“I realize I’m not quite the… traditional teacher, but even so I still must assign homework! This will be nothing too fancy, I just wish to know what about the environment interests you! Write a paper about just that! Don’t just give me an issue or accomplishment, though, please tell me why it interests you. Make it as long or as short as you want— Err, at least try to make it more than two paragraphs if possible… And don’t be afraid to use key terms!”

“I can’t wait to read what you brilliant students write!”

{{okay yeah the usual homework stuff you can reblog with your answer or throw it in the submit box if you’d rather not other people see??  also, the key terms list is incomplete/i need to fix the formatting, but more than half of it is complete so feel free to check it out if you think it’ll help thank you!!!}}

The pen seemed to glide across his paper and was strangely sticky when he handed it in. The ink had blotched on numerous occasions, and there was a peculiar green stain across one side of the essay.

"What About The Environment Interests Me"

It’s beautiful… over the last couple hundred of years, the environment has become even more beautiful. BP, in particular, has done a stunning job of keeping the environment up to scratch, following the industrial revolution. The world has never been in a more prominent state of unnatural beauty.

Nothing causes my heart to beat more than seeing a young, healthy bird struggling through thick black tar. Who knows what toxins and impurities could be inside that liquid and moving, slowly, into its metabolic system?

- Chalky White


Demon? Shit. Was the kid psychic? Was that how he knew? 

Here’s an idea, Crowley; try thinking. 

It was oddly hard to do. Eventually, though, something clicked. An air-force base in a perfect town that shouldn’t have been perfect. Something inhuman in an ill-fitting human shape. Something that oozed

Crowley just about kept himself from completely panicking and losing his human form. He did, however, forget to breathe and begin to hiss.

“Oh. Ssshit.”

Pollution gave the demon a withering, slightly irritated stare. Their last encounter had been less than pleasant to say the least and, ironically, this hellspawn had been one of the few to prevent the oncoming apocalypse. In Chalky’s eyes, he was a failure. And annoying. Like a parasite.

He did realise, however, that his ‘illusion’ was working its magic on the demon. It was hard to stare at Pollution too long. It was as though there was some sort of force, or barrier, preventing it. Like there was constantly something more interesting to look at than him. He remained in the back of one’s mind’s eye, rather than the forefront of their vision. 

"Fancy seeing you here."

notatypicaldemon-deactivated201 sent: Crowley almost didn't see the boy. When he did, he stopped, spinning around on one foot to face him, examining him over the top of his sunglasses. " look very familiar. Have we met?"

Chalky’s eyes fixed on the man who had apprehended him. Oh, more people wanting to talk to him? Weren’t humans just so… hm. Sociable? He swivelled on the spot, turned to face the dark-haired individual properly before narrowing his eyes, scrutinizingly.

Then… an oddly sinking feeling in his metaphorical gut.

"… Demon."

Oh, goody.

Hell’s problem child was here.


They’d told Walter to behave… back at the home. Back when he was still fresh and raw from the guidance of that woman. Was she dead now? Maybe. He wouldn’t be surprised. She’d never had good habits. Always bad. Always very bad. But Walter wasn’t bad. He was a good kid. Still, you learned things. About bad kids. About how to avoid them.

Like this guy with white hair. Smoking a cigarette… littering… the grease, the oil, the smell… definitely a bad kid. Walter should have avoided him. Knew he should have avoided him. But he was making a mess of the nice school. And Walter wasn’t happy with that. This was a good school. A good place. No mess here. No muss. No fuss. He’d have to clean that up.

Still, he’d have to do it quietly. Politely. He was representing the home and here on a scholarship. Any mistakes and fights, and Walter would be sent back. Then maybe back to that woman. But the young man couldn’t let that happen. This place was a gift from God. A reward for behaving. And nothing, or no one, was going to spoil that.

So, Walter in his too-big uniform walked up to the other teen and tapped him on the shoulder. After, his finger was covered in something… weird. Gooey and sticky, and it smelled like oil and smoke and bad things. He got a napkin from his ragged backpack and spoke. “You. You need to clean up what you dropped. This is a good school. People work hard to keep it clean.

It was lucky, perhaps, that Pollution wasn’t tall. He was short, and sickly thin and much like his predecessor and part-time mentor, Pestilence, he had the strange look about him of being gaunt. He turned around automatically when he felt the tap on his shoulder, the cigarette hanging from his mouth where the chocolate had been moments before, strangely white teeth gripping to its butt like a vice. The dull, strangely lifeless eyes stared at his apprehender, an elegant brow rising slowly in bemusement. Oh. A human. Was talking to him? How bizarre…

You. You need to clean up what you dropped. This is a good school. People work hard to keep it clean.

He inhaled the cigarette from where it was between his teeth, without reaching out a hand to prise it away from his lips or even clasp it, before exhaling straight into the face of the scholarship boy. The pale, cracked lips spread into a quiet smile and finally Chalky found the decency to pluck the blunt from his lips, holding it by his side and tapping the residue onto the floor, next to the chocolate wrapper from moments before. 

"Why? I think it looks lovely. Clean… doesn’t look lovely. Do you not think it’s oddly enthralling?" Quietly, his eyes moved down to focus on the packet and ashes on the floor, nudging them with his toe. "I find it fascinating. What journey will it take now that it’s on the floor? Perhaps a janitor will find work picking it up. Perhaps it will be land-filled. Perhaps an animal will choke on it. It could, therefore, become part of that animal and when that animal decays… what then? It has a whole life cycle ahead of it, and you would have me pick it up?”

Calmly, Mr. White looked back at the boy. 

"I don’t think I will."

(Source: decomposition)


Is a landfill site an inanimate object…?



Mr. Oak just saw his dorm mates.
Mr. Oak is hardly pleased.
A nerdy looking fellow and a guy who smells like either sickness or gasoline.
Wonderful. Just dandy. Nothing more he could have aske— who is he kidding?
This was horrible, not something he wanted to deal with at a new school and just down right intimidating. Who wanted to be around a man who stunk and a weirdo who..well, he stunk too- but he smelled more like a dog rather than whatever combination the other sod wavered. Tch. Wow. Losers who didn’t know how to bathe. W o w.

”..Anyone want to mates..” 

“unfortunately, we’re stuck with one another until further notice. it’s wonderful to dorm with you too.”

he puts his things onto his bunk and shakes his head, not wanting to be into this situation any more than gary did. if he could have his own room like he always did then sugata wouldn’t feel the need to communicate with any of these people. if it wasn’t for the fact he came to the mainland simply to interact with all sorts of people, well, he would’ve complained too.

“i’m sure it won’t be that bad.”  

At least Chalky was keeping his distance, or the room really would have smelled of gasoline. He was sat by the window of the dorm, which was wide open (simply to be sociable, wasn’t he considerate?) as he craned his head out of it, puffing away at two- no, three- cigarettes. At the comment made by the brunette, however, he looked around, causing one to tumble from his lips and down onto the campus below them.


Ah, well. No doubt some poor creature would scurry along and gobble that up. A tasty, carcinogenic treat! 

He allowed the two to talk without introducing himself. He was quiet, always so quiet. Much like his associated evil, he was the type to build reputation and recognition over time; in the immediate present, he was nothing but a bother. To the future? Who knew, eh?

(Source: leatheri)

"The most important pathological effects of pollution are extremely delayed and indirect." - Rene Dubos

The newcomer had come with little to no explanation of his past. He had been, it seemed, off the metaphorical map for the duration of his pre-Junior education, and to those who read his papers, it simply read ‘Transfer Student’. As to where he was transferring from was as yet a mystery. 

It was no wonder, really, because he hadn’t been transferred from anywhere, and he certainly hadn’t had any prior education to that he was having now, not that it showed. It would be rich to describe his knowledge as ‘natural’. As though he ‘naturally’ knew everything he did. That wasn’t strictly true. He had been bioengineered with that knowledge. Wait, could a personification of a true evil even be classified as bioengineered?

As to what or who he was, it remained unseen. 

He was everything and nothing all at the same time.

And he was really enjoying his chocolate bar, which hung from his lips, still partially in its wrapper, as he paced through the corridor of the Academy, making the most of his afternoon but wandering aimlessly. There was something about the way he walked that was peculiar - he had been described, by those who had met him formerly, as oozing as he walked. His physical state seemed closer to liquid than solid, but it was an illusion. He was very much solid. Why, then, did his footsteps seem to stick and drip as he walked?

Upon occasion, he would substitute his chocolate bar for the cigarette he held in his other hand. Smoking indoors, are we, Mr. White? Of course, he knew nothing of any rules, let alone laws, about smoking indoors and even if he had, he wouldn’t have paid attention to them. That was his aim in his fucked up, false existence, after all. There were also rules and laws on carbon caps and congestion charges, but few people heeded to those when they could be avoided. That had been his doing, after all, creating the loopholes in the London traffic penalties. He was rather proud of that. 

Taking one last bite of his chocolate bar, he tossed the packet to the floor carelessly and lifted the blunt to his lips once more to take a drag from it and exhale the smoke which, far from diffusing out into the air, seemed to hang around his black-crowned head like an aura.

He was Chalky White. 

Known, in some cultures, as Pollution