#Lime Grenade

[cloaksandcapes]

I forgot where the joke came from...maybe it was on Tumblr? Maybe it was Blue Sky. But if you make a suggestion, I'm going to make it a DnD magic item. So beware. There's not much more I can about this? Maybe one shot a boss encounter with limes?

Lime Grenade

Wondrous Item, rare

“No one can explain the arcane tomfoolery that went into designing this alchemical abomination, but it is what it is. Use it with caution for it can be used for both shenanigans and fatal shenanigans.” You can use your action to throw this grenade to a spot you can see within 30 feet of you. Upon impact 1d100 limes appear out of thin air and fall in a 10 foot radius. Each lime deals 1 bludgeoning damage and any creatures in the radius split the damage taken.

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[slyakoch13]

I REGRET NO LIME

[its-stimsca]

The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals for day 10 of Stimtober

🌌 🛸 🌌

🛸 🌌 🛸

🌌 🛸 🌌

[pjackk]

If u have any conections in the online community please let me know and contact me cuz i need to find out how to buy Www.TheSadTruth.Net to tell my story for the first time on my own terms one last time wich despite it all still rings true even though i was built fucked up and my mind was made to be horible from the very start and ive been havign a hard time lately and realy strugling with my problems and shit and they raised the price of the green juice lime botles si uts realy hard for me to even aford basic necesities of my shitty excuse for a life i cant even make my #FamouisCubanBurban cocktale anymore to go with my cigars im not even able to aford a good stogie every day no more and ive had to downgrade from pappy 23 to pappy 20 fuck my shitty ass life and i just need to be able to let everybody kno how much they have skull fucked me in the ass all the time epecially since the feds and the mens in black at the variuos "Federal" criminal agencies got involved with my phone gig they i was honetly trying to find new friends with my phone and i didnt even mean to take nobodys money or nothin they just gave me the gift cards as a gift for me since they liked me alot so now im on my l;ast legs and cant aford rent anymore since my landlord #BeheadTheLandlors is trying to kick me out of my mental health meditation pad that i need for tranquilaty and self care in hawaiey not to mention #BigGov is not even leting me throw grenades for fishing no more so i guess that was my last ffcking bluefin i will ever get so they are making it super hard for me to even live at a base level and i realy need help and suport u can send me cash on my app called Cash App at $pjack9 if u want to mutual aid me up i will not forget my friends if i get out of this slump but i miht not ever post again since i will be long gone so fuck it i think its time i hoist the white flag bvut my enemys dont even want to see me a live even if im sitting cuteley like a puppy dog they will still blow my iron skull off at the drop of a top hat so just keep me posted if there is anything U would like to serve me with i realy like: Twunks, jocks, tweekers, scratchoffs, CigarPigs, MoneyPigs, PiggyBanks, and Goon Hunniez so dm me yo junk imediately if u want to make me feel so good

The wolves are at my fucking door and I cant keep them out.

[playbucky]

Operation Safe House | 1 |

Price needs a safe house, you have a safe house. Should be an easy deal, right? Well when he and the team appear in the middle of the night, you come across Ghost, Gaz and Soap, all who are unsure of you and the solitude that you have. The solitude that will soon beep broken when the people they are hunting show up unannounced. Characters – Reader (Reaper), Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz. Word Count – 2.3k Warnings – Mentions of rape, not stated out right but it is suggested.

‘Price.’ You greeted the man in front of you along with the other three men who were stood in the middle of your living room. ‘Reaper, you got space for four of us?’ Price asked, you rolled your shoulders. ‘Well you’re in.’ You commented, he gave you a shy smile. ‘Do you know your length of vacation?’ You asked, you could feel the three other men stare at you. ‘Unknown.’ Price replied, you hummed and nodded. ‘Very well.’ You said as you rolled your shoulders again and looked over the four men, their large forms seemed to take up the entire room. The door chapped and you watched as they all tensed up and moved to their guns. ‘Stay.’ You spat out, a finger stretched towards the two men, ‘Stay quiet.’ You warned them, the door chapped again, you walked into the small corridor before you opened the front door. Soap tilted his head as he watched Ghosts reaction and tried to listen to the conversation but all he could make out was mumbles. The door was then shut before your footsteps sounded and you reappeared. ‘You’ll have to bunk the night, they’re watching.’ You replied, Price nodded and stood up. ‘How many?’ ‘Three, two were in the van but I believe they might have a sniper and more in the back.’ You explained, Prince pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Let me shut the curtains then you can move freely.’ You told them and moved around them as you pulled the curtains over. ‘Price I don’t think this is a good option.’ Soap said, he cautiously looked in the direction that you went in. ‘It might not be but it’s better than taking our chances with them.’ Price explained, Soap ran his tongue over his dry lips. ‘What about Reaper?’ Gaz asked, Ghost was relieved that he wasn’t the one to ask. ‘She’s fine.’ Price replied as you appeared at the doorway. ‘Lights go out at twenty-three hundred hours, any later and the neighbours will notice.’ You said, the men nodded. ‘What about weapons?’ Soap asked, you tilted your head to the side. ‘Follow me.’ ‘Top drawer, left hand side, two cupboards above you,’ you pointed to behind Gaz, he turned and opened the doors to reveal the guns hung inside, ‘fruit bowl and then they two.’ You said, as you tapped the two doors, Soap walked over to the fruit bowl and moved the lemon and limes to the side before he came across hand grenades. Ghost opened the last two cupboard doors as Price appeared beside him, they stepped back at the makeshift armoury. Ghost looked to Price who looked please before he turned as you reappeared with a gun that looked comically large compared to you but you handled it with ease. ‘Bedrooms upstairs, don’t go snooping in my shit.’ You warned as you checked you gun, the boys froze as you looked at them from the doorway. ‘Why do you have so much?’ Gaz quizzed, his eyes wide as looked over the selection. ‘I’m in charge of safe housing and have a few jobs with contractors.’ You informed them, lowering the gun to your side. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t know your names, ranks or ages I only know Prices name since he’s been here many times and your code names, I stay away and protect.’ You added when you noticed Soap and Ghost share a look, you looked between the two men and Soap nodded

‘You don’t have to lurk in the shadows.’ You commented, your gaze didn’t break from the computer screen that casted a bright glare over your face, the glasses did nothing to protect your eyes from the glare that seeped off them. ‘I’m not.’ He said as he walked forward, he had ditched the plastic skull but still supported the black balaclava, ‘Plus, you’re not doing much watching.’ He accused you, you arched an eyebrow as you reached forward and picked up the remote before you pressed a button. The TV to his left light up and the multiple rectangles came to life, he turned and watched. ‘I take protecting the people that come in here seriously, I understand that it’s hard to trust but…’ you trailed off, flashes of the flames appeared and your grip tightened, ‘I don’t make it a habit of letting my employees die.’ You finished, his gaze moved over you before he turned to the camera. ‘You can sit with me if you’d like but don’t expect a conversation.’ You told him, you gestured to the couch which he took two steps over before he dropped into it, a groan escaped him as he rested his muscles.

‘Where you going?’ A ruff voice asked, Ghost he was still sat on the couch that he hadn’t left all night, his large arms crossed over his chest. ‘A run.’ You replied, the hoodie over you head. ‘You’re leaving us here?’ ‘My routine keeps you safe especially when the men are still outside.’ You stated before you walked away from them and shut the door behind him.

They all jerked when the key slid into the lock and the door opened, you said goodbye to someone before you stepped in and shut the door. ‘It’s just me.’ You called out as you chucked your keys into the small bowl and slid your shoes off. ‘Do you do anything other than sit around?’ You asked, the same somber looks as they took in your sweat covered one. ‘Are they still there?’ Gaz asked. ‘Yup.’ You replied, you removed your phone from your pocket, ‘I’m gonna go shower, then we can discuss the plan.’ You said and made eye contact with Price who nodded. You gave him a small nod in return before you removed your headphones and sat them on the kitchen counter. You then grabbed the bottom of your shirt and pulled it over your shoulder, you could instantly feel them look at you before looking away but the ragged scar started under your ribs and ended at centre of your back caught their attention. You chucked the wet T-shirt over to the washing machine and turned around, which revealed more scars, smaller but littered across your stomach, chest and across your shoulders. You ignored the looks, everyone reacted the same when they saw them but you continued the short distance to the bathroom. ‘How’d you meet her?’ Gaz asked when the door shut, Price lifted his head. ‘Seven years ago.’ He said his brows furrowed, the water was switched on, ‘She was a field officer before her accident but she decided to become a contractor.’ Price started. ‘Accident?’ Soap asked, Price hesitated he didn’t know if he should tell them or not. ‘Reaper was apart of a group like us, her and five others went on a mission, two months later she walked back to base covered in scars and refused to talk for a month.’ He said, Gaz turned and looked in the direction you went, feeling like he was hearing a dirty secret. ‘Turns out her heli was knocked out the sky, no comms or anything worked. The other members had died on or shortly after impact but she survived.’ He finished, Ghost lowered his head. ‘What happened?’ Soap asked, Price shrugged. ‘We don’t know, Reaper never told us anything about they months.’ ‘You’ll need to stay another night.’ You stated as you reappeared, the men watched as you moved to the desk you and Ghost had sat at last night. ‘Should we ask why?’ Price quizzed, you shrugged a shoulder before you pressed the button and the security cameras came up on the screen. ‘They haven’t changed out, they’re planning something.’ ‘Or they could disappear within an hour.’ Gaz stated, you raised a shoulder in a shrug, you focused back on Price. ‘That or they are waiting for reinforcements.’ Price said, his brows pinched together as you lowered your head. ‘Why wait? They’ve marked the house, watched it for two days but it’s only been me they’ve saw.’ Soap said, you rolled your wrists. ‘Infrared? They probably know we’re here.’ Gaz suggested, you shook your head. ‘Can’t use it on the house.’ ‘What the house is state of the art, comes with in walls and floor heating.’ You commented, ‘the pipes run below and above us creates a massive bubble.’ You explained, they looked shocked. ‘Windows?’ Soap asked. ‘Bullets can’t get through, might break at a rocket launcher – hasn’t been tested though.’ You told them truthfully. ‘I might need to break one rule Price.’ You said, Price turned to you. ‘What?’ He asked. ‘Who’s chasing you?’ You asked, focused on the computer as you clicked through programmes before you stopped. ‘The Russian’s.’ Price told you, your brow pinched together. ‘Why are they here in London?’ You quizzed, ‘Bigger trading area.’ Gaz said, you ran your tongue over your teeth. ‘Great.’ You sighed.

You held the gun with one hand as you lowered onto your knees and spread them out, you continued bending until the gun's legs touched the ground. You shifted to lie on your dominant side before you pulled that knee up, the handle of the gun rested on your shoulder and you breathed. ‘Reaper.’ The voice called out, you moved to find them, ‘Or should I call you Y/N?’ The Russian asked, your shoulders tensed up. ‘I knew you were familiar, I had friends raving about you over in Berlin.’ ‘Do the men that your protecting know that you willingly spread your legs for the boss?’ He asked, you lowered the rifle. ‘Enough about me,’ you shouted loudly, he smiled widely, ‘if you’re accusing me of this I feel like I should know your name.’ You said, the area was silent. ‘Percy. Percy Markov.’ He introduced himself. ‘He’s the lead we need.’ Prices voice came through the comms, he’s more than that you thought. ‘I don’t like talking up to you, it hurts my neck, could you come down?’ Percy asked, you tilted your head to the side and allowed it to touch the cold metal, and you groaned. ‘Reaper be careful.’ Price warned you, you pushed yourself up with a grunt. ‘Come on Price, he just wants to talk.’ ‘Don’t kill him.’ He warned, you scoffed as you passed him on your way down the stairs, Soap and Gaz waited in line with him. You opened the door, noticing the group of armed men that stood on the road. Your eyes darted around before they pinpointed on Percy, his hair had been cut since that last time you had saw him, his skin still pale but decorated with the tattoos. Percy smiled when he spotted you. ‘Step outside.’ Percy said, ‘no weapons.’ He added, you tilted your head to the side before you reached behind your back and pulled the dagger free from your waist band. You showed it to Percy before you turned and held your hand out to Ghost who was just behind the door. His gloved hand accepted it. ‘And the one of your ankle.’ Percy added, your eyes flickered to the side before you balanced on one leg and slipped your fingers into your boot and pulled the sharpened blade out. You lifted you gaze and met Ghost’s as you handed it to him.

‘Reaper.’ Ghost grumbled, your jaw clenched. ‘Come on Y/N I don’t have all day.’ Percy complained, you blinked slowly. ‘I want to savour my time alive.’ You called back, you gaze then locked on Ghost’s before you stepped forward. ‘I need you to trust me for the next five minutes.’ You whispered to him, knowing your conversation was blocked by the door, you pulled back enough to see him nod. ‘Why are so sure that you’ll die?’ Percy asked as you stepped over the barrier, he stepped closer. ‘Because I’m going to do a stupid thing.’ You admitted to him, his brows furrowed together before you gave him a polite smile. He ducked his head and returned the smile, but it was quickly wiped off when you stretched out, the side of your hand connected with his throat. Percy buckled over and you wrapped an arm around his shoulders, you pulled him tight to your chest as you grabbed the small pistol that sat on his hip. Emptying the clip out you watched his men drop, uncaring if you had hit them or not as you turned and kicked Percy into the house. He stumbled backwards and tripped on the small ledge, his back collided with the floor before you chucked his empty gun across the street and jumped in. Within seconds of you slamming the door shut and flipping the locks on, Percy was in handcuffs as you dragged him to the living room. ‘You bitch.’ Percy groaned, as Soap and Ghost hauled him up and into a wooden chair provided by Gaz. ‘Oh, he’s alive.’ You said as you squatted down in front of him. ‘We’ll start hunting your neighbours.’ He hissed out, you pursed your lips and tipped your head. ‘Hard chance.’ You replied, Percy and the group looked at you confused. ‘There are no neighbours, I wouldn’t put innocents at risk.’ You explained. ‘Now, these men are going to ask you questions and you’re going to answer.’ ‘And if I don’t?’ ‘I will peel your skin from your body whilst you watch.’ You told him calmly, this affected him as he glanced to the men before he looked back at you. ‘Do they know what happened to you?’ Percy quizzed, jutting his chin to them. ‘No, we’ve only just met.’ ‘Did you know she killed her teammates?’ He asked, the men didn’t react, but Ghost watched as you stood to your full height. He was sure he heard some of the bones cracking. ‘Her intel led the team right to them, watched as they crashed and burned before her.’ He taunted, you raised an eyebrow as you nodded, ‘Then she joined them, worked alongside them and spread her legs as her pay to them.’ You rolled your shoulders and stepped forward, your face void of all emotion. Percy’s eyes widened slightly before you smiled down at him. ‘The men have questions to ask.’ You told Percy, occasionally thumps connected with the front door as his henchmen shot at it.

‘The police will be here.’ Percy sneered, this seemed to stop the men from going any further. ‘Ask away.’ You motioned to him, Percy continued to fight the restraints. ‘The police?’ Gaz asked, you shook your head. ‘Unless I enter a code, no police come to this street.’ You said, you walked into the kitchen and poured yourself a drink. ‘So, you can get messy and he can scream like the pig he is.’ You told them before you downed the glass. ‘Heard you spread your legs for them.’ Percy said, Price and Soap looked at you as Ghost continued to stare at him, ‘Specifically the boss, had a soft spot for him didn’t you.’ You clenched your jaw and looked at him, the wide smile taunting you. ‘Two months was a long time to survive there, you must have some really good p -,’ ‘Why are you so fascinated with me?’ You cut, he looked at you, the bloody nose dripped over his lips. ‘I’m not fascinated with you.’ ‘No?’ You quizzed, he shook his head, ‘all you’ve talked about is me, my past and my wrong doings.’ You listed, Percy’s face dropped slightly. ‘Why are you really in London?’ You asked him, he looked at you as he raised an eyebrow. ‘Percy, you better talk or I’ll use my skills that you know so much about.’ You threatened. ‘Fine.’ You said, you almost heard his exhale in relief as you turned and opened a drawer. The items inside knocked against each other before you rummage around, the men watched as you smiled and stuck you hand in the drawer, you pulled it out with a wooden rolling pin clutched tightly. ‘I’ll give you ten goes to answer the question, then I’ll move onto your toes.’ You said, calmly whilst you chucked the rolling pin up and caught it. You walked over to him, he started to panic and you smiled, quickly you stretched a hand out and wrapped it around his wrist. You yanked it forward, he yelped as he tried to fight it. Carefully you moved your wrist down his hand, you pulled a finger free and rested it over the edge of the armrest. ‘Why are you in London?’ You asked, he glared at you whilst he remained silent. You pursed your lips and nodded before you brought the rolling pin down, his finger snapped loudly as he yelled, you ignored it as you extended his middle finger. ‘Why here?’

[sparxwrites]

The Body Shots Incident

A prequel-ish to this nonsense, aka "the origin story of the Hermitcraft server party tequila ban". cw for lots of alcohol consumption and excessive innuendo [ao3]

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asks Mumbo, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. He’s trying to delay the inevitable – primarily, being shirtless in front of a lot of people with Scar ‘Godlike Abs’ Goodtimes right next to him for comparison. It’s not working very well. “Just, I can think of, off the top of my head, oh, sixteen ways this could go wrong. At least three of them end with us respawning. At least.”

“Oh, no!” Scar, already reclining across a table in a distinctly louche manner, is nude from the waist up and looking distinctly self-satisfied about it. If anybody present knew who Jeff Goldblum was, multiple comparisons would have already been made. “It’s a terrible idea, and it’s going to go horribly wrong.”

Scar, unlike Mumbo, had taken his shirt off with precisely zero shame and absolutely maximum enthusiasm as soon as the whole concept had been suggested. It had taken three people – Bdubs included, remarkably – to stop him from removing his belt and pants as well.

Mumbo’s unclear whether the nearly-double-digits-worth of brightly coloured cocktails are to blame for Scar’s enthusiastic stripping, or whether this is just a Scar Thing. Probably just a Scar Thing, if he’s being honest. The man’s shredded. If Mumbo had pecs and abs like that, he’d take his shirt off all the time too.

“Okay, both of you, lie down,” says Pearl, officiously. Or as officious as one can be, after multiple bottles of Prosecco and a round of Jaeger bombs – which is frankly not very. She’s wielding a salt shaker in one hand, like it’s a hand grenade; two lime slices in the other, like– some other kind of weapon. Or something. Mumbo’s not exactly sober right now, either. Similes are a little beyond him at this point.

Scar, already draped elegantly across his own table, gestures to Mumbo with a raised eyebrow.

Mumbo, very reluctantly, sheds his shirt.

Grian, loitering next to Impulse, wolf-whistles in what Mumbo assumes is supposed to be a supportive sort of way. It doesn’t feel very supportive. Doesn’t do much to actually support him, either. Mostly, it just makes him go bright red – brighter red than he’d already gone, anyways, at having so much skin exposed in a room full of people.

Though admittedly not that many people, realistically. There’s him and Grian, as a team; Scar and Bdubs, as the opposing team; and Impulse, the judge of this ill-conceived competition. And Pearl, of course, as his self-proclaimed beautiful assistant. But pretty much every other Hermit is on the other side of the room, busy getting drunk and being noisy. Usual server party stuff.

It’s only them over here, with the two tables in the room not currently covered in alcohol and cups, because Grian and Bdubs had had a stupid argument, and decided that clearly the best way to solve it was a body shots competition, of all things. Which, yeah, sure, tracks as far as drunk Bdubs and Grian logic goes, but– Mumbo’s not even sure how you score a body shots competition.

That’s what they have Impulse for, though. Impulse knows how to judge a body shots competition. Probably.

So there’s not that many people watching, by the grace of any god paying attention. It’s just that, well. Mumbo has his shirt off. Right next to Scar Goodtimes, abs god extraordinaire. And Mumbo’s got no abs, and skin pale enough a vampire would flinch from it, and a soft little belly, and enough body hair it probably technically counts as thermal insulation.

And, to put the icing on the misery cake, pert little nipples. It’s not his fault it’s bloody cold with his shirt off but, for some reason, he doesn’t think that’s going to stop anyone from commenting on their pertness.

“Nice nips, Mumbo,” says Grian, as though he’d read Mumbo’s mind in the worst, most malicious way possible. He cackles when Mumbo turns self-consciously pink. “Hey! That was a compliment!”

Impulse clears his throat. “No– no commenting on competitors’ nipples without their explicit consent. Well-established rule of body shots competitions that I definitely didn’t just make up. I mean. Preferably no commenting on nipples at all but–”

“Don’t worry, Grian,” interjects Scar, cheerfully. “You can comment on my nipples all you like.”

“Thanks, Scar. That’s great. I appreciate the offer.” Grian does not, under any possible stretch of the imagination, sound like he appreciates the offer.

“Hey!” snaps Bdubs, immediately, outraged on a reflex. “No commenting on my competition partner’s nipples, okay?! Get your own!”

Grian, moderately drunk and visibly bewildered, flounders. “Get… my own nipples…?”

“Yeah! Get your own nipples, Mister!”

“Anyway,” says Impulse, loudly, clapping his hands together. Several Hermits look over. A few drift over for a closer look. Mumbo’s insides curl up like a dying spider. “If we could, uh, get things started…? Pearl–?”

Pearl crosses her arms.

“–sorry, my beautiful assistant, Pearl, could you do the salt, if our contestants want to lie down…?”

“On it!” says Pearl, with entirely too much glee. She approaches, menacing, salt shaker and lime slices in hand.

Both Scar and Mumbo, rather hurriedly, scramble to arrange themselves appropriately for their salting, and then endeavour to lie very, very still. They get a lime slice placed besides their head for their troubles.

Mumbo is chosen as the first victim for salting. He holds himself frozen on the table – deer-in-the-headlights frozen, even – as Pearl, tongue between her teeth in concentration, begins to tip salt in a line down his chest, right between his pecs. It’s a pretty wobbly line. Mumbo blames the Jaeger bombs.

“This is ridiculous,” mutters Grian, watching his half-naked best friend get salted like a slug by a drunk Australian. This, Mumbo feels, is a bit rich coming from the man who enthusiastically agreed to the idea when Bdubs proposed it.

Bdubs glowers at him by way of reply. Impulse just looks tired.

When Mumbo has had the appropriate salt applied, Pearl moves onto Scar. She wields the salt shaker like a loaded gun, and is doing a poor job of muffling her giggles. Those in her way move out of the way, very quickly, as she heads to Scar’s table.

“Do not get that on my nipples, by the way, Pearl,” says Scar, firmly, craning his head up as she approaches to watch the proceedings. “I don’t want any chafing!”

Pearl, already struggling to keep anything so much as approaching a straight face, barely manages to set the salt down before she doubles over in hysterics. “Im– Impulse–” she manages, wheezing, her grip on the edge of the table the only thing keeping her upright. “Gonna– tagging– tagging you in, mate, oh, oh my–”

Impulse, with an apologetic twist of the mouth in both Mumbo and Scar’s directions, takes up the salt.

His attempt at setting up a line of salt down Scar’s chest goes significantly better than Pearl’s did with Mumbo, primarily because he’s not a bottle and a half of prosecco down and sloppy drunk with it – just a few beers tipsy, instead. In short order, the pair of them are salted, with a lime slice ready to go in their mouths when the competition begins. Then he heads off to fill shot glasses of tequila, with the tongue-between-teeth concentration and unsteady hand of the moderately inebriated.

Bdubs and Grian take the opportunity to approach and examine their victims.

“Cute,” says Grian, and pokes Mumbo in the bellybutton.

Mumbo yelps, raising a hand to swat at him, before freezing when he remembers the salt. “Hey! No– no. I am sensitive. No poking.”

“Ooh,” interrupts Bdubs, peering nosily over at the competition. At Mumbo’s chest, specifically, and the thick fuzz of dark body hair growing across it. Much of the salt has ended up across it – or, rather, beneath it, within it, and amongst it. Mumbo’s not looking forward to tomorrow’s shower. “Look at that. Very nice. Lucky you!”

Grian raises an eyebrow. “Lucky?” he asks, disbelievingly. “I– look, no offence, Mumbo, I’ve got nothing against a good bit of chest hair, but… I’m just not convinced licking it is going to be the best sensation in the world.”

“Lucky,” repeats Bdubs, firmly.

“You want to swap…?” Grian is once more visibly bewildered. Though, admittedly, that’s not an uncommon expression to find people around Bdubs wearing. “Because that’s fine, I don’t mind–”

“I do not want you two to swap,” mutters Mumbo, nervously.

He’s concertedly ignored by everyone involved.

“Aha!” Bdubs grabs Grian by the front of his jumper with both hands. “So it is true. You are trying to steal Scar from me, and you do want to lick his– Scar! Stop laughing, you’ll ruin your salt.”

Scar manages to muffle himself down to stifled sniggers, with what looks like a Herculean effort of drunken willpower. “C’mon, Bdubs. Leave poor Grian alone. We can discuss him licking me when I don’t have salt, uh, perilously close to my delicate nipples.”

“How’re you managing pel– perir– pelirousy after nine cocktails?” demands Mumbo. “You can’t even bloody say that sober!”

He is, once again, ignored.

“I don’t want to discuss him licking you! I want him to not lick you! That’s not his job.” Bdubs sounds aggrieved. He does, however, obediently release the front of Grian’s jumper, stepping back to give the other man the stink eye. “He’s not Deputy Mayor, now, is he.”

Bdubs is, technically speaking, not Deputy Mayor either. It’s several months and an entire world since he was Deputy Mayor. But everyone present is aware that, for Bdubs at least, Deputy Mayor is less a job title and more an eternal-obsessive-crony-to-Mister-Scar-Goodtimes state of mind.

“Since when has licking the Mayor been part of the Deputy Mayor’s job?” asks Mumbo, of no one in particular, though he suspects the answer is since Bdubs got the job.

“I do not want to lick Scar,” says Grian, firmly. “I’d just, you know, prefer not to lick Mumbo’s chest hair. No offence, Mumbo.”

“Some taken, mate, I’m not gonna lie.”

Scar pouts. “You don’t want to lick my–?”

“Ladies, gentlemen, and uh, sentient mosses,” says Impulse, returning with the shot glasses. Pearl has given up on proceedings entirely, sinking down to sit against one of the table legs and looking distinctly out of it. Not out of it enough, however, to have surrendered the prosecco bottle she has in a death-grip. “If we could maybe get back on track with the competition…?”

“How’re we scoring this?” asks Grian, because of course he does. Grian plays to win, after all.

“Uhhh.” Impulse, preoccupied with setting the slightly precarious shot glasses down on Mumbo and Scar’s belly without spilling them, flounders. “I was thinking maybe, like, speed, and style, and… Spanish-ness…?”

“Tequila’s from Mexico, idiot,” interjects Bdubs, helpfully.

“Mexican-ness, then.”

“None of us are from Mexico, though,” Grian points out. “Or Spain. Or anywhere in South America or Europe, actually.”

“Fine! Fine, speed and style, fine, can we just– god, I need a drink. Can we get this over with so I can get a drink?” Impulse’s voice has picked up the whining desperation of a man powerfully regretting several recent life choices.

“Yes,” agrees Bdubs, emphatically. “I would really like to get started, oh yes.” He’s looking at Scar, laid out on the table, as though he’s a slab of particularly well-cooked steak. Scar – somewhat worryingly – preens beneath his hungry gaze.

Mumbo’s relieved when Grian, deciding for reasons known only to himself to be reasonable for once in his life, tosses Impulse a casual salute by way of agreement.

“Alright.” Impulse inhales, and exhales, as though to centre himself. Or perhaps brace himself. Either way, it adds an unexpected gravity to the situation which Mumbo could really do without. Bad enough he’s shirtless on a table covered in salt, without it feeling like some big deal. “Ready, everyone? Right. Lime slices in your mouths, Scar and Mumbo. Bdubs and Grian– On your marks. Get set. Go!”

Grian goes for speed. He’s done the shot, licked the salt, and bitten the lime out of Mumbo’s mouth before Mumbo even really knows what’s happened. He’s kind of grateful for it, honestly – like ripping a bandaid off.

Bdubs, of course, goes for style.

The noise Scar makes as Bdubs drags a tongue up his belly is positively pornographic. Bdubs is flushed red-cheeked from the shot, and Scar is flushed red from a tongue dragged across sensitive skin and taut muscle. By the time Bdubs cranes his head up to take the lime from Scar’s mouth, it’s more of a lewd, open-mouthed kiss than anything else. It’s like watching a train wreck. None of them can look away.

“…Well.” Impulse clears his throat, awkwardly. His nose looks a little pink. Even odds on whether it’s from the alcohol, or the display he’s just witnessed. “I, uh… I think I’m gonna have to call that one for Scar and Bdubs, guys? Um.”

Scar whoops, gleeful. “Yes! Bdubs, it’s official. We’re the best.”

“I,” announces Bdubs, with the smug delight of a man who’s just licked a line of salt off of Scar Goodtimes’s abs and gotten an award about it, “am going to find us some more tequila. To celebrate.”

He’s gone before any of them have the time – let alone the inclination or recovered cognitive faculties – to point out that that’s probably a bad idea.

There’s a long moment of silence, as they all slowly come to terms with what they’ve just done.

“Oh, god,” says Grian, miserably, breaking the quiet. He sticks two fingers in his mouth, and comes back with something dark and wiry clutched between them. “I’ve got bloody– Mumbo hair, in my mouth–”

Mumbo is not looking at Grian. Mumbo is busy staring at Scar, still laid out across the table and looking quite pleased with himself. “Yeah, well,” he says, “I think the rather more pressing issue is that Scar’s got–”

“Absolutely no need to comment on that,” says Scar, cheerfully, finally sitting up. There’s still a little salt clinging to his abs, shimmering and crystalline. It draws the eye to it, and then encourages the eye to move further down, to his happy trail, and then on to his– “Perfectly natural reaction to getting your stomach licked. You wouldn’t shame a man for his natural reactions, now, would you, Mumbo?”

Suddenly unable to make eye contact with Scar, Mumbo averts his gaze. As he does, he mutters something that sounds remarkably like, “Bloody well would.”

He is, once again, ignored.

Scar is saved from having to discuss the particulars of his natural reactions by a loud crash from the opposite side of the room. Grian, sensing trouble occurring that he’s not yet involved with, whips his head around with velociraptor-like enthusiasm and speed.

“Bdubs, please, I just really think you don’t need any more–”

“I won!” Bdubs is yelling, holding the bottle of half-full tequila above his head as high as he can – which, given his height, is not very. Somehow, despite being far taller and significantly more sober, Xisuma’s attempts at grabbing it are going exceedingly poorly indeed. “I won, I licked Mayor Scar so, so good and I won, which means I get to celebrate, okay? With tequila.”

“No– no, Bdubs, you– come on, please, that’s very– you know what you get like when you drink too much of that, please, I really don’t–”

“Let him drink!” yells Keralis, from the sidelines, with both his characteristic lasciviousness and the motivated enthusiasm of a man who had an excellent time last time Bdubs drank too much tequila. “It’s a democracy, Shishwammy. Let Bubbles drink! Or at least let us vote on whether he can drink. I vote yes.”

If it goes to a vote, Mumbo knows, Xisuma will lose. Keralis is not the only person who had an excellent time last time Bdubs drank too much tequila. Far from it, in fact.

“Bdubs–” wails Xisuma, now weeping openly. Bdubs is stanced for combat, knees bent and arms wide like a sumo wrestler, the neck of the tequila bottle gripped in one fist. His moss hoodie and undershirt, somewhere in the proceedings, have vanished from his body. A circle of interested Hermits, sensing the evening’s entertainment, is beginning to gather around the scene.

Scar, Grian, and Mumbo watch from the other side of the room in companionable silence for a long moment – soaking up the general chaos, and attempting to process what’s just happened, respectively.

Then Scar swings his legs off the table, and stands up, with an admirable amount of grace and balance for a man nine cocktails down and counting. It’s an ongoing, server-wide mystery that Scar somehow becomes more coordinated and better with his words when drunk, and it’s always struck Mumbo as deeply unfair. “…Do you think we should go help?” he asks, mildly, watching Xisuma make yet another failed grab for the tequila.

“Absolutely not,” says Mumbo, immediately and very firmly.

As he watches, Bdubs downs two large mouthfuls of the tequila without flinching, and manages to duck Xisuma’s lunge with the poise of a ballet dancer. Xisuma, regrettably helmetless, lunges head-first into a table full of bottles instead. The resulting crash shakes the floorboards. “I do not want to get mixed up in that, thank you.”

“I think we should go and make it worse, actually,” says Grian, brightly. He is, Mumbo notices, holding a prosecco bottle – prised from Pearl’s now-empty hands where she’s slumped half-snoring beneath the table. He takes a sip, directly from the bottle, and hums appreciatively.

“Why,” says Mumbo, weakly.

“‘Cos it’ll be funny. Duh.” Grian offers the bottle to Mumbo, and wrinkles his nose when Mumbo doesn’t take it.

“Excellent point, Grian.” Scar swipes the bottle instead, tilting it up and taking a hearty chug – because that’s the part of the evening they’ve gotten to, apparently. Chugging prosecco from a bottle. “See! This is why you’re the brains of the operation. However, consider– you could also go make out in the bathroom.”

“With who?”

Scar strikes a pose, arms out, abs flexed. “With me, of course!”

“Eww. No,” says Grian, as though he hasn’t made out with Scar at nine out of the last ten server parties. Mumbo should know. He’s been keeping track. For the Boatem Pool, of course. It’s important to have those kinds of numbers to crunch, when you’re trying to work out how and when your best friend and your other best friend are going to have sex for the first time. Which is, of course, a perfectly normal thing to be trying to work out, thank you very much.

“I just want you both know,” Mumbo interrupts, “that I want no part in this.”

Grian turns to look at him, and Mumbo quails beneath the intensity of the mischief in his gaze. “What,” he says, “not even the bathroom makeouts?” as though he hadn’t been objecting to said makeouts mere moments ago.

Mumbo is just a heartbeat too slow in his denial.

“Mumbo. Mumbo!” says Scar, brightly. He’s grinning at him, a salesman’s smile, a snake’s smile, all teeth and smirk. “If you want the rewards of bathroom makeouts, you have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of doing crimes with us! You should know that by now.”

“What does that mean?!” Mumbo’s beginning to wish he’d taken the prosecco when it was offered.

“It means you should come with me and we can both take our pants off in front of Xisuma,” whispers Scar, secretively. “As a distraction. So Grian can do crimes, while everyone’s distracted by our ahmayzin’, uhhh– underwear.”

Scar’s natural reaction, Mumbo cannot help but notice, has not quite subsided yet. And, despite his trousers sitting low on his hips, there’s not so much as hint of underwear peeking out above the waistband.

“Underwear,” Mumbo repeats, slowly. “Right.”

“Absolutely not,” says Grian, but Scar is already gone, sprinting towards the Hermits ringing Xisuma and Bdubs’ ongoing tequila battle. “No! Scar–! Keep your damn pants on!” And then he’s gone, too, chasing after Scar. Or the promise of chaos.

Or, more realistically, both.

In their aftermath, Mumbo sinks – miserable, shirtless, belly hair still faintly damp from being licked – to the floor. Consumed by his own bewilderment, it takes him a moment to realise there’s a hand on his head. Pearl, apparently awake again, is petting his hair gently.

“There, there, mate,” she says, sympathetically. Her eyes are bleary, but her hands are remarkably steady as she pulls a fresh bottle of prosecco from god-knows-where and uncorks it with her teeth in a manoeuvre that leaves Mumbo staring, impressed. “Prosecco?”

“…Yeah, actually,” says Mumbo, as the noises of tequila-based disaster from the other side of the room increase, abruptly, in volume. “Yeah. You know what? Why not.”

They sit in silence for a moment, watching the chaos unfolding. Xisuma is on the floor, weeping. Bdubs is shirtless, teeth bared, wielding a now mostly-empty bottle of tequila. Scar is invisible through the throng of other hermits now watching, heckling, egging them on – but Grian is yelling, “Scar! Put your trousers back on!”, which gives them a pretty clear mental picture.

“They’re going to have sex in that bathroom, aren’t they?” says Mumbo, absently, after a while. The prosecco has settled, warm and fizzy, in bottom of his already thoroughly alcohol-lined stomach. A pair of trousers just flew out of the middle of the Hermit huddle, which is rapidly looking less like a circle and more like an active, good-natured brawl.

“Yeah. Probably.” Pearl pauses, thoughtfully, and makes grabby hands at the prosecco bottle. Mumbo obediently passes it over. “That is, if they don’t just give up and fuck right in the middle of the party.”

Mumbo ignores that last bit, because if he starts thinking about that then he’s a bit concerned he’s going to have a natural reaction of his own. Across the room, Bdubs has begun wailing in misery, in the way only Bdubs can. “I should probably be there,” he says. “If they are. For Boatem Pool purposes, you know?”

“Boatem Pool purposes,” repeats Pearl, solemnly. “Totally.”

She passes the prosecco back, and fist-bumps the bottle in solidarity when he takes it. And then they sit there, in silence, sharing the rest of the drink between them as the sounds of tequila-based disaster fill the rest of the room.

[pisssalamander]

Picture me throwing this Lime scribbly at you then curling up into a ball and covering my ears like its a grenade

one day ill get good enough at bgs so i can feel confident enough to single post the image with the bg instead of posting just the char as a safety net. oh well.

felt like doing a Lime scribbly so i Lime scribbly'd all over the place

[transparentgentlemenmarker]

35 fruits indispensable : Abricot, Ananas, Banane, Canneberge ou cranberry, Cassis, Cerise, Citron vert ou Lime, Clémentine ou Mandarine, Coing, Figue, Fraise, Framboise, Fruit de la passion, Goyave, Grenade, Groseille, Kiwi, Litchi, Mangue, Melon, Mirabelle, Mûre noire, Myrtille, Nectarine, Orange, Papaye, Pastèque, Pêche, Poire, Poire, Pomelo (dit Pamplemousse), Pomme, Prune, Raisin et Rhubarbe

[doom-dreaming]

Stars!

"Chief, you have to find cover. Now."

Black spots are swimming in his vision, pinging around his HUD, melding and diverging and zinging and popping. Cortana's voice sounds light-years away.

"Another hit like that and we're toast. Literally. Move!"

Instinct is the only thing kicking his legs into motion, straining against the pain. His shield warning is blaring inside his skull, he can feel portions of his undersuit melting against his skin, he's still seeing stars. A wave of nausea swells and threatens to break, but he swallows it down, collapsing behind a pillar.

The enraged Hunter bellows somewhere close by—too close. He hears the heavy clang of its weight moving around the room, searching him out. He doesn't have long. He grits his teeth, tries to focus on his breathing, reloads his rifle. His shields begin to recharge, not nearly as fast as he needs.

Two grenades left, that was something. He yanks the pin out of one, counts to three, then lobs it around the side of the pillar. The Hunter howls over the sound of the blast.

John hauls himself to his feet and runs, shoving aside the searing pain of the plasma burns. Cortana was right, he couldn't take another direct hit. He sprints through the dissipating smoke, past the Hunter, and launches himself onto a platform on the other side of the room, pivoting on his heel the second he touches down.

The Hunter's back is still turned, but it's starting to shake off the shock of the explosion and swing around to face him, plasma cannon already glowing—his window of opportunity is getting smaller by the second. He fires a burst from his rifle, aiming for the sliver of squirming orange worm-flesh under the armor. The Hunter stumbles as the bullets connect, just long enough for John to fling his final grenade.

The explosion thunders through the room, amplified by the residual energy from the half-charged cannon. White-hot fire roils against lime green smoke. A satisfying splash of rust-colored viscera coats the walls. The Hunter crashes to the ground beside its fallen sibling, twitches, then lies still.

His shield alarm is sounding again, he must've been caught by the fringe of the blast. Nothing pings on his motion tracker. The adrenaline that'd been carrying him through the last brutal fifteen minutes starts to fade, making room for all the stress and pain he'd been ignoring to come screaming back with renewed intensity.

He barely manages to unseal his helmet and rip it off before he vomits. It doesn't make him feel any better; the convulsion tears at his blistered, charred flesh, sending a fresh spike of pain through his chest. The air tastes like metallic smoke, but he takes a minute to just breathe.

"...we've gotta keep moving, Chief." Her voice is closer again, but tinny, projected through the helmet's external speakers. "We can rest when we find a medkit." Authoritative as always. But he hears the concern.

He nods. Spits. Takes one last deep breath before fitting his helmet back on and willing his battered body to carry him to the next room. He's still seeing stars.

[expressions-lsr]

On Days to Come

By Anvi Sonkar

On days to come, it will turn ugly again, radio silence, robbing of our mutual mates but mostly knowing it is what it always was. rose stains on your ran down cup of tea and cigarettes, I share them ever so politely with a sickness in my head; the salt cuts us hard and like the waters, we persist when we trade are glasses for ever so melted ice over gin and lime or when I take your hand and you promise to never let me go, do you think they see us? when the bookstores are closed and we run in the rain, half a mile, do you think they notice? When we dance, your feet over mine and my heart scarring because it’s the last night before it all turns ugly again. your birthday toast, I so often sit with and eulogize, your mother’s china that is scarred of the fifteen year old wound on the crest of your left shoulder blade, your father’s word, oh, that double edged sword I’ve learnt to swing past but deep flows the guilt, under graves of graves, for all what was fought for, for all misery of mutiny that I swallow in the name of Machiavellian distort, it rots us until everything we touch turns ugly. I refuse to return your books and you keep mine close to those healed burn wounds, ties the faulty fallacy of them being pieces of us we trade. you refuse to call me anymore and yet I sit in a hallow building with ghosts for friends, knowing not a day would go by where I’d not pick up; six years of faulty exchanges, in the books of sins, lies and altered truth, there goes the burning bridge of you and I. seven months in strawberry fields, as the world fell apart, we crafted letters of deep devotion in the name of Christ; we were never religious but grazing through the long grown grasses through the winter’s nights, nothing fell short of a life of such sweet decadence and a clocking grenade on our arms, coiled. On days to come, ten will remain, each meal shared over a year’s strange familiarity, each will be marked by the oldest of colognes and greys of our hair. after all of it, after days of sitting by the phone, it will ring, thanking for never letting you go, and a book in the mail, with a devout eulogy, of all the words that couldn’t teach us love, of all the idler dreamers and their ungodly Gods, of all the dogs caught beneath the landslide, and the letter oh so wounded, it only says, “on days to come, will it all turn ugly again?"

[silenthill2ps2]

navy and lime <3

Navy - i have a feeling you hate jeans.

Lime - i can't tell if you're serious or what but i am avidly waiting your next post.

WRONG i like jeans they can just be irritating for my skin sometimes. and yes i am very serious. each post i make is like a grenade

[villiansworld000]

Twisted World/Overblot Wonderland

Prologue

"Even Though this Battle Goes Nowhere..."

A enormous black dragon materialized through the circular doorway of void coming from a glowing mirror.

The dragon just arrived there and was already in a bad mood. It was spitting out green fire and splattering weird ink black goo everywhere. On occasion it would fly around or smash it's tail into a building. Or generate some strange lime green ropes of magic that resembled lightning. The ropes would whip around setting anything that it touched ablaze with green fire.

A lone boy with almost black ,long green hair stood at on a bridge, just out of reach of the chaos.

His hair violently flapped in the wind, his forearm aside from being decorated with a faintly glowing shield in the exact shape of a spinning wheel and spindle, was dripping blood. The boy was injured and bruised in several other places, his black blazer and trousers covered in dirt, ash, blood drops and presumably glass and gravel fragments.

Charging forward he picked up a fallen bazooka and fired.

Immediately he yelled in agony as he was violently knocked aside again by the dragon's tail. He skidded to a stop and sported several new cuts that would become unpleasant scars later.

Standing up he dodged as a column of fire illuminated the dark world.

A few hundred feet away a boy with red hair groaned and attempted to sit up but a strong gust of wind knocked him back down. Weakly he commented something about not want Malleus to fight. The boy presumably Malleus, ignored him in favor of shooting a iridescent silhouette that had a sword and started to charge towards him.

Perilously hanging off the ledge of a building teetering over was a different boy with brown skin and even darker semi curly hair. Glancing in his direction, Malleus's face grew alarmed. "Leona!" He yelled seeing as it fell on deaf ears he jumped over and caught Leona as he started to fall.

Malleus sighed, gently lay the unconscious Leona down.

Tiredly he rested against the cracked glass of a restaurant's display window. "I'm all out of grenades... Cant I come up with something to pierce it's skin...?" He strained to get up again, "pushing myself to fight... Where am I going with this?" He transformed the shield into a black staff decorated with a spinning wheel and spindle. The gem no longer on the center but instead under the decorative top and glowing brilliantly. "Return" Malleus said holding out his hands and the world faded to white.

Silver woke up and went downstairs. "It was only a dream"  he remarked as he smiled at Malleus and Lilia basically fight each other over who made breakfast.

'It was nothing to be concerned about' Silver smiled secretly as he drank his coffee.

Prologue End

[keto-kitty]

It's been a while

October 2022 was the last time I posted, so a year and 4 months in which I've not really put on a huge amount of weight, but I'm noticeably more tired a lot of the time, I lack the motivation to do much, I'm more anxious and I'm hovering over the border of depression which is great fun.

Mentally, not doing fantastically, obviously. A colleague at work moved some of my department around yesterday and I don't know if it made me anxious or angry but it definitely made me something and I ended up texting a colleague asking why the fuck was I annoyed about jumpers. Also I've just been glaring at my monitor for the past half hour wondering why everything looked so fucky before I remembered I wacked my brightness and contrast all the way up to try and play a game yesterday. I'm a mess lol, and not even a hot one!

I have an operation booked in April so I'm going to break keto on the 10th which is 63 days away which doesn't seem like a massive amount of time, and it gives me a count down rather than a count up which I'm hoping will be more helpful :)

Since Monday (I started Tuesday), I've lost 0.7kg which is almost certainly water weight, but I'll take it!

Today I had;

Breakfast

Nature Valley peanut bar

Monster Ultra zero

Lunch

A pot of egg and bacon sandwich filler

Pepsi Max lime

Grenade white chocolate and salted peanut mini bar

Dinner

A pile of fried chicken skins I'd removed when making chicken stew. Delish :)

1,017 calories, 36g carbs, 73g fat, 57g protein

[gundamone]

Diecast

POWDER YA NOSE

IRON YOUR CLOTHES

POUR ANOTHER DRINK

ROLL A MOP OF DRO

GO DUMB ON A FOE

GO STUPID ON AN OPP

GET MONEY IN ABUNDANCE

CAN'T STOP THROWS

SHADE CANT STOP THE GLOW

GRENADES AT YA FEET

ROTTWEILERS AT THE DOOR

JUICES RUN SOUR

OPERATION FEED THE POOR

UP LIKE I SHOULD REALLY TRAVEL MORE

WHATS ONE CITY

WITH MILLIONS TO GO

DEMOLITION CANS

AEROSOL CONTRABANDS

PHARMACEUTICAL STIMULANTS

BELUSHI FRAMES

IT'S STILL FOR THE CHILDREN

BOOST ME UP IN ZUMIEZ

CRANBERRY KIWI LIME

HERMES BIKINI

MOMO FIVE STAR WITH THA LIP

POUTING I LOST A WHOLE CRIB

THIS COULDA BEEN A MOVIE

IF YOU DIDN'T SMOKE CRACK

YOU WOULDA HAD SUM JIBS

[lacuna-lunax]

21/11/23

Eeek for once I kind of have something to look forward to/focus on and I reaalllyyyy don’t know how to handle it.

Tuesday (1400):

Coffee

Grenade Carb Killa Chocolate Chip Salted Caramel

Monster Energy Ultra

Fridge Raiders Meat-Free Smoky BBQ Tasty Bites

Cherry Yoghurt

Misfits Plant Powered Choc Protein Bar Chocolate S'mores Flavour

Cadbury Dairy Milk Caramel Nibbles

Wednesday (1400):

Coffee

Grenade Carb Killa White Chocolate Salted Peanut

Monster Energy Ultra

Fridge Raiders Meat-Free Slow Roasted Tasty Bites

Raspberry Yoghurt

Barebells Caramel Choco Soft Protein Bar

Cadbury Dairy Milk Buttons Twisted Chocolate

Thursday (1400):

Coffee

Grenade Carb Killa Fudged Up

Monster Energy Ultra Rosa

Fridge Raiders Meat-Free Slow Roasted Tasty Bites

Strawberry Yoghurt

Pro Fit Vanilla Caramel Crunch Protein Bar

Cadbury Caramilk Buttons Golden Caramel Chocolate

Friday (1400):

Coffee

Grenade Carb Killa Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough

Monster Energy Ultra

Fridge Raiders Meat-Free Slow Roasted Tasty Bites

Wow White Chocolate Yoghurt

Fulfil Peanut Butter Chocolate Flavour Vitamin & Protein Bar

Terry's Chocolate Orange Minis

Saturday (1400):

Coffee

Grenade Carb Killa White Chocolate Cookie

Monster Energy Ultra

Fridge Raiders Meat-Free Smoky BBQ Tasty Bites

Strawberry Cheesecake Yoghurt

7UP Zero Sparkling Lemon & Lime Drink

Really Rich Red Velvet Brownie

Misfits Plant-Powered Choc Protein Bar Chocolate Brownie Flavour

Maltesers Milk Chocolate & Honeycomb Snack Bag

Sunday (1400):

Coffee

Grenade Carb Killa Caramel Chaos

Monster Energy Ultra Watermelon

Fridge Raiders Meat-Free Smoky BBQ Tasty Bites

Strawberry Cheesecake Yoghurt

Fully Loaded Miso White Chocolate and Fudge Cookie

Mallow & Marsh Double Chocolate Marshmallow Bar

Maltesers Milk Chocolate & Honeycomb Snack Bag

Monday (1400):

Coffee

Grenade Carb Killa Chocolate Chip Salted Caramel

Monster Energy Ultra Rosa

Fridge Raiders Meat-Free Slow Roasted Tasty Bites

Cherry Yoghurt

Misfits Plant Powered Choc Protein Bar Chocolate Speculoos Flavour

Cadbury Dairy Milk Oreo Bites

[bellafaun]

my favourite foods and drinks right now <3

0% fat greek yoghurt

oreo grenade protein bars (trust me!)

strawberries :p

matcha oat lattes uhhhgggg

oh and caramel oat lattes too! (we got an espresso machine)

ryvita !!!

chickpea / quinoa based dishes (<3)

cucumber and tajin

lime pepsi max :3

smoked tofu in anything at all

party rings <3

okay that is all thank you for listening to me waffle on and on