#cannabis oi

[persphonesorchid]

Sativa - KTH | Drabble |

summary: You and Tae get high with your friends, that's it.

genre: fluff (?), suggestive

word count: 1.1k

warnings: Smoking weed; everyone is high. Making out with other people watching, yoongi's hypocrisy, hinted voyeurism/exhibitionism.

notes: I have NO idea what this is or where it came from. What is this behavior, dani?? Hope you guys enjoy!! (Feedback is welcomed and appreciated :))

Master list - HERE

Your eyelids are heavy with smoke, no doubt red and your head feels like it’s miles upwards in the clouds somewhere. A cold bottle of water was pressed into your hands a bit ago and you’re not sure if you’ve drank it or not. You’ve been chewing on the same handful of popcorn for God knows how long, and every time you swallow you don’t ever feel the snack reaching your stomach.

It feels like there’s a bottomless pit where your stomach should be; everything just passing through you.

Your chest and throat burn with a long-delayed cough, almost has you choking on the popcorn and gulping down water. At least... You were sure there was water in the bottle. How long ago was it given to you? When did you drink it all?

You poke a finger into Taehyung’s side with a frown, “Oi.”

He turns his head, a little slowly. He looks just as you’re sure you do; gone. His eyelids are low and he’s blinking at you in slow intervals like a cat, a stupid, crooked grin on his mouth. The warmth of his hand finds your thigh, as though he’d just remembered your legs were over his – or perhaps, just remembered you were there at all. His fingers curl and his thumb presses into your flesh with little pressure.

“Oi back.” He winks, there’s smoke on his exhale and the scent of the weed that’s starting to give you a headache after one hit too many. You were supposed to be sharing the blunt that hangs loose between Taehyung’s fingers, and as quickly as the thought enters your mind it’s gone.

You stare at him because you’ve also forgotten what you had called him for in the first place. His hand moves from your thigh, and you barely resister the light grip at the back of your neck.

“You good?” Taehyung leans closer, a brow raised as his gaze darts between yours. His fingers apply pressure just where your neck meets the base of your skull and you shiver.

There’s a brief passing thought as you nod slowly against his hold, something reminding you that Taehyung and his boys were way more experienced with this than you were. While you're prone to zoning out and giggling at anything that's barely funny, Taehyung and the boys has enough experience to be mellow.

It’s not that you’ve never done it before, it’s just that the effects leave you all over the place, so you don’t do it often. That, you guess, is what always comes back to bite you in the ass. Your body’s never prepared for the numb hot and cold feeling, and feeling like you’re watching events through a pinhole.

The blunt was long passed from Taehyung when he closes the gap, fingers of his free hand pressing into your cheeks to hold you steady. He kisses you quickly and you’re left chasing, leaning forward as he pulls back.

There’s a faint scent of his cologne under the heady scent of weed, and Taehyung doesn’t keep you waiting for long. He tips your head back slightly, slotting his mouth over yours in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else. The hand at the back of your neck moves up to your hair and tugs, and your fingers curl into the rolled-up sleeves of his jersey.

There’s a thud and the couch you’re sitting on shifts. Taehyung barely pulls away from you, and there’s something more than the cannabis that keeps his eyelids low and pupils blown. You tilt your head a little, and through the haze of smoke behind Taehyung on the loveseat across is Yoongi. His foot is still up on the armrest of the couch, and though he’s in the same state that everyone else is in, there’s still a sharpness to his gaze.

“If you guys are gonna fuck, do it elsewhere. No one wants to see that shit.”

He says this and with incredulity, you stare at him. The last time you did this with them, Yoongi had a friend over who’d been sitting on his lap for most of the night. And you don’t mean sitting decently, her knees were perched on either side of his thighs, kissing his neck and his hands were on her ass.

“Dude. You have no room to talk.” Hoseok mumbles, passing the last of the blunt to Jungkook who was busy building another one. His gaze is just as sharp as Yoongi’s, a switch having flipped between hits; Hoseok hiding behind Jay.

Yoongi flips him off, and reaches for the bag of chips that was thrown carelessly on the coffee table.

Taehyung brings your attention back to him, nudging his nose against your cheek, and licking at your jaw. His lips press against your pulse and his tongue and teeth follow. You’re hyperaware of Taehyung’s every touch, his breath against your skin, the way his other hand is squeezing at your hip and damn near pulling you into his lap.

Your lower tummy burns, and maybe it’s the weed, but it’s intense. You’re gripping at his arms, tilting your head back to let him do what he wants. He lets his teeth drag on the spot he’s bruised as he pulls away, you whine and Taehyung chuckles deep in his chest.

“You’re so gone right now.” He brushes a thumb under your eye. He leans forward and you think he’s going to kiss you, but he tilts your head slightly, and you’re met with the gazes of your friends who’s so far been extremely quiet.

“Bet they’d all like a show, hm?” his teeth nip at your earlobe, and even though he says this softly, the room’s too quiet and you’re certain everyone heard. “Bet I can fuck you right here and make ‘em watch.”

Your squirming doesn’t do a thing to help the tingling ache between your legs, and Taehyung’s gaze does nothing but make you whine his name.

Taehyung smiles sweetly, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m not that high.” He winks, “You’re for my eyes only.”

He pulls away, back to where he was originally and you feel as though you’ve stepped out of a bubble. There’s soft trap music playing from Jungkook’s phone, and his ears are red as he passes the blunt he lit over to Hoseok.

Taehyung taps your thigh once and then again, softly, a brief glance your way and then at the others. “Show’s over, stop staring.” He says to no one in particular, but everyone finds interest in something else.

Tagging: @xpeachesncream @eoieopda @euphoricfilter @luaspersona @dontstoptime @allhobbitstoisengard @madbutgloriouspond @bangtansmauyeondan @taestefully-in-luv @blog-name-idk @eren-fall

[envysnest]

Pity the Mayfly (ch. 4/?) - an Astarion/Tav fic

AO3 Link Here

Chapters: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6

You had come to the Gate to forget your past, discard your elven name, and pursue alchemy against your family's wishes. On a visit to your old keep, you're found by the Nautiloid, and everything tilts sideways.

TW's for this chapter: Drug use (cannabis), mentions of mild suicidal ideation/dissociation.

————

Wyll’s Advocatus diaboli lies to the northeast, and she’s…extremely normal.

And extremely pretty.

And loud.

“Nice coincidence, this,” Karlach says as your party turns back to the Grove. She presses her hand into her injured side as she walks. “Seven of us, all with tadpoles. So long as we stick together, we’ll be safe.” 

“Indeed,” Lae’zel says from your side. “None of us have turned ghaik in the night, and our numbers are strong. There is hope of us reaching the creche yet.”

Karlach shakes her head, pauses for the slightest moment in the middle of the trail. “What’s this about a creche?”

You call over your shoulder to her. “We’re trying multiple approaches for the tadpole. Lae’zel’s creche is one of them.”

“It is not my creche,” Lae’zel says to you. “I told you this on the Nautiloid. Do you remember?”

You gesture to her, hoping to come across as apologetic. “I mean it was your idea.”

Lae’zel stops in the path; you stop with her. “Do you not believe in me?” she says to you. She pushes her finger into your chest, her lip curling. “When I told you that my people have the cure, I am speaking truth. All other suggestions are child’s play.”

The hair on the back of your neck stands up. “I know,” you say weakly, and Lae’zel’s eyes narrow.

“Hang on,” Karlach says, looking between you and Lae’zel. “Slow down a second.” Karlach feels like a furnace, this close to you: unnaturally hot, warping the air around her with heat. “The cure for what? The tadpole?”

“Yes,” Lae’zel says, sounding exasperated. She folds her arms tightly. “Tavvendish has voiced her support for my strategy, but the others are more hesitant.”

Karlach tsks, stepping back. “I can handle a creche,” she says to the sky, “but just barely.” She glares at Lae’zel. “I am not going back to the Hells because I got shot down for this tadpole.” She turns to you. “Isn’t there a safer option? Maybe something less stabby?”

You glance back at Lae’zel, who watches you carefully. “The creche is one option,” you say slowly. “There’s also a…lost druid healer we’re looking for.”

“Ah.” Karlach nods to you, her eyes lighting up with understanding. “Your people, Tav?”

“No, I…” You throw a hand up. “Never mind.”

“She is a wood elf,” says Lae’zel. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of you. “Though she is also a merchant of poison. A druid, she is not.”

Karlach rubs the back of her neck. “Guess that makes two of us far from home,” she says to you.

Something cuts through you at her soft tone. You readjust your staff in your hand.

Wyll’s voice cuts through the air: “Oi! Ladies!”

All three of you look up the path, to where Wyll’s waving an arm. “Are we going or not?” he calls. 

“A moment, duke!” Lae’zel shouts back.

Duke? you think.

“Duke?” Karlach says. “I almost got killed by a fucking duke?”

Wyll has both hands on his head. His grimace is visible from this far away. You see him mouth, Fuck!

Lae’zel looks between you two. “Were you not informed?” she says to you. “Wyll is the son of Duke Ravengard.” 

You gasp, cover your mouth to muffle the sound. The Ravengards were a powerful family indeed; you never would have guessed the Duke’s son a warlock. You feel, all the same, very stupid for not recognizing him. 

Wyll makes a desperate cutting motion at his throat; Lae’zel doesn’t see it.

Karlach puts both hands on her hips. “A duke!” she says to herself.

Wyll is practically dancing from foot to foot. “Lae’zel,” you say quietly, watching him, “I think Wyll would like to keep this quiet.”

Lae’zel finally catches sight of Wyll’s silent meltdown up the path. She nods at him. “You are right. Power is an intoxicant, especially when said power brings money and political sway.” Her eyes flick to yours. “No doubt there are those who would make an attempt on his life.” 

Gale appears next to Wyll. You spread your arms wide, and you mouth, When were you going to tell me? 

Wyll presses the heel of his hand on his forehead, looking ready to birth a gnoll. Gale turns to him and mutters something, his brow furrowed with confusion. 

Karlach, meanwhile, looks as antsy as Wyll. Her sword hand twitches. “Damn right we should keep this quiet. The fewer people know about him, the better.”

Lae’zel jerks her head towards Wyll, and you and Karlach follow her up the path. She speaks as you walk: “He’s received word that his father has been taken captive out west. He is committed to finding him.”

“That’s one more stop on our list,” you sigh. You heft your pack higher over your shoulder, when, suddenly— it lifts.

“I got this,” Karlach says, your pack in hand. She slings it over her shoulder. “Woof,” she sighs. “What’ve you got in here? Rocks, or something?”

Steam billows from her shoulder vents. You think of the antivenom curdling within its bottles from her heat, and you reach for the pack. “No, no—it’s alright, I—”

“Wait—“ Karlach says, “Tav—”

You touch her shoulder. Immediately, you reel back with a gasp of pain. It feels like you’ve touched a hot iron. You shake it out, but the pain doesn’t abate. It isn’t your first time burning yourself— you still have that scar from your first Potion of Speed attempt— but it stings all the same. “Agh!”

“Tsk’va,” Lae’zel growls, digging around in her own pack. “A moment, Tavvendish.”

Karlach runs her hands through her hair, hissing through her teeth. “Oh, Tavvy, I’m sorry! I should’ve warned you.”

“Your flesh burns,” Lae’zel says to her as she presses a burn potion to your chest. “What Infernal magic is this?”

You hold your hand far from your body and pour the potion over your fingers. Immediately, the singed flesh begins to knit itself over. 

Karlach is still talking, a defeated tone in her voice: “Infernal engine. Keeps me running hot. The bad news is,” and here she holds her arms out, spins in a circle, “Can’t touch anyone without burning ‘em.”

“What’s the hold-up?” Gale says from up ahead. You three are now close enough that Gale can use a low, conspiratorial tone. “Wyll is positively beside himself.”

“Just a burn,” you say. You hand the potion back to Lae’zel, then the cork; thankfully, she caps it for you.

“I’m so sorry,” Karlach says again. “You want your stuff back?”

You flick the excess potion off your fingers, away from the group. Gale leaps back anyway, nose scrunching. “If you would,” you say quietly. You wish you could comfort Karlach; you hate the self-conscious way her shoulders hunch, as if she’s trying to make herself smaller for you. For now, you settle for giving her a smile. “A lot of my pack is heat-sensitive.”

“You got it.” Karlach shrugs it off and holds it at a far distance. You reach for it, but Lae'zel grabs it and slings it over her shoulder. She slips the burn potion into the front pocket.

“We go,” Lae’zel says to you, and she marches up the path ahead, to where Wyll-- even now— still has his hand to his forehead.

Karlach looks to you and Gale. “Would shake your hand,” she says, “but we all know how that’ll turn out.”

“Indeed,” Gale says. “Alright, Tav?”

You sigh. “Never better.”

————

Karlach’s cultists had been tougher than you expected. Your technique had been sloppy: half-forgotten incantations, a rat familiar flickering in and out of sight. The stitch in your side hasn’t stopped bothering you since. You dig through your pack, trying not to let your dinner come up as you do so. All of the herbal pouches slide to the bottom, around your books, and you scowl.

“Come on,” you mutter. “Where are you?”

Finally, you find it: a small pouch of dried pipeweed. You sigh with relief and set a small amount aside. You had taken to growing your own, sick of the exorbitant prices of the Gate. It took a few years to master the flowering cycle, but now, you had enough pipeweed to last you year-round, and you had more to sell if times were lean. These days, its flower was the only thing that seemed to help your pain. At the very least, pipeweed made your trance harder to remember in the morning. You welcomed the opportunity to leave your body, if only temporarily.

You gently scrape burnt resin out of your pipe. It's near time to clean it again; were it not for the annoying, needling pain in your abdomen, you'd maybe give a damn. You fetch a clean mortar and grind the flower down.

At least the antivenom had been well-received. You heard word through the Grove that Nettie appreciated your hard work. Mino even brought an additional message from the healer: “Told ya so,” he said, smirking. 

You sprinkle the pipeweed into your pipe and tamp it down with your middle finger. The druids had insisted on paying you. “No,” you said, shaking your head, “It’s just to help,” but Jeorna insisted: “You did us well, little woodling." 

When you open your matchbook, a few lonely sticks roll into the light. One of the matches is even broken. You curse at your forgetfulness. Feeling gold-drunk, you had immediately gone and spent your reward on a book you found: Venomous Fauna of Greater Faerun and Other Beasts. The author wasn’t one you recognized. A quick glance through had told you it might be useful, but now, you wished you had bought some stupid matches instead. You'd have to waste precious energy on casting Flame.

You bring Venomous Fauna, along with your pipe and your matchbook, to the campfire. Everyone’s occupied in front of their own tents, either speaking to one another or preparing for the next day. Once seated on a logs, you strike the match and light your pipe. The embers flare as you inhale. You pull enough to make yourself cough.

“Arde,” you whisper to the match, snapping the fingers of your free hand. It ignites anew, and you re-light the pipe for another inhale. The gnawing pain in your side begins to ease, and you sigh.

You crack open Venomous Fauna at a random page. You're immediately greeted by bold, blood-red lettering:

CH. XII: THE VAMPYR

To the layperson, these creatures of the night are none other than mortal men. Reader, be warned! They distinguish themselves from their mortal bretheren through their glowing-red eyes, their pale skin, their sharp teeth, and their insatiable lust for blood. For thousands of years, the vampyr has been the subject of romance novels, the bard’s tales of horror, and many an urban legend. Were it not for their weakness to sunlight, the powerful vampyr lord could move nations.   Less well- known is the magic behind their intoxicating bites. The bites are rumored to be venomous, or even enchanted. Vampyr bites have a 100% fatality rate, unless the vampyr is intent on siring a spawn. A diagram of the vampyr skull is shown in the following pages:

A humanoid skull, drawn in faint sepia ink, adorns the next two full pages of the book. Next to the skull, the author had taken care to draw a sickly-looking human. Their mouth hangs wide open, showing off comically-large fangs. You scoff: the human wouldn't be able to close their mouth again, not without biting their tongue. The author explained, in far too many paragraphs, that vampires must be able to hide these fearsome fangs as an evolutionary advantage: they cast a Glamour, or they simply whisked them away. It was patently ridiculous. Vampyr venom is extremely rare, says the author,

Some may say that vampyr venom is truly mystical. No man has ever isolated this killing component without sacrificing his life. Many proponents of the Charm Theory argue that complex venom ducts would have to—

“Ah!” Gale’s excited voice echoes from your right. 

You snap the book shut. Gale strides across camp towards you, his hands behind his back. He nods to your pipe. “A woman of culture, indeed!” he says. “Would you terribly mind some company?”

There is only so much pipeweed in your pouch; you had planned on purchasing more for the trip back. You feel an animal defensiveness over your supply. Nothing about this is fun for me, growls your brain in that insectoid voice, go away go away GO AWAY go AWAY go away go—

At your long stare, Gale smiles sheepishly. He produces a pouch from behind his back and shakes it where you can see it. “Always happy to top up your supply."

You sigh. Gale did have the goodwill to ask first, and it would be rude to say no. “Alright," you say finally.  

Gale swipes an excited fist in the air. “Excellent!”

You roll your eyes and turn back to the fire. The other wizard sits across from you, within arm’s reach, and you pass him the pipe. Gale rubs his hands together before accepting it. “Always wanted to try something from a wood elf’s keep," he says.

You fold your hands in your lap. “I grow it myself."

He pauses with the pipe raised to his lips. “You don’t say? No complaints here.”

The two of you smoke in awkward silence for several moments, passing your pipe back and forth. You feel slight disgust at sharing a pipe with him, at the wretched thought of his lips on yours, if only by proxy. He lights the flower each time with a Flame spell: a mindless turn of his wrist, and fire ignites the edge of his finger. Before you blink, he’s lit the pipe and flicked his wrist, and the flame is gone again. You envy the ease with which he casts it.

“So,” Gale says, when the pipe comes back to you a second time. He exhales the smoke through his nose and tilts his head back. “A little bird tells me you study venom?”

You know enough wizards to understand his intent: this question is a clear trap, meant to initiate scholarly debate. You distract yourself taking a third, unnecessary pull from the pipe. “That’s me,” you say on the exhale. You cough, if only for time to collect your thoughts. You offer him the pipe. Gale holds up a polite hand and shakes his head, so you rest it in your lap as you continue. “I like to make things from it. Antivenom and antidotes, usually, but the venom itself makes for good poison.” You hasten to add, “That’s not all, of course, but poison is the obvious application.”

Gale drums his fingers on the log next to him. Thump-thump-thump-thump, in rapid succession. Thump-thump-thump-thump. The rhythmic tapping sound makes you feel vaguely ill, and you don’t know why. 

You swallow. Gale's fingers drum again: Thump-thump-thump-thump--

“How interesting,” he says. His smile is genuine. “And what other applications are there?”

No; the nervousness must be the pipeweed kicking in.

You count on your hands. “Medicines, numbing agents, painkillers, sterilization…uses the gods only know. It’s not all about killing. Talrum the Fierce found a use for the toxic Rogue’s Morsel mushroom, after all.”

Gale’s eyebrows raise. “You know your history!” he says. “A little lemon juice, and you’ve suddenly got a healing potion on your hands. Excellent stuff.”

He seems…genuinely interested.

Perhaps its the smoke making you feel amenable, but you find yourself smiling. “Talrum’s the most famous example, yes.”

Gale leans forward. The fire makes his eyes sparkle. “And without Neske the Impervious, and his meticulous note-keeping, such findings would have been lost to time.”

Excitement has you leaning towards him. “Neske’s notes got me started,” you blurt. 

Gale gestures for your pipe; you hand it to him. “And how did you get started?” he asks. With a snap of his fingers, he casts Flame again. “University?” he asks around the pipe.

You look at the flame on his index finger and feel your stomach drop. Gale had formal schooling; you had had whatever you could scrounge from the library without getting caught. Your jealousy rears its head again, snarling like a rabid gnoll, and you lean away.

“Self-taught,” you mutter.

Gale blows the smoke away from the fire. “Ha!” He waves the smoke cloud away. “An alchemist of your mettle, self-taught? And how in the nine realms did you manage that?”

Arrogant prick, you think, and you stand—

Behind Gale, Karlach approaches rapidly. She raises her hand in greeting. Feeling suddenly dizzy, you lower yourself to sit again. Gale’s still waiting for your answer, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Karlach juts her chin out at you. “Hey, kids. We having a book-off over here?”

Gale jumps at her voice, turns to face her. “Lady Karlach! Tavvendish was just telling me about her work.”

Karlach spots the pipe in Gale’s hands, and she grins. “Oh, aces! I knew I smelled something good! Let me in there!”

Before you can answer, Gale sweeps an indulgent hand to the log on his right. “With pleasure! Come on in!”

You secretly want to say differently— that this is just for you, to forget, to feel better— but something about Karlach makes you feel shy of her, and so you say nothing. She swings her leg over the log and sits next to Gale, gingerly taking the pipe from him without touching his skin. Gale smiles and wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. 

Karlach, like Gale, pulls without coughing, as if she’s done this hundreds of times. She shivers as she passes the pipe to you; the glass is hot where she touched it. “Oh, yeah,” she groans, shutting her eyes tight. “That’s perfect. I missed that.” 

“Our little alchemist here grows it herself,” Gale says, and he grins at you. “Isn’t that right, Tav?”

“Well,” you say quietly, the pipe held halfway up to your mouth, “I do, but—”

Wyll’s voice erupts from behind you. “A-ha! And what are you nefarious lot up to?”

Karlach looks past you and makes a shooing motion. “Oh, gods. Here’s the Blade! Trying to bust our party?”

Wyll laughs and sits down directly to your right. You notice, through the haze, that he keeps a respectful distance from you. “Oh, yes,” he laughs. “Here to send you naughty babes to the switch, unless,” and here he pointed at your pipe with a joking smile, “you’re willing to pay the toll.” 

Wyll had fenced the cultists away while you cast. You hand him the pipe, and he seems almost all too eager to take it. You strike the match and light it for him, watch as he takes a generous inhale. He coughs, hard, and the smoke sputters out of him with every exhale. You pat him awkwardly on the back.

Karlach cheers. “There you go, Duke! Good and corrupted now.”

Wyll grins, waves a hand dismissively. “Nah,” he says, and he coughs again. “Used to smoke. Horrible habit. Not to mention I’m out of practice now, and liable to make a fool of myself.” The pipe goes back to Gale. 

You’re happy to hang back as the group chatters on. Wyll keeps jiggling his leg, and something about it reaches through the haze, grabs you by your shirt front. He hadn’t been pleased with Lae’zel’s exclamation; clearly, he wanted his royal blood to stay a secret. But an official of the Gate, a warlock?  As you think, you feel yourself sink into your own body, away from conscious thought. How is the Gate connected to a devil's power, and how is that not common knowledge by now? It was only a matter of time. Such a scandal would occupy the Baldur's Mouth Gazette for weeks on end.

“Wyll, how many spells do you know?” It's Gale, and you're yanked back into the present. “Maybe we can pool our resources between casters.”

Wyll hums. “You’re going to talk business after hours?” he laughs. “Really, Gale?”

“A bit of idle curiosity!” Gale says. He leans towards Wyll. “It will at least cut down on the amount of scrolls we carry. Won’t it, Tav?”

The sooner you get this tadpole out, the better. “Yes,” you say quietly.

“Oh, go on, Tav.” Karlach rolls her eyes and offers you the pipe again. This time, you wrap your handkerchief around your hand to accept it. The glass still burns you through the fabric. Karlach blows the pipeweed smoke over her shoulder. “You don’t have to go along with Gale. Come on!” She grins at you. “Have some fun! Let’s talk about girl stuff.”

“Ah,” Gale says, “Of course arcane magick is a ‘girl thing.’ I know plenty of talented women in the magical arts.” 

You try not to roll your eyes again as you take another pull off of the pipe. Deeper and deeper you sink. You don’t need to smoke this much, but everything about this situation pushes in close, claustrophobic, and you need out. Not to mention, the tadpole has gone blessedly silent.

“Hell-o,” Wyll says next to you. He’s pointing to Venomous Fauna, where it lays discarded in the dirt. “A little light reading, then?”

“Oh, it’s…” You toe the book closer to the fire. “It’s pulp. Nothing more than a madman’s ramblings.”

Wyll bends to pick it up and stops at the last second to looks up at you. “Mind if I have a look?” You offer the pipe, and he shakes his head with a nervous smile. "The book, I mean."

You have a terrible image of him grabbing your legs instead— of Gale lunging for you— Karlach pinning you down—

“Go ahead,” you say weakly.

But Wyll doesn’t touch you: he picks up the book and opens it in his lap. You breathe deeply, trying to relax. It’s just the pipeweed, you think. You shut your eyes, try to breathe. You run your thumbs over the pipe's neck.

“Too many people spoiling the literature with nonsense.” Gale looks genuinely cross. He scrunches his nose when he’s disgusted, you note. “Far be it from me to discourage new academics entering the scene, but sifting through the dregs for useful up-and-comers is—”

“Boys!” Karlach shouts over Gale. “Makeup! Gossip about boys and makeup!”

Gale gestures to you, frowning at Karlach. “We were quite busy with scholarly debate, before you interrupted."

“Don’t care,” Karlach says airily. She slides off the log to sit on the ground below, placing both elbows on the log behind her. “What’s that book even about, anyway?” she says to Wyll. “Anything good? Ooh—” and her eyes widen, “Is it dirty?”

“Unfortunately not,” Wyll says to the page. He’s browsing a visual mycology guide; you recognize none of the mushrooms on it. “It makes for rather dry reading, if I’m honest.”

“That,” and you point to one of the mushrooms illustrated, “is not a real species. I told you it wasn't worth looking at.”

“Tavvy,” Karlach says, almost pityingly. “Get outside the alchemy lab for once. Thought wood elves loved the sun and the great outdoors.”

At the mention of your race, you shrink in on yourself. “We— we do,” you say.

“Shadowheart!” Gale calls over his shoulder. “Care to join us?”

Shadowheart carries a rolled towel under one arm; she’s clearly on her way to bathe. She looks at Gale, then at you. Her nose wrinkles. “No,” she says, and she walks on towards the riverbank.

Gale tilts his head down. “Harsh,” he says, with not a bit of disappointment. “But it’s not for everyone.”

Karlach cranes her neck to watch Shadowheart go. “What’s her deal?” she asks. “She seems the strong and silent type.”

“She hasn’t exactly been forthcoming,” says Gale. “Then again…” His eyes slide to Wyll.

Wyll shuts the book and clears his throat. “I was meaning to say…I meant to address it, once we were all at camp again.”

“Yeah, well.” Karlach cracks her neck. “Better watch your back when we’re out. None of us here want you getting assassinated."

“A warlock, too,” Gale says. He crosses his arms and exchanges glances with Karlach. “How does something like that happen?”

Wyll smiles and shakes his head. The air around him is suddenly heavy. “Made a bad decision once,” he says to the ground. “I ran in to Counselor Florrick, and it was as if I never left home.”

Karlach tilts her head. “Who’s your sponsor?”

“About that.” Wyll’s voice is impossibly quiet. “I imagine I’ll hear from her soon enough.”

Karlach winces. Her hands form into tight fists. You see flame roll off of her neck, like a bead of sweat. “We could’ve just fought, you know? Fair and square.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Wyll says, just as Gale shakes his head and says, “We couldn’t do that.” Wyll looks to Gale; Gale gestures for Wyll to continue.

“As Gale and I were saying…” Wyll takes a deep breath. “I had been misinformed. You’re no devil, you’re a refugee. Knowing that, I decided I couldn’t live with myself if I slayed you in battle.”

Karlach throws her head back and howls with laughter. You jump. Steam hisses from her shoulder vents. “Who says you would’ve slayed me?” she crows. She jabs her fingers into her chest. “Me? Against you? Come off it, Ravengard! You cheeky twat!”

Wyll grins. That nervous, melancholy energy is beginning to ease. “It would’ve been a set match. The Blade of Frontiers never loses.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Karlach laughs. “Blade of Frontiers hasn’t lost because Blade of Frontiers is still alive! What are you, like, twelve stone? You lose, you’re going down, like a twig in a stiff wind.”

Gale chimes in. “It is a sample size of one, Wyll.” 

Lae’zel’s voice calls across camp: “Karlach would be the victor.” She meditates in front of her tent, her eyes closed; evidently, she was pretending not to eavesdrop.

Wyll rolls his eyes. “Cheers,” he calls over his shoulder. Lae’zel smirks to herself.

Karlach gasps at Wyll, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh! Here comes the Duke of Baldur’s Gate! He’s going to tax law me to death!”

That begins a long, winding discussion on politics, primarily between Wyll and Gale. Karlach chimes in occasionally, mostly to ask clarifying questions on more esoteric laws, but her knowledge is surprisingly broad. You stare into the fire blankly as Gale laughs at something. Is it just your imagination, or is the pipeweed already wearing off? You position the pipe in your lap and open your matchbox. Gods, you really are running low. Why had you spent your money on that stupid book, anyway? With the wooden end of a match, you busy yourself with idly mixing the spent pipeweed still in the bowl. There's still a faint amount left, perhaps enough for a puff or two. You strike the match and light it, and you hold the smoke in your lungs for a while, just to hold your breath, just to feel yourself start to run out of air: that first dizzy slide towards unconsciousness. Wyll exclaims something to uproarious laughter, and you release the smoke on a long exhale. “Give that here, Tav,” Gale says to you, and you start. “Let me top you off.”

You numbly hand Gale the pipe before you can stop yourself. He taps the ashes into the dirt. From one pocket, he procures his own bag of pipeweed, and you think, I shouldn’t have let him done that, as he begins refilling the pipe for you with careful, steady hands, What if he Charms it, what if he—poisons it-- what if— what if—

Gale hands the pipe, now full, back to you. “There you are, Tav,” he chirps.

But no, you can’t say no to such generosity. Gale was just being nice. You were the one who was ungrateful.

Don’t tease, says a man’s voice in the back of your mind.

You raise the pipe obediently to your mouth—

Then suddenly, you see long legs in the corner of your eye, and before you can turn, Astarion’s cold hands are on yours. He neatly plucks the pipe and the matchbook from you; you’re too shocked to fight back. Gracefully, he lowers himself onto the log next to you (almost on top of you, you think, and you feel dizzy). 

“You’re all being very daft about this,” he says, gesticulating with the pipe. “We all know that the uprising of 1376 led directly to import tariffs rising. And anyway,” he adds, striking the match smoothly and lighting it on the first try, and here he pauses to pull deeply from the pipe, and he continues on the exhale, “It isn’t as if the entire Sword Coast is destitute of resources.” He passes the pipe past you, to Wyll. “Who’s to say the entirety of Faerun will suddenly, I don’t know, forget this, and come begging to the makers of Baldur’s Gate,” he presses his hands to his chest, “won’t you please let us open trade with you, instead of finding the next cheapest bastard to ally with?”

His thigh is pressed directly to yours; he is so close you can feel the air move as he gesticulates. You can smell the smoke he exhaled over your head; you can smell that strange, chemical tang on his breath, stronger than ever.

Astarion is deliberately ignoring you.  

Wyll silently offers the bowl to you; you shake your head. He speaks up. “A wise and informed opinion, my elven friend,” he says, “but you’re ignoring the mutual benefits of open trade routes along the Coast.”

“Oh, forget that drivel,” Astarion snaps at Wyll. “It’s all smiles and holding hands until gold is on the line. I can guarantee you no one will be happy when dwarven-made iron doubles in price.”

Wyll smiles at him, turns away from the fire to exhale over one shoulder. “One need not be friendly to trade. All that’s required is basic cordiality and mutual need.”

Gale nods as Wyll passes the pipe to him. “Quite right. I’d rather Wyll’s opinion on this matter, given that it comes from experience.”

The pipeweed must be making him loose, because Wyll sways for a moment. He makes a dismissive sound: pshh. “Go on, then, wizard.”

“Ex-cuse me, my sweet little bunkmates." Astarion presses one hand, delicately, to his chest. “But only one of us has worked in law.”

Karlach shakes her head, watches Gale take a generous pull off of the pipe. “Don’t know how you stand it, Astarion. That stuff puts me to sleep like nothing else.”

Astarion leans all the way forward to scold her: “Is there a book that doesn’t put you to sleep?”

Karlach wrinkles her nose at him. “Hey.”

Wyll yawns next to you. “I think this pipeweed is putting me to sleep.”

“Where ever in the realms did you all find this?” Astarion exclaims. “I’ve been on the hunt for illicit substances all day!”

“It's wood elf stuff,” Karlach says. She raises her eyebrows at Astarion with a smirk. “Good, right?”

“That’s right!” Gale says. He, to your horror, points to you from across the fire. “Tav grows it herself!”

You rub the back of your neck. “I—”

“No kidding!” Karlach says. “What for? Fun, or for gold, or what? What’s your poison?”

Astarion answers ahead of you with a bored lilt: “Gold, glory, and women, I’m sure.”

The circle laughs at that. You feel ache blossom in your chest, wholly separate from that stitch in your side. “No,” you say quietly. “Although—”

“Lay off of her, Astarion,” Wyll says jovially. “The woman brought us flowers.”

“Not the type you deserve,” Astarion purrs, and when Wyll laughs again, there’s a nervous edge to it.

“Now, now,” says Gale, a sheepish smile on his face. 

Karlach wolf-whistles. “Aiming to be a duke yourself, Astarion?”

“Wouldn’t that be an improvement!” Astarion laughs haughtily. “I can think of a few new laws I’d like for the Gate.”

“A moment, Astarion,” Wyll says. “Let’s let Tav finish her thought.”

“Finish what?” Astarion says. “We’ve established her motivation. What more is there to say?”

“Shut up,” Karlach laughs. “Go on, Tavvy.”

All eyes turn to you, expectant. To your left, Astarion leans his cheek on his palm, eyeing you up and down. What were you supposed to say: that this herb kept you from poisoning yourself in the night, just to feel something? That it removed you from your traitorous, aching body? The one that does nothing but remember?

You shake your head and hold your hands up in a placating gesture. “It’s not important.”

Karlach groans, “Awww,” as Wyll sighs, “Tav.” In the corner of your vision, Astarion smirks.

Gale nods encouragingly. “Don’t be shy, Tav.”

You hate him, suddenly. You hate this: the tadpole, these people, the way Astarion rolls his eyes and says, “See?” when you hesitate a moment longer. You hate that needling, awful pain in your side, and you hate your body, and you hate everything—

You school your face into one of stony impassivity. “Truly,” you say, and your voice wavers a little, “It’s only for fun. Perhaps for accessing higher thought occasionally."

Karlach has her face in her hands. “You are so boring,” she groans. “Come on, we won’t tell! You told us all about your fake mushroom book.” She urges you with a hand, her face friendly and open and sweet. “So tell us all about your fun hobby."

About why you needed the pipeweed; about why it kept your head above water. About Fox’s Keep. About your Trial. About what happened.

“No,” you say.

Karlach scratches her head.

“Definitely hiding something,” Astarion chirps next to you. Oh, you could kill him.

“Not hiding anything,” you say.

Wyll makes a soothing gesture at the rest of the group. “Settle down. The lady has spoken.”

“Tell us!” Karlach cries. In an excited whisper, she chants, “Tell us— tell us— tell us—tell us—”

“Begging your pardon,” Gale says, “But I’d rather like to know, too. Pipeweed takes a dog’s age, doesn’t it? There are ways to access higher consciousness without worrying yourself over mold, and sunlight, and what-have-you.”

I don’t want to access higher consciousness, you think, with a sick, roiling feeling. I want to forget.

You smile at Gale, but it’s strained. “The plants take good care on their own. I’m just their ward.”

Karlach leans in. Steam rises off of her shoulders. “Yeah, but why?” 

The tadpole begins to scream.

You turn that frozen smile to Karlach. “That’s— that’s private, thank you.”

Gale leans in, too. That gentle smile is still on his face; you want to Witch Bolt him and yank him into the fire. “The set-up is abominable, isn’t it? Why not an Oil of Witch’s Sabbath, or—” He gestures. 

He drums his fingers against the log, thump-thump-thump-thump, and your stomach turns again. From beside you, Astarion coughs.

Gale’s still going: “Or— something from Psilocybe, perhaps?”

Wyll and Karlach are now debating something entirely different. Astarion chimes in, his high voice suddenly grating on you, as if you're a cat being pet backwards. You grit your teeth. “I’d rather not say—”

“Oh, come now, you’re among friends—”

“For pain,” you snap. “I smoke it so I’m not in pain!”

The conversation stops. The entire circle turns to you, eyes wide. 

“Can I have my pipe back?” you mumble.

There’s a heavy silence. 

Astarion is the first to break it, batting his lashes and putting a fluttering hand to his chest. “My, Tavvendish,” he says with mock surprise. “You mean to tell me this little circle was arranged by you?”

You shake your head. Tears burn at the corner of your eyes; you feel humiliated. “I’d like to go to bed now,” you say to your boots, voice distant. “May I have my pipe back.”

Astarion’s mouth snaps shut. He looks over his shoulder at the rest of the circle. No one will meet your eye.

Something cool nudges your right knee: Wyll, offering your pipe back to you. You snap it out of his hand. You stand up so quickly that dark spots creep into your vision, and the log nearly trips you in your haste to leave. All you want is to go to your tent, a few paces away, but the distance between it and you suddenly feels infinite. Someone calls after you; you ignore them. You undo the tent flap with shaking hands, letting it fall behind you as you crawl inside. The pipe and matchbook tumble from your hands. 

You rock gently back and forth on top of your bedroll in the dark. You press your forehead into your thighs, try to make yourself as small as humanly possible, and you begin to hum: nothing coherent, just nonsense, a last-ditch effort to remain tethered to your body. Everyone’s talking about you outside, you know they are, and you hum louder, rock a little harder. The tadpole digs at your left eyeball, squeaking miserably the entire time. You wish to be sober. 

The tent flap behind you raises. You whip around.

Gale holds up a hand in greeting. He inhales. “I am so—”

“Don’t—”

“—terribly sorry—”

“Gale—”

“Ah!” Gale says, pointing a finger at you. “Please, if I may apologize.”

You close your mouth. He sighs and lowers his voice.

“What I mean to say is,” he whispers, kneeling down so he can make proper eye contact with you, “that I deeply regret forcing such a secret from you in front of the rest of the group.” 

He claps a hand on your shoulder. You stare at it numbly.

Gale adds, “And, truly, for invading your privacy when you wanted to smoke alone.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for that,” you sigh. “You were being friendly.”

“But it was your moment,” he says, pressing gently into your shoulder, “to find a little peace in this insane situation. I shouldn’t have imposed.”

“Apology accepted,” you mutter. You just want him gone from your tent. 

Gale finally lets go of you. “I shan’t do it again,” he says. “You have my word.”

That doesn’t mean anything, you think, but you don’t say it aloud.

————

In the morning, your pipeweed pouch is full again. A scrap of parchment nearby reads:

Tav—   Hope this makes it up to you—   Gale

Everyone avoids you at breakfast. You let Gale assemble a plate for you, allow him to guide you to a log and sit you down firmly. You thank him, feeling disoriented, and he gives you a gentle smile before returning to the cookfire. 

You pick your way through the bacon and eggs, drawing mindless circles in the dirt with your heel. You hate the quiet that falls on the camp now that you're there. The group naturally migrates away from you, their conversation becoming hushed, and soon, you are sitting completely alone. 

You watch Shadowheart and Gale talk near the cookfire. Gale glances sideways at you, and you look away, down at your plate. He had given you a generous amount of food without your noticing; you don’t think you can finish it. 

Astarion’s face appears, upside-down, from over your shoulder. “I believe they--”

You jump. The silverware rattles against the plate. “Gods! Don’t do that!” 

He sits down next to you, hands pressed together in his lap: the very picture of demure innocence. “My apologies, darling,” he says. “I merely arrived to check in on you.” His face becomes stern. “How are you doing?”

“Since everyone is too afraid of me to ask themselves,” you say quietly. “I feel very strange.”

“Mm.” Astarion looks away, looks back up at you. “When you say you’re in pain,” he says, voice now low enough that no one else can hear the two of you, “might I ask what manner of pain?” Before you can snap at him, he leans in impossibly closer. The chemical smell increases. “I’m a bit of an expert in pain, you see. You’d be hard-pressed to find something I haven’t experienced.”

You poke at the scrambled eggs, which are now cold. “Womanly pain,” you mutter.

“Oh, dear,” Astarion says gravely, nodding. “I’m afraid that’s one experience I’ve been lucky enough to avoid.”

You laugh, and then you cover your mouth; Shadowheart looks to you, looks at Astarion, then, seemingly satisfied, turns back to Gale. 

“No, Astarion?” you whisper back. “No dips in the gender pool?”

“I own the gender pool,” Astarion whispers back, making a circle with his finger in the space between you. “Thank you very much.”

You smile. “And I’ll bet you charge admission."

Astarion taps your knee playfully with his free hand. “For you? Double.”

Lae’zel shouts at you from her tent: “Vlaakith’s guards, enough!”

Astarion whips around to snap at her. “Quiet, Lae’zel! Let the adults have some fun!”

Lae’zel presses harder on her flint wheel's pedal; the motor whines. She narrows her eyes at him. “The gith’yanki lead long and glorious lives." She releases the pedal; the wheel grinds to a halt. “Far longer than the brief and pathetic lives of a human."

“Hey, now,” Gale says from across the fire.

Astarion leans into you; he still hasn’t taken his hand from your knee. “I’ve spent a hundred and fifty years in the same home,” he says to Lae’zel. “Probably all in the same room.”

“Where is Wyll?” Shadowheart asks quietly.

“Here,” says Wyll’s weak voice from across camp.

[wherickmarks]

Oi,

Eu conheci o Eduardo Barbosa quando ele veio à minha casa para uma conversa com o amigo Leonardo. O encontro foi meio por acaso e bastante breve. O Eduardo, que é chamado de "macarrão" — um apelido que achei engraçado, mas que não me agradou muito — começou a frequentar mais a minha casa. Com o tempo, desenvolvemos uma amizade, mas ela ainda está incompleta. Isso se deve ao fato de que ele tem muitos problemas pessoais para enfrentar e precisa fazer mudanças significativas na sua vida. Ele está numa situação que exige muita ajuda, embora seja complicado oferecer isso porque ele tem uma personalidade que mistura egoísmo com humildade, covardia, fraqueza, introversão e também uma certa inteligência. Ele é apaixonado por projetos.

Apesar de seu uso de cannabis e sua abstinência de álcool, ele se tornou um tipo de figura nostálgica para si mesmo, referindo-se aos amigos do passado e deixando para trás suas defesas.

Nas últimas semanas, não temos nos falado muito devido a uma série de questões, como negligência, desleixo, arrogância e imprudência. Por enquanto, nossa relação foram enfrentado por um último encontro de desentendimento, e encontro de psicose natural de encarar a distância.

Algum tempo depois, nos reencontramos por acaso. Olhei para ele e, naquele instante, percebeu que algo havia mudado. Seu olhar estava frio, distante, como se houvesse um muro invisível entre nós. Aquele amigo com quem eu tanto conversava agora parecia um estranho. Foi aí que me dei conta de que nossa amizade não sobreviveria. Esse momento foi como um adeus silencioso, o fim de algo que eu realmente valorizo.

Agora, não nos falamos mais. Tenho comigo alguns de seus pertences, que pretendo devolver à mãe dele, pois sabia que ele voltou a morar com ela, talvez em busca do conforto que só um lar possa dar. Olhando para trás, sei que fiz o meu melhor.

Eu tentei ajudá-lo, tentei ser a pessoa que ele pudesse procurar, mas ele escolheu outro caminho. É triste perceber que, apesar de todo o carinho, algumas amizades simplesmente não conseguem resistir.

Decidir seguir em frente e aceitar que, por mais que ele tenha sido importante, é melhor deixar certas pessoas e lembranças no passado para encontrar minha própria paz.

[garfieldsladybird]

barmaid | the marauders.

the marauders (james potter) x fem!reader. (use’s she).

Warnings — fluff. blurb. smoking weed/pot/cannabis. alcohol; parents drinking. cussing. loving parents :) mentions of a TV show making young adults make dinner out of a deer.. im sorry :(

Summary — smoking with mia and monty causes James spirit to die a little and you become a bartender.

Credits: This is my work. I do not own Harry Potter but this is fanfiction, and I created this. It is not to be plagiarized.

Masterlist, Navigation, Poly!marauders List.

It’s a little after 9 p.m. as the hazy smoke in your best friends parents dimly-lit room begins to reach up to the ceiling. The greatly rolled blunt makes its way around the circle and back to you, diminishing in size each time. Leaning against a desk on the floor you get a little lost in the smoke that was surrounding all of you.

As you begin to focus a bit too hard on creating rings of smoke from your mouth, your neighbor in the circle, Sirius says, “Oi, pass it will ya?” funny enough he said it with a smile, jokingly.

As he said that you were already re-inhaling for another hit before passing it to Sirius who was on the edge of the bed in front of you, Remus was sitting behind him looking at a book that Monty wanted him to read but you didn’t know what it was about. The parents were drinking, Mama Mia was going on about something about dogs and she was sitting on a stool that was next to you but you couldn’t see her face while Monty was sitting on the other side of Sirius, James was sitting behind his dad on the bed.

These moments were the best, everyone was having fun, relaxing and smoking. There’s conversations going on around you but you weren’t really paying attention to any of them, your eyes were on the tv. On the TV screen, a show was playing but it was a real life show and it was where these parents sent their, most likely, young adult children to a wildlife show where they have to spend a few days in the forest and survive going through different tasks but the tasks are also life lessons. One of those life lessons seems to be making dinner, which includes cutting up the animal of that meal, it so happens to be a deer.

A shocked expression comes on your face when you see that a it was a deer, it wasn’t showing anything that explicit but it was dead. That’s for sure.

Looking over to your dearest friend James, you now notice that he was also watching the show with a terror-stricken expression, His eyes widened with no glasses, mouth parted open, head a little tilted to the right giving off the ‘what the fuck is this?!’ look that Remus would give Sirius when he suggested stupid prank ideas.

“Now you see this is what I was doing when i was your age,” Mama Mia comments, “My ma made me do this shit if i was bad!” She laughs before sipping on her alcoholic beverage which was vodka and cranberry juice, pretty good actually.

“You’ve had to cut up a deer before?” James asks his mum with an appalled look and a shocked voice.

“Yeah, you know I lived on a farm growing up.” she explains but says it like he should know this by now which he does but he’s shocked. “Oh! you know we ate a dear I caught once when you were younger?”

“What!?!”

“Oh don’t worry we haven’t done it in awhile and I don’t think I want to get back into that.” The only reply she got after that was just a deep breath of relief. One she may or may not know the reason of why.

The show continued on and so did the conversations, the diminishing blunt now being passed to james, smoke filled his mouth as he inhaled, looking real nice when he blow it out.

“Hey, barmaid, new drink ah?” Monty says, grabbing your attention from james, looking over you see him holding his cup looking at you with his usual playful grin that james always has.

“Oh yeah,” you mumbly, getting up with a smile you grab his cup to go and make him a new drink, before leaving he stops to tell you how much ice and alcoholic, and redbull.

“Wait, why does she get to make the drink?” Sirius asks, looking at you and him with wide eyes and a pout.

“Cause shes’s the only one who makes it right, and you always drink it.” Monty tells his son, laughing at the gasp and the face of betrayal Sirius made. Even though he should be used to the dramatic acts by now.

“She drinks it to!”

‎© 𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖿𝗂𝖾𝗅𝖽𝗌𝗅𝖺𝖽y𝖻𝗂𝗋𝖽. 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾!!

— I didn’t really know what else to add and I kind of just wanted to end it. If you like it and maybe want another one or for me to continue this kind of thing, please request it :) 🫶

[blubushie]

Oi Mick since you're Sniper IRL what drugs have you taken? You mentioned the whole cane toad thing and shrooms but what else?

Righto only one fucking person knows I go by Mick professionally and I want to know how the fuck you found my blog Jack. (Also buzz me you cunt I haven't heard from you in two weeks.)

If you're not Jack and you're calling me Mick because of the Sniper thing then... this is awkward, I apologise, please call me Blu.

Righto, to the drugs.

Shrooms, obviously. I've eaten them fresh and dry but I prefer dry. Easier to measure out dosages.

DMT. High only lasts for about a half hour. Feels like an all-body glow. Lots of geometric patterns and things moving slowly. Waving your hand in front of your face leaves a trail. Also might meet god.

LSD. Just once, and never again. I've never had a worse trip and it scared me shitless. The body high gives pain relief but it's weird. Pain felt like tingles. Don't ask why I was intentionally giving myself pain, it's just part of the psychonaut process. Couldn't stop yawning at the start which was annoying. Colours were eyestrain-ingly vibrant. I saw them even with my eyes closed. The whispering will drive you crazy. My anxiety and paranoia skyrocketed halfway through and it was awful. I saw things. I will never do LSD again.

Salvia through chewing the leaves. It was fine. Come-up isn't as intense as shrooms, more bright colours but no geometric patterns. However you fall into your head really easily and the trip is insane. I went comatose and had a vision I was a monkey in a tree but none of the other monkeys liked me and would chuck fruit at me. The biggest monkey hit me in the head with a melon and knocked me out of the tree but during the fall the melon became my head. When I hit the ground my melonhead cracked open which spilt seeds everywhere and then these seeds grew plants that fruited little mini-monkey-mes by the navel. They all wandered over and started eating my melonhead flesh while I was paralysed and couldn't move. God that vision was fucking weird. 10/10 would do salvia again.

MDMA at a B&S in the form of pingers. There's a reason they call it a party drug. Ego was massively inflated and I've never had more tickets on myself. I don't remember much of it but from what I heard I wasn't annoyingly arrogant, just more confident than I usually am. Felt like I blended in with everyone around me in a spiritual sort of way. I can confirm that the stereotype of MDMA being a love drug is true to some extent. Definitely heightened sensitivity to touch. At one point I spent twenty straight minutes with my head in a girl's lap as she scratched my scalp and that felt absolutely divine until my mate dragged me back to Matilda to sleep off the effects. Cockblocker.

LSA (a natural drug similar to LSD) from morning glory seeds. It was a sedative more than anything. Gave me that nice tingling feeling that shrooms do except instead of the back of my neck it was just all over. Made me feel much heavier than shrooms do though and my elbows hurt for awhile. Some dizziness and nausea but nothing too bad. I'd do it again.

Opium through smoking in Bali. Opium dreams are weird.

I've smoked hooch (cannabis) a few times but I've never gotten a high off it. I either had some weak shit or I didn't smoke it long enough. I've also tried edibles, no effect. I've given up on hooch.

[metalhead-brainrot]

Summer 2024 Music Review

There's this period in my life I refer to as "The Long Summer of Iron Maiden;" I fell in love with Iron Maiden circa summer of 2017 and then went to the Southern hemisphere from January-April 2018, giving me a full year of summer to digest a new fascination with metal music. I still can't access memories of that year without viscerally remembering the music that guided me through it.

The current season is my favorite season (always has been). As we transition from a rainy Minnesota summer to the early days of autumn, I'd like to report on my the albums I came to love over this past season. I'm sure many of you associate this summer with the 100th Charli;* this is what you might have heard us bumping at our place.

CLEEN - Excursion grunge, desert rock, stoner rock; FFO: Dope Smoker** Flint, MI Citric Dummies - Zen and the Arcade of Beating Your Ass punk, egg punk; FFO: Devo Minneapolis, MN

Globular - Lifts The Curse of the Grey Goo Assimilators electronic, psydub; FFO: Shpongle, Ott England, the Divided Kingdom

Brux - Fills de la Nit oi punk + reverb and lofi Cataluña

Gross Motor All Stars - I Had A Dream I Got Everything I Wanted hardcore punk Minneapolis, MN

Defect Designer - Chitin technical death thrash Olso, NOR

o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::> o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::> o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::>

* Was I going to get through this post without a reference to brat summer? Probably not. Have I listened to it yet? No, despite the best efforts of my pophead friends. But don't take it personally: I was a teenager in the 2010s so I reflexively wait until hype has died down before exploring media. Is that weird? Probably, but so are rhetorical questions and we're three deep so far.

** Have also been crushing a lot of Dope Smoker's Zeroin, an old flame I now have the cannabis tolerance to keep up with. I also love that short music video of one of the View Askewniverse films; Rosario Dawson is a forever baddy.

[carolatc]

Fatores que afetam a cicatrização: Álcool, tabaco, “vape” e macoia

Oi! Tudo bem? Voltamos pra mais uma postagem da saga de fatores que afetam a cicatrização de feridas! Se você não sabe do que eu estou falando pode vir nesse post introdutório ou no post sobre nutrição ou no sobre oxigenação e infecções. Nessa lista aqui eu decidi incluir “vape” (cigarro eletrônico) e cannabis junto ao tabaco, porque nos vapes temos a nicotina, presente no tabaco, e na combustão…

[elblogdelcaoz]

¡Únete a nosotros en este importante evento dedicado al consumo responsable de cannabis! Este día, celebraremos la cultura cannábica de una manera educativa, inclusiva y segura. 🏴🏳🏴‍☠️ . ⚫️Fecha: Sábado 7 de octubre ⚪️Hora: 10 am a 5 pm ⚫️Lugar: Parque el renacimiento ⚪️Entrada: ¡Gratis para todos! . #BogotaStreetCore #punk #oi #cannabisalparque #tokespunk

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[sevenplyskate]

Cory Juneau

Cory Scott Juneau è uno skater statunitense, vincitore della medaglia bronzo nel park ai Giochi olimpici di Tokyo 2020.

Nel 2018 è stato originariamente sospeso per un periodo di sei mesi dopo che è risultato positivo alla sostanza vietata del tetraidrocannabinolo (THC), il principale ingrediente attivo della cannabis durante una competizione in Brasile chiamata Oi Park Jam a Brava Beach.

[gadgetsforusesblog]

GHKKPM Ghum Hai Kisikey Pyaar Meiin Spoiler Alert Sai Will Save Vinayak's Life From Explosion

Television oi Neelam Tripathi , Published: Sunday, March 12, 2023, 3:32 PM (IST) Spoiler alert: Today on the TV show ‘Gum Hai Kisi Ke Pyaar Mein’ you can see Virat fell asleep in a cannabis drunken state while Pakhi is saddened that Virat named a drunken Sai as his wife and not her. Sai, on the other hand, receives a threatening message stating that a major explosion will take place in the…

[hops-hunny]

Angels on Earth

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Chubby!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.8k

Request: “CONGRATS ON 300 FOLLOWERS!!!! I love your writing sm <3

this is my first time ever making a request and recently I found out that the person I was dating is still in love with their ex so I'm looking for comfort rn hehe

could you do a 23, 33, 35 with Ron, a mix of fluff and smut? chubby/plus size fem reader please”

Summary: Ron thought he was obvious, but it was clear (Y/n) was more obvious.

Warnings: Sexual themes

A/N: This took a while but I’ve also been busy but, enjoy!

23. “Cause I never believed there was a heaven till I found you.”

33. “Would you fuck me if I was skinny?” “I’d fuck you right now.”

35. “If you wanted a kiss you should’ve just said so.”

For as long as Ron could remember, he had always found his potions partner to be beautiful. Who could blame him? (Y/n) was a beautiful girl. Round cheeks, soft all around, beautiful (h/c) hair, and the prettiest set of (e/c) eyes he had ever seen. But that wasn’t originally what drew him in, it was everything else. (Y/n) had an aura that surrounded her that was so bright, so full of life. Everyone who befriended her was always in a positive mood, smiles seen left and right from the jokes she’d tell. Even right now, with her hair pulled back from her face and the cute little goggles she insisted on wearing, he couldn’t help but admire her.

“Right. I think that should be it.” She said, pushing the goggles up her face as she turned her head to look at him. His face flushed and if she had noticed, she didn’t say much. “That is unless you fucked something up. Merlin knows how bad you are with Potions Weasley.” she giggled, his heart pulling and racing in his chest. 

“Oi! ‘M not that bad. Plus you didn’t let me touch anything, should be fine unless you managed to make a mistake.” He leaned towards her a bit with a devious smirk. “But it’s impossible for you to do that isn’t it? I forgot you were just a perfect princess.” He pulled away, eyes trained on the potion in the cauldron in front of them. Amortentia, was it? He found it a bit strange because he couldn’t smell anything but the girl’s perfume no matter how far he leaned in. In his own state of confusion, he completely missed the girl’s own shocked look on her face.

“What do you smell?” she questioned, gathering her things due to the period drawing to a close. His eyes widened at his realization before calming down. Now was a better time than ever. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before sighing.

“You.” his eyes shot open at the sound of a snort. (Y/n) had made her way towards the exit of the potions room, (e/c) eyes rolling at him as she shot him a smile. She went to leave the room before giving him an up and down.

“If you wanted a kiss you should’ve just said so.” she teased, shooting him a wink before exiting the room. He groaned, rubbing his hands up and down his face as he adjusted the awkward bulge in his pants. He stood, gathering his things as he huffed to himself.

“I’m in deep aren’t I?” he said out loud, ignoring the look his slimy potion’s teacher gave him. Without another word, he left continuing on his path to his next dreadful class of the day.

------------------------

“She probably thought you were joking.” Harry said, causing Ron to give him a glare. Even though there was a big possibility that Harry was right, he didn’t want to believe him. He thought his attempt was a good one! He was direct about what he meant, right?

“He’s got a point. You guys usually joke around and mess with each other a lot. She probably thought you were cracking a joke. Have you tried just telling her how you feel?” Luna asked as if the answer was obvious. Ron felt his brow twitch as he sighed, sinking down in his seat more as he threw his head back.

“What can be more obvious than saying you smell someone in your Amortentia? Do you guys even think?” He questioned.

“Do you? Cause if you did then you’d know that was a poor attempt.” Hermione chimed. Although at first he was sure his attempt was good, that it was obvious, suddenly he was beginning to have second thoughts. Was he clear enough? Sure, you could say one thing but he’d be the first to admit his actions didn’t match. He huffed, looking at his friends, desperation hidden in his eyes.

“Well, what should I say then?” 

“Say something truthful! Let your heart speak for what your actions couldn’t.” Ginny chimed, causing them all to give her a strange look. She crossed her arms, looking away with red cheeks. “What? I think I’d know what chicks like, I do shag em afterall.”

“So tell us, what does your heart say Ron?” Luna asked, he sighed as he racked his brain. He liked her a lot. How could he not? (Y/n) was beautiful, a gift from the heavens above. The softness of her skin, the roundness of her tummy, and those beautiful luscious thighs. He was surprised no one else had made a move on her yet. She was kind too, always willing to help her fellow (y/h/h) in need.

A lovesick dopey look took over his face. “I...I’d say…” he let out a dreamy noise as hearts took over his eyes, “I never believed there was a heaven till I found you. Never believed angels walked among us at Hogwarts, that I think she’s amazing and I-”

“Okay ew that’s enough. I’m gonna be sick. Save it for her.” his sister said, grimacing as she stood up. “And with that note, I’m gone. Why not tell  her at the Gryfindor party tonight? I’m sure she’ll be there!” Ron gulped nervously. That soon? Surely a few hours wasn’t enough time to prepare! Maybe he’d try in a few months…

However as he looked across the hall, seeing some twit practically eye fucking her, it was settled. Tonight he would tell her and if not, he’d at least make some progress.

-----------------------------------------------------

Ron let out a shaky deep breath, wiping his sweaty hands along the front of his jeans. Whether it was the sweltering heat of all the warm bodies, the shots he had taken, or the thought of what he had set out to do tonight he didn’t know, but either way he was burning like a phoenix. His eyes trailed the room nervously, looking for (Y/n). How was he sure she’d be here anyways? She wasn’t a frequent attender to parties, only showing up to them sporadically. However at the sound of a familiar laugh-snort combo, he had all he needed. 

In his buzzed(and slightly drunken) haze, he followed the sound blindly, face heating up at the girl's appearance. She wore a blush colored bodycon dress that clung to the folds and curves of her body nicely.. Her hair was styled differently than usual, but suited her perfectly nonetheless. Most things did. And when she saw him? Her face broke out in a bright smile as she hiccuped, handing her half empty cup to one of her friends. She stumbled her way over to him. He steadied her by placing his hand on her waist, looking down at her.

“Ronnn! Omg Ronnie, what’re you doing here?” she hiccuped again, giggling as she stared up at him. He smiled back at her softly, stroking along the softness of her waist.

“ I could ask you the same thing, love, you’re not much of a drinker usually.” he placed a hand on her cheek, thankful for the liquid courage flowing through his system. “You alright? Come on, let’s sit you down. You don’t seem to be too steady.” he said, guidning her towards the couch. When they got there, he expected her to sit next to him but was in shock as she parked herself in his lap. She wrapped an arm around his neck, smiling down at him drunkenly. He handed her a glass of water, the same one he had been handed earlier when he was getting a bit out of hand. She thanked him, sipping on it at a slow pace. 

After a few minutes, the hiccuping and giggles had died down from her, leaving her to form goosebumps at their current position. She was fully seated on the boy’s lap and he had his arms wrapped around her, rubbing his fingers along her soft pudgy sides. She bit her lip as she looked off to the side, before bringing her eyes back to his.

“Uh, Ron,” she started, looking down as she picked at the skin around her nail beds. Letting out a deep sigh, she continued, “Can I ask you something?” her heart began to race rapidly as she looked at him, watching as he nodded before offering her a soft smile.

“Course. What’s up?” How should she phrase it? Should she be simple? Should she-

“Would you fuck me if I was skinny?” she blurted out, eyes widening. Although she had wanted to ask him something about if he was attracted to her, she hadn’t intended on being so...bold. She was known for speaking her mind but not in situations like this! In a state of panic, she went to stand up but was pulled down by a strong pair of arms, pulling her close to an even stronger, toned chest. He chuckled in her ears, hair tickling the edge of her neck.

“Shit princess, I mean...I’d fuck you right now.” his grip on her sides tightened, trailing one hand on her thigh. Out of all the things she could’ve said, this was the last one Ron expected. (Y/n), his snarky potions partner, in his lap in that god forsaken dress asking if he’d fuck her. He felt his own heart begin to race. Did she mean to say it? Well, did she mean to say it to him? Or did she just want his opinion for someone else?

“O-oh.” she stuttered out. (Y/n) pulled back some, turning her head to look at him, finding that his eyes instantly were drawn to hers. 

“Do you mean that?” they both asked. Ron’s cheeks turned red as (Y/n) felt her own face grow warm. Both of them let out breaths they didn’t even know they were holding, laughing with one another.

“I meant it but, did you?” she asked, breath hitching of the closeness of their faces to one another. She could smell the fire whiskey mixed with hints of cannabis and weed mixing with it making her absolutely intoxicated. He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers.

“‘Course I did, love. You don’t have to be skinny for me to do anything with you, let alone fuck you. Because trust me,” he trailed a hand along her upper thigh, sliding it between the soft expanse of them. “It’d be my pleasure to fuck a woman with a body like yours. A woman so soft, so tender, bet that cunt of yours is tight and dripping. Isn’t it?” the girl squeaked, clenching her thighs around his hand. He leaned down, pecking her lips softly before pulling away, (Y/n) whimpering  in a desperate attempt to let him know she wanted more..

“And if I were to grant you that pleasure right now?” she purred, placing a soft hand on his cheek which he gladly leaned into, a dark chuckle leaving his lips.

“I’d be the luckiest man alive.”

[thechef420-us]

Step-By-Step Recipe For Cannabis Coconut Oil

[portermore]

ུ𓏲 ༅ memory #𝟎𝟎𝟐 𓃊 you're gonna be a daddy, @etvaldops​.

Eles já haviam traçado uma linha determinando até onde iria aquela amizade peculiar; sem necessidade de uma conversa muito profunda como sempre, já que ambos pareciam ter uma enorme dificuldade de enfrentar os problemas e conversar sobre eles de uma maneira mais séria. E mesmo assim, numa das noites em que decidiram ir assistir Dasha participar de umas das corridas que aconteciam no castigo, com o álcool correndo nas veias e a cannabis fazendo seu famoso efeito --- não existia justificativa melhor para culparem no dia seguinte em que decidiram atravessar as limitações ---, não demorou para ignorarem quaisquer risco quando se envolveram em beijos, carícias e por fim, sexo. O dia seguinte em que acordaram e perceberam de fato o que aconteceu foi estranho, como se tivessem feito algo errado. Mas bem, vale salientar que até pouco tempo depois em que ignoravam o elefante cor de rosa que era aquele assunto, Ayla não havia se arrependido. Não até começar a sentir coisas incomuns e ter sua menstruação que normalmente era regular, atrasada. Por mais que ignorasse todos os sinais no começo, preferiu fingir que não tinha nada de errado até o terceiro mês em que criou coragem e fez um teste escondida. Um não, vários testes, a ideia por si só era louca; ela não podia ser mãe naquele momento, principalmente quando tinha certeza de quem era o pai da criança e eles se esforçavam tanto pra não destruir a amizade. O desespero foi grande demais, ela realmente estava esperando um filho de Ezekiel. Ela estava grávida. E os olhares que receberia para complementar o quanto era julgada pela comunidade Arthuriana por ser diferente, era ainda mais assustador. E por seu nervosismos, chegou a pesquisar no geenie: ‘como contar para seu melhor amigo que está grávida dele?’. Oras, não julguem alguém que nem sabia por onde começar a lidar com aquilo! Visto que não sabia se deveria compartilhar com mais alguém a notícia antes de contar ao outro responsável pela nova vida que gerava. Uma ligação foi o suficiente. Convidou o amigo para seu quarto e nem ligou de se arrumar ou a bagunça sobre sua cama, bagunça essa feita pelas dezenas de testes que ela guardou durante o tempo que criava coragem, mas torcia para que ele não reconhecesse tão facilmente o que aquelas coisas eram. “Hm, ahn. Oi?” Iniciou confusa, incerta de como deveria falar aquilo. “A gente precisa conversar, Zekie.” Passou a língua entre os lábios para molha-los mais uma vez, pois eles estavam ficando ressecados com rapidez. “Eu sei que temos evitado falar sobre o que aconteceu naquela noite, mas assim... Eu tô-- hm, nós vamos-- quero dizer, existe uma coisa-- uma vida-- aqui.” Tossiu minimamente apenas para coçar a garganta e apontou da barriga para a cama onde estavam os objetos depois de desistir de falar brevemente pelas lágrimas que insistiam em cair pelo seu rosto. O medo de ter arruinado a amizade era genuíno e estava presente. “Você vai ser pai, Zekie. Eu vou ser... mãe. Quero dizer, estamos grávidos.”

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