#mug coffee

[claypigeonpottery]

I truly sacrificed to create this ridiculous mug. biting clay is a bad sensory experience 😔 who would have guessed

I’m tempted not to glaze the bite marks so it looks like it was bitten through the glaze lmao

[rachy-chel]

happy tiger mug tuesday

[secretly-a-trekkie]

A tragedy.

[kness]

Taurus mug 🐂♉

Made to order zodiac mugs

[thegoodmorningman]

It is a hell to endure. Good Morning.

[thresholdbb]

Admiral Janeway's adding espresso shots to her coffee black now. Icon behavior

[lazylittledragon]

it felt like AUTUMN today and i’m going into it with my whole pussy so this is a call for everyone to drop me their soup recipes

[chasingrainbowsforever]

~ Colors ~ Brown ~

[scoutingthetrooper]

[claypigeonpottery]

finally made myself a mug

the quote's from @marypsue

[hyydraworks]

Goldfish mugs and trivet 🐟 🌊

[fleur-aesthetic]

instagram | birgittetheresa

[kness]

1 mug, 11 opossums

[deerspherestudios]

Does Mycheal like coffee?

He's more of a tea person! ☕ He wouldn't drink coffee for caffeine since his body isn't affected by it, and he's not much of a fan of the way it tastes. Also oh my god those mugs!!!

[shushmal]

Eddie shakes the foundations of Steve's world on a Sunday evening, at 6:44 p.m.

Steve knows the exact moment because he's standing at the stove, stirring pasta sauce and watching the time to make sure the garlic bread in the oven doesn't burn. It's June and it's hot, and they've got all the windows thrown open to let in a cool breeze. Eddie's sitting at the little kitchen table, probably messing with his D&D game notes, Steve would guess because he's focused on making dinner so it's ready when Wayne gets back from his shift. The three of them will eat together tonight, like they have Sundays past since April, a new little tradition that Steve's always craved to be a part of.

Except, when he turns, after Eddie speaks, he finds Eddie leaned back in his chair, like he's been watching Steve the entire time.

But before that, Eddie says, "I'm in love with you."

Steve stops stirring. The numbers on the stove tell him that it's 6:44 p.m. If he looks, the calendar would tell him it's a Sunday in June. And Eddie just told Steve that he was in love with him.

The numbers change—6:45 p.m.

Slowly, like he's moving through water, Steve turns, looks at Eddie over his shoulder, finds him leaned back, watching, smiling soft and wistful. Steve turns a little more, looking closer.

Has anyone ever looked at Steve like that before?

Eddie's eyes are bright, round and relaxed, as he gazes at Steve, those pretty lips curled up just right, a happy little smile. He doesn't say anything, even though there's only silence between them now. The sauce on the stove simmers, bubbles rising through the thickness to pop in shushed bursts. Steve drops his spoon.

"What?" he asks, turning further now. Steve's bread is going to burn under the broiler and his sauce is going to be scorched if he doesn't focus. He doesn't know what time it is anymore.

"I'm in love with you," Eddie says, again. That smile grows a little more. "I'm so in love with you, Steve Harrington."

And Steve is good at moving on instinct, good at chasing the ball down, good at finding himself in the right spot to make the right decision. He moves now, floats across the little kitchen, until he's in front of Eddie, leaning down, breathing his air, tasting his lips—

Their dinner burns.

[psykhet]