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luveline · 6 months

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Hi don’t know if you’re taking requests (if not please ignore!) just wondering how Halloween would look like in the KBD universe or even a masquerade ball for prince Steve and reader?

thank you for requesting angel ♡ kbd mom!reader, 2k

"I think we should paint her orange," Avery says.

Steve pushes the wand of his bubbles back into the container, coating it in solution. "What for, honey?"

"For Halloween! We'll paint her orange and she can be a pumpkin."

"Oh."

Steve purses his lips, blowing bubbles over the green grass of the garden. It's alive despite it being late October, mildly crisp underfoot. He can hear leaves crunching under Bethie's boots where she runs around toward the back gate.

Wren sees the bubbles and giggles wildly. Steve grins. "You like those, sweetheart?"

"What if we make her green like a witch?"

"Who, Ave?"

"Wren."

"Oh. Well, Wren can't use face paint yet, babe, she's too little," Steve explains, dipping the wand in solution again. "But they're very good ideas. Do you know what you want to be?"

Avery throws her hands out. She's getting older than he ever imagined her, but she's still so small at the end of the day with delicate little hands and facial expressions cute enough to make a grown man cry. Steve would know, he's cried a ton of times just looking at her.

"I already told you."

Steve pretends to remember to spare her feelings as he blows more bubbles. He knows you'll know, and so it's a white lie. Better for everyone. "I remember! You're gonna be awesome."

She smiles for the first time in ten whole minutes and sits down next to Steve. He offers her the bubbles and the wand, freeing his hands to give her a loving squeeze from either side. "Very good ideas," he repeats, patting her arm.

Bethie comes running with two cupped hands. Steve can picture her find before she shows him, and still he's horrified to see a slug in her palm. It's not big but neither is she, lavishing across the breadth of her hand.

Ew, Steve thinks. "Wow, Beth! What did you find?"

"There's snails, too!" she says excitedly, her eyes bright as her attention flickers between the slug and her dad. "They're sleeping, I think. They're stuck to the slide."

"Beth, listen to me really quickly?"

"Yeah, dad," she says, nodding.

"I like that you're being gentle with the slugs, you're being nice, but as soon as you put him down, don't touch your face, okay? In fact, when you put him down, we're gonna go inside and wash our hands."

Beth looks down at her slug in alarm. "What?"

"He's not dangerous!" Steve reassures her. "But he might have germs. Germs don't hurt our skin, but they can't go in your mouth, okay? Good girl."

"He can't hurt my skin?"

"No, bub. Some bugs can, but not the plain black slugs. How about next time you want to pick one up, you come and get me and we'll pick it up together?"

Steve doesn't want to kill her fearlessness in this sole area, not when she's usually timid around everything else, but he also doesn't want to kill her full stop. All these random bugs, Steve doesn't know what's what.

"Okay. I picked this one up because he's got a yellow stripe," she says. Beth speaks in full words and makes sense the majority of the time, but her delivery is clumsy, heavy in places. Steve can still remember her first word. He's a firm believer in taking your time (please. please, let her take her time).

"You're super brave," he praises.

"Mom says bugs are more 'fraid of us than we are of them."

"She's right. Think if something this much bigger than you picked you up one day, you'd want them to put you down gently, right?"

Determination fills her eyes. "Yes."

She starts to run off but then slows, holding her hand aloft in front of her.

Closer by, Avery blows bubbles near Wren's soft chair, the youngest baby giggling like a tinkling bell. You and Steve have emphasised to Avery that Wren isn't her responsibility. Look after her as you would your other sisters, but don't feel like being the biggest sister makes you in charge. Avery sort of listened, but now she's planning Halloween costumes in her head, Steve's worried she's putting too much on her little shoulders, as she tends to do.

"Come here, my big girl," he demands, opening his arms.

Avery grins and jumps into his lap. Steve groans playfully, happy to be trampled, and just glad she had the foresight to screw the cap on her bubbles before she pounced.

"Hello. So, do I need to go to the store for this costume?" he asks.

"Probably."

"Okay. Are you coming with me to choose?"

"Mom said we're all going after lunch."

Steve waves her arms back and forth. "I guess we better get ready, then."

Easier said than done. Steve marches the girls back inside to find you've already dressed Dove and sat her in her chair with her lunch in front of her. Feeding young kids is tough because you're always trying to rotate things to keep their tastes big, but you've given in today to an easy solution; everybody's having pizza subs and halved grapes. So long as they're fed, who minds?

"Give me the babies!" you say, jumping up from your seat to grab Wren, chair and all, "Hi. Something tells me it's time for a bottle."

"I'll get them dressed–"

"Go get yourself dressed. They can eat first." You kiss his cheek. "I put some stuff out for you already."

"I can do it," he insists.

"Take a break," you insist back, your tone gentle as velveteen.

His turn to kiss your cheek. "Do you know what Avery wants to be for her costume?" he asks in your ear.

"She wants to be Belle, she told us weeks ago." He remembers as soon as you say it. "But I don't think finding a costume for her is going to be very easy this close to Halloween."

Steve doesn't blame either of you for your busy October, but he hates himself watching Avery grow more and more disappointed with every store you drive to. There are no yellow princess dresses to be found, only store brand pinks. Bethie is ecstatic to choose one of those ones and Dove insists on a white fairy costume with sugar paper wings, but Avery's frown grows heartbreaking when it's clear there aren't any Belle dresses to buy.

"I'm sorry," you're saying, Wren strapped to your chest, Beth and Dove knee to knee in the shopping cart in front of you. "It's my fault, baby, I left it last minute."

"No, it's my fault," Steve says.

Avery glares for a while, standing in front of all the dresses. Steve bends down to speak with her. "I'm sorry, Ave. Don't be mad at mom, okay? It's not her fault even when she says it is, she was busy working and I forgot about costumes because I had all that stuff with Wren and the doctors and my glasses and–" He winces. "I'm sorry. Really, really sorry. So be mad at me if you want, I was supposed to remember, but I'll make it up to you, promise."

"I told you ages ago," she says morosely.

"I know. You did. I didn't think about them running out of costumes, Avery. Sometimes when you're a grown up you have so much stuff to think of you don't have room for all of it, but that's not fair, huh? Now you don't get the costume you wanted."

She sighs, but the thing about Avery is that if you understand her point, she runs out of anger, just like her mom. She wants to make up, burying her face in Steve's thigh for a hug.

"What am I going to be now?" she asks.

"How about Belle's blue dress, babe?" you suggest.

"They don't have any Belle costumes!"

"I know, but we can make one. That's what me and dad did growing up, right?" you ask.

"All my costumes were homemade," he seconds, "that was the fun part."

So Avery marches you guys to the normal dresses and together you look for something nice and long enough for her tall stature. It's in the middle of this searching when she gasps, jumping up to grab Steve by the elbows.

Delighted at being forgiven, he bends down at her whim. "What?" he asks excitedly.

"Wren can be a bumblebee, like me!"

"You remember that?" he asks.

"No, but you have the photo in the car. Do you still have the costume?"

It's Steve. Of course he kept the costume, he keeps everything, an attic stuffed to bursting with the offcuts of your lives. You giggle from the landing underneath him, the baby in one arm and a spooky drink made special by Dove in the other hand. "I wish you could drink more than milk."

"Don't poison her!" Steve says, covered in cobwebs and knees white with dust as he climbs down the rickety ladder back onto solid ground. You wolf whistle as he reaches up to close everything safely, and cheer when you see the bee costume in his hand.

"You're the best. Think we should let Avery put it on her?" you ask.

"Maybe. Think she can be gentle enough?"

Your little girl, so preoccupied with her sister's costume that she forgot about her own? Yes, Avery can be gentle enough. She sews Wren's small arms into the costume's sleeves like she's handling a girl made of glass, and she doesn't attempt to lift her, quick to say, "Dad, can you pick her up for me?"

Steve lifts her and Wren does her scrunch, legs pulled up high and face a little startled. She's just old enough to giggle, prompting Bethie to join in as she races across the living room rug, the skirts of her dress fluttering against the floor.

"She looks like a bee!" Dove says, following after, her fairy wings jittering with her movements.

"She is!" Avery says, buttoning Wren's last button.

Finally, after an exhausting afternoon (both of energy and your wallets), the four girls are dressed in their Halloween costumes. Avery as Belle in her original blue dress and white apron, not the costume she wanted but clearly her favourite character nonetheless. Bethie wears her pink princess dress and one of Avery's big plastic tiaras, her hair done as you would style your own for date night. Dove twirls in her white fairy dress, silver corset ribbons shiny in the light. Wren gurgles in his arms, her soft wings folded between her and Steve's chest. And you, uncostumed, stand beautiful and tired in the doorway, sparkly eyeshadow in a stripe up your cheek.

The girls smile at him and their eyes glimmer.

"Wow," he says, leaning back against the couch. "You guys look amazing."

"It's about an hour until we're gonna leave," you say, "so please do mommy a favour and watch some TV, okay?"

You set them up in a line with a bowl of chips each —you can vacuum them clean. Steve cleans as quickly as he can while you wipe your face and put aside some stuff for tonight in case the girls come home hungry, and eventually, eventually, you and Steve make your way to the kitchen table for a quiet minute together.

"Wren's–"

"In her bassinet," Steve says. "You're–"

"Fine." You reach for his hand. "And you're–"

"Perfect." He rubs the back of your fingers with his thumb. "I've missed you today. I know we were together, but…"

You slouch into the table, resting your cheek on a placemat and closing your eyes. "Me too, sweetheart."

He shuffles closer and leans in. "Tired, huh?" he asks gently, pressing similarly soft kisses to your cheek. "Love you," he says. "Don't fall asleep."

"I'm not. Just resting my eyes."

He doesn't rub your back, worried it'll send you to sleep. Instead, he kisses all over your face, sloe at first and faster when he realises it'll take a while to cover every inch. You smile and let him do as he pleases, laughing under your breath as he kisses your eyelid, squirming when he pecks under your nose. "Freak," you mumble.

"That's what I'm being for Halloween."

"What am I gonna be?" you ask.

"Same as every year, I thought. Most beautiful girl this side of the Mississippi river."

You like the sound of it, pulling your joined hands to your face to nuzzle his knuckles.

"Or you can be Frankentstein," he suggests. "I'll be the monster."

"We can just be the two tiredest parents ever."

"That's not super creative, babe, we kinda do that every day."

"So I'm not beautiful every day," you say quickly, having set him up. "Knew it."

"You tricked me."

"Did not. Make it up to me?"

"What do you want?" he asks.

"Just a hug, Stevie." You raise your head to smile at him sleepily. "A really nice hug, please."

He saves the line about every hug being nice when it's with you and cuddles you, stroking your back for countless minutes, murmuring nothings to you until baby Wren shriek-cries from the living room. Steve soothes her upset, and you start the impossible task of getting everyone in their shoes for a night of trick-or-treating.

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meowloudly15 · 1 year

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Sometimes a family is the corporeal embodiment of "Por que no los dos", her Trekkie mom, a slug with blue hair and pronouns, three weirdos from Normie Camp, Fantasy Phyllis Diller, a woman fueled solely by autism, coffee, and spite, a reformed anti-vaxxer, a woodcarver with a full-on dwarf beard, a baby god, another baby god with impulse control problems, the literal earth we walk on, the wannabe mom friend, [JFK voice] Gay Dads, a grade-skipping theater kid, the "Wouldn't you like to know weatherboy" reporter, an even meaner lesbian, Fred and George Weasley but with green hair, the poor little meow meow malewife ADHD faildad, a sentient wood carving possessed by the soul of his pet bird, a guy with lava lamp hair, a Creacher, a bard with green hair and pronouns, the three chaos band geek teenagers they sort-of adopted, the hair model for Maybelline, Steve, a kid with a really unfortunate last name, three kids who got in trouble for liking school too much, an assortment of sapient wooden animals, and the, uh, bird tube worm… house… mucus… thing… yeah, he defies description.

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randomwriteronline · 9 days

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thinking about spherus magna so so so much and i NEED to write about the tribes and their bodies and their eating habits

to start off - agori and glatorian are like dogs and wolves: same progenitor, compatible to create hybrids capable of reproduction, different appearances and strengths but similar genetic curriculum.

the seven tribes have specific differences in appearance but most of their anatomy is still the same - humanoid, sharp spaced teeth, vestigial minuscule stubby tail, flat nose, small ears. cross-tribe children weren't very common before the shattering (big ass planet and all) and might become more common as time passes (lots of people died and whatnot), but due to there being no real hierarchy in the gene pool they wont necessarily be perfect hybrids of their parents: more often than not they will resemble only one of them, or showcase smaller traits of the other.

Tapyri (Fire tribe) - oval pupils stretched horizontally, tough skin that secretes a layer of protective mucus good for hot dry climates. different skin pigmentation in the form of spotted patterns, mostly on the back, is surprisingly common.

Gaquri (Water tribe) - crescent pupils stretched horizontally, drop-shaped sturdy scales that slightly overlap. hands and feet are lightly webbed between their fingers, while the eyes have a protective lid for underwater diving.

Lebori (Jungle tribe) - beaded pupils stretched vertically, short thin feathers, mostly greenish, which generally have little use. fingertips, palms and soles have small hooked cells to better their grip when climbing trees and rocks.

Koniri (Ice tribe) - rhomboidal pupils stretched vertically, thick fur that sheds and changes color depending on the seasons. powerful nails and bite, build up fat much easier than other tribes and are incredible sprinters on short distances.

Banuri (Sand tribe) - slit pupils stretched vertically, very small polygonal scales tightly placed together. small sharp horn-like protrusions all over the body, mostly the head, and remarkable adaptability to varying temperatures.

Potori (Rock tribe) - rectangular pupils stretched horizontally, wooly fur that varies in thickness depending on place of origin*. duller teeth, immune to most poisons, have heightened endurance in harsh climates and tougher bones.

Fezeri (Iron tribe) - round pupils similar to a photocamera's aperture, sectioned carapace not unlike that of an insect over skin. have a tendency to develop reddish crusts with age which need to be removed through cyclical moltings.

when it comes to food. oh baby.

ANY CREATURE in the desert is fair game. theyre most of the meat available and by god these people will Fucking Get It or die trying. blood is both cooked and drunk (usually on special occasions) and is often given to sickly, pregnant or young individuals; bones are generally split open for marrow, but while smaller ones can be grated or used to make stock broth, the bigger ones are kept to make weapons or tools - the only ones that eat them are the Bone Hunters, which is why they're called that in the first place, and the Zesk and Vorox, who have built in weapons.

Tapyri have very fertile soil but horrendously high temperatures, so they can grow only a select few plants, mostly cereals. common foods are iron snails and a type of edible lava residue, but a real delicacy is the elusive heat-resistant mole, which is incredibly fat and tender but also fucking FAST. they cook mostly on slabs of rock heated over lava, or on roasts

Gaquri eat anything that enjoys humidity - slugs, leeches**, tadpoles, frogs, other small amphibians, fish and crustaceans if they had any. their vegetables are cave mosses and freshwater algae or kelps - a specific type produces "kelp jades", round fruits that are sticky as hell. they tend to eat things raw, but can also afford to steam or boil their stuff

Lebori have the vastest array of fruits and greens available thanks to living in the green lung of a fucking desert and everybody imports that good stuff from them. their local protein source is comprised mostly insects***, worms and other invertebrates, which they employ in various methods. since they have access to oil, they often default to frying food

Koniri have access to small game and a discrete amount of forests in which they've learned to recognize edible berries, leaves and especially branches. a typical dish for them is a bundle of sticks wrapped in very far strips of meat. in some lakes they also harvest a strange type of anemone. when they don't freeze-dry their food, they tend to either boil or roast it

Banuri relied evenly on hunting, gathering, and husbandry. Zesk and Vorox have adapted thoroughly to the desert ecosystem, and while the first still gather lichens, the latter most hunt in packs

Bone Hunters, being scavengers, eat anything and everything; the Skrall had a more plant-based diet, but in Bara Magna added salt-dried meat; other Potori prefer vegetables like briars and thistles

Fezeri lived in fairly comfortable climates and could afford a pretty varied and balanced diet. Telluris allegedly eats, but nobody can confirm. Sahmad is trying to fuckin survive. give him a break

*Bone Hunters, native to the Bara Magna area, resemble goats; the Skrall, native to a snowy mountain area, resemble sheep. similar cases are found in all tribes across Spherus Magna (ex. BaMa lebori are more akin to geckos, BoMa lebori to lemurs)

**Gaquri would, as such, be the first to try and eat a kraata or krana without even thinking about it. the consistency would not bother them, but they would be mostly perplexed to discover there's food that tastes, respectively, "dark" and "bright"

***scarabax beetles not included, because they taste horribly and are not worth the effort of catching to feed off of them for anybody. Click will live forever

#bionicle #spherus magna #bara magna #agori #glatorian #skrall #bone hunters #zesk #vorox #random talks #hi. it is currently (looks at clock) Fuckin Late. and i just discovered that the prefix for gravity is ba- and for magnetism is fa-#i think i got most of my thoughts out of myself #apart from various physical reactions for the tribes BUT. i am. tired.#i also have Thoughts on food in the matoran universe and stuff but thats for!!!! another day #in the meantime. have this. if you would

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splatoongamefiles · 2 months

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Here's all the gear names in the new update

LONG ass post so under the cut:

HEADGEAR:

Long-Billed Cap, King Flip Mesh, Blowfish Newsie, Pilot Hat, Barrelfish Baseball Hat, Octoleet Goggles, Worker's Head Towel, El Rey Calamar, Zekko Cap, Ink-Guard Goggles, Teal Pinhole Shades, Green Pinhole Shades, Pink Pinhole Shades, Yellow Pinhole Shades, Patched Hat, Fugu Bell Hat, Hothouse Hat, Mountie Hat, Black FishFry Bandana, Squidfin Hook Cans, Matte Bike Helmet, Deca Tackle Visor Helmet, Barrelfish Headgear, Slipstream Helmet Pro, Slipstream Helmet, King Facemask, Motocross Nose Guard, Digi-Camo Forge Mask, Yamagiri Beanie, Sneaky Beanie, Tee Time Visor

CLOTHING:

North-Country Parka, Octoleet Armor, Dev Uniform, Cooler Jacket, Fresh Octo Tee, Chilly Mountain Coat, Takoroka Windcrusher, FA-01 Jacket, FA-01 Reversed, Pullover Coat, Birded Corduroy Jacket, Deep-Octo Satin Jacket, Zekko Redleaf Coat, Lemon Mountain Coat, Zekko Jade Coat, Light Bomber Jacket, Navy Eminence Jacket, Tumeric Zekko Coat, Custom Painted F-3 , White Leather F-3, Chili-Pepper Ski Jacket, Whale-Knit Sweater, Rockin' Leather Jacket, Kung-Fu Zip-Up, Panda Kung-Fu Zip-Up, Shirt with Blue Hoodie, Grape Hoodie, Hothouse Hoodie, Pink Hoodie, Olive Zekko Parka, Black Hoodie, Baby-Jelly Shirt & Tie, Prune Parashooter, Red Hula Punk with Tie, Dots-on-Dots Shirt, Toni K. Baseball Jersey, Barrelfish Baseball Uni, Short Knit Layers, Positive Longcuff Sweater, Annaki Yellow Cuff, Annaki Red Cuff, Octarian Retro, Takoroka Jersey, Octo Jumper Home, Pink Easy-Stripe Shirt, Inkopolis Squaps Jersey, Lime Easy-Stripe Shirt, Annaki Evolution Tee, Zekko Long Carrot Tee, Zekko Long Radish Tee, Black Cuttlegear LS, Takoroka Crazy Baseball LS, Red Cuttlegear LS, Khaki 16-Bit FishFry, Blue 16-Bit FishFry, Sharkfin Raglan, Black V-Neck Tee, White Deca Logo Tee, Half-Sleeve Sweater, King Jersey, Gray 8-Bit FishFry, White Urchin Rock Tee, Black Urchin Rock Tee, Wet Floor Band Tee, Squid Squad Band Tee, Navy Deca Logo Tee, Mister Shrug Tee, Chirpy Chips Band Tee, Hightide Era Band Tee, ω-3 Tee, Missus Shrug Tee, League Tee, Friend Tee, Tentatek Slogan Tee, Octoking HK Jersey, Dakro Nana Tee, Dakro Golden Tee, Black Velour Octoking Tee , Green Velour Octoking Tee, Slate Streetstyle Tee, Red Tentatek Tee, Blue Tentatek Tee, Squid Yellow Layered LS, White King Tank, Slash King Tank, Navy King Tank, Lob-Stars Jersey, Fishing Vest, Front-Zip Vest, Silver Tentatek Vest, Tentatek Slipstream Vest, Teal Body Warmer

SHOES:

Deepsea Leather Boots, Annaki Arachno Boots, New-Leaf Leather Boots, Tea-Green Hunting Boots, Octoleet Boots, Knockout Boots, Cream Basics, Shivery Squidkid III, Fried Squidkid III, Big Squidkid III, Chained DC Toejamz, Jeweled DC Toejamz, Swirled DC Toejamz, Trifecta Duck Boots, Trifecta Hi-Tops, Trifecta Sandals, Smoky Wingtips, Gray Yellow-Soled Wingtips, Inky Kid Clams, Musselforge Flip-Flops, Cyan Dakroniks, Black Dakroniks, Piranha Moccasins, White Norimaki 750s, Black Norimaki 750s, Gray Sea-Slug Hi-Tops, Orca Hi-Tops, Navy Enperrials, Amber Sea Slug Hi-Tops, Yellow Iromaki 750s, Honey & Orange Squidkid V, Sun & Shade Squidkid IV, Orca Woven Hi-Tops, Green Iromaki 750s, Purple Iromaki 750s, Red Iromaki 750s, Blue Iromaki 750s, Orange Iromaki 750s, Red Power Stripes, Blue Power Stripes, Toni Kensa Black Hi-Tops, Sesame Salt 270s, Black & Blue Squidkid V, Orca Passion Hi-Tops, Truffle Canvas Hi-Tops, Crab-Trap Squidkid III, Violet Trainers, Canary Trainers, Yellow-Mesh Sneakers, Orange-Mesh Sneakers, N-Pacer CaO, N-Pacer Ag, N-Pacer Au, Sea Slug Volt 95s, Athletic Arrows, OB Gaiter Waders, Noir Guppies, Birch Climbing Shoes, Green Lace-Ups, White Laceless Dakroniks, Blue Laceless Dakroniks, Suede Gray Lace-Ups, Suede Nation Lace-Ups, Suede Marine Lace-Ups, Toni Kensa Soccer Shoes, Stamina Cycling Shoes, Energy Cycling Shoes, Polka-Dot Slip-Ons, Burden of Floof

#splatoon #splatoon 3 #game rip #text #clothing #unreleased content

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ragewrites · 2 months

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Leah Saint-John (b. 28/12/1998)—previously active under the name Lianna Schreiber—is a Romanian writer.

♦ Stylistically somewhere between Keats / Arghezi / Swinburne / Rilke & Celan; mostly when you think of me I wish you’d think Oh, it’s a Saint-John piece, no wonder.

♦ Culturally a product of my environment—ergo profoundly Eastern-European. (And within that: indelibly Romanian.) (And within that: Filomela Delavlașca, gen.) It is our myths and folklore which engendered my love of literature: it is the sprawling green hills which sustain it.

♦ I began teaching myself English as a preteen, motivated chiefly by poverty. I could afford to thrift for books now and again, but that was the extent of the money my mother could afford to dedicate to my leisure. While dodgy websites hosting bootlegged albums and foreign films with Romanian softsubs were easy enough to find, books, especially the sort of books I wanted to read, were hard to get underhand in anything but English. Ecce magistra pupillae.

♦ It was Keats who made me fall in love with poetry. (Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?) I started to write some of my own, badly, around 2016.

♦ The choice of Saint-John as a surname is unrelated, if felicitous.

♦ All writing featured on this blog—unless expressly indicated otherwise—is my own work. I have been part of the writeblr sphere since 2017, publishing solely under the ragewrites masthead. My greatest—and strangest—‘claim to fame’ is the slug post.

♦ You may reblog anything that catches your fancy. Including my poems in web weaves, using lines I’ve written for fanfic or fanart titles—things of this sort are alright, so long as proper credit is provided.

♦ Please do not repost my work, here or on other platforms.

♦ I welcome polite curiosities, questions about my writing and questions about writing in general. However, please do not treat me as though I am an NPC in the grand quest of your life. Proselytizers, in particular, will be blocked.

#writeblr #intro post #i've been meaning to make a new pinned since...december; before i got sick.#finally felt up to it :]

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drowning-in-cacophony · 7 months

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waiting for the night

For @flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt 219: Under The Night Sky

[Summary: night has finally come, and with it Peni's opportunity]

Peni feels like she’s been waiting an age for night.

Three weeks for the sun to set, and finally the cold dark’s come rushing in like demanding water released from a dam. There’s no time to appreciate the darkness she’s sorely missed, to bask in how her eyes don’t ache for the first time in weeks. Unlike daylight, night will not last, and who knows when the next will come along.

Under the guise of a camping trip, they were at least able to get inside the desert’s edges, cutting their travel time down by at least half. Better than it could have been – there were murmurs of even that being banned. As it is, star gazing had remained an allowed activity, and the small flurry of people who’d had the same idea had provided the perfect cover. For the distant guards, nothing should look out of place. A scattering of camps, people out to watch the stars before they disappear to sunlight again. They won’t notice one camp is silent; under the cover of darkness, anyone can be invisible. For a moment; for the whole night.

It's still a bit of a hike to the site. No other will do: it’s not just the night that’s important, it’s the place, one of the last of its kind. A single oasis, barren of the usual requirements but stuffed to the brim with everything else Peni will need.

The air bites at her cheeks. Deserts get awfully cold at night, a fact she’d almost forgotten, and the further she heads in, the colder it’ll get. She grits her teeth, plants her steps firm, curls her fingers around the straps of her pack, and sucks in a deep breath. She’ll complain about the chill afterwards.

It’s in silence that she and the others trek, but when they finally come across the place, their purposefully weak torches shining out across the ground, one of her companions can’t help but let out a soft sound. Amazement, joy, maybe both mixed. Peni checks her watch – they’ve made good time. There’s still half of the time left until the sun’s due to rise.

The others dump their packs at the edges, already clawing for the supplies. They’re careful not to step past the faint silvery line tracing out a circle in the sand, eyes darting down with every step. Peni keeps her pack on, approaches the line. Like a slug’s trail emblazoned in the cold hard sand – are there rocks close to the desert’s surface, pressing up against the soles of her boots? The toes hover a few centimetres from the edge; if there was sunlight, her shadow would be plunged onto the other side. A dark inky abyss, the mirror for the current sky.

There aren’t many stars on show tonight. Peni thinks those who came for genuine star gazing are going to be rather disappointed.

Efficiently, the least amount of time burned, the others finish their set up. The cords wrapping around the edge of the circle, one end plugged into the bulky power-boxes. They’re still not risking brighter lights, so the green on lights of the power-boxes wink out like stars in the darkness. A scattering constellation, only a foot off the ground.

The other ends are thrown into the circle, the metal clips barely catching the torchlight.

It’s time, then. Peni doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t waste a moment of the precious night sky. She takes the step over the silverly boundary, into the place the others won’t touch. Into the circle.

Her boots hit where her shadow would have; her pack slings to the ground so she can pull out the Channel, slipping the heavy thing around her neck. Then it’s just a simple matter of carefully clipping the metal ends to the exposed wiring, completing the circuit.

The Channel lets out a faint high pitched hum, a gentle heat beginning as its battery begins to charge up. Peni takes her place in the centre of the circle; looks around to the others, all ready to hit the switches. A countdown – she leads, voice a bare whisper, still keeping quiet in case of discovery. They’re far enough in that no one should be able to disturb them in the crucial parts. By the time the guards gather themselves and charge in, it’ll be far too late – the only time to stop this would have been back at the camps. Still, she whispers. Maybe to preserve the moment. Maybe because keeping from detection is the only habit she truly knows.

At count five, she glances up at the sky. Five spare seconds, finally something to fill with a moment’s appreciation for the dark. Midnight blue-black, like the darkest bruises, like the prefect blanket. Everything looks different in the dark. Hooded shadows, cool airs. If daylight exposes everything, then it’s under the night sky where secret can be held. Where any thought seems possible – it’d been the only possible time to do this. To dream of a difference.

The Channel’s hum becomes more demanding, higher, ear-splitting. Peni spreads her arms wide, takes a breath. Steading. Infusing oxygen through her veins.

At count one, the last letter leaving her mouth, five switches are flicked on.

And the night sky’s lit with a far different sun.

#flash fiction friday #flash fiction #short story #writeblr #anna's writing #word count: 879 #ambigious ending to this one #not sure I explored my idea as well as I wanted #but I am intrigued where this took me

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poems-from-around-the-world · 9 months

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December Morning - Kim Simonsen - Faroe

Translator: Randi Ward (Faroese)

The shore is soaked; the stones are slippery with green algae. I gather a handful of red whelks from a fresh tidal pool. I kick a limpet loose. At first light, between seaweed and the tides of time, morning is set in motion: a tipping bucket, an opening gate, a bygone vision of black ships sailing upon the sea’s canopies of plankton.

The gloomy sunrise has ended up a bright morning. The house is quiet; everything waits and wonders. The flowers are all gone; the bulbs and rhubarb are at rest. Now that I’ve circled the sun for the forty-fourth time, I’m learning to live here. The lawn is dying. A red berry on a branch dangles in the wind.

The steady roar of the waves— the shore transformed each morning. Kelp that swayed on the seafloor last night is wracked up in heaps of tangled blades and dead stalks on the sand. Birds sit on a branch. Small brown slugs slip under drifting leaves. Green moss colonizes a tree trunk; yellow fungus works its way into the wounded bark. The dead grass reaches all the way up to my knees.

To know that everything is an other world, always an other world. The grit of frosty leaves sandpapers the street. I come back in with my eyes watering from the cold. Ice crystals sparkle from a thousand directions at once. The sun is setting on the children walking home; the very tracks of their treaded soles are loved. Heavy sleeves of wet snow hang from branches.

I haven’t seen a brown slug since last summer. I’m trying to find my voice here. Wishing not to grow older is really about not wanting to lose my childhood again— not wanting to lose anything else at all. To stand amid the rising tide and undulating landscape clinging to the sand, and the red and brown seaweed, trying to take it all in and with me, trying not to forget anything inside this crumbling house. The wake of caving memories hits like heavy surf— to know that everything is an other world, always an other world. Fingers, red and tingling. The slug eggs scattered throughout the yard lie in wait.

The soil is black. The withered grass is brown, matted and stiff with wintery glaze. The sun lowers its cold gaze. We wait without knowing what’s going to happen.

The house is empty during the day. Furious squalls blow in off the bay. Breakers rip seaweed up and sling it about the sand. You aren’t here. A solitary cat slinks into the fenced yard. It will be dark again soon. Each day ends more quickly than it begins. Gusts send sand and blades of grass swirling against the window. The cat has vanished.

Time etches itself in ripples and grooves on the grey sand. Few friendships last. Everything is as banal as this sand. It’s raining more and more here, and families aren’t what they used to be. That’s what the experts say. The dead fish that washed ashore is shriveling up in the sun.

The landscape is the same. Once again, I’ve returned with the feeling that I’m living in a time warp – like I’ve arrived twenty years too late or too early – as though I’m slowly falling all the while smiling to the passersby. To daydream about the cold on a December morning and know that I’ve lost everything here— that nothing is as I remember it, that here the world is a blurry photograph superimposed on another bleary image until all faces are shattered and distorted by time.

A starling flock lights above red and black currant bushes. You’re crying on the phone again. A land is a construct that has to be recreated each day; this goes for the state and the nation— but not the landscape. We wished we could disappear in each other’s eyes.

I move through the trollish gorge between all that was, all that might now be, and all that may or may not come to pass. There’s a strength in the people who choose to live here but also great sorrow. I’ve turned off my iPhone. The starlings have flown; the berry bushes are still.

#december morning #kim simonsen #faroe islands #poem #poetry #poems from around the world #translation: Faroese

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mumblztumblz · 11 months

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WELCOME TO THE COGNATE: A BTD/SLA INDUSTRIES CROSSOVER FIC

CW/TW:Implied Castration, Surgery (Without Anesthetic), Cannibalism, Molestation, Gore, Forced Nudity

Tobby/Rory belongs to @6robotmonster6 , SLA!Ren artwork by https://twitter.com/ratopomboart

He pressed nervously on the doorbell to the Cognate’s HQ, a short brand jingle playing every time.

The whom that greeted him was a masked figure, their facial covering concealing almost all of their face except for it’s left side, where from a squinting, burn-marked blue eye looked down at him. The Slash armor they wore was nigh-uniform like the rest of the Cognate’s, as part of them differentiating themselves from most other cognates both on the small screen and organizationally.

“I-I’m here to see Fox!” He said, the masked figure responding with barely stifled laughter at the bob-cutted trans-man’s loadout. Generic kitchen knife, CAF vest and a cheap Uni store DAF mask.

But rather than turning him away, they simply stood aside and subvocally radio’d to the rest of the Cognate with their headset while motioning to him with their right hand.

“Yes! Thank you!” The human cheerfully told the figure before stepping in and being greeted by a surprisingly clean and well-arranged.

“The Fox will be here for you shortly. Have a seat…” The figure stated before closing the door, locking it and returning to a guarding position.

The lounge looked more like a museum of the Fox Den Cognates accomplishment than a typical hideout, framed trophies, whether armor pieces, weapons or embalmed body parts were preserved in front and behind him in bulletproof glass, notably among them but certainly not least a severed penis that was fourteen inches flaccid, likely Shaktarian in origin if his Alien Sex Channel knowledge served him.

Pulling further on his knowledge of both circuit and cognate. It belonged to one “Terror-Tracker.”, a Shaktar Contract Killer known for solely taking on and defeating some of the most monstrous, sadistic opponents…before Fox and his crew completely emasculated him figuratively and literally in a two-hour-long torture party special that he rewatched and jilled off to so many times the vid-slug wore out and he had to find recordings from others.

To see the highlight from that show embalmed, encased and in person was nothing short of a high honor to him.

Minutes passed as he recalled every detail and recording of every one of the framed items to absolute perfection, only for time to come…

Those dramatically exaggerated Powercell servos could be heard coming from up the stairway on his left, his pulse pounding as he saw those bulky, black and orange boots descend, the iron animalistic mask and detachable ears and tail coming into view as he saw the man of his dreams, only five years older than his twenty-year-old self, being trailed from behind by an Inner Voice Drone

And he locked eyes with him…and found a surprising lack of judgement.

“So…what’s your deal?” He asked, stepping off the stairs and sitting down on the chair directly across from him.

“I uh…uhm…” He was starstruck, though Fox was used to this and let him get the parasites in his stomach out of the way before speaking up.

“I…sent you fanmail…Neko…M?”

The Little Helper-turned-Born Leader’s biogenetic orange eyes lit up and he shot out of his chair. “It’s you!?”

The guard at the door readied their, expecting another for the play room only for Fox to signal them to halt.

“Yeah…it’s me. Neko.M, but…my friends call me Rory.”

“Take off that mask…”

He obeyed without question…

“You are beautiful, telegenic even, don’t you think? He cocked his head to the drone, seemingly asking both parties.

“My IVD here seems to be in agreement. Quick, follow me…”

Before he could even respond, Rory felt a power-armored hand grab his and drag him out of his seat and up the stairs, past other rooms until they come upon one with “PLAY” written in bright green neon above it’s doorway, leading into what appeared to be a public shower converted into a torture room, with artfully dimmed lighting and each stall having the alias and favored torture tools of each member marked and neatly arranged.

“We just so happen to have a new opening…and I’m eager for you to fill it!”

They stopped at a large hole in the wall marked “FOX” with what looked like several TV’s overlooking a shrine to torment, with tools, sex toys and a personal vidcam to capture footage for his limited edition mail-order vidslug “Foxy Close-UpS” collection.

Rory was downright overwhelmed, so overwhelmed he did not even respond or resist the MAC knife cleanly slicing off his CAF vest and shackling him to a pair of ceiling suspended and suspending chains, the IV hovering over both of them at the best angle.

“Now…Neko.M…what’s your dream gimmick?” As he asked this, he sliced open the young man’s hoodie, exposing his large breasts to the camera. “Besides the obvious?”

“I…was thinking…”

“Big, scary cat I’m guessing? The mask kinda pointed at that.”

“Y-yes…a DAF…”

“Oh Karma has just the mods for you. But right now…” He paced behind him to slice off his pants and any underwear, leaving him only in a pair of combat boots. “I’d like you to do a little initiation.”

Before he could utter another answer, Fox was in front of him, pulling off his mask to reveal a youthful, demonic yet telegenic grin. He was breathing heavily and caressing the codpiece of his free hand as he took stock of his newcomer’s figure, especially the back end, setting his knife on the ground to lean in closer and grip a tight handful of bare Rory’s ass-cheeks, breathing heavily against his face and licking his neck before subduing himself and pulling away.

“Let’s get you started.”

“Wait…I’m…”

Before he could finish his response, Fox picked up the dropped MAC and rammed it into Rory’s left underboob. He let out a blood-curdling cry as the blade carved deep into his right breast, shaking his head and struggling to pull away but the suspension chains holding his nude form in place.

The fox’s knife-hand was accustomed to a resisting victim, though he couldn’t help but get some manipulation in.

“What’s the matter? Didn’t you say you were my biggest fan!?”

“Y-yeees…”

“Then be still for me…”

The man grit his teeth and sheepishly opened one of his golden-contact lense eyes as his favorite Serial Killer ever continued to perform a standing mastectomy, continuing to pant lustfully, even lick and take bites of the stripped tit-flesh as his free hand reached in and ripped out the greasy tissue.

“Look…” He told Rory, who hesistated to fully open his eyes.

“LOOK I SAID!” He told him again, this time with more force and he complied, turning his attention and opening his eyes only to see one of his two breasts being held up to his face. It made even him let out a gag.

“Is that weakness I see !?”

“N-no! I will bear anything for you!”

“Anything? He asked, taking a half bite chunk clean off the removed mammary gland via his biogenetically-enhanced teeth, salivating a bit before garbling down the other half and moving onto the next breast.

“ANYTHING!” Rory screamed for the whole hideout to hear as his second, left breast started to undergo the same removal process, Fox toying with his chest-flesh and rooting around inside it. However it was at this point that shock began to kick in and Rory began to feel his consciousness fading….

When he awoke, he found himself on the floor, still nude but with Fox presiding over him with a BOOPA CASDIS and Hypofist by his side, the slice marks stitched over but the scars kept as a creative choice.

And speaking of scars and creative choices, he felt an unusual burning sensation on his left shoulder, which seemed to have had a heart shaped scar soldered it onto while he was out.

“Ahh..you’re awake. Welcome to the Cognate, Tobby.”

“T-Tobby?”

“Your new name!” He motioned to one of the killers under him, who presented him with a set of all black Slash armor with a far more high quality, DAF-themed mask than the one he came in, “Tobby” inscribed in chalk on the left side of the breastplate and Fox Den logo on the right, while another killer was busy graffitiing a “Shower” stall just for him.

“Yes…Tobby…that’s me…” He grabbed the armor and began to don it, still in shock from his meatgrinder of a surgery, but comforted by the brighter future ahead…

#ren hana #btd ren #tobby #6robotmonster6 #sla industries #au #alternate universe #ttrpg #horror #sci fi #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #crossover #btd fanfic #btd #boyfriend to death

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drewschermickblindone · 1 year

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blindone- Red Sand In My Sock MIXTAPe:

SAINT PEPSI- brain

Salem- Braids

Sol-Omen- The Law Of Mother Earth

ANOM- He Won't Save You

Steel Tipped Dove; The Koreatown Oddity; Billy Woods- Nft

Sadistik- Man's Best Friend

skyzoo and illmind- krylon

Slaine- Crazy (feat. B Real & Jaysaun)

SNTS- Telepathic Thought

special teamz- fallen angelz (feat.d guest)

Ohm- Love With A Lifetime Warranty (produced by Kip Killagain)

Soultru & Progeny- Can You Keep a Secret

sole- Banal Language

Stetsasonic- Music For The Stetfully Insane

Speed Dial 7- Binoculars (ft. Pip Skid)

tachichi and moves- hatin it feat buck65 (insane remix)

Tank Gawd (Moka Only & Kutmasta Kurt)- We're Rhymin'-feat. Rushden, Diamonds & Retrogott (Retrogott Remix)

sleep sinatra- king cherub (prod. sinai)

Rove- Little Paper Cages (feat. Jihad the Roughneck MC)

Tash- Wet Paint (feat. Kokane)+

Renegade Synapsis- Unconquered (feat. Supreme Being

Sess featuring Slug- Flying Colors In My Magic

Swamp Thing & Ghettosocks- Ayahuasca

subtle- gonebones

Short Fuze & Nasa- Poison Makes Me Pretty (Willie Green Remix)

Son Lux- Flickers (Alias Remix)

Scarub- earth is doomed

Rob Crooks- Why

Restiform Bodies- Pick It Up, Drop It (Genghis Tron Remix)

StapleMouth- When In Rome...Kill Ceasar Feat. JohnTsunam

sebutones- dazed & confused

silas blak- the kuu

serengeti- bubbles place

shrapknel- suicide king

Teddy Faley- Skinned Knees

Sixtoo- Daytime Drama

Sunspot Jonz- Time Travel (Beatdie Delite)

Rocwell feat. Swamburger- Hip Hop Ain't Dead

sadat x and el da sensei feat ra the rugged man sa-roc- 3 kings and a queen

scallops hotel- whereareewe

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mrslunasnape · 2 years

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The Prince Fought The Serpent

Potions

Chapter 2 - SFW

A rich, warm, earthy smell swirled around the room, and Luna stirred in her sleep. Severus smiled tenderly as he watched her eyes flicker open; a steaming cup clasped in his hands.

"That smells so good." Luna said in a hoarse morning voice as she stretched.

"I made it with cinnamon. Just the way you like it." Severus said. For a moment a proud smile graced his face. He extended his arm to her, "It's decaf." he assured her.

"Ugh." Luna groaned.

Severus let out a low chuckle and pulled back the sheets. He climbed into bed and nestled his body against hers before wrapping them both in the covers. His hand wandered to her stomach, and he caressed it lovingly. "I know, Darling. But it's better than nothing, is it not?"

Luna glared at him teasingly, struggling to hide a smile.

Severus pulled her in close, allowing her head to rest on his chest. The rhythmic beating of his heart washed a sense of calmness over Luna. She sighed heavily, taking in the smell of him; mahogany and clary sage.

"I'm glad you decided to stay in my new quarters instead of staying in the dungeons." His finger tips gently traced her arm, "I know just how well sound carries on those stone walls, and I've heard that Slughorn snores."

"You know, I've heard that." Luna mocked, "And it was the sole reason I decided to join you here. I had no choice really. All the other rooms were taken."

Severus smirked and leaned down to gingerly kiss her forehead. "Come on darling. It's time to start the day."

Luna groaned and nuzzled her head deeper against his chest, "Do we have to?" She heard his heart flutter at the suggestion.

"I'm afraid so, love."

*********

"Morning Miss Lightfoot!" Horace said cheerfully. He waved in her general direction, but his nose was buried in a scroll on his desk.

"Good morning Professor Slughorn." Luna said professionally, although her face grimaced at the smell of several potions wafting through the air. For a moment she worried that she would have to vomit in the nearest empty cauldron. Morning sickness was never pleasant.

"Oh, please. Call me Horace." Horace insisted.

"Only if you call me Luna." she smiled faintly.

"Deal." Horace said, clearly blind to the green tone that had flushed her skin.

"What did you have planned for today's lesson? You never sent any setup instructions for me." Luna asked.

"Pshh." Horace scoffed and waved his hand in the air, "Never mind all that. The potions for today are ready. I'm much more interested in talking about your background." He pulled out a chair and motioned for Luna to sit. She obliged.

"Now then," Horace continued, "Word around the castle is that you were conducting experiments with the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

"Yes. I studied with them for several years." Luna confirmed.

"Fascinating!" Horace exclaimed, "That's quite the accomplishment for someone so young! It's a shame you weren't here when I was teaching. I would have just had to have you for my Slug Club."

Luna nodded politely, but couldn't but help but think about Minerva's comments regarding Horace's collection of students.

"What were you working on?" Horace leaned in closer, antsy for an answer, "Only if you can share of course. I understand researchers and their confidential tendencies."

"My department worked primarily with unicorn blood." Luna began, "As I'm sure you're well aware, unicorn blood has intense healing qualities. It also has an uncanny ability to strengthen those who drink it. However, it comes at quite the cost. The rumor that you're probably familiar with is that those who drink unicorn blood are cursed. My department worked under the assumption that the side effects of drinking the blood were more like reactions in the body rather than a curse. We were attempting to find a way to lessen the negative effects of consuming tonics with unicorn blood bases. If we succeeded, it would have revolutionize magical medicine. "

"I take it you weren't successful?" Horace asked, clearly intrigued.

Luna shook her head, "I'm afraid not. I know the department was still working on it when I transferred to Hogwarts. While I was there we managed to enhance the healing and strengthening properties of the blood, but we hadn't managed to decrease the negative effects."

"I'd still consider that successful! Unicorn blood was powerful enough on its own, and you managed to enhance it! Who cares about a little curse anyway." Horace said dismissively.

Luna's face furrowed. She was rather unsettled with Horace's definition of success.

The shuffling sound of dozens of feet filled the room as students began to file into class. Gryffindor and Slytherin today. They naturally divided themselves to separate sides of the classroom.

Horace took his place at the front of the classroom, "Now then, scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making."

A hand nervously rose about the heads of students. "Sir?" Harry asked.

"Harry, my boy?" Horace asked.

"I haven't got a book or scales or anything. I didn't realize I'd be able to do the N.E.W.T-" Harry rambled, but Horace cut him short.

"Yes, yes. Professor McGonagall mentioned that. Have Miss Lightfoot unlock the store room for you. There are extra copies there, along with any other supplies you may need for today."

Harry made his way to the back of the room as Luna unlocked the store room. His face was red, clearly embarrassed.

"Take whatever you need." Luna flashed him a reassuring smile.

By the time Luna and Harry reassumed their seats, Professor Slughorn had already quizzed the student on the contents of several cauldrons. Veritaserum and Polyjuice Potion. Unsurprisingly, Miss Granger had correctly identified both.

Severus opened the door slowly and quietly made his way over to Luna, doing his best to not disturb the class. He held a coffee mug in his hand. He leaned in close to Luna and whispered so that only she could hear, "You forgot your coffee when you left this morning. It was stale so I made you a fresh one." He kissed her tenderly on the top of her head as he handed her the mug.

"Now this one here... Yes, my dear?" Horace asked. Hermione's hand was already in the air.

"It's Amortenia!" Hermione exclaimed.

"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask, but I assume you know what it does?" Slughorn questioned.

Hermione didn't hesitate, "It's the most powerful love potion in the world."

Ron leaned over towards Harry, "I'll bet you a galleon that Snape's slipped Lightfoot an Amortenia. How else could anyone love that dungeon bat? I bet he was bringing her her daily dose in that coffee cup."

Ron and Harry both snickered.

Luna couldn't contain the dagger-like stare her eyes shot at Ron. She handed the mug back to Severus and strode to their table.

"Mr. Weasley. Mr Potter." Luna began, "What would I get if I combined wiggentree twigs, castor oil, and extract of gurdyroot?"

The boys turned to look at one another, and then shrugged in unison. Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"Miss Granger?"

"That's how you would make a love potion antidote." Hermione answered quickly.

"Correct." Luna smiled at her, "Now, Miss Granger, do you know how long it takes for the love potion antidote to take effect?"

"It's instantaneous." Hermione once again swiftly responded.

"Correct again. 10 points to Gryffindor." Luna said.

Hermione flashed a rather proud smile.

Luna turned and walked over to a shelf on the side of the classroom. She plucked a vial of a colorless potion off the top shelf. She held it up so that the students could clearly see the love potion antidote, popped off the cork, and drank the whole thing in one sip.

"Now then." Luna said calmly as she walked over to Severus, pulled him in close, and kissed him tenderly in front of everyone.

Severus's cheeks went red, a stark contrast to his pale skin.

Ron and Harry sat on their stools, their mouths hanging open in shock as the sounds of a few Slytherin's hooting and hollering filled the dungeon.

Slughorn let out a hearty laugh, "And I thought I was the theatrical one!"

"I really should go." Severus whispered to Luna, his face still a rose shade of pink. He gingerly clasped Luna's hands and brought it to his lips. He kissed the back of her hand lovingly, shot a glare at Ron, and then exited the classroom.

Horace had already continued the lesson, "Now then, how are you to win my fabulous prize?" He motioned towards the small cauldron on his desk filled with Felix Felicis. "Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death."

As the students worked diligently, some visibly more stressed than others, Luna wandered from table to table watching them work. She paused for a moment as she passed Harry and curiously watched as he crushed a sopophorus bean with the flat side of his silver dagger instead of cutting it like the rest of the students. She recognized the technique immediately. Severus had taught her that himself her first year working with him at Hogwarts.

#theprincefoughttheserpent #mrslunasnape #pro snape #snapedom

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sunflowernews · 2 years

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EXCLUSIVE: Billionaire Dole Food heir and notorious playboy Justin Murdock was arrested for 'punching his model girlfriend in the face' after a Los Angeles Halloween party, leaving her with a nasty black eye

Billionaire Dole Food heir Justin Murdock was arrested for allegedly slugging his model girlfriend in the face, leaving her with a nasty black eye at his mansion following a Halloween party they attended at the Scarface mansion in Beverly Hills, DailyMail.com has learned.

The 49-year-old's argument with 24-year-old Talia Skye began when she demanded to leave the party early, it was alleged. On her way back to his home in the ritzy Bel-Air enclave of Los Angeles, she texted a girlfriend to come pick her up, expressing concern that he might hurt her.

Murdock is the sole surviving heir of David Murdock, his 98-year-old father who is former chairman of Dole Food Products. He allegedly punched Skye before her friend arrived.

'When I got there, she was laying on the driveway crying,' her friend, DailyMail.com will identify as Juliana, told DailyMail.com. 'I picked her off the ground and I saw her face. It was completely swollen, with a green-blue color.'

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Justin Murdock began dating Talia Skye in August. For their first date, he invited her to his father's sprawling ranch, a source told DailyMail.com. DailyMail.com obtained a horrific photo of Skye's battered and bruised face

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Billionaire Dole Food heir Justin Murdock, 49, was arrested for allegedly punching his model girlfriend Talia Skye, 24, in the face. They're pictured seated at a table together

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The incident took place October 29, 2021, at his LA mansion after they left a Halloween party

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Murdock began dating Skye in August. For their first date, he invited her to his father's sprawling ranch, a source told DailyMail.com. DailyMail.com obtained a horrific photo of Skye's battered and bruised face

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'She was crying really hard, not saying anything,' Juliana recalled.

She said she saw Murdock standing nearby, shirtless and flailing his arms.

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The incident took place October 29, 2021, at his LA mansion after they left a Halloween party

'I asked him what happened, and he told me she's crazy and drunk and that she must have done that to herself,' Juliana said. 'He was hysterical. He was screaming at me, saying 'I don't hit women.'

After they drove off, Skye reported the alleged assault to the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department, who arrested him later that morning. He posted $50,000 bail and is due back in court March 2.

The district attorney's office has yet to charge him, as the police investigation continues.

Murdock's lawyer, James E. Silverstein, told DailyMail.com that his client believes this was all a setup, that her wound was 'self-inflicted' and that this was nothing more than a ploy to extort him.

Silverstein said that shortly after the arrest, Skye's lawyer Duncan Levin called him and 'carefully suggested that this could all go away in exchange for a large sum of money and that his client would not leak this story to the media if the sum was paid.

'Murdock refused to pay any such sums because he is innocent and will not be blackmailed, even though he realized that this horrendous and damaging claim would then be made public,' Silverstein said.

He also said that his side has shared video, audio and photo evidence and presented 'independent third-party witnesses' who will 'prove that this woman's facial injury was self-inflicted.'

The lawyer put DailyMail.com in touch with two witnesses, both friends of Murdock. Neither was present when the alleged assault took place, but both said they saw them at the party and that she appeared intoxicated, bumping into people on the dance floor.

The defense witnesses said that after the couple left, Murdock called, asking them to come over to his mansion because Skye was acting up and that he feared he was being set up.

One of his friends, a female, said that when she arrived, Skye was leaving with her friend.

'I asked her what happened,' the woman told DailyMail.com. 'She said she'd hurt her head, but I didn't see any marks on her.'

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Skye reported the alleged assault to the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department, who arrested him later that morning. He posted $50,000 bail and is due back in court March 2

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Murdock is the sole surviving heir of David Murdock, his 98-year-old father who is former chairman of Dole Food Products. Father and son are pictured together in 2002

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Skye, a model and artist, has 138,000 followers on Instagram where she regularly posts racy photos of herself

Murdock is the CEO of Activate Immunotherapy, formerly NovaRx, and previously served as vice president of investments at Castle & Cooke Inc. and on the board of directors at Dole Food Company.

He's also an uber-wealthy playboy, who's reportedly dated Avril Lavigne and Lana Del Ray, and a reputed bad boy. He once got into a bar brawl with oil heir Brandon Davis in Hollywood.

In 2010, a former employee at Castle & Cooke filed a sexual harassment suit against Murdock, accusing him of regularly debasing her and other women, including ordering her to book sex dates for him on her credit cards and threatening to fire or kill her if she objected, according to a report at the time in the New York Post.

He also allegedly forced her to create a Facebook account for him under the name 'Cobra McJingleballs,' and filled it with raunchy and occasionally racist images, the Post reported.

Murdock's lawyer, however, told DailyMail.com that the suit was dismissed.

Murdock and Skye met through a mutual friend in July. Skye, a model and artist, has 138,000 followers on Instagram where she regularly posts racy photos of herself.

She was previously rumored to be dating Justin Bieber, who posted a photo of himself in 2015 cozying up to the then-teenager, his hand holding her waist, according to Hollywood Life, a gossip site that reposted the picture.

Bieber was also rumored to have dated Skye's cousin Chantel Jeffries, who was reportedly with him when he got arrested for drag racing in Miami in 2014.

Murdock began dating Skye in August. For their first date, he invited her to his father's sprawling ranch in Thousand Oaks, California, a source told DailyMail.com.

Skye's close friend Juliana said Murdock was anything but a gentleman when she'd see them together. She described him as 'extremely aggressive and nasty' toward Skye and also her.

'He would make gross sexual comments toward me which I didn't appreciate,' Juliana told DailyMail.com. 'He'd ask me how many men I'd had sex with and what I like in bed, things of that nature.'

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Murdock is an uber-wealthy playboy, who's reportedly dated Avril Lavigne and Lana Del Ray. He's pictured in Lana Del Rey in 2012

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Skye was previously rumored to be dating Justin Bieber, according posted a photo of himself in 2015 cozying up to the then-teenager, his hand holding her waist

Justin Murdock is a notorious playboy and has been seen getting cozy with Ashley Shelton (left) and Jamie Lynn Sigler (right)

The Halloween party was held the night of October 29 at the mansion featured in the movie Scarface.

A source close to Skye told DailyMail.com that she wasn't feeling well and wanted to leave while the party was still raging. They started arguing as soon as they got into the car, the source said.

Juliana said Skye texted her to pick her up at his house, where she'd left her car.

Upon returning to his mansion, Murdock grew angrier when he saw Skye texting her friend, yelling and shoving her toward the door, a source said.

Skye got into her car to wait for her friend. Murdock then stormed over to her and grabbed her keys and phone, the source alleged.

A short time later, Juliana arrived with another friend and drove her home. Skye reported the incident to police later that morning and went to the hospital the next day.

Reached by DailyMail.com, Skye declined to comment, fearing Murdock might follow through on a threat to sue her for defamation if she spoke out.

Her lawyer, Duncan Levin, also wouldn't comment, other than to say, 'My client is grateful to law enforcement authorities who are actively investigating this serious matter.'

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mayxthexforce · 2 months

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I Haven't Forgotten How You Feel || Xasha & Boba

Starter for @nieithryn

Everyone has their own Thing, a little something that becomes memorable in the eyes of others. Something to be remembered by. Something to be known for. Ingoda the Hutt was known for collecting Theelin and Theelin-hybrid women as his slaves.

Something less known about Ingoda was that he was in possession of all kinds of old fashioned weaponry, and that's what Xasha had been hired to find. The Hutt's extravagant collection 'hobby' just so happened to be her way in. A second generation Theelin-Human hybrid was still enough of a Theelin in the Hutt's collectors' eyes for them to drag her into the minor crime lord's palace.

Quite literally DRAG HER, because even if this was part of the plan, a certain amount of acting had to take place to make her cover believable: she was a freshly captured slave, a bounty hunter with no intentions of letting herself become property, and she had to act like it– she could have done without her armor and usual clothes being taken and replaces with the right and revealing ones + a metal collar connected to a chain. But beggars aren't choosers. She was in, she would make the bastards who took her things regret it on her way out. For now, she had to focus.

She was dragged up to the first step of the short stairs that led to the Hutt's throne. If she was honest, it was pathetic. Everything about this slug's palace —the overwhelming decorations, the amount of exotic slaves— screamed 'I'm not an important Hutt and I'm desperately trying to compensate'. It took a herculean effort for Xasha not to point it out. But oh, was she beyond tempted.

Xasha's Huttesse was quite fluid, had to be given that most of those who hired bounty hunters nowadays were Hutts, and she understood every word spoken between her captors and their master. Ingoda wasn't quite convinced, he complained about her looking 'suspiciously human'.

Just as she caught a glimpse of red and green to her right, her peripheral was blocked by one of the collectors. He moved to stand by her side, seizing her bicep while the other grabbed her by the hair. They forced her up the stairs, closer to the Hutt, turned her around and made her face the opposite way, moving hair and fabric to show the pink spots that went from his temples and her jaw down her neck to her back. She struggled as they just kept pulling the back zipper down, stopping just before it left her exposed, solely because the zipper only reached the lower back.

Xasha would have minded the forceful stripping of her backside far more, if it wasn't for the fact that now that she was facing away from the Hutt, she could see the one who she'd previously caught a glimpse of.

She would recognize him anywhere. His armor might have a few new dents and more spots where the paint was fading. But it didn't matter. Xasha had worked with him, lived with him, slept with him. She would know Boba Fett anywhere with just watching the way he stood, the way he held himself. It'd been years since she'd last seen him. Long enough for Xasha to believe she never would see him again. But there he was, in the flesh, standing just about ten feet away from her.

Xasha had to remind herself to breathe. It turned into a pained hiss when the zipper was roughly pulled back up, pinching her skin.

"She will do," Ingoda finally concluded. Right, she's here on a job. "Take her with the others and prepare her."

Once again, she was getting dragged, this time, her eyes searched for the familiar visor of a green and red helmet. What planets had liked up for her to just run into him? What were the chances?

#may the queue be with you #||in character: xasha||#& boba fett #||rp: i haven't forgotten how you feel||#nieithryn #||verse: our luck will change; xasha||

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blood-teeth · 2 years

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as promised, sneak peek down below <3

Everything within this antiquated vehicle is coated with noxious slime, green and gold whorls, palladium pieces of ick, the sweet, orange scent of rot that you find at the bottom of a trash can, the putrid juices slucking from the bag. It drips off the walls, slugs down the shoulder of your shirt.

Savannah, already having power vomited everything but her memories onto the floor, looks the stark color of moldy green, lips thin and white.

“Lord, help us.” Bartholomew sounds from behind his hand, nasally and wounded. You have to admit that it’s hard to hear him over Isra’s distant but horrifically clear and violet acts of disgust. Delicate, beautiful phrases such as Motherfucker! This place looks like a pig sty! And: My dog’s ass smells better than this! With a final, tasteful: Dammit, y’all. I’m sweating like a whore in church in here, hooollyyy fuck.

You open your mouth to say something, perhaps a word of comfort for Savannah, a young girl clearly out of her depth, or even to Bartholomew. You’re cut off by a sudden, startling lurch before being thrown into the sides of the wagon. Slime readily accepts you, rot fills your nose, burns into your eyes until tears are streaming down your face. Thickened sludge is in your throat, bile burning your esophagus.

Then, a feeling you know.

Blood starts to pour in, creeps between the wooden slats of the floor, moans in hymns as it reaches the soles of your boots. It is warm. It is thick.

It is alive.

The slow flooding in quickens your breath and you think of The Sphinx, you think of her despair, you think of her sharp and bloody teeth, her gaping maw, her riddled words of old. You think of the truck, rumbling its death march down a highway you’ve memorized lifetimes ago.

“What the fuck.” Isra, again.

But you don’t hear them.

Coupled with the blood soaking from underfoot, quickly making its way towards the base of your shins, your nose capillaries pop open again, fierce, blood bursting like a firehose into your mouth and down your neck.

But you can’t feel it.

Your vision starts blacking around the edges, head long and heavy, breath in staccato beats, your heart moving the fabric of the shirt. You desperately try to hold onto any of your mental faculties; gripping at the wall behind you, digging your nails into your skin.

You think, at one point, you opened your mouth to scream. You choked on blood instead.

A moonlit night. A grey-sanded beach. Green eyes and a white smile dancing behind the smokescreens of your mind. “Find me.” $She says, a hallowed voice, ripened for the taking. “Find me.” Echoes, louder and distant, fills your head with a buzzing, with a screaming.

“$She’s dead.” A voice to your left, soft like a memory, you look but you cannot see anything but a blackness. “$She’s dead.”

Somewhere a scream starts, from beneath you, from above, from your lateral sides. It starts low and slow then quicker in the vibrancies, grief-stricken and raw. Exposed like a wound.

Warm hands brush your jaw, lips kiss along your jawline. But of course, of course, there are no loving hands and soft lips here.

It is you, your grief, your forgotten lungs, this burning blood.

God, why is there always so much blood?

And then you die again. You die for the third time, for the first time, for the millionth.

You are dead and $she will never find you —

#tmitawh #tell me if there's a way home #sneak peek #interactive fiction

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metamelonisle · 2 years

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blorbos i dont think i talk about a lot

- artificial human no. 17 (lapis). he’s a chill kind of funny guy and i’ve lowkey had a crush on him since the nicktoons airing of kai. it was so hard being this guy’s sole supporter until super where toyataro said “im gonna give the bis what they want” and what the bis wanted was 17 in an actual non-villain major role and by god did we get that lapis i looooove youuuuuu

- yamucha. the reason i’m bisexual. my 8th grade halloween costume. ‘nuff said.

- fatty whale. i’ve always liked the concept of his fight its pretty unique did you know you can kill him though guarding

- chameleo arm. cuuuuuute little guy i want to slam him into a wall

- computer virus computer virus computer virus computer virus computer virus computer virus

- piccolo jr. because he’s the most ridiculous (affectionate) character in dragon ball. he’s satan. he’s the antichrist. he’s a green slug boy. he entered a tournament just so he could kill his rival in the finals. he technically never breaks the rules once in the tournament. he’s three years old and 6’1. he’s the “most evil man in existence” and completely unhesitatingly sacrificed his own life for a child he barely knew knowing full well it couldn’t be undone.

#paint.txt

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writesowhatnext · 4 years

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talk trash, get brass // george weasley

Summary: someone bad-mouthing George has make him a little insecure – it’s definitely time for the reader to step in

Request: can i request fred or george dating the reader and she's with her friends and he overhears one of them talking shit about him [he's worried y/n will agree and gets sad :(] but she defends him and says she genuinely loves him 😘 thanks xx

A/N: this took me forever because I can’t choose between the twins but also I was fighting making it a slytherin!reader bc the slytherin girls are written as catty bitches which would make this easier but we move also I wrote planked by his ravenclaw buddies and nearly had a stroke also I dragged Michael Corner’s character through the mud #sorrynotsorry also have I miraculously forgotten how to write in character????

Reader: unspecified

Warnings: swearing, bad friends, argument

“Fred,” you said, finding him in the Great Hall with half of a ham sandwich stuffed into his mouth. “Why is George ignoring me?”

He rolled his eyes when you sat down, watching him with an expectant look as you drummed your fingers impatiently on the table.

“Lovely to see you too, Y/N,” he said, wetting his lips and waving the other half of his sandwich around in his hand as he spoke. “Me? Yeah, I’m doing just swell actually, cheers for asking. No, I wanted the beef really but McLaggen took the last one, the thieving bastard.”

You shot him a dry look, grinding your teeth together. He rolled his eyes again at your raised eyebrows.

“Not in the mood for jokes then, are we?”

“How would you know?” you asked, huffing. “You haven’t told me any.”

“Ouch,” he whined, placing his hand over his heart in mock hurt. “You wound me.”

You sighed, brushing your hair back from your face as your shoulders slumped.

“Come on, Fred. I know you know why he’s been avoiding me.”

For a moment, Fred didn’t reply. He just stared at you, gauging your expression with his level gaze. To say you were surprised would’ve been an understatement; serious Fred was not something you were well accustomed to.

“I don’t have a clue,” he said, leaning back and throwing the rest of his sandwich lazily on his plate. You scoffed.

“Bullshit, tell me.”

“Go ask George,” he replied quickly, gripping the edge of the table with his hands as your voices got louder.

“I can’t ask George, can I, Fred? He’s the one bloody ignoring me!”

You swore sometimes that Fred and George had one brain cell between them and even that could be a bit of a stretch.

“Fine then,” Fred threw his hands up indignantly. “Ask your friend Michael! I’m sure he knows all about it!”

“What?” you said quietly, visibly taken aback, your shoulders slumping. Fred groaned, his hands coming up to hide his face.

“I definitely wasn’t supposed to say that.”

“What did Michael do?”

Fred looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there, wilting under your determined stare.

“Fred…” you said, your tone decidedly warning.

“Your mate Michael was talking bollocks about George to all his Ravenclaw buddies – which is quite rich isn’t it, really? Coming from him, the little toad. Can’t believe he dated Cho Chang; I heard Ginny might be going for him as well… pfft, there’s no accounting for- oi, where are you going?”

You barely caught the end of Fred’s rant, already racing out of the Great Hall, undecided as to whether you were in search of Michael or George first. The universe chose for you, though, when you spotted Michael circling around a corridor, flanked by some of his Ravenclaw friends.

You and Michael were more acquaintances than friends. Truth be told, you only talked to him to start with to help Ginny out; she’d been looking for someone to help her get over her crush on Harry. You thought it was futile given how much she liked him, but you were always happy to help out a friend. It appeared though, that not everybody you called your friend was as friendly. Michael had been fine for a while and you found that sometimes you did actually get on with him, especially when there was nobody else around to talk to. Now, though, now you were questioning your standards.

“Hey!” you yelled, immediately drawing the attention of Michael, his friends, and the rest of the corridor. “Michael!”

“You okay, Y/N?” he asked and as you looked at him, genuine concern written all over his features, all you wanted to do was punch him.

“What have you been saying about George?”

He looked confused for a second and then guilty, and then a haughty look lifted his nose up and you were really, at that second, re-evaluating your decision not to hit him.

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he said, smiling. “You can’t be serious.”

You stepped closer to him; your hand lowered just in case you needed easy access to your wand.

“Tell me what you said about my boyfriend. I know you said something, so tell me, now.”

He looked to his friends as if considering whether you were actually serious before he scoffed.

“All I said was that you were way too smart to be with a bloke as dumb as him,” you huffed, fists clenching at his words. “I’m not wrong, Y/N, those twins are bad news and they’re hardly boyfriend-“

“Hey, Michael,” you said, trying desperately to control yourself as you frowned, head ticking to the side. “Do you remember two years ago when the Slytherin common room was pink for two weeks?”

He frowned, nervously glancing at his friends. “Sure,” he said, though he seemed anything but.

“Do you remember how they had to get Dumbledore himself to fix it because none of the other teachers could figure out how to make it green again. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah, why? What’s that got-“

“George did that. He used about eight different cloaking spells and spent weeks convincing Nearly Headless Nick to help him and Fred. Could you do that?”

He opened his mouth, but you weren’t finished. Ever since you started dating George, everyone seemed to have an opinion and you were tired of it.

“No, Michael, you couldn’t.”

With your voice raised and your determined gaze directed solely at Michael and his Ravenclaw buddies, all looking very uncomfortable, you didn’t even notice George lurking behind you.

“And you know that time that nobody could figure out how the Gryffindor Quidditch Team knew everything about the Ravenclaw strategies? That was George too. Between him and Fred, they made these things,” you found yourself getting distracted as you remembered how impressed you’d been. “These ears that you can use over massive, unprecedented distances to eavesdrop on people. That technology is legendary, regardless of what it’s used for.”

“And so,” you huffed, adjusting your robes as you leant back, aware that maybe you were being too hard on him. “You can shove your opinion, because George Weasley, my George, he’s a bloody genius. And he’s not bad news. He’s the kindest, sweetest guy and you’d be lucky to be half as patient or funny or amazing as him, alright, Michael?”

Michael looked taken aback by your outburst and even you were slightly surprised at your rant. His friends were equally caught off guard. Well, most of them. The boy on the right of him frowned, rolling his eyes. You wouldn’t have caught it had he not muttered under his breath.

“Weasley can’t fight his own battles, then?”

“What the fuck did you just say?” you reached for your wand and the boys in front of you stumbling backwards to avoid you. Before you could make them eat slugs like you so desperately wanted to, a hand caught your wrist. You spun around, brows furrowed at whoever was stopping you until you saw George’s face, all freckles and gentleness. All the anger that you’d had flooded away as he looked over your shoulder at the three Ravenclaw boys.

“I reckon you should piss off, now, don’t you?”

He didn’t have to tell them twice; within seconds they had disappeared down the corridor before you could hex them properly.

You turned to George as he slid his hand down your wrist to interlock your fingers together.

“Telling everyone my top-secret pranks, are we?” he asked, a crooked smile on his lips.

“Finally, not ignoring me anymore, are we?” you mimicked in the same tone, regretting it slightly as he sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“I’m sorry.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, your noses touching.

“I thought you’d agree with him, didn’t I?” he said quietly, pulling his top lip between his teeth. “I knew he was your friend-“

“He’s bloody not anymore, that’s for certain. He’s lucky I didn’t send him to Madam Pomfrey.”

Your anger sparked again thinking about it, but as always, George’s warm hand rubbing up and down your arm washed it away and you looked at him to see him already smiling at you.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because you think I’m kind and sweet and funny and drop-dead gorgeous.”

You smiled, shoving at him with your intertwined hands.

“I don’t remember saying you were funny. Or gorgeous.”

“I do. It was right before you called me amazing. And besides, gorgeous is bit of a given, isn’t it?”

You made a face at the way he flicked his hair and rolled your eyes but you couldn’t keep the fond smile off your face no matter how hard you tried.

“You really thought I’d agree with him?” you asked quietly, picking at your bottom lip with your teeth. He avoided your eyes. “Georgie.”

He sighed, facing you properly, his eyes trailing down your face.

“Everyone knows how out of my league you are, love,” he said, stroking your cheek with the back of his finger. “Just felt like I was punching above my weight, didn’t I?”

“Well,” you whispered, letting go of his hand to cup his cheeks. “Whilst I am objectively much better looking-“

He pinched your side, earning a grunt in response before his palms settled on your waist.

“I love you,” You pressed a kiss to his left cheek and then right. “And that,” another kiss to his nose then forehead. “Is all that matters.”

You finally pecked him on the lips, happy to see him smiling again, happy to hear his voice.

“So,” you grinned. “If anyone says anything else, just send them to me.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, wrapping his arms around you. “I like it when you get all feisty. Especially over me.”

harry potter tag list: <3<3

@creator-appreciator

@decadentwastelandtrash

@loveisblindness

@xinyourdreamsx

@brainlesspasta

@hariosborn

@staringmoony

@rexorangecouny

@ickle-ronniekins

@harrysweasleys

@alittletoomanyobsessions

@peachesandpinks

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #Harry Potter imagine #harry potter #imagine #writing

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