chemical bottles

5

I FORGOT TO POST THIS! AHHHH!!!  Okay, this was a wedding gift for my friend @serialoutput and @blogssuchasthis! They both love steampunk/vintage stuff so I thought I attempt to make a small decorative model (around the size of two palms) with that certain aesthetic. (Books, Candles, goggles, top hat, bottles with multicolor “chemicals”, bookends holding books, and keys.)  I hope you both enjoy it!!

Disclaimer: I am not soooo familiar with the steampunk aesthetic but I really enjoy it!

Materials used:

Polymer clay
Painted Resin
Miniature Bottle
Acrylic paint
Chalk Pastels

Jeffrey Dahmer’s Stuff

Below is a list of stuff found in Jeffrey Dahmer’s apartment, compiled from Lionel Dahmer’s book “A Father’s Story” and an article on Murderpedia:

Food & Drink:
  • Supplements: Yerba Prima, Vita and Anabolic Fuel
  • Doritos and Ruffles Potato Chips
  • Alcohol:
    Bottles of rum and beer cans. Brands: Budweiser, Pabst Blue Ribbon and Miller High Life.

Videos:

  • Movies: “Blade Runner,” “Return of the Jedi” and Exorcist III”
  • Pornographic: “Cocktales,” “Chippendale’s Tall, Dark and Handsome,” “Hard Men II,” “Hard Men III “Rock Hard,” “Peepshow” and “Tropical Heat Wave.”
  • An episode of “The Bill Cosby Show” and a lecture on evolution.

Reading material:

  • Pornographic (Unnamed)
  • four books on caring for fish,
  • King James Bible

Audio cassettes on Creation Science and the Bible and other biblical tapes:

  • “The Genesis Flood”
  • “The Bible, Science and the Age of the Earth”
  • “Numerology and The Divine Triangle”
  • A learning kit of books and tapes in Latin

Music:

  • Motley Crue 
  • Def Leppard’s “Hysteria”


Cleaning Agents & Chemicals:

  • 1 gallon bottle of Clorox bleach
  • Woolworth Pine Cleaner
  • Lysol
  • Odor-sorb
  • 4 boxes of muriatic acid
  • Formaldehyde
  • Choloroform
  • Ether
  • Halcion
  • 6 boxes of Soilex


Miscelleneous items:

  • 3 black-handled forks
  • 2  butcher knives
  • 1 pair of chemical-resistant gloves
  • Handsaw with five detachable blades
  • ¾ inch drill
  • Barbecue sauce
  • Meat tenderizer.
  • Polaroid camera
  • 50 envelopes from Woolworth’s
  • Tube of acne lotion
  • Shaving kit
  • Oral-B toothbrush
  • Lease for apartment 213
  • Library card with Jeffrey Dahmer’s name on it
  • Pair of men’s black nylon shorts
  • Business cards with the name “Lionel Dahmer Ph.D”
  • Large hypodermic needle
  • Contact lense cleaning kit
  • “Ornamental driftwood”
  • Artificial peacock feathers
  • Aquarium with tropical fish
  • Male nudes hanging in bedroom & hallway
  • Computer
  • A guide to learning DOS
  • A blue and white laptop box cover
  • 2 plastic griffins
  • Incense burner
  • Incense sticks
  • Fish food
  • Nickel-plated handcuffs

Bedding:

  • 1 blood-stained white pillow with light blue floral pattern
  • 1 blood-stained pillow with black case
  • 1 blood-stained black fitted sheet
  • 1 blood-stained white mattress cover
  • 1 blood-stained black pillow case
  • 1 blood stained mattress (both sides) with blue floral pattern
Refrigerator:
  • Man’s head in cardboard box
Freezer:
  • 3 plastic bags: 2 had a human heart in them and part of a muscle was found in the third.

Floor-standing freezer:

  • Plastic bag containing flesh and various human internal organs
Hallway closet:
  • 2 human hands in large aluminum kettle
  • Human genitals including penises, testicles and pubic hair region


Bedroom:

      Metal filing cabinet:

  • Top drawer: 3 human skulls on dark blue towel, painted gray to a “marble-like texture.”
  • Bottom drawer: Complete human skeleton with two paper bags: One had dried remains of human scalp and the other dried, mummified genitals
  • Box with a styrofoam lid: 2 human skulls
  • 57-gallon blue plastic drum containing three human torsos in various 
Dresser:
  • Top drawer: 74 photos of bodies in various poses and stages of dismemberment.

Identification cards and driver’s licenses with the following names were found: Oliver Lacy, Tony Hughes and Joseph Bradehoft.

Too Much Chemistry

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Both you and Peter are too distracted during a lab, and well, accidents are bound to happen.

A/N: Gif not mine!! I wrote this to take my mind off of all the stuff that happened today. This was also a request!!! I hope it’s good enough for you anon :-) Enjoy!!


The ambiance of a noisy Chemistry lab wasn’t really best suited for studying, but you had to make do.

Your nose was tucked deep into your Spanish textbook as you sat at your desk, waiting for the bell to ring and class to officially start. Though your teacher typically frowned upon anything other than the subject you were in being discussed in the lab, you had your book open under the table anyway. You silently hoped she wouldn’t catch you cramming for the test you had after lunch, one that you studied for all of the last night but still somehow felt unprepared for.

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Heathens- [smutandahalf]

A Scruffy Hoes Production

Author: smutandahalf

Rating: NSFW 18+

Words: 3599

Warning: This is darker than what I usually write. It doesn’t have any triggers but I just wanted you guys to know it’s different from my usual stuff.

A/N: Happy Halloween! Trick or Treat? That’s for you to decide..

Originally posted by genjjishimada

     There is something very wrong with Stiles Stilinski, something strange and dark. I glance over at him, sitting at his desk with his head pressed into his hands and his eyes clenched closed. I turn slightly looking around curious if anyone else has seemed to pick up on it. Something is wrong and not a single other person seems to notice, a cold trickle slides down my spine and I quirk my head at him curiously. How strange that he seems so invisible to them. Brushed to the side by his best friend who seems to jump in terror of his own shadow, invisible to the girl who has been clinging to his arms for weeks who has always seemed to be balancing precariously on the line between wild child and wild animal, and overlooked by his father who seems to be too focused on figuring out what is going on in this god forsaken town. Yes, something is very wrong with Stiles Stilinski, and yet no one seems to notice but me.

          The bell rings, and he’s out of his desk and through the door faster than I can blink. I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I gather my things, moving slowly as I deliberate on what I should do next. With a certain level of blind curiosity I decide that from this day on if no one else is going to notice him then I’ll be sure that I do. The unseen can always see the invisible.

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Aftermath

This is a Sherlolly story I just finished and wanted to share with you all. Takes place after The Phone Call. I don’t know how to make a cut, so please forgive me if it’s too long. Let me know what you think! It’s my first time, so please be gentle, lol. I hope you enjoy! Rated PG for a little swearing.
**********************

Molly stared at the dead phone in her hand. She noticed she was shaking, but if that was anger, terror or some weird kind of relief, she wasn’t quite sure. She was completely mixed up. He had said it. To her. She had said it. To him. But did he really mean it? He’d said she wasn’t an experiment, but he was always such a liar. He lied whenever it pleased him, for his own amusement, for a case, on a crazy whim. Why believe him now? Why today? And why had he suddenly hung up with no explanation? Not even a goodbye.

“Damn the man,” Molly fumed. Feeling hopeless, hurt, rejected, and furious in equal measure, she stifled a sob. She wanted to throw something, to slap someone. She wanted to curl up in a corner and cry her heart out. She wanted to roar with frustration. A dull, aching cramp spreading in her abdomen brought her back to the moment and why she was in the kitchen in the first place. She threw a rice bag in the microwave and waited for it to heat up while she sipped her tea. It was cold and not really what she wanted anymore. Funny how everything can change in just a few minutes. She poured it down the sink.

Reaching under the counter, she pulled out a bottle of vodka, twisted the lid and took a large swig directly from the bottle. Thoughts, feelings and conflicting, unanswered questions swirled through her mind. She fiercely wiped away the tears that would not stop falling. “You will not make me regret this, you son of a bitch,” Molly declared.

She took another swig from the bottle. The problem with pms, she decided, was that it made her brain too foggy to think clearly. “Look, Molly,” she told herself, “you’ve had a hard day.” There was the autopsy on that four year old child, which was so horrible. She’d broken a bottle of chemicals and they had to evacuate the lab while it got cleaned up. Mike had been furious. Then the cramps, and then, to top off everything, that terrible phone call. From him. The love of her life, she sneered to herself. It was awful. What was wrong with her? “I’m going to move on,” she vowed for the hundredth time. “No more Sherlock Holmes. He’s not worth it.” Toby wandered into the kitchen and wound himself around her legs, mewing plaintively.

“God damn the man!” she said to her cat, who looked at her as if he agreed. What the hell did Sherlock think he was doing? Calling like that out of the blue. She snorted with a certain satisfaction as she remembered making him say it first. He had said it. And the second time he had sounded as if he meant it. Did he? Could he? Was it possible?

Was there a chance in hell that this man, this gorgeous man she’d loved with her entire aching soul for seven long years, this infuriating man who scorned all sentiment, could care for her? No, it must have been some stupid bet he’d made with some asshole for kicks. If he and John had been out drinking and were just screwing around she was going to kill both of them. “God damn the man all to hell. I’m through with men, Toby,” she asserted. “No more.”

Molly took another swig of the vodka, shuddering as the alcohol seared her throat, but then smiled as the friendly, relaxing burn hit her stomach and began to course through her veins. Ah, that was better. Maybe she could drink herself into oblivion. She was off work tomorrow anyway. That would be fine, and a perfect end to this entirely regrettable day. The microwave beeped. Molly extracted the comforting rice bag, grabbed a spoon and a half empty pint of strawberry ice cream, tucked the vodka under her arm, and trundled off to bed.

She awoke hours later to the sound of someone vomiting in her bathroom. Someone male. Of course. Who else could it be? She checked the clock: 3:47 am. Sitting up with a sigh, Molly frowned and rubbed her brow. What the hell? He was probably experiencing the after effects of a bender of some type. Maybe with that junkie friend of his. Wiggins. She got up and padded into her bathroom, ready to start yelling at him. She’d throw that bastard out. Show him she wouldn’t be trifled with.

The words died in her throat as soon as she saw him. Sherlock was crumpled on the floor by the loo, his arms around the bowl, his Belstaff discarded in a strangely sad heap on the tile floor. He looked terrible. His midnight blue shirt was muddy and wrinkled, the shoulder was slightly torn and there was a greenish smudge of something on his cheek. Pale and sweating, with dark circles under his eyes, he looked at her and attempted a wan smile. “Oh, hello Molly,” he drawled. He seemed about to say something else, but another wave of nausea hit him and he bent over the bowl again.

Molly grabbed a flannel from the cupboard and ran it under the cool tap. She knelt by his side and wiped his face gently. He pushed her hand aside and bent over the loo again, retching pitifully.

“Stop that, Sherlock,” Molly said softly. “You’ve got the dry heaves. Nothing’s coming up.” He sat up and leaned crookedly against the wall, supporting himself on one trembling arm. He swallowed hard and gamely tried to calm the bile rising from the pit of his stomach. She applied the wet flannel again, chasing the sheen of sweat off his face. He closed his eyes and made a small, vulnerable noise that went directly to Molly’s heart.

“Sorry about this, Molly,” he ventured, opening his eyes and looking at her. He waved his hand around, unsteadily. His eyes were glazed and slightly unfocused. “Sorry about that.” Was he referring to the phone call? She wasn’t sure. “Couldn’t be helped. It all just…sort of…hit me on my way over here. I came as soon as I could.”

Molly had no idea what he was going on about. She wrinkled her nose. “Sherlock Holmes, you smell like a swamp.” She scrubbed at the spot on his cheek. “Is that algae?”

“Been in a well,” he answered cryptically. “You should smell John!” he said and began to laugh hysterically.

“Are you high?” she asked.

“No,” he answered, calming down and looking her in the eye. There was a different tone in his voice and she instantly knew he was telling the truth. “I kind of wish I was. I’m as sober as a judge, although I’m not sure why judges in particular have such a reputation for being sober. I’ve known quite a few who were complete lushes,” he rambled. “Judge Farness, he sat on the case of Pendleton the poisoner, and you could smell…”

“Yes, alright, Sherlock,” Molly said, cutting him off. “I don’t need to hear any of that. Can you stand up?”

He tried getting up, but failed and collapsed against the wall. “Not yet,” he confessed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He looked at her, eyes blurry and confused, his words starting to slur. “This shouldn’t be happening. I won. I saved you, Molly. I beat the east wind and saved you. But she said I didn’t.” He began to laugh again, bitterly this time. Then he trailed off, closed his eyes and started to groan.

Molly had no idea what he was ranting about. He was scaring her. All she knew was she had to get him on his feet. She had to get him to do something. Something normal. She loaded a toothbrush with toothpaste and handed it to him. He brushed his teeth, and then hauled himself to his feet with difficulty and spit in the sink. She noticed he was shaking and wobbly on his feet.

“Come on, Sherlock,” Molly said, putting her arm around his waist and guiding him into the kitchen. He sat down heavily on a barstool, and she placed a firm, professional hand on his forehead. “You’re running a fever. When was the last time you ate anything?”

“I dunno,” he responded, putting his head down and pressing his cheek against the cooling granite countertop. “Yesterday, I think. Day before? Before Sherringford, at any rate.” His voice was deep and groggy. “This feels nice.”

“I’m going to make you some eggs and toast and you’re going to eat them. Slowly,” she instructed. “And then you’re going to tell me what’s going on. Okay?”

“Mmmhmm,” was the only response she got. There was a long pause while Molly moved around the kitchen, fixing his food. Just as she thought he’d fallen asleep, his voice cut through the silence. “Molly, I’m so tired,” Sherlock said, quietly.

He was sitting up now, his hands in his lap, shoulders slumped, watching her cook. There was something in his voice and posture that was new; he sounded like a little boy. Molly’s heart nearly broke as she gazed at him. He looked so guileless, so vulnerable. What could have happened to put him in this state? What was Sherringford?

She put the plate of food in front of him and pulled up a barstool next to him to sit on. He picked up the fork and began to toy with his food. “I’m not really hungry,” he said.

“Nonsense,” said Molly, firmly. “You’re so messed up you don’t know what you need. Eat.”

He obediently ate a bite of scrambled eggs, swallowed and sighed, nodded his head, and suddenly began to wolf down the food. Two minutes later he pushed the empty plate away. “That was good,” he said.

Sherlock turned toward her, sitting just a few inches away from him, her face soft and understanding. He looked at her for a few moments, and she could see a level of something in his eyes she’d never seen before. Was that kindness? Regard? Was it…love? Mollys stomach flipped over and hope flared in her heart. Suddenly, Sherlock reached out and cupped her cheek in his large, warm hand. She covered his hand with her own, turned her head slightly and pressed a kiss into his palm.

“You’ve been crying,” he stated. She nodded. “Because of me?”

“Yes, Sherlock. Because of you.” He cast his eyes down at the floor and had the grace to look ashamed.

“Molly…I…need to talk to you. I understand if you never want to see me again, but I need to talk to you. It was never supposed to happen like that. I never meant… It was Eurus. She made me…I mean I wanted to, I wouldn’t have if I didn’t, but…” He trailed off again, looking lost, not knowing where to begin. Not knowing how to begin.

“Sherlock, I can’t understand what you’re talking about. Let’s go sit on the sofa, and then you can tell me. You’ll be more comfortable there and you can tell me. You can tell me everything. Anything, Sherlock. You can tell me anything.” Molly got up and led him to the living room where they sat side by side on her sofa. He was quiet for a long time. She took his hand, interlacing her fingers with his, patiently giving him her strength.

Sherlock spent a few minutes studying their hands and the way they fit together, like he had never seen anything like it before. Finally he raised his eyes and looked at her, completely defeated by her generous heart, by her unassailable kindness. He smiled crookedly, wryly; the great Sherlock Holmes, overwhelmed by love and grateful at long last for the power of that ultimately humbling sentiment.

“Molly. Can I hold you? Please?” His voice broke as he asked her. In wordless response, Molly moved into his lap and wound her arms around his neck, twining her fingers in his curls. His arms went around her in a strong embrace, nearly crushing the breath out of her. She could feel the tension in his biceps as he gripped the back of her tshirt in his fists, clutching onto her for dear life. It was like he never wanted to let go.

She made soothing sounds as she stroked his hair. “Bad day, was it?” she joked, and immediately regretted it as she felt his shoulders begin to shake and realized he was sobbing. He clung to her as the tears coursed down his cheeks. “Sherlock,” she said softly. “What do you need?”

He pulled away and looked her in the eyes. “You,” he whispered. “Always you.” He buried his face in the crook of her neck, took a deep sigh, and then it all began to tumble out of him. Incoherent, mumbling, sometimes quickly, in slow, disjointed pieces at other times, he talked and talked.

He told her about Eurus and her evil bargain with Moriarty, about the cold, stony gray vastness of Sherringford, and about the governor and his wife, the blood and the panicked desperation that had enveloped them all, about the Garrideb brothers, and about the greedy sea that had swallowed them up on the wicked and terrifying whim of his sister. He spoke about the little girl on the plane, about the childhood he could barely remember, about his poor, mad sister’s misguided jealousy and revenge.

He talked for a long while about John’s steadfastness, his goodness, his help and his time in the well. He talked for even longer about Mycroft; he spoke with wonder and raw anger about his brother’s secrets, his lies, his experiments, his usury, as well as his noble, mocking, attempted self sacrifice and his well-meaning but ultimately harmful attempts to do his best for Eurus and the family. He told her about Redbeard, about Victor, about his loss, his hurt, his confusion, his wanting to do right, to help if he could, and about how all his lousy, failed attempts had ended in disaster.

And finally, he told her about that phone call, how he never wanted it to be like that, and how he had meant it without knowing that he had meant it.

It was a dizzying blur of words and emotions that filled Molly’s heart until she overflowed and her tears fell to mingle with his. No wonder he’d been sick and rambling when he arrived. He’d had more than enough to test the strongest of men. He’d been through literal hell and emerged. Victorious, yes, but this win was shot through with impenetrable loss, heartbreak, and sadness.

And then, purged of the grief, calmly and quietly, he told her he loved her. He needed her. He never wanted to be parted from her again in this life. And when he stumbled to a stop as the dawn light began to spill into the room, there was a deep silence between them.

“Molly Hooper,” he said, simply and without hope or expectation. “Can you ever forgive me?”

There was a pause. She looked at him, smiling gently. All the love she’d kept locked in her heart flooded towards him in great waves, finally, completely, and forever.

“Look out the window, Sherlock,” Molly said as she bent to kiss him passionately on his perfect, trembling lips. “It’s a brand new day.”

Isopropyl Alcohol + Fire + Oxygen

This chemical reaction is sometimes called “Fire Bottle”, is actually just 70% alcohol reacting with heat. Very little alcohol is poured into the bottle, which is then shaken to mix it with air. This turns it into a vapour and it can then be lit from the top of the jar, the reaction travels down the container, making a ‘whoosh’ sound as it uses up the oxygen inside the bottle and eventually puts itself out.

Monsters (Part 2)

Part two of Monsters!  Be warned there is some smut.

<i>Winning an auction to the run down home on Neibolt Street leads the reader to moving to Derry.  With what you’re planning everything seemed perfect.  Though you didn’t mean to accidentally wake up the creature underneath your home sooner than he wanted. 

All you wanted to do was hurry up with your plans.  This clown though seemed to keep showing up though, even in your dreams.  </i>


           A week later and a majority of the house was unpacked and settled down.  I was just waiting on some things in the mail and everything would be in place.  I stared down into my coffee and my mind wondered to the dream I had several nights ago after that Pennywise guy showed up.

           I was stepping into the house years before it had been fixed up.  Something was pulling me inside, compelled me to walk through.  I walked up the stairs and down the hall to what I had decided would be a guest bedroom if I ever had company.  I opened the door and inside stood the man I had never wanted to see again. I could feel anger but mostly I was scared.  He was sitting on a bed and patted next to me while giving me a grin.  I slammed the door behind me as I could feel the fear filling me and tears brimming my eyes.  I ran down to the basement and grabbed on to the well as I breathed heavily trying to push the image of that grin out of my face.  Tears began to well up in my eyes and my hands turned to fists.

          “You’ll fucking pay. You’ll get what’s coming to you.” I turned rapidly to face the door and dug my nails into the stone of the well, “Just fucking wait and see!” My words echoed the room and down the well, filled with pure anger.

           I slumped down to the ground with my back against the stone.  I tilted my head back and closed my eyes.  In my dream the room was so dark it was hard to tell where exactly I was facing if it wasn’t for the door to the basement being open.  The stair case light was on but it didn’t reach far into the room.  For a while it was quiet until I could hear the soft sound of cackling coming up from the well.  It grew louder and louder with each second.  There was a loud crack noise as the door to the storage room busted open, red balloons pouring out.  After they all poured out and filled the room they all exploded.  The sound itself scared me and made me cover myself like a small child would to a loud noise.  I moved my arm to see that the room was covered in thick red blood. Pennywise stood in front of me, untouched by all the blood.  I had noticed that I too hadn’t been hit by any of it.

           “Let’s float shall we!?”

           He grinned wide revealing large horrifying teeth.  He grabbed me by the throat and jumped down the well.  I was somehow managing to scream despite how tight he was holding my throat.  His eyes were a bright orange lined with red as he laughed and mocked my screaming as we fell.  I kept trying to claw at his when I suddenly woke up when we would have hit the bottom. I flung the blanket off my body as I let out a shriek and grabbed at my chest as my heart tried to escape my chest cavity.

           Granted that wasn’t the only dream I had of him.  I suppose my mind and body had taken a fancy to him despite being afraid of the sight of him.  Some days after the nightmare I had a dream that I was at the circus.  I was with a date who I never got a good look at the entire time.  We entered the big top and got front row seats.  Out came the usual acts of the lions, elephants, and other performers. Then the ringleader announced Pennywise. I could feel my heart sinking as he stepped out from behind the curtain.  At that point my date turned to me to tell me they were getting some popcorn for us. Pennywise began is act.  He danced in different styles and on different things. Lastly, he danced on what looked like a small rubber ball.  He made his way to me and presented a red rose.

           “For you, little one.” He held out the rose tenderly and smiled a toothy grin at me.  

            I quickly took the rose and he went back to his act and my date returned.  Afterwards we decided to go back to my home on Neibolt Street.  Things went from one thing to another and we ended up in the bedroom.  He had me lightly pinned to the bed as he kissed me, a hand on my neck and the other on my wrist with his knees propping himself over me.  The hand slid from my neck to my thighs then up my dress.  His fingers were lightly teasing me from above my panties as he broke the kiss and dragged his lips across my cheeks so he could whisper in my ear.

           “Hello sweet little one.” That familiar voice echoed in my head and my body tensed.  Something in me didn’t move though even though I easily could.  

            “What do you want from me?” My eyes darted to meet Pennywise’s.

            “A snack maybe.  Though now I’m more interested in why this,” His hand went back up to my throat and gave a tight squeeze and I could feel the familiar feeling of arousal well up inside me.  My body went limp as my gaze seemed to feel hazy, entering a submissive state of mind. “does that too you.  There’s a hint of fear but that smell with it is utterly delightful.  I wonder what else causes it.”

           “That is none of your business.”  I closed my legs and glared at him, trying to win back my own mind from myself.

           “I wonder, I wonder indeed.” His lips pressed against my cheek and made themselves down to my neck.  My heart beat increased rapidly and I could feel his grin against my skin, “There’s something.  For now, though, just a taste.”

           I felt his sharp teeth graze my neck as he opened his mouth. Several drops of drool landed on the front of my neck but it didn’t matter as his mouth enclosed around the side of my neck.  Then I felt the puncture of each of his teeth.  Tears stung my eyes but the only thing I could do was finally let go of the moan that had been building up in my throat.  I felt his chuckle through my neck.  He opened his mouth and began to lick at the blood coming out of the wounds he left behind.  With each flick of his tongue I let out a whimper and my hands that were holding onto the bed went up to grab onto him.

         “You taste marvelous.” He shifted so his face was only inches from mine.

          Blood was still on his lips.  My blood.  I tried to have other thoughts rush into my head but all I could think of was the blood. I could only feel myself getting wetter and if this dream didn’t end soon then there would be puddle underneath me. I heard Pennywise taking in another large whiff and his nostrils flared.

          “Interesting.” A corner of his mouth went into a smirk. “Blood as well? My, my little one.  Aren’t you an interesting one.  I’m feeling generous.  Have a taste.”

           His buck teeth bit into his bottom lip hard enough to puncture.  His blood began to float upward.  I didn’t have time to ask questions as to why as he pressed his lips to mine.  The taste of my blood and his had mixed.   I already knew mine was sweet but his tasted strongly of iron.  I let out soft moans and whimpers as he continued to kiss me, even as he pushed his tongue inside my mouth.  After a few minutes he pulled away and he looked back into my eyes.  I could tell I looked like a begging puppy wanting more treats as he let out a laugh and gave me the look back.

          “Oh, aren’t you so precious.”   His voicing mocking me.  “I’d play more but I must go.” He leaned down for another kiss which I eagerly returned. “I promise I’ll be back though.”

           And like that he was gone.  I was left in the bedroom.  The wound on my neck completely gone.  The taste of our blood still in my mouth.  I couldn’t remember the rest of the dream afterwards but I know when I woke up that morning my mouth still had that iron after taste.

          The day of that dream I had several large boxes delivered and was finally able to unpack the storage room.  It was such an amazing feeling to set up that room finally after so much planning.  All I could hear was the clanking of metal as I put together the large metal table that was going to be in the center of the room.  I made sure not to pump into the shelves as most of them contained bottles of chemicals I really did not want to get on me.  When I was done I stepped back and admired the table.  It had straps that would go up the arms and legs as well for three to go along the torso.  The table was adjustable and could rotate and tilt if needed.  I turned off the light to the room after I cleaned it out and admired the shine of the different knives and saws that hung on the wall behind the table.  I closed the door and locked it.  Now began the more mentally difficult part.


I hope you all enjoy this part!  Next part will go up tomorrow and it’ll be from a different perspective that I hope you guys will like.

Now for the tags:
@cyberkoalakitty @fandomscooter @quixoticcat @fuck-the-clown @alexiapway @ladafundesh @just-a-simple-trash-queen

DIY Rose Water

What you need:

  • Water 
  • Dried Rose Petals (or fresh ones with chemicals) 
  • Spritz bottle 
  • Small Funnel 
  • Strainer
  • Pot 
  • A bowl

What to do:

  1. Add about two times the amount water that will hold in your spritz bottle into a pot
  2. Next add in about a handful or a little bit more of Rose petals 
  3. Simmer the Petals in the pot until the Petals loose their colour 
  4. Once the Petals have lost their colour, strain the water into a bowl 
  5. Let the the water cool then use the funnel to pour it into the spritz bottle and you’re done

*water can be stored in fridge for up to a month or 7 days room temperature

concept: a scientist had adhd and, whenever its bin day, thinks shes thrown out her lifes work (she drinks alot of stuff from bottles so when the garbage lady is about to throw the garbage into the truck, it makes a chinking noise like her chemical bottles do). so every bin day, the scientist runs out of her house yelling for the gargabe lady to stop, the garbge lady laughs and shows her its fine, scientist is embarassed, they build a friendship, (garbage lady secretly doublechecks scientists rubbish just in case bc garbage lady is a sweetie), 

after a couple months of doing this, scientist devolpes a crush and in order to ask garbage lady on a date, scientist replaces her rubbish with (empty, utterly safe) chemical flasks and then garbage lady has to bring it to the door of the house, cue awkward convosation and then garbage!!! lady!!!! accepts!!!

they go on to get married and have a beautiful w/w relationship (garbage lady is lesbian, scientist is bisexual and they love each v v much) 

The strongest Talon: part 2

A/n: thanks for all the likes guys:) hope you like this!
******
“Now the only question is if the great and terrifying batman is willing to break his moral code to save his family.”;

The Talon was backed up against the wall when it made the comment. The fact that the assassin was alive made the fight all that much harder. Jason looked over at Bruce.

“Are you sure I can’t kill her? Please? It’d make this a lot easier and then Alfred would have less injuries to patch up.” He said. Bruce gave him the batglare and the former dead Robin promptly shut up.

Keep reading

Moroz

Originally posted by fantasysystem



Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1767

Warnings: Mentions of torture, abuse, Hydra type stuff.

Notes: New series with this idea I’ve had for a while. Angsty Frozen lol. No but seriously I’m always cold so it’d be my superpower. ;) They’ll be more Bucky in the next part I just had to set some stuff up… Also the Russian is all from google translate so…. That’s that. It’s probably wrong? I don’t know. P.S. If you guys want to be tagged let me know? I see that’s a thing on tumblr now.. gotta get with the times. 



It whistled. The wind. It felt like it was all around you, all encompassing. Gently caressing, fluttering the soft tendrils of your hair that laid against you skin, your bruised, blood stained skin. You had lost all feeling in your arms and legs, entirely numb due to dangling from the thick iron chains that hung from a rotting wooden beam. The only light was that which slipped through wooden cracks when the moon was not covered by dark cloud.

You were alone. Very alone. Your thoughts your only real company, which were misery at best. What you had been through, what they had done to you had warped your mind so much there was no going back. Pure darkness, insanity, an all-consuming vacuum was all you felt now. Not even felt, that word is too strong. Existed. The part of you left merely existed, nothing more.

You weren’t sure how long you had been here like this, the fresh wind of the north brushing through you, past your bones. You had guessed at least three weeks, but the fog that consumed your mind now made it feel like months, even years at some moments.

They’d come by every couple days to check up on you, make sure you were still barely alive so they could continue with their torture. Some days, they’d release you from your chains and beat you. No sounds, no reason, just bruises. You’d pass out from the pain, malnutrition, blood loss. Then they’d pump you with enough drugs to keep you alive for another week and your mind spinning. You never saw their faces, they were covered by faceless black clothes. It made it feel more dreamlike.

Winter came, snow ice and all, and still you hung. Blood dropped from the grooves in your wrists from the chains, and as it would roll down your limbs it would eventually freeze there, painting a beautifully intricate design. Well below freezing, you were there, like a body in a freezer waiting to be buried.

One day they did that too.

You dropped, the chains fell, both collapsed on the frozen ground. They dragged you away from the wooden beams which had become your home, through piles of disturbed snow, what was left of wet blood leaving a telling trail.

Someone brought you to a hole, pitch black that had been dug deep into the cascading snow banks that night. Again, chains were wrapped around your wrists and feet. A gag threaded through your mouth and tied behind your thinning hair. You could see nothing, nor could you focus. You were so far gone at this point it didn’t even matter. They had broken you a long time ago. Nothingness.

Solid ice tickled your dead translucent skin as they placed your body inside. Then a block of ice covered over the top, sealing you in. Silence. Finally at peace, the floor of ice cooling your skin, you drifted off into slumber, hopefully, to never wake up to this life again.


A large crack resounded throughout the small ice box. Your eyes flew open in shock. You glanced around, still feeling nothing, but as you looked at your skin all the bruises, cuts, and wounds were gone. You weren’t sure how long you had been on the ice or why you were there. Light from a flashlight flooded the crowded space, and you squinted your eyes, frightened, reaching out to knock the flashlight from the holders hand and grasped onto his wrist in the process. He screamed in agony, then silence. His body falling to the ground. Solid ice. Frozen solid. You felt no remorse, though, you still felt nothing. Maybe death was something that didn’t register with you anymore. Maybe you had come and gone, all that was left now was a ghost with ice running through their veins.

Glancing up you could hear voices coming from the dark.

“Da. Khorosho. Ona gotova.” Yes. Good. She’s ready.

“Soldat. Pora.” Soldier. It’s time.

A metal hand clasped around your arm and pulled you from your cave. You followed easily, void of your own thoughts at this point. Once you were outside of the ice, you glanced around at the dimly lit area. Flat plains of snow for miles. You must have been in a northern ocean somewhere that had completely frozen over.

The soldier jerked you to pay attention, still with a terrifying grip on your arm.

“Sedativnyy yeye.” Sedate her.

“Vyydi.” Move out.

Everything went dark again.


“Moroz, idi.” Frost, go.

You never thought anymore, didn’t know why either, just did things. It was like you were void, like a robot, just following actions based on commands. Feelings still were out the window too. All you could feel was that you existed, you were existing, nothing else. Every time they wiped your memory, this lack of feeling was even more evident, but they didn’t have to do it as much anymore. It was as if your brain had picked up muscle memory, and seemed to wipe out your actions once your mission was completed, and then you went back in your containment cell. Hydra was ecstatic when they realised they could use fewer resources.

Your hand took hold of the alley door handle, and you held it until it froze. Taking a knife from your belt, you held the blade as you smashed the now ice door handle with the knife handle. Depositing the blade back onto your belt, you pushed the now unlocked door open and stepped inside, looking around the screen lit room.

You were in some sort of laboratory, bottles of chemicals all over the walls, in cabinets, in freezers. You walked towards the freezers, knowing what you were looking for was inside as you had been briefed on your targets whereabouts. There were warnings all over the door stating that a medical suit was needed to enter because of the deathly cold temperatures. Whatever you were here for was important, and you’d know it when you see it.

You opened the door, leaving it open, so the cold started to seep out into the rest of the room. You still felt cold, generally were always cold, but you enjoyed it. Your most peaceful memory was being in the ice box, frozen, asleep, dead; however you want to put it. You couldn’t remember anything before that now.

You made your way to the very back of the freezer and opened up a keypad. Typing in the code, the door slide open, and inside was the bottle you were looking for. You picked it up, placing it in the special bag they had given you, and deposited the items in your backpack, exiting the freezer.

As you were about to leave the laboratory, a man in a lab coat crawled out from under a desk. Shivering, early symptoms of hypothermia present. He pointed a gun at you with his shaking hands.

Then he shot you, the bullet piercing the skin of your thigh. You dropped to the ground, thick blood started to seep from the wound, and you seethed until you placed your hand over the wound, freezing it over and letting the rest of your cells take over.

Your stare turned to the man as you rose to your feet again, almost walking normally and the wound disappearing before the man’s eyes.

“Impossible.” The man stuttered as you walked toward him, taking the gun out of his hand and tossing it on one of the lab tables. You preferred giving slow deaths.

Your hand covered the man’s mouth, ice filling his breath as you froze the air in his body, suffocating him by ice. You let his body drop to the ground, and now ringing alarms were going off. You had taken too long. Hydra would punish you for it.

“Poyekhali. Ty opozdal.” Let’s go. You’re late. The Winter Soldier spoke through his mask. He was your handler, one of the only ones who could touch you without freezing to death. You followed him out of the compound to his motorbike. He slides on, and you slide on behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he started up the bike and you sped off to the checkpoint to hand off your mission.


They were furious that someone had seen you. You were supposed to be a secret, not something Hydra had to worry about covering up. The ice was supposed to all be a mystery. Since the alarms had been activated, the follow up team couldn’t go in to clean up, wipe the cameras, and clear everything out. Not to mention the frozen solid scientist you had left on the floor.

You were now back in your cell after having received a few beatings. They didn’t really bother you though. They wouldn’t feed you for you mistake, which you understood, but your longing body did not. And when your body was hungry and wanting something, you got colder, and so did your surroundings. You couldn’t control it at those points. Ice was everywhere, plastered along the walls and across the door. Even your body was covered in a faint covering of frost, tingeing you on blue. You sat there, though, not caring. You didn’t know anything different.

The door jerked open, inside walked the Winter Soldier. He didn’t often visit unless it was for a mission. He too was covered in marks due to your failure to leave no traces.

“Vy dolzhny ostanovit'sya. Vy okhlazhdeniya bazu.” You must stop. You’re cooling the base.

You glanced at the soldier numbly, shrugging. You couldn’t control the frost when it got like this. It had a mind of its own.

“YA ne mogu.” I can’t. You replied.

“Zachem?” Why? He looked at you, moving closer.

“YA slishkom kholodno.” I’m too cold.

The soldier glanced towards the door, poking his head out to mumble in Russian something along the lines of ‘I’ll take care of it’ and closed the door, closing you both off from the rest of the base.

You expected him to beat you, sedate you, or somehow get you to pass out so you wouldn’t be thinking about your body temperature anymore. He surprised you when he sat down beside you and pulled your body towards him, his heat radiating into you like a bonfire. You didn’t know how to act, but the muscle memory from a past life had taken over as you snuggled into his grasp.

“Spat’.” Sleep.

You drifted off to that peaceful ice box once more, this time no longer cold, not knowing the next time you woke everything would be quite different again.

Tagging: @38leticia @elaacreditava @softwhispers @wildchild2707 @princeendymion @blueeyedboobear

The Problem With Your Water Bottle

Climate change is not a hoax created by the Chinese. (I hope), we all know that. Climate related issues are becoming more and more urgent. Yep, know that too. They key point is however what we often DON’T know, is how to act, how (and if) we can make a difference. 

I am a strong believer that we can all make a difference with our daily choices and attitudes. It is key that governments take the right steps to protect our environment, and while it is our responsibility to push them to do this, we often cannot trust in the fact that this will happen as soon as it is needed. But we do have full control of our day-to-day routine. I am a bit of an sustainability nerd, and so are most of my friends. This means that I often circulate in-between people who are often aware and have the time to research into sustainability, letting this influence their daily choices. Because of this, I often forget that some things that are obvious to me, habits that I gave up years ago, might not be to other people, and that they are not fully aware of the environmental burden linked to their actions. No shame. There is lot of stuff I don’t know (so let’s commit to research more and more on how to be better to our planet yayy), and there is loads of stuff I do know, am fully aware of their impacts, but still haven’t managed to kick them out of my habits. But hey, in the end, it does affect us all, so it is important that we do talk with each other - understanding that not everyone has the same interests/time that we have, and that sadly, environmental education is lacking in schools and is often not being focused as enough of a priority in mainstream media - and take the time to explain the things we know and discuss solutions. 

Anyways, long story short, last week I had a discussion with one of my work colleagues as they were teasing me about me showing concern about chemicals in plastic bottles that can be damaging to human health. I then tried to go deeper in the issue trying to explain the problem with littering and plastic bottles. So I was asked “and what if I throw it into the recycling bin? What’s the problem with my water bottle then?”. After having a moment of shock, not even knowing what to respond to their genuine belief that once a plastic bottle is thrown into the bin that’s it - problem solved, I figured, well how can they think any different? It is that that we are taught to believe.

Well, so what is the problem with our plastic bottles?

Bisphanol A (BPA):

Let’s start with the health issues. BPA is a chemical used in most water bottles to make plastic hard and clear. It is also an endocrine disruptor, which means it’s shape can either cause your body to produce too much of a certain hormone or block it from producing a certain hormone. This can cause certain types of cancer, neurological difficulties, early puberty in girls, reduced fertility in women etc.

Polyvinyl chloride:

Is used to make plastic more flexible and is also an endocrine disrupting chemical. It causes reduced sperm count, testicular abnormality and tumours.

If this wasn’t enough to at least make you consider buying yourself a reusable water bottle, you should consider following things: 


Plastic water bottles are one of the most unsustainable inventions, like, ever. There are millions of gallons of water involved to make these bottles. You are basically wasting more water in producing water bottles than your water bottle can even fit. The huge amount of water needed for their production also further fuels inequalities. The huge environmental stress put in regions where water bottles are produced affects residents of these areas, especially farmers, who often face shortages. This then affects food production, affecting the farmer’s financial gains, but also food prices and food security in the region. To add to all of this, most water bottles are produced of Polyethylene terephthalate (PET), which requires huge amounts of fossil fuel to make and transport. Take any water bottle and fill 25% of it with water. That’s how much fossil fuel was needed to produce this single bottle. That’s a lot.


Only certain bottles can be recycled in certain places. Recycling is a business, which means, it will only occur if there is profit coming out of it. In other words, if you are not making sure you are buying plastic bottles which have been recycled, you are undermining the likelihood of investment in recycling occurring. Municipalities will often only make sure that the plastic bottles recycled are the ones whose recycled outcome are being bought by companies in the area. The other ones end in the landfill. On top of that, many plastic bottles are made of different kinds of plastic which not every region has the capacity to separate and recycle properly. To conclude, most plastic bottles you use will end up stagnant in landfills, leaching dangerous chemicals into the ground, infiltrating streets as litter and often ending up in rivers and being washed up into the ocean.

But what happens to plastic bottles once they end up in the ocean? They break into smaller bits called micro plastics. Let’s keep one thing in mind: plastic will never decay. And it very very often ends up in the ocean. There, because of the saline environment, it breaks in million tiny pieces called micro plastics. These pieces are so tiny that they easily pass through water filtration systems, and are basically therefore impossible to clean out of our oceans. Our whole ocean is basically turning into a huge plastic soup. This is a huge threat to aquatic life, as stated by the marine scientists Karen Lavenden Law and Richard Thompson: “(the) problems will only get worse unless drastic action is taken to curb the sale of disposable plastic products worldwide and dispel the idea that plastic waste can just be thrown away.” Since clean up of this plastic soup is basically impossible, the urgent action to be taken is the reduced consumption and the identification of the main polluters. 


Due to their small size, micro plastic are often ingested by habitants of the sea.  It is also important to know that micro plastic containing toxic PCB’s and the pesticide DDF become enhanced in contact with marine life. Also, take in consideration that these are being ingested by organisms which are in the end going to be ingested by us humans. Yummy?

Be aware that micro plastics are often purposely placed in exfoliators, soaps, creams and toothpaste for hygienic/cosmetic purposes (but there are enough alternatives which don’t require micro plastics!), and these have a even easier way to end up in the ocean: they just get washed down the sink, and due to their small size, escape any kind of filtering system.


The good thing about this issue and all the major problems linked to it is, it is so goddamn easy to avoid. Start the plastic diet with us. For the love of our planet, just do it.

-Vanessa

There’s a really interesting subculture of people that dumpster dive beauty stores like Ulta and not only use but sell or trade products and I think it’s rather interesting. A lot of them do youtube haul videos on what they’ve found each time, sometimes it reaches into the multiple thousands of dollars worth of products.

The videos actually made me aware of the fact that these companies often throw away unused stock and unused returns in big numbers, as well as toss out hair dryers, straighteners, curling irons etc. after simply cutting the cords. As this dumpster diving has become more common, employees are encouraged to destroy the unused products before tossing them. Some use chemicals, some pour bottles of conditioner over them, some scrape up shadow palettes etc. before placing the makeup into the designated dumpster in its packaging, so it’s becoming harder to find intact items- but not impossible.

Dumpster diving is not illegal everywhere. There are many places it’s legal, though the store does have the right to request that you leave. I think it’s insane that companies toss thousands of dollars worth of product but I know it’s common practice. Companies toss and destroy clothing, books, makeup etc. so that it cannot be reused or donated.

Some stores do send product back to manufacturers who can resell the stock to places like TJ Maxx etc. which is genuinely incredible but there’s still so much waste that happens. I’m glad people are trying to do something about it.