#Real marijuana store

[livbedum]

one conversation

maybank!reader x rafe cameron

summary rafe comes to pougelandia looking for sarah and finds you

warnings profanity , season four spoilers , use of marijuana , illusions to alcoholism , rafe being good at conflict resolution? , our girl is not standing on business at all

a/n initially , this had smut at the end , but i’m just finna two part ts for y’all<3

18+ minors dni

you were left alone to man the shop while the rest of your friends went to charleston. kie stayed behind as well , but she was driving all over the island trying to find jj. so here you were , doom scrolling behind the counter. you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking the worst when it came to what jj was up to or how the trip to charleston was going , but you could distract yourself and get high.

half of your blunt was gone when you thought you heard footsteps. you sat up straight , looking around the pillar you were leaned up against to see if anyone was there. pulling your headphones off , you took a deep breath. “no one’s here. no one’s trying to kill you. ghosts aren’t real,” you assured yourself before taking another hit of your blunt.

another puff and you heard more footsteps along with one of those eerie creeks from the wood. the scuba killer dude is so after me now. you hold your breath , not wanting him to hear you , but now your heartbeat was pounding more.

your hand fiddled around under the counter , feeling around for the knife you knew was there. it wasn’t the only one in the shop. the cool edge of the blade catches your finger and you grab it quietly , preparing yourself to fight a grown man who was dead set on killing you. the footsteps are getting closer , pausing every now and then like the man was looking around for you too.

“sarah?”

the all too familiar voice got your stomach to drop , your hand loosening around the knife entirely before you come out from around the cashier counter. “rafe?” you breathed out. the sweat that formed on the back of your neck had cooled , sending a chill down your spine.

your ex boyfriend turned at the sound of your voice , eyes softening at the sight of you clearly disheveled. “y/n , are you okay?” he instinctively asked , stepping toward you.

“i’m fine,” you answered shortly , backing up, “what’re you doing here?”

rafe chuckled , looking around the store. “what? ya can’t picture me just stopping by at my local bait shop?” he joked , fingers fumbling with one of the keychains that dangled on its hook.

“i don’t picture you at all anymore , rafe,” you simply replied , crossing your arms.

“agh! right— well , i came here looking for… my sister. i’m looking for sarah,” rafe explained , taking steps in a small circle just dicking around, “and you.” he stopped and a smile almost pulled at his lips. god , you missed his smile.

“well , sare isn’t here , so you’ll have to come back another time,” you shrugged , moving your way back behind the counter, “or not! sure you’re busy with sofia anyways. you should probably head out.”

rafe audibly groaned , bending back in frustration. “god damn it , y/n! could you— could you stop being difficult for one fucking second?” he cursed , rolling his eyes, “i’m— i’m tryna talk to you , baby.” your heart pinged at the nickname and the way rafe’s voice cracked just a little. the last time he called you that wasn’t even a part of your memory anymore. he leaned on the counter , resting his arms on the countertop and flicking at the pens in a metal tin.

and then you could smell it on his breath. to be fair , it was obvious the moment he started talking with his slurred words. “you’re drunk , rafe.”

“and? you’re high ; i can smell it,” he countered , finger coming up and booping you on the nose with a small laugh, “so what?”

you didn’t want to have to tell him to leave in the state he was in , but he could not be here when kie or jj got back. “i think you need to leave , dude,” you sighed , rubbing your forehead with your palm, “you can’t be here.”

“you used to beg me to come around the cut!” rafe whined , sniffling shortly, “now you don’t want me to?”

your eyes locked , and it was like time stood still. you thought you couldn’t read him anymore , but up close again , you know you could. he missed you. “i do,” you whispered , eyes still not leaving his, “but that doesn’t change anything.”

“one conversation,” he pleaded , grabbing your hand when you went to pull back again, “please.”

you always had trouble saying no to him. “fine,” you agreed , picking his keys up from the counter, “one conversation while i drive you home.” moving around the counter , you gently guided rafe back outside and to where his truck was parked. you helped him get in the passenger seat before getting behind the wheel and starting the truck. you heard the chime of your phone connecting to the bluetooth , and you cracked a smile. “sofia ever drive the truck?” you questioned , backing up and driving down the road.

“hell no,” rafe scoffed , reaching in the back seat for something. you eyed him , trying to figure out what he was doing. “i did something,” he announced , pulling a beer out and cracking it open.

your lips curled and you grabbed the bottle from him. “what did you do?” you asked , rolling the window down and chucking the beer out, “besides form a bad drinking habit?”

“i don’t have a bad drinking habit , y/n,” rafe groaned , letting his head hit the headrest behind him, “i made a deal. a business deal , y’know?” you looked at him , wanting him to continue. “so , you remember mrs. robinson? well , she’s not mrs. robinson anymore — whatever. so she proposed this business opportunity to me , and i’m doing it.”

“okay?”

“for us.” his voice was quieter than before , eyes flickering up to your face , gauging what you were thinking. if he even could anymore. but you didn’t say anything , so rafe continued, “i’ve been having these , i don’t know what to call ‘em , but i’ve been thinking a lot. about everything. me and sarah. me and you. and i wanna have my family back,” he admitted, “i want you back.”

you were quiet for a moment , your music the only noise in the truck. “rafe…” you sighed. your heart wanted nothing more than to forgive him for everything and take him back like you always did. but things were so different now. “you have a girlfriend. i have my life here , and i— nothing has changed.”

“what do you mean ‘nothing has changed’ , y/n? come on! i have!” rafe argued back.

“no , you haven’t!” you laughed , volume matching his, “you haven’t changed at all. the last time we all saw you was when you were aiming a fucking gun at us after you kidnapped me and sarah! and then the other day at the enduro , and let’s not forget the swell day’s activities , rafe. you haven’t changed.”

you watched rafe sit up straight before adjusting to face you entirely. “i want you! i’m sorry for the shit that happened. that — that wasn’t me , and i think you know that. i’d never do anything to hurt you , baby.”

“stop calling me that , rafe,” you begged , looking at him for just a moment with tears in your eyes, “i can’t come back to you this time.”

“you don’t understand! with this deal with hollis? i’ll have enough money for us to go away and start our own life. just like we always wanted,” he explained , hand reaching your thigh, “it’s what you wanted. i’m doing it. for you.”

you could see rafe’s place come into view and let out a deep breath. “i didn’t ask you to do that,” you mumbled , pulling truck into park, “i’ve asked you to get your shit together. to not be a fucking mess all of the time. i’ve asked you to just be nice to me a thousand times! you’re too late.”

“no , but i’m not,” rafe rushed out , grabbing your hands in his, “this deal is perfect timing. you’re home ; i’m apologizing. this is good,” he countered , hopeful smile on his lips, “c’mon.”

it was taking everything in you to not just start bawling. about how much you missed him when you shouldn’t , about how fucked up everything is , about every single thing that has happened in the last two years.

“rafe , i love you,” you said , taking his face in your hands and looking him in the eyes, “i love you so much that i could forgive you for everything—“

“so forgive me,” he interrupted softly , slipping your hands into his again , missing the way they fit together.

“i can’t,” you shook your head, “i was legally a missing person for six weeks because you kidnapped me , and i had to jump off a fucking boat into the ocean to get away. you — you drugged me and took me , rafe. that isn’t something i can just get passed. and while i was gone fighting for my life , you started dating my coworker! do you think those things are easy to forgive you for? i have been trying to do that since i’ve been back. i have come up with every logical excuse that would help me forgive you , so i can come home. but you haven’t been doing the same , and you come to me now like you couldn’t have come earlier , rafe!” your rant was going on longer than you expected, “i love you , but right now you’re not the same person. look at yourself for a moment and really think if all of this shit you get yourself into is worth losing me ; because i’m getting to the point where i believe you think it is.”

rafe sat quiet for a moment , truly taking in every single word you spoke. you could see the gears grinding and sat patiently with his hands in yours while he thought. “i love you,” he started, “i have done a million things wrong , and i know that. i’m trying to sort those things out now. that’s why i came today! to talk to you and sarah,” he explained opening his truck door, “just come inside. we can talk everything out. i promise. just give me a chance.”

“okay,” you whispered , closing your eyes for a second before getting out of the truck with him. you heard the breath of relief come from rafe. “girlfriend not here?” you quipped.

“shut up,” rafe laughed , opening the front door for you, “welcome back.”

“been awhile,” you nodded , stepping into the house with your arms crossed over your chest. your bikini top became more notable when you stepped into the air conditioning. “uh , where do you—“

“we could go to my room,” rafe suggested , raising his eyebrows at you with a smirk before you reached over and smacked him. you tried to hide your own smile. it had been so long since you and him had talked like this— joked around. “kidding!”

“living room,” you decided , heading that way on your own. you climbed over the couch and plopped down , getting comfortable as if you had been here the day before , like nothing had changed. “get to talkin’ , big guy,” you huffed , gesturing for him to sit down as well.

rafe rolled his eyes before he came into your line of sight at the directions and that stupid nickname. he hated when you called him anything other than baby or my love or if you were mad rafe. “okay , bud. the fuck?” he mumbled quietly back as he took a seat.

you were quick to defend yourself from his tone. “why are you getting snippy with me?” you asked , eyebrows furrowing as a pout overtook your lips.

“never mind,” rafe sighed lightly, “okay— first thing’s first : sofia is not my girlfriend. she was never my girlfriend,” he started off , looking at you were more sober eyes now that the conversation you’d both been wanting to have was happening. “we met at a party , and we hooked up. it , ugh , we kept hooking up , and it’s just that. i don’t want to be with her ; i don’t have feelings for her. it’s not like that.”

“you wanna start off with this topic?” you questioned , knowing it was the most sore spot for you in the moment. yes , everything he did was monumentally worse than his thing with sofia , but this was picking at you constantly.

“yes , i want to start with this because it affects us the most. if you think i’m with sofia or whatever you won’t want to come back to me,” rafe explained like it was obvious, “and the most important thing to me right now is you. it always has been.”

you bit your lip , thinking about how you want to word what you’re going to say. “i… do not care what you think you and sofia’s label is,” you admitted with a shrug, “i think you found somebody else that doesn’t know you to fill a void that i left whenever i was stranded on an island. i think you found someone that you knew would bother me if i ever came back. and i think that it’s disgusting that you’re sleeping with the only person i got along with at the club. you know that i’ve seen her posting you all of the time.”

“i thought you were dead!” rafe argued, “i was drowning myself in liquor one night when she was working and we —“

“i don’t care to hear how you started fucking my friend , rafe,” you interrupted , holding your hand up, “why didn’t you wait for me? we have been through so much shit together. things we’ve done to each other or whatever the fuck argument we get into. shit with my brother. i just don’t know why you didn’t wait this time around.”

“i thought you were dead , y/n,” he repeated , quieter this time as though the words alone were making him think that way again, “and you came back and everything was already so different.”

“because you were fucking my friend,” you said again , trying to get your point across.

his hands came up and rubbed at his face , clearing accepting the fact that this was going to be an argument conversation not a talk this out conversation. “i fucked your friend , yeah. i was horny , and you had screamed at me that you hated me and jumped off of a ship in the middle of the ocean to get away from me. and then the next time i saw you , you let kiara fucking carrera shove me off my boat as we were getting away from singh. excuse me for wanting to let off some steam,” he shouted , standing up and pacing a few feet, “oh and then we’re all back home and you scream at me in front of everyone at the enduro and then again at the beach , so… yeah.”

“letting off so much ‘steam’ that your friends are letting a pogue hang out with you all of the time? i get sofia is nice , but rafe , you’re surrounded by jackasses twenty-four seven. they’ve gotta be under the impression you’re dating if they’re letting her come around,” you argued also standing up so he wasn’t towering over you as much, “that’s the problem!”

“would you rather me go around and fuck every girl on the island?” he scoffed , confused with the situation now.

“yeah! that would be more in rafe cameron fashion,” you answered, “you told me i was the only girl you’d ever let step foot in this house with you again!”

“and you promised me no matter what! we’ve made promises and we’ve broken them. that’s nothing new to us,” rafe countered quickly before taking a deep breath and holding your hands. he moved you both to sit down again. “i don’t want to fight , y/n,” he admitted, “i want us to talk.”

you looked into his eyes , really looked , and all you could see was rafe. you could see the sweet boy that used to take you to all the way to charleston for farmer’s markets and the boy that always made you laugh. you didn’t want to argue either ; it wasn’t fun for you. you were just so mad.

“i don’t know how to talk with you when i’m this angry , rafe!” you huffed , dropping your face into your hands, “i am so fucking angry all of the time.”

“how about we talk about what you want to then?” he suggested , hand reaching your thigh and rubbing it soothingly, “i want to talk , so if it’s hard for you , we’ll do what you want. all i want is you back. i’m willing to make this work.”

you eventually looked up again , a soft smile at the feeling of his warm hand forming. “i don’t want to talk , ray,” you confessed , covering his hand with yours, “i just wish things were the same as they were before all of this happened.”

“it can be,” he responded , a smile lighting his face, “we can be.” rafe scooted closer to you on the couch , gently pulling you into him. “i’m on your side. whatever you want to do.”

and you didn’t even realize that you had moved your head to kiss him. you were already kissing rafe deeply when you came to the realization that this was the dumbest thing you could’ve been doing at the moment , but he was there and you loved him as much as you shouldn’t. “i don’t want to talk,” you echoed , shifting to straddle rafe’s lap. and he let you.

“i don’t deserve you,” he mumbled in between kisses , letting his hands feel you for the first time in so long.

you pulled back for a moment , taking his hand in your face again to make him look at you. “don’t say that ; it hurts my feelings,” you smiled , pressing a kiss into his cheek, “i love you. let’s drop everything that’s happened. if you say you’ve changed , i’ll believe you.”

taglist @maybankslover @annatartastic @maroonz @ravenmedows @yootvi @icaqttt @inlovewithmorales

[betterbooktitles]

"I’m certain I’m not the only millennial who feels we as a nation have taken a dizzying turn when it comes to drugs. I remember a uniformed police officer showing up once a week in 5th Grade (a year before Sex Ed) to explain how to avoid buying and taking drugs. Luckily, I already knew the dangers of the drug trade because I had seen The Usual Suspects. I knew cocaine was a bad thing to buy, sell, or steal, especially from a drug kingpin. The D.A.R.E. program, however, let me know how important it was to say no to anything fun, including alcohol. At least until I understood a little algebra first. We did role-playing exercises where we walked one by one toward the portly police officer and he casually asked if we wanted to hit a mimed joint with him. All we had to do was say “no” and walk to the other side of the room, defying the only rule I knew about improv. We wrote essays about how important it was to preserve our pristine bodies and minds, obviously unsullied since we had yet to take the class teaching us how puberty was going to defile them both. I’m still mad that my friend Nicole’s essay beat mine in a contest, and she got to read hers in front of the whole school all because she had the benefit of an older brother who took too much acid and sat in her room all night talking about why the existence of light proved God was real. My essay about a time I saw my friend’s dad drink a beer and then drive his truck somewhere was also good! We signed pledges to enter the new millennium drug-free. We took the red pencils that said “Friends Don’t Let Friends Do Drugs” and sharpened all of them down to say “Let Friends Do Drugs,” “Friends Do Drugs,” “Do Drugs,” and simply “Drugs.” Despite that little rebellious act, my friends and I spent a solid six months swearing we’d never put any harmful substance into our bodies besides every form of candy available.

Imagine how I feel now as a D.A.R.E. graduate becoming my dad’s drug dealer. It’s less thrilling than I thought it would be. Between my father’s warning not to hang around one specific neighborhood in Cleveland as a kid and nearly every TV show about drugs, I thought I’d always be buying marijuana from an intimidating dude who definitely had a gun and would use it immediately if he thought I was wearing a wire. Instead, I now buy marijuana from a well-lit storefront that looks like the Apple Store. I’ve even gone to a place where a guy with an iPad explained what each available strain would do to me. I buy what sounds good with all the confidence of a man pointing at items on a menu written in a language he can’t read. I put it all in a cardboard box. I place a book on top. I mail the box to my dad from my local post office. I tell myself the book is to hide the contraband crossing state lines, but in truth, the book is what clears my conscience. I want to send my dad something edifying while also sending him the drug that all of America worried would make me unable to read if I tried it once. The unrequested book is a red herring to distract from the vice, like when you were young and didn’t want to buy condoms outright at the store so you cushioned them between a pack of peanut M&Ms and a magazine. Hmm, what else did I need, — right, while I’m here — might as well pick up a few condoms.

Right as marijuana becomes legal in most states, I’m about done with the drug. I’ve had three good times on edibles, and one of them was when I felt nothing and fell asleep at 9:30 PM. I’m flabbergasted that my dad likes edibles. He seems to be a man free of anxiety. Case in point, I once brought him some THC lozenges to our summer holiday in Chautauqua, and around dinner time I told him “You might want to only take half of what I gave you” to which he replied, “I took it hours ago.” He was stoned and no one noticed.

While I’m stuck in my head, stoned or sober, wondering why I didn’t take some acting gig 15 years ago, wondering if I’ll ever make enough money, worrying I’m doing everything wrong including in this moment as I write this sentence, my dad is enjoying himself.

Judith Grisel, the author of Never Enough: The Neuroscience And Experience of Addiction, describes using marijuana as throwing “a bucket of red paint” on your brain. She was approaching the stimulant clinically in terms of how it differed from the laser focus of other drugs (THC reacts with many receptors in the brain, cocaine focuses on one), but now every time I smoke, I think of the red paint metaphor. While other people seem able to crank an entire joint and do insanely complicated stuff like function at their jobs, I am reduced to a gelatinous blob, on top of which my eyes and brain are navigating a dream state that, like many dreams, isn’t all that interesting the next day. Mostly, I get high and can’t decide what I want to watch on TV or what video game I want to play, I realize how hungry I am, and then I fall asleep with cereal still stuck to my teeth. Pot, for me, is like the squid ink hitting the screen in Mario Kart: I can still see where I’m going, but everything gets a little harder to do, and the panicked half-blindness makes everything slightly more chaotically fun."

Consider subscribing to the Screen Time newsletter.

Other articles include:

An essay on Claire Dederer's book Monsters and movies made by monsters.

Writing inside a Toyota Service Center.

Writing mistresses.

[vaspider]

Any advice for someone thinking about moving to the Pacific Northwest?

That kinda depends on where you are moving to! Here are the things I've found useful to know about moving to Portland:

I moved from Philly, where people tend to be more kind than nice, and here, people are more nice than kind. What I mean by this is that people in Philly will call you a jagoff while pulling over to change your tire in the rain, while people in Portland will smile while they keep driving. (This isn't universal, but it's real.)

Oregon has no sales tax. You'll pay a bunch of different income taxes in April, though, so make sure you pay attention to your mail in the beginning of the year so you get all your local taxes done.

Locals tend not to use umbrellas much. I tend to not just bc the rain is rarely hard enough to require one. Get a good raincoat.

Portland was one of the first places in the US to be wired for home electricity. Therefore, the grid needs upgrades, and a lot of the big lines are not buried as they are in other places and are vulnerable to ice. Make sure you have good home batteries for when we have ice storms.

Ditto, the streets don't get treated for ice. Make sure you have good boots and YakTrax or similar.

Pedestrians don't fucking look before they step out into the street. If people acted in Philly like they act in PDX, they'd get hit. If you're driving in the PNW, act like every pedestrian is about to do the most foolish thing ever.

Ditto PNW drivers. I'd rather drive to EWR on a Friday at 5 pm than try to cross the Willamette at rush hour.

TriMet still has a lot of room for improvement, but it's a lot better than any other city I've lived in. Get your Hop set up when you get here so you know you have money on it and all, even if you don't ride often, just in case.

The Oregon Zoo membership has an exchange thing where every month there are different local places you get free admission to. Getting a membership is generally less expensive than going twice in a year, and also, there's a bunch of other stuff you can do with that membership.

Choose where you wanna live as the place you're gonna do pretty much everything. Portland is largely set up so you can do everything you need within your neighborhood, which is nice. Pretty much the only time that I leave my neighborhood is when I have to go to a specialist doctor or to hang out with my cousins who live in SW or go to a special event.

Portland has a lot of cool shit you can do in your neighborhood - honestly more than I've seen anyplace else I've lived. There are hiking groups and bike rides and soap box derbies and all kinds of shit. Join local FB groups, look for posters... you'll see 'em.

If you consume weed regularly & qualify for a medical card, get one. The taxes on marijuana add up a lot faster than you think.

Some of the best food in Portland is at the strip clubs. No, I'm not joking. There's a law in PDX that if you serve alcohol, you have to serve Real Food, which has led to bars and clubs competing over how good their food is.

Food cart pods are the shit. Research your local food cart pods. You'll get some of the best food you've ever eaten and can take a huge group of people with different food needs to a local food cart pod and just have everyone go to different carts and get their own shit.

Look into who owns your local weed store. There are good Black-owned stores, and one of the most popular "chains" is/was owned by some deeply shady people who essentially bribed one of our Secretaries of State. So it does matter.

Be nice to the crows. There is a huge huge huge local murder & crows tell other crows if you're an asshole or you're cool.

I'm sure there's more stuff, but that's what I can think of while I'm listening to a podcast and my wife is driving us home.

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass 8 pt 3

masterpost

“I have a high degree of confidence that the tools are collected from this neighborhood. I have compiled a list of buildings where a workshop might conceivably operate.”

Cass nodded, engaging the locks on her batcycle. Damibat started pulling up the cover and handed it to her to snap into place. “Thank you,” she said, belated. Cass ran her tongue over the backside of her teeth. “Engineering power?”

“No conspicuous consumption,” Damibat reported. Professional for sure. “In light of the unknown power source for the tools themself, my leading theory is that the mechanic uses this unknown material for their workshop.”

She nodded. Made sense. Fit together, puzzle pieces that click together. The hunters both clicked through the belt mechanisms for grapples and then they soared together. Air blew into Black Bat’s face, buffeting her into an embrace. They cut through the air silently, Black Bat a second behind the case lead, Robin. 

His leads were:

Former car shop. Abandoned 4 months.

Basement floor of apartment building owned by mob affiliate.

Store front, shut down after cashier-owner murdered, gun crime.

In the right neighborhood, Black Bat started to feel a certainty. This was the right place. The mechanic was here. Something in her heart told her. It thudded, warm and reassuring, a reminder that she was breathing oxygen and pumping blood. Everything was well. Nothing was ghostly.

One by one, the Bats Black and Small crept in through windows and around blocks, looking for clues. 

Former car shop: Genuinely deserted! Black Bat felt proud of Gotham. It was nice that no one was creeping and crawling. Well. She was creeping and Robin was crawling, but that was different.

Basement floor: occupied, by many rats and still water. Biohazard. Black Bat put her breathing filter on and resigned herself to writing a report and request for cleanup. Very dangerous. Possible Legionnaire’s disease and others. Yuck.

Store front: Gotham fail. In use as a marijuana growing facility. Big sigh.  Do better, friends.

“Hardly a real crime,” Robin scoffed. He snapped his cape behind him and pulled out his grapple, angry with himself. Must have been wrong. Incompetent. I don’t like me when I fail. “Wasted time.”

Cass frowned, hesitating to follow. “No…” she said. The certainty hadn’t left her. Something in her hunting instinct knew. There was at least one trail to follow. She could sense it nearby.

Robin snapped to look at her. He didn’t say anything, but she knew what he was thinking: That’s unusual. Why is she uncertain? What does she perceive?

She cracked a faint smile behind her mouth mask. “Follow,” Cass requested. Robin, sweet and disciplined Robin, switched roles seamlessly. He followed her and she followed a sense that she hadn’t noticed before today.

They went over one block, and then up, up, up. A low income apartment building. Windows were dirty on the outside, smog and birdshit. The residents didn’t care to enjoy the view outside: there were curtains, UV blocking film, and taped up posters. She came to the ledge outside a 7th floor apartment and paused, frowning. 

“Here?” Robin breathed it so quietly that only their shared headsets picked it up. 

Cass nodded. 

The window was obscured. Unfortunate. Cass wiped at filth forlornly, but there was a poster taped on it. There was a small peeking spot to sneak a look through, about two centimeters wide. Black Bat spidered her way across the window to line her face up to look into the apartment.

It was dim, lit by a green glow from a big screen, probably. Video game? Black Bat spied the back of a sofa and a shadow cast by legs hanging over the edge. Someone was sleeping there. Hmm.

She turned her face expectantly to Robin. He was typing into the wrist computer. “Leased by a young woman,” he reported sotto voice. His eyebrows went up. “A civil engineering student at Gotham U. No other residents on the lease.” He tilted to show her a pale young woman with a narrow face and brown hair. Flat color: dyed? Suspicious or fashion choice?

Cass squinted back inside at the sleeping person. Must be Jacqueline. Criminal mechanic was female? Neat. Go girls, go! Go to jail in this case, but still. Neat.

“Shall we enter?” Robin was clearly ready to go.

Black Bat shook her head. “Daylight,” she said practically. Pass to the Signal. It’s only fair. Optimal time to sneak and creep is when school is in session; apartment empty. Nighttime is better for confrontation. “Docks now?”

Comms clicked. “I was waiting for you to ask,” Oracle said, smug, good timing, I have everything under control. “I have what might be Lex Luthor moving something across the bay tonight. Interested in taking a look at what he wants to sneak out of Gotham?”

Hell yeah.

[navyhyuck]

sweet thing — 1k words, choi yeonjun

warnings: explicit marijuana usage, shotgunning (..again), some kissing, frat president! boyfriend! stoner!yeonjun, a true and very accurate portrayal of what frat boys really want (a girlfriend lol), probably unrealistic infatuation and slightly possessive/jealous behavior, college party culture, frat boys!txt

a/n: if anyone was wondering, yes, i would be so down to have a stoner bf. not that i’m encouraging smoking of any sort, including weed, so don’t do drugs <3 and yes, i have a teeny tiny little fantasy about how it’d be like to date a frat boy, don’t ask. also… never underestimate the power of yawnzzn, he knows exactly what he’s doing. moral of the story: find yourself a sweet, real nice person that is obsessed with you!! don’t settle for less babes :]

you know what they say: good, sweet boyfriends always get their girl high before they’ve even taken a hit.

yeonjun is no different, a selfless soul, truly, the kind of addict that keeps pre-rolled joints stored in all sorts of places, always making sure you’re satisfied before he’s even begun. you don’t need much either, considering he’s the more experienced one, perching you on his lap and watching your lips wrap around his joint, smiling when he hears a light hum leave your chest. ah, yes, he treats his girl so well.

even when he’s the president of his frat, constantly hurdled with duties here and there: rush week, pledging, community service, partying—he’ll always make time in his busy schedule to see you. even if it means sitting on the bed of his trashed bedroom, fastening his arms around your waist, only getting high from the smoke you give him. really, he couldn’t ask for anything more.

his favorite part is when you surprise him at his parties, not always your favorite setting, dressed up so perfectly to him (baggy jeans and a t-shirt, a real turn on), sending your boyfriend the most stunning smile when you see him. his brothers scoff at the sight of you, namely the insufferable external vice president beomgyu (who still hasn’t satiated his deep desire to find a girlfriend), strutting away with such a sway that it makes you giggle. 

“hi sweetheart,” yeonjun’s dripping honey already, pulling you to sit on his lap, pressing his fingertips carefully against your arm. he’s far gone, you realize, from the way he’s absolutely dazed, licking his lips slowly from the dryness, trailing his eyes on yours lazily. “i’m so glad you came.”

“mhm, i know,” you’re running a hand through his hair, the dusted pink color slowly growing to your liking. he leans into your touch, closing his hand around your wrist and sniffing. he’s exhaling loudly, eyes closed and head rocking back, one would think he’s getting off to the smell of you, as if you’d worn that mythical pheromone perfume he gifted you on your birthday. “you fucking pervert…”

“you smell good,” is all he mutters, letting you massage his scalp, chuckling when you curse at him again. a few seconds pass in the quiet bliss before he’s coming back to his senses, sitting up so fast you nearly topple off of him. “fuck, y/n, you’re sober.” it makes him frown slightly; of course, he can’t let you stay like that.

there’s nothing more attractive to him than the way you look when you’re taking hits—a little goes a long way—leaning back against him, eyelashes fluttering as the smoke bellows around you. he’s so pliant, patient with you as he doesn’t even let you hold the joint, exhaling smoke into your mouth every so often to see your crazed smile. the way your lips ghost past his, teasing in an attempt to be coy, oh, it makes him a mad man.

and it comes to a particular point in the night when you’re all giggly once again, laughing sweetly at the incredibly shitty jokes internal vice president soobin is making, making small talk with treasurer taehyun, even thanking (god forbid) secretary kai when he hands you a water bottle, and yeonjun’s locked a permanent arm around your waist. shit–his eyes are darting around, an incredulous look on his face–do all his brothers want to fuck his girl?

“don’t be ridiculous,” you mutter as your boyfriend whispers liquid jealousy, nodding your head as kai rambles on about how his president had him cleaning toilets for days. the one thing you ever hear from yeonjun’s brothers are complaints, of course, on how he runs this excuse of a fraternity. he’s now giving death glares to any man that comes within a ten foot radius of you, snapping at them to leave you alone, pressing you closer to him with every passing moment.

oh, of course, now he’s gotten possessive.

“my girl,” he’s sighing, lighting yet another joint to place against your lips, watching you relish in the feeling. his heart swells, nearly bursts from the way you laugh breathlessly, kissing at the very corner of his lips, pulling away when he chases after you. white smoke blurs his vision, but he’s still staring. “c’mere princess, share with me.”

you do, parting your boyfriend’s lips with your hand, looking directly into his eyes–pupils blown to the max, shaking–and exhaling. he can’t help but press his mouth against yours, trapping the smoke, grasping at the fabric of your shirt, searching for a nothingness to bring you impossibly closer. you’re caught off-guard, however, gripping his shoulders to keep him in place, kissing him back hesitantly. still in a public setting, you know, you can feel his brothers’ eyes starting to prickle at your back.

you’re so lucky he’s the president, you’re thinking with your eyes screwed shut, tongue pressing against yeonjun’s, waiting patiently for the high to hit. when it does, you can tell, the way his lips messily move against yours, kissing so loudly you know it’s indecent; after all, you hate pda when you’re sober, yet your brain’s fuzzy now, leaving you with quiet giggles bubbling in your chest. it’s so funny to you, suddenly, even when you’re curled up on your boyfriend’s lap, lazily inhaling as he presses the joint to your lips once again, grinning as you let him have a taste too.

and in all of that, when his lips leave a ghost trail on your neck, as your head floats far above the clouds, there’s nothing better he can think of. you’re the best thing he’s ever had, no denying that. even the faint crash of an empty vodka bottle doesn’t catch his attention, nor the yelling voice of the external vice president, the complaints and whines and one-sided argument, it’s all his imagination at this rate.

“–and fuck you, yeonjun, stop fucking your girl on our goddamn couch!”

[worldsofarchive]

Monster In Your Closet

This Book Contains:

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Demon!Sekido

Warnings: Monsterfucker, inhuman-sized dick, tentacle-like appendages, mentions of drugs and getting high, light slapping, a lot of biting, and mentions of blood

Keynotes: Au where demons can be summoned, soft-ish Sekido at the end, mention of Urogi and Karaku

Rating: 18+ / Those younger or unstated will be banned from the library!

Word Count: 2.8k

You flopped onto your bed with a head-splitting headache and a tight chest. That little graffiti-covered crystal store was not what you expected; there was so much incense in the small area that the ceilings were covered in ropes of smoke. You barely got to the first shelf before a smell of marijuana hit your nose. The employees in the back were laughing and were high as kites, mumbling nothings as if having a conversation. 

You immediately turned heel and walked out of the store. You are not going back there; your head is pounding, and you let out a few coughs. After entering your home, everything felt odd; maybe you were high from the incense. You heard floors creek, doors open, your closet door slid, and some of your stuff was moved. Your head hurt so much that you were hallucinating. You stretch, and you hear a few pops in your back before you exhale.

You go limp on your bed and sign. Huh, your closet door is open. Wait! "AH!!" Your foot gets grabbed by something! Your back hits the floor, followed by your head. Before you know it, you grab onto the wall, the only thing keeping you from being dragged into the closet. A clawed hand grabs one of your arms and flips you onto your back. Deep red eyes glare down at you.

"Were you the one who summoned me?!" His voice pierced you right through your chest, and it tightened. A demon, a real-life demon, right on top of you. No human can have such bright, glowing eyes. Wait, summon? "I-I didn't summon anyone!" You force out a pitiful whisper, and his glowing red eyes narrow. He gets off you and looks around. 

"Well, I'm tied to you! So you must have summoned me!" You take this opportunity to bolt out of your room, but his claws reach you first. He yanks you back and glares down at you. "What do you want?! I want to get this done and go back to my brothers!" Your instincts kick in, and you start kicking your legs while trying to pry his fingers off your shirt.

A deep growl rumbles in his chest before he slams you down on your bed and holds you down. "QUIT FUCKING DOING THAT! I'M TRYING TO TALK TO YOU, DUMB HUMAN!" You freeze at that; you feel the sting of tears behind your eyes. He grows long appendages from his back, similar to tentacles, and they hold you down as he leans away from you. He is at least two meters tall. 

"So you didn't summon me, but for some reason, I am tied to you. Then the person summoning me must have been looking at you." He glances around the room in thought. Suddenly you remember those employees. "D-Do people use crystals to summon you?" He looks down at you. "With Ruby…"

"…Why?" You let out a sigh. "I went to a crystal shop, and the people working there mumbled and played around with crystals." He tilts his head briefly, and now that you're calm, you finally get to look over him. He wore traditional Japanese clothes, all black. His hands were black and skin tan. He had two horns on his temples that looked jagged. 

He groaned and rubbed his temple. "Great… Just let me get some blood from you, and I'll be able to go home." He said as he pulled you closer. "What!?" You instantly struggle against the tentacles, terrified of what the demon can do. What if he just rips your throat open, cuts open your stomach, and guts you? 

"It's to break the summoning contract! STOP FUCKING MOVING BEFORE I GUT YOU AND BLEED YOU LIKE A PIG!" His hands grab your shoulders and pull you closer to him. There is heat radiating from him; you just noticed how almost painfully warm his hands are on your shoulders. "I'm not going to kill you; just hold still."

That's the only warning he gave before his jaw locked around your shoulder. Sharp teeth pierce the flesh, breaking blood vessels and forming beads of blood. An almost hot tongue licked up those beads before his pupils blew. "Fuck…" He cursed softly before biting into your shoulder again, earning a yelp this time. Your eyes squeezed shut and your body tensed.

A desperate tongue wanting more. He got a taste; now he wanted more—a taste of the divine. He felt a chain break; the contract broke. The tentacles let go of you and he stepped back. Your shoulder stung, a throbbing pain that fired up your nerves. You watched him carefully as he began looking around the room. 

He took a step closer to your bedroom door before he ripped open the air, forming a rift. It looked like a grand hall of a castle on the other side; he walked through it, and you saw a glimpse of someone who looked exactly like the demon. Though he had wings, bird arms, and legs with yellow eyes. "Wait! What's your name?" As if you'd meet him again.

He didn't even turn before the rift closed. "Stupid human…" A loud cackle echoed through the large hall; angry rubies went to glare at a pair of jovial citrines. The winged demon twisted in the air, tears in his eyes and teeth bared. "Hahaha! 'wait! w-what's your name, handsome one?' hahaha! Imagine being summoned by a bunch of high humans."

A growl rumbled in the ruby-eyed demon's throat. "Shut it, Urogi!" His laughter only got louder; if he didn't have wings, he'd be rolling around on the floor. "That human was cute; maybe I'll steal them from you, Sekido." Sekido bared his teeth and threw a staff at Urogi. "You irritating Vermin! Out of my sight!"

Urogi flew off with a bright smirk on his face. Sekido was left with his thoughts; the need and desire clawed at him. Twisting his guts, digging their claws in his brain, pulling at his tongue, and scratching down his back. Warming his crotch and tugging at his robe. He got the taste of the feeling; now he wants it more. Taste of divine.

Human cities were packed, uncomfortable, and stuffy. The smell of sweat filled the air; tangled between it was perfume, from dull to bright, sweet to smoky. So much noise, everywhere. But he endured, his eyes locked on you as you walked. Stalking you in the crowd and blending in as a human was easy, but being among them was horrific.

Constantly bumping his shoulders, asking for pictures, reaching for his hair, and yelling at each other with no regard for anyone else. He brute forced his way through the crowd to stay on your tail. His footsteps were silent behind you as you walked home, passing street lights that he didn't dare step into. Staying cloaked in shadow out of sight.

It hadn't been long before you turned off most of the lights in your home; the scabs on your shoulder were already almost gone. You couldn't get him out of your head; he pulled at your heart as if you were in love. Maybe it was his face, maybe his voice, his presence. His eyes. As quickly as he appeared, he disappeared. Not a trace.

The appearance of demons was something of a lowkey thing, a very niche topic. You either believe it or you deny it. Or now there is a third option; experience it. You feel indifferent, but maybe you do, in fact, like him, maybe in a physical way. His short fuse isn't as charming as his voice. Then, just as you were heading to your bedroom, a knock from the front door broke your stride.

Demon knocking on your door. You peep through the hole and see him—more human though. You don't know why, but you open the door; you want him. You yearn for him. You want him to put you on the floor and crawl all over you; trace his fingers on your whole body. You know it's kind of wrong; you're torn, but the thought turns you on.

As soon as the door swings open, he isn't human; he is a demon. His fiery ruby eyes look down at you. He walks in and closes the door behind him, eyes still locked on you. He will swallow you whole; you feel it. Wasting no time, he grabs you and rushes to your bedroom. Instantly on top of you, his fangs dig into your shoulder once more.

Your back arches and hands grab onto his shoulders as if he were your lifeline. "You taste fucking divine." Addicted to the taste of you, he wants more. His lips suck at your neck, tongue pressing against your pulse. Hands wandering down your body, claws leaving light marks. The ripping of your shirt was followed by something yanking your bottoms off.

Tentacle-like appendages coiled around your ankles and pulled you closer to him. His skin was hot, and so was his breath on your neck. He wasted no time discarding his clothes. Your body felt so warm and needy; you wanted him so bad. Teeth sunk into your collarbone as his hands fondled your breasts. 

Clawed fingers toying with the fat and threatening to pierce your skin. Your thighs squished together at the familiar sticky wet feeling, and his attention shifted from your neck to your thighs. He began moving lower, nuzzling your stomach before looking down at your crotch. Pushing your thighs apart effortlessly as he growled made your chest tighten, and you feel like you're free falling through the sky.

It's becoming hard to think; your body jolts when he faceplants into your crotch. Prominent nose pushing against your clit before a hot tongue prods at your folds. You look down at him, face flushed and throat tight. "You upset that I kissed your bottom lips before your top lips?" He asks before he slaps your thigh. "Suck it up."

The slap didn't hurt that much; it stung in a way that made you excited. Every tilt of his head, every flick of his tongue, every nuzzle sent electric shocks up your spine. Your hips buck and your back arches to escape the almost painful pleasure, but he doesn't let you. Large hands holding down your hips and another light slap on your thigh. "Quit moving or I'll spear you."

His tongue pushed inside and pressed against your bumpy walls. You couldn't stop your whimpers and moans; you grabbed his horns. You wanted something to hold onto as his tongue did wonders. The pleasure made you almost float, your head so light, making it hard to think. All you could focus on was his tongue.

It was so warm in you, pressing against all the best spots. Some spots you couldn't reach, which made you see stars; it was so hard to think; not a single thought stayed before his tongue invaded your mind. A hot knot was on the verge of snapping before he angled his nose just right, tongue grazing over an oh-so-tender spot.

You came undone on him, thighs squishing his head, back arched, mind hot white, and mouth hung open in a whiny moan. Fuck, you tasted good. Sekido almost felt his own eyes roll back at the taste of your release. His cock was throbbing just as much as his head; in that moment, he wanted to be one with you.

He wanted body against body, so unbelievably close to you. If he were more ruthless, he'd eat you, tear your flesh, and swallow it. He moved his head away, licking up the arousal on his chin. One hand ran up your body while the other stroked his cock, beads of precum spilling out. The first thing you noticed was the length; it was way too long, and it would not all fit inside you.

Sekido leaned over you, hands on either side of your head, tentacles holding your legs up, his fiery rubies staring so deep into your eyes they were admiring your soul. "My name is Sekido; scream it." Then his hot tip slid into you. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, and your body tensed. 

He didn't stop for a moment, almost painfully stretching you, pushing further and further in. His cock was bumpy, rubbing against your sensitive soft walls. The room began filling with your moans and strained whimpers. The stretch is all you could focus on until his teeth found your cheek and he bit down.

Before you could flinch away, his hand cupped your face. Blood trickled down along with a few tears. Then a painful shock fired up your spine, and you tensed from pain. The demon tilted his head and looked down. He's hit your cervix, and he isn't even in all the way. "Tch, tiny humans." His hips rocked back slowly, letting you feel every bump.

Without any warning, he thrust back in, being mindful of your cervix, not wanting to hit it. Back arched and head thrown back, exposing your neck for him to nibble at. Little pricks and beads of blood form as his thrusts become rougher. Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs, making you feel more lightheaded than before.

Your body wants to squirm, arch away from the potent stimulation that sets your nerves on fire, but his tentacles hold you in place, rubbing against you. They find your chest, squishing the soft lumps of fat, and prod at your nipples. The stimulation is so much you grab onto his thick hair and pull.

Teary human eyes look at his demonic ones, and he smiles. Thrusts become more aggressive and send you to cloud nine. His lips smash into yours, a kiss so passionate and fiery he busts your lip. Kissing you so hard that spit rolls down your chin, his tongue overpowers yours, and he bites at your lip.

You can't think anymore; you're so lightheaded. All you can focus on are those rubies. Your stomach flips as a clawed hand plays with your pearl, and all the nerves zap you right in the spine. His other hand keeps your head near his as he laps at the bloody drool on your lips. "I fucking hate humans, especially you; you taste too fucking good. Infuriating." 

His gaze is intense; you can't look at him. It makes you flustered beyond anything. The pace picks up; his thrusts are as fast as your heartbeat, you swear it. You can't hold it in anymore; you cry out. Your dull nails are scratching at his shoulders as he sucks on your neck. Everything he touches feels hot—your breasts, where his tentacles have coiled, his cock inside you, his tongue and breath.

"Sekido! Sekido!!" You scream out, his face in your neck as he licks up the blood. "You're fucking divine." Teeth on your ear, oh fuck, your vision is pinching. Dark circles bloom. It's too much; he's too deep; he's too good. You can only helplessly stare at the ceiling as he holds your head and rams your pussy.

That knot forms in your stomach again, but it feels bigger and more intense. Your legs are shaking, and the bumps on his cock are driving you insane. The knot is fraying after each thrust until you're falling off the edge and you scream out "SEKIDO!" Strong arms pull you into a tight embrace as something nearly piping hot fills your insides. 

The tentacles uncoil and let you curl up in the demon's arms. You're panting as if you just sprinted for an hour straight, head still in the clouds, and you have yet to come down from heaven. The demon sits with you on his lap, making sure to hold you up so he doesn't hurt your cervix. As you come down from your high, he is licking up any blood left from his bites or rough kisses.

Your bottom lip is swollen and busted, your eyes blurry and teary, and your body is sweating and hot. The room is spinning a little, your head tilting with it as you rest your head on the demon. He nuzzles your hair as he lifts you off his cock, which wetly flops down onto his thigh. You whimper softly as the warm, creamy liquid seeps out of you.

As you're catching your breath, you hear something under your bed. Your blood runs cold as you see a clawed hand grab the frame, and a head appears. You're about to scream before Sekido covers your mouth and bares his teeth at the identical to his figure. This one had green eyes and seemed much more upbeat than Sekido.

But more importantly, he was the monster under your bed.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

i wonder if yves has a picture of us as his lockscreen wallpaper... if yes (or no), what picture would it be :0 ?

As much as Yves would love to just... plaster your face on everything he owns, he simply can't and shouldn't.

Yves didn't rise up the ranks by being nice and kind. He rose up by pushing others down. Naturally, he made an army of enemies over the years that would jump at the chance of abusing his weaknesses. It would be much safer to not expose any of his information at all, which sadly includes who he associates with regularly.

His lock screen is just a black background. His gallery contains no trace of you or him. Not even pictures that have accidental reflections of either face. All the metadata from his photos would be expunged.

He does not have any social media applications or games on his phone- not even digital maps. He has his GPS turned off at all times. Yves memorizes his all contact numbers by heart and he never gets a number wrong. His phone is just a slab he used to call or text (sometimes hack into other devices), Yves would delete his call logs, and text messages including yours after documenting all of them in their respective dossiers. When he isn't expecting any communication, his phone is always switched off. Sometimes, he would even remove the battery.

Truly crucial matters will be alerted through the pager hidden in his reliable bag.

That is why you never see him entertaining himself with his smartphone, Yves usually brings a book or a magazine with him. He's living as if he's still in the 80's. If you gave his car a shakedown, you would find atlases and a compass.

But that is just his public phone. He has a few that never leave his office. They're full of you. Videos, pictures, voice recordings, and backups of your messages. One of them is a carbon copy of your current phone, with all the same data you're holding. The other one is an old phone that you sold or lost, one of his precious artifacts of you.

His 'home' phone has pictures of your happiest moments on its lock screen and home screen. It doesn't necessarily have to be photos he took after meeting you. It could be a picture of you graduating high school, it could be a candid picture of you on a vacation trip when you were 8, it could be a picture of your reaction the moment you received your first 'adult' paycheck, it could be a photo of you trying marijuana for the first time, it could even be your baby photos if you weren't that happy in life.

However, phones that store your information aren't usually used as a phone. It just becomes precious data banks. And any evidence that he's spying on you will never be revealed, hence you will never know of its existence.

There is an exception, though. One of his phones is used to analyze what catches your eye on social media. It mirrors your screen in real time, he would record how many seconds you would linger on a post, how many times you rewatched a video, when you would do a double take, your scrolling speed and what exactly would you consume. He would connect the dots and correlate your media consumption habits to the circumstance on that day; would you scroll slower on a cold or hot day? Do you seek out food content if you're hungry or actively avoid it? Why did you rewatch that thirst trap video?

You can go through his phone if you want, but that means he gets to go through yours in return. And you're at a huge disadvantage here because you willingly give up your privacy to him while he gave you nothing. It's not like you have to, he's never on his phone and he's a recluse. What is there to discover?

You know Yves is much older than you are, he used to fuel his past cars with leaded gasoline for god's sake.

So you already expected that at some point along the way, he would comment on this generation's excessive usage of their gadgets. But that oddly never came, because your habits are a treasure trove of information. He would only deride the act if it's actively harming your health.

If you want to put his face on your lock and home screen, go ahead. He would be flattered. Profile picture? Sure. Yves would do some digital magic to make sure the wrong people never see it. As a social media post? Go ahead. Only those whom he knows wouldn't be a threat to you can perceive it.

Of course, just as any paranoid man would do, he would educate you on the dangers of releasing your information to the world. Giving you real-life examples where it could lead to horrifying results. But he would be lying if he said his heart doesn't swell at your willingness to brag about him to your friends.

Obviously, he's also stealing a copy of your lipstick-print-ridden face and printing a physical poster of it to frame in his office. He would openly display it if he obtained it by asking you, but he would hide it if he got the photo by hacking into your phone.

[celestie0]

idk if this is weird bc it's political but like imagining ihm gojo being a liberal man...idk it's so hot he advocates for my bodily autonomy

the bar is in hell

also correct me if im wrong but ihm gives me such midwest vibes, since their city is a small town where everyone knows each other. like illinois!! cornfields!!! (actually the town gives me more indiana vibes due to the scarcity of grocery stores but i hate indiana xoxo)

and ALSO one thing from past chapters that's been going thru my mind is GETO ever since reader saw him in the grocery store. LIKE HELLOW YOU PUT SUGURU X READER IN THE TAGS AS WELL?? AND NO ONE HAS BROUGHT THAT UP?? (i think) my theory: geto is going to visit gojo, maybe stay in a spare room, and BOOM mingling between geto and reader. and then BOOM gojo gets jealous. confirm or deny 🤔

LMAO the bar being in hell is so real tbh. but no ya ihm gojo is very liberal!!! i kinda have it in my mind that the story is set in like...mideasternish washington state!! washington state is a very blue state so yes he is like...advocating for federal legalization of marijuana level of liberal bahaha (although ik the mideastern parts are kind of a mix of red n blue counties a lil bit)

OOPS I JUST READ THE NEXT PARAGRAPH lmfao no i hear you!! it could totally be midwest too aaa but like idk anything about midwest and figured there are quite a few small towns up on the pacific northwest area hence why i chose washington state heheh

my original plans were to have it be set in socal but like. there are zero small towns here in socal HAHAH. we have a grocery store at...every other red light pretty much

and yes indeeeeeeed there's a little bit of suguru x reader (tbh i haven't quite decided on how much yet bc i love ihm gojo sososososososooooo much i don't wanna hurt him where reader gets TOO involved w suguru n he finds out or sumn aaa) BUT.....no babe your theory about him is wrong bahah it's a bit more complex than that actually :0 tinyyy hint below the cut in case you don't want spoilers

ihm gojo n ihm suguru are NOT on good terms sooo uhh yea all the more reason why i'm nervous to make reader get involved w ihm suguru eeeeepppp

[eternal--returned]

IGGY POP: Once I heard the Paul Butterfield Blues Band and John Lee Hooker and Muddy Waters, and even Chuck Berry playing his own tune, I couldn't go back and listen to the British Invasion, you know, a band like the Kinks. I'm sorry, the Kinks are great, but when you're a young guy and you're trying to find out where your balls are, you go, "Those guys sound like pussies!" I had tried to go to college, but I couldn't do it. I had met Paul Butterfield's guitarist, Mike Bloomfield, who said, "If you really want to play, you've got to go to Chicago." So I went to Chicago with nineteen cents. I got a ride with some girls that worked at Discount Records. They dumped me off at a guy named Bob Koester's house. Bob was white and ran the Jazz Record Mart there. I crashed with him and then I went out to Sam's neighborhood. I really was the only white guy there. It was scary, but it was also a travel adventure—all these little record stores, and Mojos hanging, and people wearing colorful clothes. I went to Sam's place and his wife was very surprised that I was looking for him. She said, "Well, he's not here, but would you like some fried chicken?" So I hooked up with Sam Lay. He was playing with Jimmy Cotton and I'd go see them play and learned what I could. And very occasionally, I would get to sit in, I'd get a cheap gig for five or ten bucks. I played for Johnny Young once—he was hired to play for a white church group, and I could play cheap, so he let me play. It was a thrill, you know? It was a thrill to be really close to some of those guys—they all had an attitude, like jive motherfuckers, you know? What I noticed about these black guys was that their music was like honey off their fingers. Real childlike and charming in its simplicity. It was just a very natural mode of expression and lifestyle. They were drunk all the time and it was all sexy-sexy and dudey-dudey, and it was just a bunch of guys that didn't want to work and who played good. I realized that these guys were way over my head, and that what they were doing was so natural to them that it was ridiculous for me to make a studious copy of it, which is what most white blues bands did. Then one night, I smoked a joint. I'd always wanted to take drugs, but I'd never been able to because the only drug I knew about was marijuana and I was a really bad asthmatic. Before that, I wasn't interested in drugs, or getting drunk, either. just wanted to play and get something going, that was all I cared about. But this girl, Vivian, who had given me the ride to Chicago, left me with a little grass. So one night I went down by the sewage treatment plant by the Loop, where the river is entirely industrialized. It's all concrete banks and effluvia by the Marina Towers. So I smoked this joint and then it hit me. I thought, What you gotta do is play your own simple blues. I could describe my experience based on the way those guys are describing theirs . . . So that's what I did. I appropriated a lot of their vocal forms, and also their turns of phrase—either heard or misheard or twisted from blues songs. So "I Wanna Be Your Dog" is probably my mishearing of "Baby Please Don't Go."

Legs McNeil & Gillian McCain ֍ Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk (1996)

The Stooges ֍ I Wanna Be Your Dog (1969)

Muddy Waters ֍ Baby Please Don't Go (1953)

[thesoftboiledegg]

The dawn of another new Rick and Morty episode is upon us. But before "Rickfending Your Mort" airs, I went to the mall to see what new merchandise awaits.

Toxic Rick: now on boxer shorts!

The bootleg canvas sign store had a new illustration, complete with marijuana leaves that make me suspect that it's adorned a few head shops. And Rick's favorite thing: crystals! 💎

Spencer's had a new shipment of Rick and Morty blankets waiting to hit the shelves. One day, I might buy one.

Mini lanyards! I love it when merchandise leans into the trippiness.

Spencer's also had a new hoodie that I nearly missed because they'd piled it on a shelf with other black hoodies. I feel like you need 3D glasses to see the design.

When I visited the other mall today, I saw a Rick and Morty air freshener hanging in someone's vehicle in the parking lot. I took that as a good omen!

Sure enough, Rue 21 had a T-shirt with a twist: two views of Rick and Morty from the front and back. Rick looks pretty agitated!

More pajama pants. This is probably my favorite design yet. They're SO soft and snuggly, too.

The "nerdy" store had a beanie decorated with Rick's electrocuted skull. He looks a little like a pot leaf, which might be the idea.

Some of you might remember that I found tiny Rick and Morty figurines in the clearance section, doomed to a life outside the original packaging:

I browsed the shelves and found a collection of tiny people! Tiny Jerry, tiny Beth, tiny Summer, tiny Mr. Poopybutthole, tiny Arthricia: the season two gang's all here.

I wonder which brand manufactured these. Seems like somebody dropped off their whole collection like they did with the Funko Pops.

Anyway, this Spencer's location had what's now one of my favorite T-shirts:

I didn't buy it because white T-shirts stain easily, but that design is so perfectly bizarre. Everybody gather 'round for Rick and Morty Show! It looks like the best kind of bootleg merchandise.

Pickle Rick was crammed at the bottom of the cage. Tough break.

Who knows, buddy: the leg might become the new Pickle Rick. Dudebros might start screaming "I'm a leg!" at McDonald's employees. Spencer's will stock Rick leg pillows. Has Pickle Rick finally met his match?

Eh, let's be real: the pickle is here to stay. 🥒

[normal-with-adhd-is-a-joke]

so my bottle of medical marijuana tincture suddenly stopped opening, the child protection lock would click but nothing would happen. I figured this out at like 3am in a hotel room with my mom for a festival I was visiting, the clicking woke her up and then we both spent like 5 full minutes trying to open it. I eventually gave up and used one of my few remaining CBD gummies. I then visited my sibling and their room mate on the same trip, my sibling tried it for a while, their room mate tried it for a while, their room mate stabbed it with two different kinds of knives trying to break the lock, no luck. I felt like I had given not wasting the product inside the best chance I possibly could have and resigned myself to return it and have them dispose of it for me.

I went yesterday to return the tincture, to the same dispensary chain but in a different location. The guy who was helping me turned to his coworker for a few minutes, they both messed with the bottle for a while with various baffled "how did this happen"s and "I'm never seen this before"s. Apparently, the child lock is made up of a lid with dents and a ring with ridges. The ridges need to fit into the dents in order for the bottle to open. Somehow, the ring of ridges came loose and dropped down, meaning the two couldn't reach each other and the bottle was permanently locked. The guy who was helping me went to get a new bottle from the back room. When he returned, he explained that they can't accept returns from other stores. I took my credit card out of my pocket ready to pay full price for a new bottle and he stopped me. "This product is one of our purely medicinal products and is obviously defective. I'm not making you leave here without your medicine. Hold on, I'm going to apply some discount codes". There was a sign on the wall saying that only one discount code could be applied at once, this man someone managed to override that and get me my tincture for 100% off. He bagged it up and told me to return the defective one to the other store next time I passed through so they could inventory the return properly and send it back to the manufacturer to be destroyed. He also said that because this wasn't technically a real return they would probably give me another bottle for free or give me my money back in cash.

So basically what I'm saying is that despite barely being considered part of the medical community medical marijuana dispensary employees are some of the most consistently dedicated to actually helping patients out of anyone I've worked with on my journeys through mental and chronic illness.

[aprillikesthings]

A few links I've dug up while looking for things for my fic

(do I need to read these things for my story? .....not really. am I enjoying finding all this shit that I would've killed to read in 1997? uh yeah lolol)

a bunch of LENGTHY interviews etc with people involved with the Diggers

A short-ish article about businesses on the Haight during the Summer of Love anyway this one gets points for mentioning gay people in the Haight scene, and specifically a young lesbian who owned a clothing store.

I'm continuously surprised/amused by how much of this shit I know just from reading The Summer of Love (as in the Lisa Mason novel). I knew the Diggers and the HIP (Haight Independent Proprietors) did NOT get along, but I knew less about WHY. The Diggers were horrified by all the marketing of the Summer of Love, for good reason--it ruined the neighborhood and brought in all those runaways with no resources. All those kids needed food and shelter and medical care.

Anyway. It's also just nice to find articles online that aren't the same list of surface information: The Human Be-In and then Monterey Pop and then tens of thousands of people showed up along with just as many gawkers and by the end of the summer all the people that had made Haight-Ashbury so interesting had gotten the fuck out and the drug scene had gone from LSD and marijuana to speed and heroin, The End.

But also where the fuck did I put that book by Emmet Grogan because I still want to find out if Ruby Maverick was based on a real person, considering I'm basing my au's Aunt Casta on her. At this point I'd settle for a LIST of HIP members considering Ruby was a member in the novel, but I can't find one!

Anyway. There were also Diggers in LA, and here's a thing they handed out to kids who showed up in LA, taken from an article contrasting the LA Diggers to the SF Diggers:

Oh, and here's someone's thesis from 2012 about the Communications Company, which was run partially by Diggers/people associated with the Diggers; and put out leaflets/flyers/broadsides basically DAILY, some of which were just "here's where we're giving away food," some of which were poetry, some of which were journalism or protest; there's a ton of old-school scans of them here

like this one

(yes it is unfortunately hard to read, try opening in a new tab; they were all mimeographed)

ANYWAY one of the things I keep noting when I read people's stories is just how CHEAP everyone was able to live.

People could just....do shit. Rent in San Francisco was just so, so cheap. Christ.

Anyway true story, for a few months in 1967 the neighborhood of Haight-Ashbury had a higher population density than Manhattan. And remember, we're talking streets of like, three-story townhouses.

(I've poked around on zillow. A lot of them have been split up into astronomically expensive condos. I can't help wondering how many people living there wonder if their place used to have a dozen hippies crashing on the floor. I know all the houses now-famous bands/musicians lived in are listed various places.)

[nukenai]

My sister started taking edibles for chronic pain and sleep, and gave me some a while ago in case I needed them for pain. It's like a single gummy that I cut up because I weigh 100 pounds, lol.

So I started taking some before sleep and I like. Cannot even explain how much better I slept!? I slept for the same amount of hours but felt SO much more rested. It has melatonin in it which could be entirely what's affecting me, but honestly this works for me. So today I went to my local dispensary, which is pretty cool to have. It's a Black-owned business and a really nice place. My sister was right in describing it like an Apple store lmao. Super cool, got myself a bag of gummies for $20. Very nice people and a chill vibe plus the parking spots had pot leaves on them. Hilarious.

I really don't like ~drugs~ like I can't stand any kind of smoking or vaping and don't allow it in my house (my roommate vapes very occasionally), I'm really sensitive to any kind of smoke and marijuana smoke is like, very toxic to animals, of which there are 15 in my house. So absolutely not. But edibles don't affect anyone but the person taking them and weed in general is such a non-issue, I think if more people took some kind of weed the world would chill the fuck out.

But anyways. Yeah I like these and I'm going to use them to try to get on a better sleep schedule. I have really disordered sleep (literally just don't get tired until after midnight, wake up during the night, never feel rested no matter how much sleep I get etc etc) so. This has been a real game changer for me.

I want to try to be able to take Sammie for walks in the mornings instead of just being a corpse until 11am...

[madamlaydebug]

Last weekend, 102 people overdosed on #syntheticmarijuana in#LancasterCounty, PA. Though no deaths were reported, the startling number of people in a single county who #overdosed on the #drug, also called “#Spice” or “#K2,” reveals the realities of the war on the drugs and authorities’ continued failure to properly deal with #drugaddiction.

Synthetic #cannabis first originated in the 1990s, as Slate explained last year: “Like ecstasy and #LSD, SCs owe their existence to academic research. The chemist who developed the first SC compounds was a #ClemsonUniversity professor named John W. Huffman, who was interested in the brain receptors that regulate “appetite, nausea, mood, pain and inflammation.” According to this Washington Post profile, Huffman synthesized a compound he called#JHW018 in 1993 and published a series of academic papers that contained the formula. Years later, that formula was used as a recipe by underground drugmakers…” Synthetic #marijuana, like #THC — the active ingredient in real cannabis — interacts with cannabinoid receptors in the brain. As a result, “manufacturers play up the association between their products and traditional marijuana by spraying their chemicals onto diced-up dry plant matter that can be sold in baggies and smoked,” Slate explained.

But the effects of synthetic cannabis are often nothing like real weed. Huffman says real cannabis has a mellowing effect, which synthetic cannabis lacks. Slate notes side effects “include catatonia, profound anxiety and paranoia, nausea and vomiting, elevated heartbeat and blood pressure, seizures, and hallucinations.” The effects are not the same for everyone, but as Rolling Stone pointed out in 2015, the U.S. government’s 2011 decision to assign Schedule I status to the drug — which has many variations — made it difficult to research its effects.

Without extensive knowledge of how the drug works, who it affects and how, and what a “safe” dose might be, Spice continues to put people in danger. But making the drug illegal has caused far more problems than a lack of information.

n July 2013, Fox 43, an affiliate in Pennsylvania, reported that the state had passed a law that banned all synthetic drugs and gave police authority to take action regardless of what was in the substance in question. At the time, the outlet claimed it was having profoundly positive effects. “[N]ot even a month after it was enacted, this law is already having a significant impact. It’s because of this law that went into effect on July 3rd that police busted clerks and owners of 4 convenience stores in Harrisburg for selling synthetic marijuana. Police are no longer playing catch up when it comes to dealing with synthetic drugs,” Fox 43 reported.

Given this report, one might assume that six years later, the problem of synthetic cannabis use would have been eradicated. But months before this blanket law was even passed, Pennsylvania outlet WPXI reported — intentionally or not — on the futility of such bans: “They are banned in Pennsylvania, but Channel 11 News has found synthetic drugs still being sold in stores and winding up in the hands of teenagers. “This summer, President Barack Obama signed a law banning many of the chemicals used in bath salts, salvia and synthetic marijuana, also known as K2.” Such laws have undeniably failed considering the 102 overdoses that occurred last month in Lancaster County.

Further, as Rolling Stone pointed out, “In Syracuse, threatening to shut down stores selling synthetic marijuana only pushed the market underground, and had no effect on the overdose rate.”

[jinglejanglemornings]

things i'm into these days. lou reed. bandanas. nature valley bars. pickles. playacting as a real adult. believing in God. trying to get my divine light back by any means necessary. marijuana allowing me to live in a privately defined world. stealing tampons from the school library bathroom so i don't have to walk to the grocery store. strawberry gatorade. MASH. the big lebowski. disconnect from reality. contra dancing. introducing myself by different names to different people. continuous fragmentation of self identity. constant underlying irritability or white-hot anger. variations of leonard cohen's hallelujah. tom waits. townes van zandt. daydreaming. isolation. the phrase "let go and let God." nostalgia. fraught relationship with judaism. fraught relationship with body and self and recovery. unnerving sense that nothing that's happened in the past six months has been real. baba ghanooj. dark chocolate covered cashews. serenity thru malnutrition/marijuana/mochas (or calorie restriction/cannabis/caffeine if you will). joni mitchell. this one specific nightgown i got at the thrift store that has little hedgehogs with umbrellas on it. general lack of direction. general mental opacity. skipping therapy. etc.