on mylar

What to do if you suddenly find yourself homeless

FOOD

  • Find your nearest food bank or mission, for food
  • grocery stores with free samples, bakeries + stores with day-old bread
  • different fast food outlets have cheaper food and will generally let you hang out for a while.
  • some dollar stores carry food like cans of beans or fruit


SHELTER

  • Sleeping at beaches during the day is a good way to avoid suspicion and harassment
  • sleep with your bag strapped to you, so someone can’t steal it
  • Some churches offer short term residence
  • Find your nearest homeless shelter
  • Look for places that are open to the public
  • A large dumpster near a wall can often be moved so that flipping up the lids creates an angled shelter to stay dry


HYGIENE

  • A membership to the YMCA is usually only 10$, which has a shower, and sometimes laundry machines and lockers.
  • Public libraries have bathrooms you can use
  • Dollar stores carry low-end soaps and deodorant etc.
  • Wet wipes are all purpose and a life saver
  • Local beaches, go for a quick swim
  • Some truck stops have showers you can pay for
  • Staying clean is the best way to prevent disease, and potentially get a job to get back on your feet
  • Pack 7 pairs of socks/undies, 2 outfits, and one hooded rain jacket


OTHER

  • first aid kit
  •  sunscreen
  •  a travel alarm clock or watch
  •  mylar emergency blanket
  •  a backpack is a must
  •  downgrade your cellphone to a pay as you go with top-up cards
  •  sleeping bag
  •  travel kit of toothbrush, hair brush/comb, mirror
  •  swiss army knife
  •  can opener

Preservation through Poetry:

Tape is Evil

Tape is evil, tape is bad
Tape makes Preservation staff really really mad.
Scotch, masking, duct or the blue one used by a painter,
None of these should be used; you’ll thank us later.
Tape is made of two parts: a carrier and the glue
One will degrade over time, the other too.
The carrier will dry out, crumble and crack,
The adhesive will seep out or lose its tack.
The glue could ooze onto the photos, you see
Or it could fuse the papers, we won’t get them free.
Normally tape would be used for attaching fragments and closing rips.
But this is not the best archival practice, please take these tips.
So what should be used instead, you ask?
We have a couple options, depending on the task.
First, we could mend it using a wheat starch paste,
Which is applied to an archival tissue, with ease, not haste.
The tissue with paste is then laid over the fragment or tear,
Providing stabilization for the paper from handling and wear.
Second, if the page is torn or has fragments abound,
We place them in a Mylar sleeve, so later they can be found.
The sleeve keeps the loose fragments together with the original sheet,
Without all the pieces, this page would be incomplete.
The longevity of the papers and photos are what we guarantee,
Here in the St. Louis Preservation Lab at the NPRC.

To all the young people struggling with loneliness and unrequited love, I just want you all to know that the crush for whom I carried a torch for the last two years of my teens—the one whose disinterest in me as anything more than a friend left me shattered and in tears for my first four semesters of college—just got married in some bullshit white hippie Burning Man-esque wedding ceremony wearing nothing but a top hat and a mylar speedo, and let me tell you, I have never been more grateful for rejection than I am this very moment, because holy shit I dodged a bullet.

45 Days - A Valentine's Drabble

Author: @2momsmakearight

Rating: Teen

Summary: it’s been 45 days since he kissed her for the first time.

Notes: I literally just busted this out as a one-shot. The tense bothers me and clearly there isn’t a beta. It’s crap. But I hope you enjoy!! Happy Valentine’s Day!

++++++

It’s been 45 days since he kissed her in that emergency room with Dick Clark’s voice echoing quietly in the back of his mind….

The television had aired men brave enough to kiss their best girls on live television so surely kissing his best friend should be easier than he was making it. But even still, as the confetti fell in showers down upon the locked lipped lovebirds on the screen, the moment was upon him, and the room closed in around him.

Before he could second guess himself, he’d leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss far more chaste than he had ever envisioned. But she was soft and warm, and his belly had burned in that delicious sensation he had all but forgotten about.

It’s been 45 days since he kissed her for the first time, and 45 days since he kissed her for the *second* time too, when he’d pressed her gently against his door frame as his keys dangled from her fingertips, and his arm had been bound in a sling.

Could he still count that one in his column if she was the one who’d instigated it, and did it really matter when it had finished with his one good hand gripping the flesh of her ass, and her soft moans filling his mouth?

It’s been 45 days since he’d kissed her for the first time, and 44 since he wiped the nervous sweat from his forehead (blaming it on the faulty heat - those damn government pipes) and asked her on a date. A proper date. With table cloths and linen napkins, and if he was lucky maybe he’d get another kiss at the end of the night.

He had been a lucky man that night…

When he cupped her face to kiss her adieu at her door, wanting to taste the sweet wine on her lips he was certain would linger there, their tongues met, and her body had seemingly melted into his. Just as he was about to ask if he could come inside, Mrs. Goodville from next door had interrupted their moment with a stern reminder: “the Holy Ghost goes to bed at midnight, Dana.”

She’d pulled away with a soft snort, and a deep blush, nervously avoiding the eyes of her busybody old neighbor as she brushed non-existent lint from his chest. When the 86 year old woman chose to remain standing in her doorway instead of leaving the two of them to resume their public display of affection, Scully had looked up at him with eyes both apologetic and disappointed, and with a long sigh, he kissed her hand and bid her goodnight.

It was only on the way home that night, that he realized his raging case of blue balls had actually been a blessing in disguise. He could court her. Woo her. He’d waited seven years, and after all of this time they were finally moving in a direction faster than continental drift. That was something. With a toss of his keys in the air, and extra skip in his step, Fox Mulder had fallen asleep that early January night with the image of her blushing cheeks in his mind, and the scent of her perfume clinging to his shirt.

It’s been 45 days since he kissed her for the first time….

…and January turned out to be busier than he had expected. Paperwork and consults had filled the normally quiet month with days spent completely apart from her. She’d gone off to consult on a triple homicide in Oahu of all places, leaving him behind in snowy, chilly Washington, and he’d caught himself lifting his head to tell her something at multiple points in the day, only to be reminded of her absence.

He’d called her one night while she was gone…and for the first time in seven years, he didn’t want to talk about work. He’d wanted to talk about her. For three hours they spoke about nothing and everything all rolled up in the little details the make her *her*.
About her favorite holiday: Christmas, obviously. Favorite dessert: mint chip ice cream. Favorite flower: yellow roses, like Nicky Arnstein gave Fannie Brice. Favorite childhood memory: vacation in the family station wagon up the coast of California. Vanilla or chocolate? Chocolate. Obviously. Silly question, Mulder. Sunrise or sunset? Depends who with. Interesting…

He’d be lying if he said his stomach hadn’t fluttered with that last one.

Softly, he’d told her that he’d like to see both with her one day. Of course he’d already seen both with her in various capacities, but this was different now…so very different.

It’s been 45 days since he kissed her for the first time, and 6 days since he’d greeted her at the airport with a dozen yellow roses, and a sheepish grin. He held her hand in the car on the way to her apartment that night, and had spent the evening curled up on the couch with a single pint of ice cream and dueling spoons, “Funny Girl” in the VCR, and maybe the promise of a sunrise together…

She’d made it to 12:24 before her eyes dropped, and she’d curled softly into his side. He told himself he’d only watch her for two minutes. Two minutes of watching her breathe deeply. Two minutes of watching her face relax as her eyelids twitched in sleep. Two minutes. Just two minutes.

At 1:17 he’d laid her carefully in her bed, pulling the covers over her exhausted body with a lingering kiss on her forehead, and the swelling words about people needing people whispering in the back of his mind.

42 days after he’d kissed her the first time, he got to kiss her again. Was it the fifth, sixth, or one-hundredth time, he couldn’t recall. With an empty bottle of wine between them, and case files strewn to the side he’d pressed her into her carpet and tasted the skin of her neck for the first time; felt the swell of her breast burn into his palm for the first time.

So many firsts still left to be discovered.

It’s been 45 days since he kissed her for the first time, and he finds himself standing in front of the display at the drug store, red and pink swarming his vision in muddled hues of brown to his color-blind eyes. The styrofoam cups balance precariously in his hand as he steps around the fray of frantic men picking over the remnants of the remaining cards, pulling the dying petals from the runt pickings that still remain in the black plastic pails.

With a knowing smile he pays the clerk for their coffee, pulling a red stemmed rose from the impulse-section at the register, and shuffles back to the running car where she greets him with a reproachful shake of her head. Girls are supposed to like red roses on Valentine’s Day, Scully.

“Mulder, Valentine’s Day is a contrived holiday by the greeting card and chocolate companies, meant to reduce the idea of romantic love to one special day full of Mylar balloons, chalky candy hearts and cheesy messages on cards,” she tells him with a lift of her brow.

He shoots her a smile as he keeps his eyes focused on the red light in front of him. “Can’t a guy buy his girlfriend a flower no matter the day?”

The light turns green. And her cheeks turn pink.

He catches her smelling the rose four times on the six minute drive back to the FBI building 45 days after he kissed her for the first time…

Not that he was counting.

halerogers  asked:

valentine's day fic prompt: first anniversary <3

This was supposed to be a short little ficlet but it turned into an almost 6k mess, so I hope you enjoy it, Charlie! (also on ao3!)

Derek had never celebrated an anniversary before. At least, not an anniversary for a romantic relationship.

In the past, he had never had the opportunity nor the necessity to. But now that he was dating Stiles, and had been for exactly a year now, he finally did.

Precisely a decade ago, way back in high school, he had only ever dated one person seriously and that had been Paige. Despite the fact that they had been together for several months, they had never celebrated an anniversary.

They had been too busy making out behind the bleachers and passing love notes and secretive looks in class, too preoccupied with being stupid teenagers to worry about anniversaries. Not when they could be focused on thinking about the next time they could slip away to some vacant broom closet or the backseat of a friend’s car.

And then Derek had made one of the worst, most disastrous decisions of his life, getting the idea in his head that things would be so much better if his girlfriend was a werewolf like him. Poor Paige had ended up dead, buried in the middle of the woods away from her family and friends in an unmarked grave by the Nemeton.

The only anniversary present she ever got from him was a funeral bouquet.

He had no anniversary to speak of with Kate. They had never even really been dating in the first place. It had taken him a long time, years, as a matter of fact, to finally realize that.

She had just been using. A much older woman seducing a vulnerable, naive teenager, manipulating him with sex for her own gains.

Unfortunately, it was only after the fire and years of intensive therapy that he realized she was nothing more than a monster.

It was almost the exact same situation with Jennifer, or rather Julia or whatever the hell her real name was. All she had done was use him for her own nefarious purposes, using a bit of dark magic to help her turn him into a pawn.

Luckily, he had come to terms with the fact that she too was nothing more than some kind of heartless monster. He wasn’t sure if it hurt more or less that time.

But it was different with Stiles. They were dating. Really dating. And it was wonderful. He didn’t think he had ever been happier.

After the frankly terrifying ordeal with the Nogitsune, the whole debacle nearly costing Stiles his life, Derek had finally mustered up enough courage and gall to act on his feelings for the beautiful, brave, infuriating boy. Steeling his nerves with a deep breath, Derek had thrown caution to the wind and strode right up to Stiles, carefully grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and kissing the daylights out of him.

Looking back, Derek had to admit that his timing had been absolutely terrible considering the fact that they had been in the middle of a crowded hospital room, right in front of the Sheriff and the rest of the pack. Admittedly, he hadn’t thought much about that, too busy making sure that Stiles knew how much he cared about him.

And if that meant that they shared their first kiss in front of all of their loved ones then so be it. He certainly didn’t regret it. Especially since shortly thereafter they had begun officially dating.

With turnabout being fair play, a few days after their first kiss, Stiles had strolled up to him in the middle of an important pack meeting to grab him by the lapels and tug him into a deep kiss. The chorus of raucous wolf whistles and fake gagging from the pack that greeted their kiss did absolutely nothing to detract from how meaningful and amazing it was.

Pulling back from the kiss, his big brown eyes still closed as he licked his lips, Stiles whispered a soft request, inquiring if Derek would like to go out to dinner with him sometime, maybe that upcoming Saturday. Derek had eagerly, suggesting one of the local Mom and Pop diners that he knew Stiles loved, drinking in the smile on Stiles’ gorgeous face with a beaming grin of his own when he said yes.

And now, exactly a year into their relationship, Derek was busy making preparations for what was both his and Stiles’ first anniversary and the first anniversary he had ever gotten to celebrate.

Keep reading

1.

A hummingbird flies into a window
that looks like the sky. Everything around here

looks like the sky. The sky looks tiger striped.
They call that kind of cloud

something. I know somebody
who knows about clouds. I could find

out the name. Everything around here
has a name.

2.

The hummingbird fell to the deck. My husband picked it up.

—What did it feel like in your hand?
—Nothing. It felt like nothing.
—Where is it now?
—Gone.
—Dead?
—Not dead. It flew away. It disappeared and it disappeared again.

3.

I’ll tell you a joke. A hummingbird flew into a window…

I’ll tell you another joke. Treachery,
we were friends once.

4.

In dreams the bird
weighs more, so you can feel it

when you pick it up. So when
it dies it seems

like something actually happened.
It’s a word

bound
around your hand and a sign

at the stripped road.
A mylar star on a plastic stick

tied to the sign.
Blacktop. Post. A fat star’s

wrinkles
taut. It’s stuffed.

It’s shining.
There’s going

to be a party around here somewhere.
The bird weighs nothing waits nowhere.

The sky looks like a window and it flies right through.

—-

Tigers

Melissa Ginsburg

for Erik Lemke (1979-2012)

—-

Graphic - Martin Wittfooth

Hey Ya

Title: Hey Ya

Summary: Dean and Donna have a fight. The Trickster takes advantage of it.

Author:  Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Characters: Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum

Word Count:  4474 (includes song lyrics)

Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of blood

Author’s Notes:  This was written for @melbelle45 Dirty Pop Challenge. My song was Hey Ya by Outkast. This is partially based on a question Richard Speight, Jr. was asked at the Phx Con 2016. Who would his character (Gabriel/Trickster) take to the Supernatural prom? His answer was Sheriff Donna. Also, Speight said at ATL Con 2016 that Gabriel kicked the Trickster out of that body - head canon accepted.

Originally posted by rhetthammersmithhorror

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