumb of his muffin at you, and you leaned over and plucked a bit of the muffin off, popping it in your mouth.


You grinned and reclined in your chair.

Lin was one of your best friends. He always made time for you, even around performing all the time in his Broadway musical. He’d gotten you a ticket to it a few weeks ago, and it had been one of the most magical experiences of your life. You had even had the privilege of going backstage and meeting the cast, and you wouldn’t trade those memories for anything.

Well, you could think of a few possible things that might top that, but they were completely hypothetical, so they didn’t count.

“You doing anything special today?” Lin asked, twirling his coffee stirrer between his fingers.

“No, not that I can think of. I might stay here for longer than usual and see if the rain lets up,” you said, taking a long drink of your coffee. You set the cup down and noticed that Lin was staring at you. You felt a faint blush creeping onto your cheeks and Lin quickly looked away.

“What about you?” you tried, wanting this to be more of a normal conversation.

“Today’s actually a day that I’m not performing,” Lin said. You looked directly into his eyes and butterflies fluttered in your stomach. He had such beautiful eyes.

“So what do you wanna do? I don’t think we should actually spend eight hours here, they’d probably kick us out.”

Lin shrugged. “Free day. Fun day.”

“Pouring-down-rain day,” you added, and Lin playfully rolled his eyes.

“You want another muffin or something?” he asked, changing the subject. You nodded, and he tipped back his chair ever so slightly to read the menu. “Blueberry or chocolate chip?”

“I don’t know,” you mused. “Blueberry is healthier, but chocolate is delicious…hmm…”

“If you had to choose, if you had to choose…” Lin sang, and you giggled. “No, but seriously. What do you want?”

“Surprise me,” you offered, and you thought you heard Lin mumble something under his breath. “What was that?”

Maybe you were imagining that his face was reddening. “Nothing.”

You got blueberry.

“And it’s my favorite, so we have to share,” Lin said, walking back with the muffin. He’d gone up to the counter to buy it. “That’s the rule.”

“That’s not fair,” you complained.

“I did buy it,” Lin pointed out, and you conceded with a sigh.

“You’re almost as good at arguing as Alexander Hamilton,” you said, and Lin laughed, a real, honest laugh.

“Good one, Y/N.”

You shared the muffin with Lin in mostly silence, just thinking.

You had to admit to yourself now that you liked Lin. A lot. More than a friend. And you didn’t want to ruin the great friendship the two of you shared. But he would do things that bordered on flirting, and you didn’t know how to feel about that.

“What’re you thinking about, Y/N?” Lin asked, catching you off-guard. Startled, you jumped a bit and glanced up to see that he’d devoured his share of the muffin.

Your brain scrambled in a panic and for some reason you told the truth. “You.”
Lin raised an eyebrow, and you started laughing. “Can I ask exactly what you were thinking about me?”

Screw it, you were gonna be honest again. At this point, if it ruined your friendship, you had enough memories to be okay. Probably. “I kind of like you.”

“I’d hope so,” Lin cracked. “We are friends.”

“More than a friend, you idiot,” you said quietly, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. Lin’s mouth fell open in a perfect O.

Neither of you said anything for several long moments, until you got the courage to look up. Lin was unashamedly staring at you, but it didn’t feel weird now. “That’s good,” he murmured. “Because I kind of like you more than a friend too.”

A relieved smile broke out on your face. Lin scooted his chair so that he was next to you. He brought your face to be level with his, and his eyes said the things that his mouth didn’t.

You leaned in without further instruction, and when your lips touched his, it felt like the world was settling into place.

“Finally,” the little old woman at the table next to yours muttered. “The sexual tension’s been killing me.”

You laughed against Lin’s mouth, and he pulled back for a second, rearranging your mouths together. As you kissed, you had one thought, and it was that this was a better memory than seeing Hamilton.

The rain continued to pour down.


Likes are appreciated, reblogs are wonderful, and nice comments or constructive criticism (even if it’s just AIUWFOUBWOUBF) make my day. also thanks again for 100 followers!! i can’t believe that many people want to read what i write

How to Make a Prayer Jar!

I just did this today and had a great experience with it and I’d thought I’d share for anyone who might want to make one.

Prayer jars go great on an altar or work place and can keep you connected to your family and loved ones.  Draw a name and send love and good intentions to anyone who might be needing it!

You will need:

  • a jar
  • something to write names on (i used coffee stirrers, but you can use whatever you want)
  • anything to decorate your jar with!

This was a really basic/loose-ended thing I did, because I prefer to go with the flow when it comes to magick and energy work, but you can make it as structured and formal an event as you want, write your own words, etcetera.

Cleanse your jar however you choose.  For this one I just washed it in the sink because it had some leftover tea in it >.< and said a quick prayer to cast out any lingering energy.

Write out the names of your friends and loved ones onto the coffee sticks or pieces of paper.  Set them aside, we’ll put them in later!

Now it’s time to decorate your jar.  Do whatever is meaningful to you–your jar is full of your intention and is therefore completely unique!  I used some craft supplies I had lying around to spruce it up a little bit and match the aesthetic of my tiny little dorm-room altar.  Fill the base of your jar with something you think will help guide your hand to whoever needs your prayer.  I used some pretty fabric and a mixture of amethyst and moonstone chips and other crystal pieces I had with no other current use.  Ask their energies to help cradle your jar and guide your hand at the proper moment.

At this point I said another quick prayer over my jar and raised my energy as much as I could, charging it with my love.  Then I went to the names and began putting them into my jar one by one, saying,

“(Name), I am praying for you.”

Try to go in no particular order so the names get shuffled around a bit.  This part became a much more spiritual experience than I was anticipating.  Don’t be surprised if your emotions and memories surrounding the people begin to stir up.  Enjoy the experience and whatever happens, take it as a sign your prayers will be meaningful!

After all the names were in, I said ONE MORE prayer for my jar and just rested in the love that I felt pouring into the room.  I tried to direct as much as possible into my jar.  After this experience, my vibration skyrocketed.  I felt energized, and also full of happiness, peace, and unconditional love.  I hope you have a similar experience while making your jar!

Place it somewhere your family and friends will be in your thoughts.  Whenever you’re feeling like it, draw a name and meditate on the person and what they might be going through.  Send them your love and whatever else you think they might need for a little energy boost.  If you pray to certain deities, perhaps ask them or your guides to help you and watch over that person.

That’s all there is to it!

Blessed Be in Light and Love <3

Wizarding World: Founders Era

Godric Gryffindor orders an English Breakfast tea. When he is done drinking, he enchants his coffee stirrer and leaves it on the table. Only the worthy will be able to find it.

Salazar Slytherin sees Gryffindor enchant his coffee stirrer and runs off into the bathroom. He comes back, rubbing his hands in delight, and insists that his heirs will have a far greater birthright.

Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff buy scones from the smudged glass case. They sit back and watch the boys squabble.

Nicholas Flamel meanders behind the counter and concocts his own drink. He sits in the corner and drinks it by himself, refilling it whenever necessary.

Yoongi: The Best Kind of Worst

This was supposed to be part of the 13 Days of Halloween… I’m sorry.

In which you and Yoongi have a series of “serious” discussions on werewolves.

Genre: Comedy, Romance

Words: 2,029


Originally posted by sughyun

“Which one should we watch?”

“I don’t really know. I’ve never heard of any of these.”

“All right, then what’s your favorite werewolf story? These are all pretty different.”

“I guess I’ve always liked the idea of wulvers.”

“Wulvers?” Yoongi scoffed, “They’re not real werewolves.”

“They are too. Just because they’re actually nice doesn’t mean that they’re not real werewolves,” you pouted.

“They’re called wulvers and not werewolves for a reason. Wulvers are wolf-man hybrids that leave food for the poor, and werewolves are shifters that go between wolves and men,” Yoongi explained.

“All right, Mr. Smarty Pants, then tell me what good werewolves do for humans.” You leaned forward, your chin resting in the palm of your hand.

“That’s easy. They protect the humans from things like vampires, and when they’re not busy doing that, they keep to themselves and don’t bother anybody.” He stirred his coffee languidly.

You tried not to focus on your best friend too hard, despite the fact that all you wanted to do was stare at him. The way his slender hands held the coffee stirrer as gently as if it were his precious sheet music, or the way his eyes always looked tired until they met yours and brightened instantly, or the way he was never shy with physical contact when he was tired – which was all the time – and held you close to his chest when you two would watch a movie at one of your apartments, it was all too much for you sometimes.

Yoongi was your best friend in the whole world; you weren’t dating. You doubted the boy even realized what he did to your feelings. You had met Yoongi your freshmen year of college; he had been a sophomore. Even though math and music majors did not typically hang out that much due to different interests, you had somehow become fast friends with the aspiring composer. He was also one of the few people that didn’t give you crap about being a female math major, which automatically landed him on your good side. He understood that you got the same feeling he got when he worked out the kinks in a troublesome song, and that you just got it when you worked out particularly challenging equations.

“Whatever,” you sighed, “anyway, what time is it?”

“Five-thirty-two,” he read off his phone.

“Dang, I really have to go. I need to get some stuff before I go home, and I don’t want to be out too late. Like my mom always says-“

“The full moon is when the crazies come out,” he finished for you. You beamed.

“Exactly! So I’ll come over tomorrow and we can watch whichever you decide on?” It was more of a statement than a question. Saturday was always movie night.

Without saying a word, Yoongi picked up your jacket from the back of your seat and held it up so you could slip your arms in. He walked ahead of you, only stopping to hold the door for you. That was where you parted ways.

“Bye!” you called.

“See you then,” he replied.

Grocery shopping ended up taking a little longer than you had planned. After putting the food away, you still had to pick up a couple of books you had ordered a week ago. Luckily the bookstore wasn’t too far from your apartment complex. You could walk there and back easily; you just weren’t thrilled in being out that late. You were the type of person who liked to be home by dinner time and stay in for the rest of the evening most days. Today was one of those days.

However, you decided to suck it up, and there you were, walking home with a bag of books at least an hour after sundown. Even though you knew your mom had been joking about the crazies coming out during the full moon, you could not help but feel creeped out. Almost no one was outside. The last person you had passed had been an old lady nearly three blocks back. The full moon that hung just above the buildings provided enough light to illuminate the areas between the streetlights fairly well, but you would have preferred to  be back in the safety of the artificial lights of the stores. You were in the residential area now.

You were finally just a block away from your apartment when you saw him. A beanie was perched loosely on his head, threatening to fall off of the doubled-over body you knew so well. You took a step forward.

“Yoongi?” you called tentatively.

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice. You were struck suddenly with how odd he looked. It was almost like he was sick, but you had never known him to get sick before. A light sheen of sweat shone on his forehead, and his dilated pupils reflected the light of the moon. He was panting hard, like he couldn’t get enough air. You sucked in a breath.

“What’s wrong? You’re not on anything, right?” It wasn’t like him at all to try any kind of drug. He knew better than that.

“Of course I’m not on anything!” he snapped, then shut his eyes in pain, “I’m sorry. Please, just go.”

“I’m not going until I’m sure you’re all right,” you said. Taking a few steps closer so that you could place a hand on his back, you were shocked to feel the incredible amount of heat coming through his jacket. Yoongi had always been on the warm side – and you on the cold – but this was just too much.

“You’re burning!” you yelped.

“It’s fine; don’t worry about me,” he said, wincing.

“Obviously not,” you huffed, “we need to get you to a hospital or something.”

“No, I just… Will you let me do something?” he asked.

“Of course, anything,” you agreed quickly.

“Okay, just not here.” His eyes slid back and forth, like he was just waiting for something to emerge from the shadows. You did not say anything, only nodded, and helped him up to your apartment. You received some questioning and disapproving looks from other residents, but you tried not to pay them any attention. You were more worried about your best friend.

When you were finally safely inside, you spoke up. “So what do you need?”


You froze in the middle of taking off your jacket, totally unprepared for that response.

“I’m kidding. Don’t trust anyone who tells you that, okay? It’s just sleazy and gross,” he said, rolling his eyes. Yep, that was definitely your Yoongi, able to make jokes and turn them into life lessons at the most inappropriate times.

“You’re such a loser,” you muttered.

“I know.” He gave you as much of a smile as he could muster. “Could you come here though?” He was reclining on your couch with one leg hanging off the side. He patted the space between his legs.

“Really? How is this supposed to help?” You crossed your arms.

“It will; I’m already starting to feel better. Just come on,” he whined. You could have sworn it sounded like a dog was whining at the same time, but you heard nothing else after it. Choosing to ignore it, you settled in the space he had made for you.

You were about to lean back against his chest, thinking it would be like your typical couch time, but his grip on your shoulders stopped you from moving.

“Stay right there,” he murmured, “I hope this doesn’t hurt. I haven’t exactly done this before.”

“What? Yoo-“ You stopped when you felt his lips press against the back of your neck. You had no time to even begin to process this fact, however, as you were immediately distracted by a white-hot burning sensation in the same place. It was like hot coals were being pressed to your skin. Eyes shut tight, you yelped.

“Yoongi!” you sobbed. He jerked away immediately.

“Crap,” he hissed. He pulled you close, pushing your hair out of your face. You felt like every ounce of strength was leaving your body, and you fell limp in his arms. The last thing you heard was a shout that sounded a lot like your name.

You woke up to the feeling of someone stroking the baby hairs on the back of your neck. The fingers were light and warm. Yoongi. You weren’t ready to open your eyes yet, so you focused on your immediate situation. You were lying on your side in what felt like your bed, and your best friend’s arm was curled around your shoulders. If you had to guess, he was facing you, watching you when he thought you were asleep. He did that more often than he thought you knew.

You groaned when you tried to open your eyes. The curtains had been drawn, so the light was soft, but you were still exhausted.

“You’re awake this time?” Yoongi’s voice came out as a low rumble.

“Yeah,” you sighed, “what… What happened last night exactly?”

He opened his mouth to reply but closed it before he did.


“I just don’t want this to end,” he said.

“What do you mean?” You were mostly awake at this point. His face was full of a guilt that you could not guess the source of.

He let his eyes wander over your features for a moment longer, his hand coming up to wrap a lock of your hair around his finger.

“I really love you. I have for a long time,” he said, his expression softening.

“I love you too, you know. Is that what you were so worried about?” Exhaustion was the only thing stopping your feelings from going haywire. If his confession had come at any other time, you would have been a blushing, stuttering mess. Now, however, you just let his warmth fill you up and a content, humming kind of smile stretch across your lips.

“No, you can’t really love me until you know the whole truth,” he countered.

“Then tell me the whole truth.”

“It’s not that simple-“

“Only because you’re making it overly complicated, Yoongi, I know you,” you cut him off. You placed your hand over his and rubbed circles with your thumb.

“It really is… different this time,” he said.

“Just try?” you pleaded, “For me?”

“You’re literally the worst person why would I ever do anything for you,” he grumbled.

“Come on, you just said you love me.”

“Fine,” he huffed, “I’m a werewolf, and not just any old were wolf either – the crown prince is my brother. I’m like ninety-eight percent sure that you’re my soulmate, and since you ran into me during the full moon, I was already struggling not to shift in the middle of the city, and when I saw you, it just kind of hit me that I needed to act on it. I’ve never accepted anyone before, so I didn’t realize it would hurt you.”

“Accepted anyone? What does that mean?” you asked.

“When a werewolf finds his soulmate, he has to formally accept them by marking them – well, it’s not really marking but I can’t think of a better word. It’s when I kissed you last night. It left a scent mark that other werewolves can smell, but the soulmate thing works both ways, so if you don’t accept me it’ll fade over time,” he explained.

“Babe, you’re rambling,” you chuckled.

“And you’re under-reacting,” he replied.

You hummed as you turned over to face away from him. You drew his arms around your waist.

“If you love me, you’ll be the big spoon and let me sleep some more.” You yawned.

“What? Were you even listening just now?” he questioned incredulously.

“Of course. I heard every word. Just-“ You stopped to yawn again. “Just tell me again when I wake up and we’ll talk it over.”

“That was one of the most stressful moments of my life and you’re asking me to do it again? You jerk.” Despite his harsh words, he held you a little tighter and kissed the top of your head.

“I try,” you mumbled.

I think there’s something about asthma that a lot of people without asthma don’t actually get, which is part of why there’s so much stigma against fat people talking about having it from thin people who don’t have it.

Asthma isn’t simply a state of “being out of breath.”

Asthma is a state of your body actually trying to asphyxiate you.

When we talk about the inflammation of air pipes, what we’re actually saying is that the walls of the tubes you breathe through swell up, making those airways smaller.

If you want an idea of what this can feel like, find one of those small coffee stirrer straws and try to breathe through it.

It’s hard.  You’re literally gasping for breath, but it’s not doing any good because the space you have to take air into is so small.

Except on top of that, because the problem is inside your body, you can’t get any relief from just breathing through your nose like you could if you’re doing that experiment.

On top of that, because it’s a problem of inflammation – swelling – the very act of pulling air through those passageways can be painful.

Not to mention, of course, that there’s always the risk of them swelling shut completely.

And asthma attacks can be brought on by any number of things!  Allergies, yes, but “exercise-induced asthma” is, in fact, a real thing.  It’s not an excuse, it is an actual diagnosis wherein the person’s asthma is triggered by physical activity.  For example, I have very moderate asthma, but it can be triggered by something as simple as walking up the stairs in the NY subway system.

“Oh, but Flik!” I hear you say, “How are we supposed to know if someone ACTUALLY has asthma!”

Well, if they tell you they have asthma, chances are that they probably have asthma.

If you still need proof, though, try listening to their breathing after some kind of physical activity.  If you just hear them panting then either they have allergy-induced or cough-variant asthma, or they have perfectly healthy air passages.

If they're wheezing, then either they have exercise-induced asthma, or there’s something else blocking their airways because wheezing is not a healthy reaction to breathlessness.


You pack a salad for lunch. You do not pack a fork. At lunch, you retrieve your salad from the fridge and add dressing. You check the break room, but it appears that the forks have already moved to the new office. Do you:

A. Say fuck it and eat the salad with your hands like a fucking savage

B. Say fuck it, chuck the salad, and get takeout

C. Say fuck it and improvise chopsticks with coffee stirrers

D. Act like an adult human and get forks at the nearest takeout

It’s Real

@letsplaysomethingdifferent | AO3 - Hope you enjoy it! <3 - @fearfrost1211

Panting, Stiles slowly lowered the spray while the wolf watched him with eyes far too human for its lupine face. His heart was pounding, but the fear he’d felt was quickly giving way to other things…things he’s not even sure he could name. Joy? Maybe. Relief? Definitely. Because he only knew one black wolf and if he wanted Stiles dead, he’d have killed him years ago.


Snapshots of life after Derek comes back to Beacon Hills

“Doesn’t it just seem a little strange to you?” Stiles asked twirling the coffee stirrer he was incessantly chewing on and pulling at his collar. His Dad’s office was warm despite it being one of the coolest September’s they’d had in several years.

The sheriff sighed and looked up from the report he’d been attempting to read. “Son, while there’s no limit to the strange that happens in this town, I’m not going to classify the quiet of the last few months as being part of it.”

“But, that’s exactly what I mean! When in the last few years has it been quiet? And now the alpha of this territory has gone off to college and nothing! Nada! If any-”

Keep reading

writtenbymanylies  asked:

Pls tell me you have some tips on how to stay concentrated and not let your thoughts drift to the ever so unstable emotions that are experienced

(yikes i’m pretty bad at that) i suggest something physical to keep yourself grounded? get a fidget cube or a stress ball and focus on that instead of your thoughts. i’m the only person i’ve really come across who does the same, but i like to bite. chew some gum or find something safe (i recommend keeping some plastic straws on hand, or those little coffee stirrers, since they’re harder to chew) to gnaw on.


The Observatory

Had a little gap in posting things, and while I’ve been up to odd bits and pieces, this has taken the lions share of the last couple of weeks’ spare time.

Made (again!) from coffee stirrers, superglue and this time a short Pringles tube, this made my brain itch.

I made the ridiculous decision to build this from the doorway out, so the roof instantly became a massive pain to get right. It’s ok for what it’s intended for though, and I’ve really enjoyed the challenge.

Next up is a multilevel piece, with interior, just to see if I can…

Wish me luck!