#tar pond

[possible-streetwear]

[bizarrobrain]

"Please" by Tar Pond - From "Protocol of Constant Sadness" (2020)

[fieriframes]

[Smile for the camera, pretty little Sydney Tar Ponds.]

[balrogballs]

I wish you would write a fic where Gil-galad knows he is going to die confronting Sauron.

this one got away with me! just a quick note i’m going off fanon characterisation as i haven’t seen RoP yet!

“I have made my decision,” Gil-galad says, as calmly as he can manage. “Take the ring. Now. ”

Elrond does. The sound of his not-breathing seems to echo about the camp. Gil-galad is looking at Elrond in the reflection of the pond, like he’s a bloodstain, spilling into the water. Terror looks out of place on the half-elf’s features, long dark hair sticking to the sides of his face like cracks; turns his features from marble into something unrecognisable, more primordial, something borne out of a violent act. Like sawdust.

Elrond used to smile so easily. He used to laugh with his entire body, loud enough to fill every corner of a room. He used to joke with Elros, sing with his fellow officers in taverns; he used to be star-bright, untouchable and yet now Gil-galad has touched him, held a ring to his hand and placed the future in it, and what good could ever come of that?

How much poison lives in my fingers? wonders Gil-galad.

Enough to cause Elrond to pale, he realises, to wither from elf to man, who shudders and begs, who says please, who says my king, please, please stay, where once he would have taken on the future like it’s a game. Gil-galad cannot stand it. He’d take back the ring just to see this terrified creature vanish. To no longer feel like the very reason, the sole cause of Elrond Peredhel’s long, slow shattering across another three thousand years.

“My king,” Elrond is stammering, still wide-eyed and unable to take his eyes off the ring. “Please. There is no need to give this to me. There is no need to give it to me yet. Please. You have to use it. Dawn will bring danger, you know that Sauron’s forces —

“You will take the ring,” Gil-galad says. “Today. Now. The eve of the battle. Not later, not tomorrow. Now.”

A strange, stern look has settled upon his face, like he’s giving an order. Like he’s giving his final order. He’s gone very still, his face frozen into that cold, kingly stern-ness, like a death mask. Not Gil his almost-friend, his jolly superior, the bane of Elros Tar-Minyatur’s antics, no, this mask was Gil-galad was an Elven king. It makes Elrond want to slap him, slam him into the wall and shove the ring back onto his finger.

“Who decreed that?” is all Elrond asks. His voice chokes him.

“I did,” the king’s glare falters again. His throat tightens, begins to turn him into Gil again.

“Why? Why me? Why not another, why not Oropher? Why not Celeborn?”

“Because I command it,” and he is Gil here, in all his fierce, desperate bleakness. He grasps his herald’s fingers, as if it makes a difference. “Because someone like you, Elrond, is meant to outlive us all.”

[reminiscingtonight]

Reunions

Alessia Russo & Reader (Leah Williamson x Bronze!Reader)

Word Count: 713

A/N: Started this after the transfer news. Finished after Alessia's semi-final goal. Seems fitting to add it the Setbacks Universe

[Setbacks Masterlist] // [WOSO Masterlist]

The last couple months have been a rollercoaster. 

After working through your injury, you’ve bounced back with a vengeance, all the weeks you’ve spent cooped up translating to endless bounds of energy on the field. 

There’s no other way to describe the second half of the season than constant ups and downs. 

Arsenal beat out Chelsea for the Conti-Cup title. 

Your girlfriend tore her ACL.

You sold out the Emirates for the Champions League semi-final.

You lost the Champions League semi-final. 

And then you got called up for the freaking World Cup.

It’s definitely a bittersweet feeling, being called up to live your dreams while your girlfriend is stuck watching on the sidelines. But Leah’s quick to reassure you of how much you deserve it. Of how proud she is of you.

You thought making the world cup squad would be the highlight of your year. The peak of this year of ups and downs.

You never accounted for one Alessia Russo.

July 4th might be America day to those living across the pond, but July 4th will always be “Alessia Russo joins Arsenal” day to you.

“So.”

Blue eyes look up at you, narrowing with good reason. There’s a devious look in your eyes as you plop down next to one of your best friends. 

“Missed us that much, huh?�� 

Alessia’s dressed in Arsenal gear, having just finished her photoshoot and making her rounds around the training ground. You lit up the second the blonde opened the door to the physio room, you having had accompanied Leah to her appointment, and you haven’t left Alessia’s side since.

Alessia rolls her eyes. “Lotte maybe. You? Not so much.”

“Ouch, you wound me,” you gasp, hands clutching at your heart.

Of course you’ve been aware of all of the rumors floating around. Alessia Russo to Arsenal everyone said, the media, the fans. Everyone but the one person who actually mattered. 

Despite all of your probing, Alessia refused to tell you where she was actually headed to after her contract with Manchester United ended. 

You were just starting to entertain the idea of her following her ex-Manchester teammate to Barcelona when Alessia finally spilled the beans. Not even Leah’s injured form could stop you from lifting and twirling your girlfriend around when you got the news. Leah had simply laughed at you, telling you to put her down.

And now you’re here. Sitting in the oh-so familiar locker room, with someone who’s also oh-so familiar, just not familiar with this side of the field.

“I can’t believe it. The Tar Heel gals, back together again.”

Alessia snorts at the phrase, remembering when she shouted that upon your late addition to the Lionesses senior squad.

“Only this time we get to do it at Arsenal.”

“The better reds,” you nod in return, laughing when Alessia shoves you back in retaliation. Alessia might be a gunner now, but you know she’ll always have a soft spot for her childhood team.

“Babe, leave her alone.”

The sight of Leah making her way into the locker room has your face breaking out into a smile, but something akin to a whine is quick to break out of your mouth at her warning. “But Leah! Lessi is--”

The sight of a perfectly crafted eyebrow raising at you has you shutting your mouth with a click.

“Lessi is what?” Alessia eggs you on, laughing at the face you pull at her. 

Leah ignores the disgruntled look you shoot her way, sighing at your dramatics. “The two of you are children.”

“Well this child gets to go home with you,” you point to yourself. “That child is banned from… ” you trail off, trying to think hard of something to stay. 

It’s Alessia’s muffled laughter that has you blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Alessia’s banned from ever meeting Winnie!”

The silence that follows is very telling.

Leah avoids eye contact while Alessia looks all too gleeful.

You gasp, pointing an accusing finger at Alessia. “You’ve already met Win?! They wouldn’t let me meet her until I my second month here!”

.

The three of you run into Win on your way out.

Leah has to try not to laugh when Win nearly knocks you over to get to Alessia.

[puff0o0]

So.. that thing with Ghost?, sayin he's as Clingy as a Slime rancher slime.. Yeah you just gave me a beautiful idea. Sooo Slime Rancher!141, But intead of it being 'Taskforce' its 'Tar force' and they basically do a large clean up of Tars all over their area/ranch. Price being the oldest Rancher of 141 and Ghost the newest. Aaa I just love the idea of them having their own little unique Slimes, lowkey seein Gaz have a whole array of slimes that he finds endearing!

OH MY GODFDDDDDD

@cutenote @shoukiko thought you two may like this

Price

☆ Okay so this guy being the oldest rancher (not by much, but still with so much experience)?? Love that idea

☆ He would definitely have favorite slimes, those being pink slimes because of their simplicity (and they don't cause too much of a ruckus) and phosphor slimes. They help light the way when he's out late at night

☆ He would adore going on late night walks with you, hunting for some more slimes or clearing up tar. I have the hc that he enjoys wood carving and has definitely carved a small wood figurine of your favorite slime

Ghost

☆ Him being the newest yet somehow managed to be on of the best in such a short time? The slimes love him but the chickens hate him :( he doesn't know why

☆ His favorite slime is the tabby cat slime, he likes how micheveous they are and how much they move around (and he just likes cats but that's not the point) He has Gaz feed the chickens because they refuse to be fed by him 😢

☆ He would enjoy doing activities with you during the daytime and resting with you at night. He loves taking care of the slimes with you and always makes sure your energy is up and you aren't hurt

Gaz

☆ Everyone loves him. Every single slime, every single chicken, everyone. Literally captures slimes in seconds because they already trust him after about 5 minutes,,, Chickens adore him, they eat more whenever he's the one feeding them

☆ Very protective over the chickens, hates whenever he comes back and sees them gone :( He has names for them and everything. His favorite slimes are the water slimes 🩷 Loves taking care of them in their little ponds

☆ Taking care of the chickens and water slimes with you? Favorite thing for him to do. He'll joke around and throw water at you, leading the water slimes to shoot water back at him (he never learns his lesson)

Soap

☆ Has so much fun chasing down chickens and saving them. Has even more fun chasing down slimes. He likes the huge ones and the ones that cause more ruckus and are harder to catch because of the huge sense of pride it gives him

☆ Favorite slimes are the lava slime and Gold slime, mainly because of how the lava slime heats him up in winter and how hard it is to catch the gold slime. Has names for them and treats them like his kids

☆ He likes going on walks with you and doing work while you two hold hands and talk or resting somewhere and eating while you recharge your energy

[teecupangel]

Do you know about the game Slime Rancher? It's has a ton of really cute slimes and it's a very chill game. Just imagine if Desmond, being such a badass assassin, wakes up as a pile of cute sentient slime. XD Maybe alongside his ancestors and then Desmond sees Clay, who is the slime rancher, just scooping them all up to put them in a pen to collect and sell their poop. ^^

Well, at least they get fed everyday and don't have to worry about Tar slimes, so this is okay. Altaïr, stop trying to jump out the pen, please. Ezio! Stop hogging all the food! Ratonhnhaké:ton, stop laughing and help me!

I got a Slime Rancher Desmond ask before and I wasn’t that familiar with Slime Rancher before so it was more or less a setup where Desmond is an actual slime that can morph his appearance to his liking and it was set in the Third Crusades so, for this one, we’re going for full on Slime Rancher AU where Clay himself has been transmigrated to…

The last game he played!

Clay had been testing out an incomplete version of Slime Rancher as an alpha tester before he got the mission to infiltrate Abstergo so he didn’t know all of the ‘new’ and improved mechanics from the barebone game he had tested back then.

He does know that to live in this world, he would have to make use of slime poops (that they call plorts apparently).

So Clay sets up a pretty much adequate ranch and even manages to get enough slimes to give him plorts that would cover for his living expenses, the expenses of taking care of the slimes and have enough to save up for stuff he might need or might want.

Along the way, he finds out that there is no way out of this world.

Whether this was meant to be some kind of digital afterlife his digital self had gotten himself into or if this was some sort of strange reward for his ‘contributions’ to the Calculations, Clay has no idea.

He doesn’t mind though.

It was kinda relaxing and his slimes were doing all pretty docile as long as they get fed.

Clay makes sure they get fed and even gave them small houses… mostly because he had been bored.

His slime ranch was also growing and he has enough funds to expand the ranch itself, maybe include a separate enclosure for the next slimes he’d tame or maybe even get a new pond so he can get more puddle slime.

He should probably do something about those four troublemakers though.

Of course it had to be the three slimes named after Seventeen’s ancestors that would cause a bit of mischief in this peaceful ranch.

Altaïr the Quantum Slime was using one of his clones to jump out of the pen again and get to the Phase Lemons that Clay had planted for the damn thing.

Ezio the Crystal Slime was by the edge of the pen as well and Clay was sure that damn slime was going to make a break for Clay’s stash of Odd Onions the moment all hell breaks loose and Altaïr had managed to infiltrate the Phase Lemons.

And surrounding both of them are Connor the Hunter Slime (look, Clay tried but he can’t remember Connor’s real name, alright?) and Desmond the Gold Slime, looking like they were egging Altaïr on or trying to stop him.

Clay was betting on the first.

There was a reason why they were the only Slime of their kind.

Their food were hard to get and they were the troublemakers of the ranch.

But still…

Clay couldn’t hate them.

Why should he?

They were just slimes after all.

Altaïr the Quantum Slime:

Ezio the Crystal Slime:

Ratonhnhaké:ton (called Connor by Clay) the Hunter Slime:

and…

Desmond the Gold Slime:

[crushedsweets]

What’s something you want to talk about creeps wise but you’ve talked about it so much it will get repetitive I need another one of your talks it’s like drugs

anon i think youve asked me this before and it was literally my favorite ask and i was(and still am) so excited to answer it because i love being given the opportunity to just talk and talk and talk but everytime i come to answer you.... I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO SAY. HAHAHA. so im just gonna say stuff and see where my train of thought goes

i really want to start expanding on dina/zalgo's role in the story, cuz as of right now its sorta just... zalgo wants to leave the forest, all his proxies have been major failures, but now. now. suddenly, he infects dina, and she listens. and she fucking hates everyone in that forest so much. so finally, after all this time, he's got a "proxy" - and shes pretty strong LOL . she only listens cuz she wants to kill lazari and everyone who protects her though, and in her completely foggy mind, she believes zalgo is god. and she is a very religious girl

hmmm... ummm.... what else............

i wanna get better at expanding on different relationships. i keep sticking with the creepjects (toby, nina, nat, kate, and sometimes jack) but i wanna mix it up more.

a trio i used to have in my AU was kate, lulu, and ann! i think i should revisit that. i mostly did it cuz the mine(where kate is) and the hospital(where lulu/ann are) are very close to eachother but its still canon(to my au) that kate is largely in charge of the hospital, cuz the guys hate seeing lulu/ann. they creep them out like crazy

UMMMM.... i think ive touched on it a few times but its been a while. slendermans body is hooked on stalagmites in the mines. he's practically melting into this pond of tar and coal. breathing in the fumes results in slender sickness, which is why the mine/forest got blocked off by the govt way back in the day. its REALLY fucking powerful and theyre all very lucky slendy just wants to return to hibernation. he is OP. LOL

the tar and coal is the main thing the proxies use for...well, proxy work. they'll get jugs full of the tar and bring it to the cabin to use as ink for pages. they'll mine out a ton of coal and crush it up and put it into pill capsules.

for the pages, they stick them around the forest. it acts as a sort of barrier trapping all the paranormal stuff inside the forest. the only things that can get in and out are ghosts, but the undead/demons/etc are trapped! unless enough pages get torn down . . . which is why slendy/the proxies are so pissy about pages

as for the coal, while they all take medication for different things (usually illegally attained), these pills are what keeps their slender symptoms down. which sucks cuz the pills are also what makes them worse. you can eventually get off of them, but it's some of the worst fucking withdrawal symptoms ever

when natalie got the operator sickness, toby gave her these pills to soothe the pain and everything - and he was so excited cuz he thought she was so badass and he couldn't wait to have her on the proxy team. only to find out slenderman didnt want another proxy, he was satisfied with his four. overtime, her symptoms lessened and she was left alone by slenderman. the proxies were pissed for different reasons (toby wanted her to work with him, tim/brian were envious that she got to escape, kate....didnt care actually). everytime clocky sees kate/toby having a slender episode, she is so beyond grateful slendy didnt want her

ok i need to stop cuz i said i'd do homework after answering some asks omg

[possible-streetwear]

[rjzimmerman]

Good story from Yale Environment 360, without a paywall (I think), about beavers, public land, wildfires, endangered species, the largest beaver dam in the world, the degradation of that land and the large pond behind the dam due to the tar sands mining activity in the vicinity. In other words, a microcosm of all the bad stuff and good stuff intersecting in one place in Canada. Excerpt from this story:

Wood Buffalo National Park, the largest national park in Canada, covers an area the size of Switzerland and stretches from Northern Alberta into the Northwest Territories. Only one road enters it from Alberta, and one from the NWT. If not for people observing it from airplanes and helicopters, and satellites photographing it, little would be known about big parts of it. The park is a variety of landscapes — boreal swamps, fens, bogs, black spruce forests, salt flats, gypsum karst, permafrost islands, and prairies that extend the continent’s central plains to their northern limit. The wood buffalo in the park’s name are bison related to the Great Plains bison. In this remoteness, the buffalo descend from the original population, and the wolves that prey on them are also the wild originals. Millions of birds summer and breed here. The park holds one of the last remaining breeding grounds of the whooping crane.

Other superlatives and near-superlatives: the delta in the park’s southeast where the Peace River and the Athabasca River come together is one of the largest freshwater deltas in the world; last summer, some of Canada’s largest forest fires burned in the park and around it; and — just inside the park’s southern border — is the largest beaver dam in the world.

The dam is about a half-mile long and in the shape of an arc made of connected arcs, like a recurve bow. The media has known about it for 16 years, and in that time no bigger beaver dam has come to light, so it’s still known as the biggest, and scientists believe it almost certainly is. Animal technology created it, but human technology revealed it.

Many of the beavers that have reestablished themselves globally are descended from beavers that were planted by wildlife biologists. The thriving beaver population of Tierra del Fuego (another place Thie has studied) is descended from beavers brought to Argentina from Canada’s Saskatchewan River, who are themselves scions of beavers transplanted from upstate New York. No reintroduction of beavers was done in Wood Buffalo Park. Thie believes that the beavers who built the dam are of original stock. Like the wood buffalo and the wolves, they were too remote to be wiped out.

The park is suffering the worst drought in its history. Flows are down by half in many places, owing to climate change, water diversion, poor seasonal snowpack, and dams on the Peace River, upstream in British Columbia. A danger that seems inescapable comes from the oil sands that are being mined for crude-oil-containing bitumen, and from tailing ponds that hold trillions of liters of mine-contaminated water. The ponds are near the banks of the Athabasca River, just upstream from the park boundary. They are fatal to birds that land on them. Given the direction that water flows, conservationists and native people fear the tailings will pollute the park eventually. Toxic chemicals have already been found in McClelland Lake, just southeast of the park. Locals stopped taking their drinking water from the lake years ago.

Gillian Chow-Fraser, the boreal program manager for the Northern Alberta chapter of the Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society, in Edmonton, travels in the park often by helicopter, canoe, and foot. She has described the park’s environment as “super degraded.” When I spoke with her by phone not long ago, she talked about a recent tailing basin leak that was not reported to the First Nations downstream of it for nine months. In places that used to flood regularly but now don’t, the land is drying out and vegetation disappearing. Though she crisscrosses the park, she has never seen the world’s largest beaver dam, but she’s grateful that it’s there and bringing the park attention.

[lunelised]

Gaslit isolation

A tart taste of dripping tar

is what left of my wrecked memories.

Gaslit isolation forced upon my will.

F*ck it.

Honestly,I dont know what to say.

All the words seem pointless

when you are pruned to the core.

Maybe I did have something to say

back then,

Maybe that is why I chose to step into that hole,

A shit smelling hole filled with dirt,

I felt like that was the perfect place for me to dwell in.

Poppy serpents bursting out of my veins,

I pulled them out,

but they kept blooming.

Not gonna lie,

It was beautiful.

Maybe that is the reason why

Burning poppies felt so satisfying,

Every time felt like the first time,

Inhaling poppy spirit,

I hoped they would steal my breath,

except it felt bigger, stronger, deeper.

Poppies grew vivid and solid,

leaving my reason behind,

We were levitating into the haze.

My memories are blank white, erased,

blinded by the light of panic, dizziness and sweat.

Shot the things that seemed too heavy,

I am no heavy lifter,

I am a shooter,

but I dont shoot stars,

I swallow them.

Looking from a safe distance,

I stay muted.

My mouth glued,

and there is no-one provoking me

to tear it bleeding.

To choke on your own blood,

A prey who acts like a predator,

Eye for an eye,

Against the mirror,

a looser who plays with his own c*ck.

Konrad in wonderland,

Stuck between the walls of a bog,

somewhere rotten and f*cked up.

what did I learn

from the magic surrounding me?

The sun could be drown

in the pond under my feet,

and the moon is nothing

but a blurry hallucination

before knocking off.

I don’t know

what the f*ck I am supposed to say,

my lips parted,

my brain - departed.

There is a smell

of something rotten in this room,

and the air is heavy.

I pretend I cannot ignore

the suffering of the bleeding clouds,

Stuffed sky is waiting for the night

to heal its scratches.

I pretend like I don’t find it beautiful,

like it doesn’t make me sentimental,

like it doesn’t remind me of myself back then.

And I knew what happens to j*rks like me,

and I hoped for serpent to swallow me alive,

Digest my wretched hopes,

Dissolve my pathetic dreams.

But it didn’t.

Instead, it vomited me unprocessed.

Like Cobain, I found friends in my head.

Voices on the wall,

splattered faces on the blue tiles,

A blinking light in the tunnel of their eyes,

watching and judging,

as if they know the fix,

as if they know the answer

to which I keep a blind spot.

You are a washed away watercolour illustration,

once oil painted masterpiece.

A stoned sculpture of a lost m*ther f*cker

Stuck in between poppy graves and star cradle.

[secondarysefikura]

Move over Shinra you ain't got SHIT on the Sydney tar ponds.

[sebastianstansqueen]

Lost In The Shadows: Part Three

A/N: If you want to be Tagged, either send an ask or comment on this or click on Taglist open.

Wordcount: 1,306

Warnings:  Angst, drinking, mentions of death, past abuse, but I think that is all actually

Masterlist // Series Masterlist // Taglist open// 

Tags: @cherryblossomsky - - @babylooneytoonz - @wonderlandfandomkingdom - @miraclesoflove - @amelia-song-pond - @leyannrae - @avengerlex - @pineprincess - @nik2write - @dorothea-hwldr - @rosie-posie08 - @scxrletrecsmarvel - @sebsgirl71479 - @missvelvetsstuff - @hadesownhell - @casa-boiardi - @winterslove1917 - @hallecarey1 - @ash-craze - @barnesxstan - @unaxv -

Y/n paced in the back and forth in the back of the large venue wearing a gorgeous billowing dress, with fluffy sleeves, she chose this dress. “What if this was something I decided on a whim?” She asked Natasha, as she continued her back and forth path. 

Natasha shook her head. “Y/n, I love you but it’s a little late to be contradicting your choices.” They did a proposal dinner, and the practice dinner the night before, and now Y/n had butterflies. James had been distant at both events, she knew it was obviously because of what happened at Inferno a few months ago, a lot of his things have already gotten to Y/n’s family’s compound. 

“I know, but it’s scary everytime.” Y/n said the excuse is a way to help her anxiety. 

Natasha came up to stop her friend from making a track on the carpet. “Y/n, sit down, take a breath, look I can help you run get you out of the states for a bit.” She winked and nudged  Y/n. 

“I have to do this, I made this choice. I'm going through with it.” She sighed just as doors to the left opened. 

“I’ve been looking for the two of you everywhere.” Wanda says out of breath. “Come on, it’s about to start and we’ve gotta get out there.” 

Bucky, stood alone at the altar waiting for the doors to open and to see Steve along with whoever Y/n chose as a maid of honor. As the doors open his eyes go up, first Steve walked down with a woman with light red hair, after them is Sam, along with the bartender from Inferno, his brows furrowed, after the two of them it was his young niece, she began to take a few petals and let it fall down on the ivory rug, and then Y/n made her way down alone, her side of the isle contained mainly friends, and cousins but a large chunk of the back on her side were notable families. 

The ceremony was normal, we gave the vows provided by the officiant, as we held hands, at the end of that we made our way into a room in the back of the venue to sign the legal document, and after that they moved to the reception, where family wanted to take pictures, with the newly weds. At the end of the reception, both of them changed into more comfortable clothing. Bucky wore white pants with a black button up and Y/n wore a simple short satin dress with a square neckline and an inch or two sized straps over her arms. They walked down the walkway to a white SUV, Bucky opened the door for Y/n to get in first and then him, before he closed it. Y/n sat with her flowers in her lap as the car pulled away with Andy driving. The ride was silent, but as they pulled up to a tar mac, Y/n got out, Bucky got out with his brows furrowed. “What are we doing here?” He asked her. 

“We’re going on a honeymoon.” She said as she was already heading up the stairs of the jet, as people grabbed luggage from the trunk of the large car. 

Bucky made his way up and into the main seating area, Y/n had already gone somewhere and was nowhere to be found, he sat down randomly, just trying to relax for the first time that day, as the steps were put up, and the engine started Y/n came out from the pilot pit, and sat down. The plane was fully silent, eventually one of the attendants walked up, with a drink. “What is it?” Bucky asked the woman with bright blond hair.

“Don Julio 1942, Mis.Car-Barnes had the plane stocked up with more if this isn’t quite what you want.” She smiled as she spoke, Bucky took the glass she had offered originally. 

 “Could you, bring out a few of the bottles, and have the staff leave me and Y/n for a little bit.” He told her before she left she nodded a moment later she came out with another woman carrying four options of alcohol, he smiled and took one, he would give this one more try.

He walked up carrying two glasses, and a bottle for them. She had her full attention on her laptop, as she intensely typed and she occasionally typed stuff on her phone, he sat down next to her, puring the two drinks. “What are you doing?” She asked, looking at him with furrowed brows. 

“I want to get to know you, at least a little before we're locked in a house together.” He joked lightly, her face reminded of the same. 

“James.” She sighed out. “I’ve gotta work, I don’t really catch breaks.” 

Bucky shook his head. “Ten minutes and a few drinks.” He wanted to come to an agreement. 

She sighed and turned away from the screen giving him her full attention, he closed the laptop with his hand, and handed her the cup, with clear liquid, she threw it back easily. “So are we gonna sit in silence or are you gonna ask me a question?” She arched her brow as she poured another, little bit bigger drink. 

Y/n didn’t care at this point she, wanted  to get a little wasted on her wedding night, especially after the stressful morning, so, James pulling her away from work provided a good excuse, the burn of alcohol never really bugged her so as she waited for the first question she sipped on the drink and waited for something to start hitting. “Tell me about you, your last marriage I don’t know, I just don’t want to be married to a stranger.” He explained. 

“My marriage, to Henry, was.” She thought for a moment, she wasn’t just gonna open up and say that on her last honeymoon in a jet similar to this one going in a completely different direction, there was a glass table and as soon as they landed she had to be hurried to the hospital. “Intense, lots of responsibilities, he was an older man.” Who still had ten times more strength than her at the time of their marriage. 

“Okay.” He nodded, taking what little he could from the short sentences. “What do you like to do? Other than work.” 

She arched her brow. “I mean, I don’t really know, I used to read a lot, and draw, I like music too.” She shrugged, taking a long drink out of the glass she held. “Tell me about you, I know about the car, I’ve taken a few looks at it since it’s arrived, it looks well done, from what I saw inside and out.” 

“You know about cars?” He arched his brow and she nodded slightly.

“Yeah, when I was younger, the family mechanic usually would come to the compound, sometimes I’d find myself in the garage, and he would show me the safer stuff, but yeah I know a thing or two.” She nodded with what she was saying. “I wouldn’t say I’m an expert but I know what I need to get by.”

“I’ve had that car since I was a teenager, I got that as my first car.” He explained why it was so sentimental.

“Why did you move to Indiana?” She asked casually. 

“I think, I’ll wait till you're willing to open up more till I tell you about that.” He threw back another drink of his own. “When are we gonna land?” 

 “I would suggest getting settled in, we’ve been in the air for an hour, we still got another eight.” She smiled out from behind her glass, before drinking the rest.

[birgittesilverbae]

the thing about liandrin is that she's meant to be a bit of a joke. it's that she's trying desperately to come off as someone more well-bred than she is, better educated than she is, and falling short at every turn without understanding where she's going wrong. she gets away with it to an extent when she's one of the big fish in a small pond (book: the thirteen vs the wondergirls; show: the logain hunters) but the moment someone with more weight to throw around comes on the scene it becomes readily apparent just how far out of her depth she truly is, and that she has no way at all to accommodate for it (book: anaiya and moiraine shutting her the fuck down in fal dara, moghedien taking over the thirteen; show: moiraine shutting her the fuck down in tar valon).

honestly, she'd be a lot more terrifying if she weren't trying so hard to play a part, and badly. instead, she's the definition of an early-series villain who gets quickly outpaced by heroes getting learning buffs and much more powerful villains taking over.

[pepperoniandmeatballs]

☆Bathtub Breakdowns☆

An angsty fic about our favorite skeleton Killer! Basically a debrief on what goes on in his head when he's not feeling his 100% silliness!! He's just a girl.

But I wanna mention a big WARNING for SHELF HATEFUL THOUGHTS, VOMIT, GAGGING, SUICIDAL IDOLATION, VERY BAD COPPING SKILLS, REFERENCES TO HYPER SEXUAL TENDENCIES, DRUGS AND ROMANTICIZING NOT SO GREAT STUFF. Please please stay safe guys and if you prone to like idk manifest these kinds of things don't read. Like seriously.

But anyway, In my opinion it's not that bad but it does have some triggering topics soooo ya... be careful?

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Trembling fingers frantically scatter agaisnt cool metal as he heaves. Mouth full with black tar, he gags and wretches all over himself. Spilling his insides down the drain like black goopy rain. White hot pain travels through magical veins like fire as he messily carves more diagonal lines up fractured wrists. The cuts are so deep HP dwindles like falling snow, however he's not cutting to kill. He's cutting to feel.

Killer can't even see how crooked and messy they are as they overlap each other creating a thick pool of blood that fully covers the whites of his marrow. It gives him a little rush of power that fuels his left hand into continuing. Because this is him. He's the one breaking himself beyond repair not others. He's the reason he's bleeding, shaking and draining himself empty. Its all his fault. And that very thought makes him laugh in a manic display. It's a weak attempt of control but it works. It works so good he loses himself in the movement.

Hours before his recent endeavor, he sits in the infirmary shrouded in guilt beyond himself. Horrors by his side, with bandages in one hand and a deep frown in his features. On his left Dust sits by idly, he's red scarf had been pulled down to reveal his mouth, exposing he's scuffed up face as he breathes heavily.

He was the one who had to carry Killer through the woods, up two flights of stairs, past a heavily concerned cross and into the infirmary. So it makes sense why he's panting like a dog.

They're mission was a success but at the cost of Killer's soul being damanged in the process. It hadn't been anyone's fault but his own. He hadn't been paying all that much attention as they entered the A.U. Lost in space, thinking about nothing in particular, which should've been his first red flag. He's always thinking. Something wasn't right and he ignored it like an idiot.

Perhaps he was manic. He never knows it till after, when he has to face the detrimental consequences of his previous actions.

Everything after that was as fuzzy as Cross's cotton gloves as he lurches forward. Thick blotchy black hate paints his lap. He gurgles and gags as he rasps a breath. He feels like he's drowning.

"Gross.."

Dust from all the way across the room grumbles. Horror lays him back down with unsteady hands. Face making a sour expression as he does so. Killer probably looks a wreck as he drowns. Soon a veiw of midnight tentacles fills his blurry vision until he drifts off into a dreamless slumber.

Now, the waters' hot against his bones as blood flows steadily down the drain. It's almost comforting. The way the water trickles down the back of his head, taking blood and vomit with it. They swirl together in a murky pond of crimson. He's wet and cold but he feels. He feels. It makes him crack a little smile as he's arms sting like killer bees because he feels and last night he didn't but now he does. The pain guides and grounds him to a softer place as he leans against the cold, cool surface of the tub.

He'll stay like this, even just for a little while. Atleast till he's back to whoever that person he is with the others. He assumes that is normal killer. Not cutting in the shower to feel an ounce of emotional coexistence killer. As normal as Killer can get, that is. He's erratically unpredictable at best and recklessly bipolar at worse. Even for this castle, that's not normal.

His white shorts are stained red now, he'll just have to throw those away. There's no salvaging the stained. He thinks bitterly as he curls into himself. The water's cold now. He feels numb and tingly. He needs to get up; do something, but at the same time he just doesn't want to. He's body craves it but he'd rather drown in his own filth than twitch he's fingers.

He just doesn't care anymore to pretend, to put on a show, not right now, not here. Here he's alone and painfully sober. Would weed even fix how broken he is right now? A souless addict who's not even real. How pitiful. He's nothing but a bad joke someone found on the bottom of their shoe. A burden for anyone who's had the misfortune of even looking his way. He's a parasite who feeds off others and he's never ever satisfied.

He fills himself with sex and drugs and sweet adrenaline. He burns with a hunger so violent its practically animalistic, the way he's constantly wanting more. Its never ever enough.

He doesn't have a real self anymore, no real personality. The real him died the moment he made that deal. Causing him to became this. This walking, talking, tool for anyone to pick up and use. That's what he wants. To be used, to be manipulated, handled, bended this way and that way till he snaps like elastic. That's why he taunts and taunts. That's why he acts the way he does, to get that delicious response to his fabricated facade.

That's why he clings to the boss so closely. That's why he tests his patience to the absolute thinness. He's an addict to the power play, to the pain, to be played with in such a horrific way it makes his psychotic little mind do flips. He wants to be destroyed by Nightmare's hands and then molded back together just to be broken again. It's sick and twisted but he doesn't care because he's nothing but that. Rottoned and diseased.

Color tries to fix him and he doesn't understand why he still sees a skeleton who onced lived in the same bones he does. And like the miserable leech he is, he uses Color's kindness and feeds off of it. Colors so different from Nightmare and yet it still gives him that same blissful high that leaves him patheticly obsessed.

Without them he wouldn't be here. He's so whole heartily dependent on others that when he's alone he doesn't know what to do with himself. It's sad honestly. How pitiable he is. It should disgust him if he wasn't so disconnected with himself.

"Who's the real killer?"

They mock and laugh at him. All of them secretly hate him. Everyone. They just keep him around to tormet him. Or maybe there just raging masochists like him. How hyperitcal then.

As someone who stands on the edge and let's the wind sway them every which way he understands what it's like to want to die but not commit. Disheartening isn't it? That he rather hide in the bathroom and waste water than step outside and put on another show.

He rather bleed himself out then get up and start the day. He's such a disgrace. Even Dust atleast rolls outta bed and sulks in the living than in his room. Don't get him wrong though, Dust is no better than killer when it comes to this stuff but atleast he has the ounce of decency to not parade himself around and be a nuisance to all.

He wants a cig, anything at all to smother the agonizing emptiness but deep down he knows he doesn't deserve it. Not right now. The water's still running and he's barely bleeding now. He won't die, not like this but he'll be hella sore tomorrow. Lucky for him there's no errands that need to be done so he'll get to cause as much caos as usual.

"This is what you deserve."

While he self-loaths he decides to occupy himself by looking around his restroom. It's simple for Nightmare's gloomy castle. The walls are a deep purple with gold accents here and there with black trimmings. His bulb went out a while back so the room is filled with red candles. Crimson wax drips from them and its funny how much he finds himself relating to those candles. Its not like he needs them, he just likes them and they're dirt cheap. It never gets fully dark anyway, not with killer soul always glowing. It's annoying to say the least but you get used to it over the years.

His bedroom is much smaller than the others and Is the closet to Nightmares study. Sometimes if he's really quiet he can hear him writing. He lets out a breath as he stares at himself through his crooked reflection.

The mirrors glass is cracked due to a violent episode he had months ago. Tore up his knuckles and fractured all his fingers. But it was worth the pain since he got cross to sit down and pick all the individual glass shards out of his hand. Killer can still remember the touch of fingers. How he made him feel delicate and fragile.

Normally he likes things to be intense and rough but on the occasion does he crave passion and vanilla. Something raw that beats lust. Something that leaves him breathless and feeling vulnerable.

He snorts and leans his head back against the tub to stare at the ceiling instead of his mangled display. Stars he's a mess. Wanting love and affection like he deserves that. What a cruel joke.

"So stupid."

He mumbles quietly, it sounds weak even to his own ears. (Ears?) He wonders loosly just how much HP he lost today. Probably quite a bit to feel this shitty. A shitty feeling for a shitty monster. Sounds about right.

He's a murderer, a manipulater, a manic monstrosity. A sadistic freak who puts his life and other endanger just for the thrill. How is he even still alive at this point, because if we're up to him- well you know what he would do. He wouldn't be in the shower sulking around like some kicked mutt.

"Killer?"

He doesn't realize how quiet it got when he heard it. At first he assumed it was just another episode until he heard the timid nock. Cross.

"Hey man, um, you missed breakfast so I brought you some coffee.."

His voice is muffled through the thick door and the sound of the shower but he can still hear that awkwardness in his voice. He's probably picking at fingers too, just like he always does when he's nervous.

"I can leave it by the door but.. Boss says he wants to see you- not now but like, in awile, ok?"

Killer litsens silently. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't trust his vocal chords to not sound like a little bitch.

"Ok... I'll be in the training room, if ya need anything. See ya around Kils.."

He feels bad. Cross in all his degree and cleverness deep down is still a sympathetic solder who tries to do his absolute best. Helping him comrades must be an old habit becuase here that doesn't happen often. When one of are going through it Nightmare's the one who fixes it or distinguish it. The other just try to mind their business and leave the other alone.

But Cross on the occasion will do something small. Like a worried look, or hand in patrol or a damn coffee that killer can smell all the way from the bathroom and fuck does it smell heavenly. Cross is just good like that and it baffles killer how he can find it in himself to care that much. Even if it's a small gesture it still counts and damn does it help.

So now he moves because he doesn't want to not drink something that might help his neverending numbness. He still doesn't deserve it but who gives a fuck. Later he'll steal a Xanax from Dust and see Nightmare with as much normalcy he can pull out of his ass.

With blood soaked fingers he reaches up and turns the sower off. He falls into routine perfectly. Slowly get up, make your way out off the tub without passing out, crawl towards the cabinet, try not make a mess as you fumble with the bandages and wash your hands. All of it, he's done a million times before.

After shucking off his bloodied shorts and damp clothes he heads to his messy closet and grabs a pair shorts, stolen from Cross, and a long sleeve black turtle neck, thanks to Dusts laundry always finding perchase in his room. Normally his long ass gloves are enough to cover everything but his wounds are fresh and he half assed the bandages so.. long sleeves it is. His soul still looks wrecked from last night as it shakes and fizzes around the edges.

He's a mess as he fumbles toward his door. Slowly does he turn the nomb, expecting cross to be hidding out behind a corner or something. When he peeks out he finds the hallway empty. Good. Looking down he finds the mug full of dark brown goodness. Losing his balance he sits down with a thump and snatches the cup with the gracefulness of a drunk.

The door closes with a click and he's left to wallow in this dimly lit room. With a groan he pushes himself against the wall and pulls his knees to his chest. He looks down and stares at the mug.

A mocha Frappuccino, that's what it is. It's obvious Cross made it. It's in his favorite mug, Dusts' mug, nice and cool with messily drizzled chocolate syrup and almond milk. Killer takes a sip and the tight coil in his gut loosens slightly because of hazelnut. Killer loves hazelnut.

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I love putting all my favorite characters through it lol.

Any request for a future fic with Kils? I'm desperate. XP

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[possible-streetwear]