#tw drug dealing

[rcjoice]

dropping in to drop ashton lore abt his escape bc I've been thinking abt it hello

when he leaves josh's, he has literally nothing. he has a backpack full of whatever clothes he can fit in it, a box full of pictures and his sentiments, and a burner phone. that's it. oliver got set up in an apartment across town from josh because ashton refused to leave the city (he's still in that apartment, he's been there for almost ten years), he started dealing and working odd jobs because he needed money, and now he's just stuck in this permanent place of feeling like he's running and hiding. he's never going to truly feel safe and free until josh is dead. he's never going to feel truly safe until he knows one day for certain he'll never have to see him again. but he can't leave Detroit. he can't. it feels like leaving himself. he's stuck here forever it feels like, in a space of fear and unsureness, in a space of true and real fear of getting pulled back every day.

[honeysodas]

This games sm fun dude..

[tangledinink]

hey. do you remember when we were six, and you walked me to the nurse's office when i fell and skinned my knee? do you remember when we were twenty-three, and i called you paramedics because you overdosed on xanax?

do you remember when we were four, and you held my hand at the ballpark when i was afraid we'd get split up? do you remember when we were eighteen and i left home and never came back?

do you remember when we were eleven, and i beat you at that car racing game that you liked so much for the first time ever, and you were devastated?

hey. do you remember when i was twenty-five, and i got the call from mom?

[phoenixyfriend]

My opinion on marijuana is that it should be legal in all forms except smoking.

Legalize edibles, droplets, creams, THC-infused chocolates, whatever.

But, honestly, I do fully believe that it should be illegal to smoke it anywhere where another person might have to smell it. There is only so much I can put up with when it comes to people prioritizing their drug use over the comfort of everyone in their vicinity.

[schizopositivity]

Why it's hard for schizophrenic people to get treatment and diagnosis for physical health problems:

• Having "schizophrenic" in our charts makes a lot of medical professionals automatically not believe us. Especially if it is a problem that they can't instantly see themselves. They may think we are either delusional or having some kind of tactile hallucinations. They could see it more as a "psychiatric problem" rather than the physical medical problem that it is.

• If you have flat or blunted affect, they may not believe you, especially if you are describing pain. They have the expectations that you would be screaming, crying, grimacing, etc. When you are straight faced and monotone and say "I am in extreme pain right now" they will likely not believe you. And this paired with medical professionals views of chronic pain just makes them not believe you even more.

• Alexithymia makes describing your symptoms very hard, and even harder to describe how the symptoms affect you. The medical professional goes off of what you tell them, if you are vague or don't have the words, they will not understand you or not believe what you are describing. Either way that will hinder your road to treatment and diagnosis.

• Having memory problems, or trouble keeping track of things can also hinder your care. If you can't remember, or even remember to write down how often a symptom occurs, how long it lasts, how it felt in the moment, and how it impacted your life at the time, they may once again not believe you. Diagnosis often requires some sort of timeline or prevalence of symptoms, and not keeping track of that could keep you from diagnosis.

• They may avoid prescribing pain killers (even if you need it) because the fact that schizophrenic people are more likely to abuse drugs than the general population. And while that fact is true, it doesn't mean that someone in extreme pain does not deserve the right to pain killers just as much as anyone else who needs them.

• Being part of a disenfranchised group while also being schizophrenic can have compounding affects on your physical health treatment. Being low-income, being a person of color, being assigned female at birth, being transgender, being intersex, any other disenfranchised group or any combination of these will impact how you are treated by the healthcare system.

• Fear of medical professionals, or fear of Dr.s offices can impact the quality of your visit. You may feel too frightened to tell them how you really feel, you may just completely avoid going into the building at all. This can happen to anyone but is especially common for schizophrenic people due to our paranoia, inability to advocate for ourselves, lack of self esteem, historical medical abuse or personal experiences with medical abuse. Plus we can have doubts about the quality of our care because of any of the other reasons listed above.

And all this occurs while we as schizophrenic people, are at higher risks of several physical health problems (you can read about it here):

[elderwisp]

◁ || ▷ now playing

Atlas: [ internally ] They say that blood is thicker than water. But the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. So who’s your staunch companion? I’ll go first. Some would say it’s an old friend of mine.

[theaddictspoetry]

Grief is weird I think of you every day, Some days I smile. some days I cry. some days I just drown, drown in the could have beens, should have beens, the unknown. the unknown- is what truly kills us. this wasn't supposed to be this way, i'll spend forever trying to find out why you're not here anymore.

@theaddictspoetry

[pfhwrittes]

https://www.tumblr.com/pfhwrittes/739087985055809536/a-quick-little-something-for-dealing-drugs-and

Could you add to this at all?

I’m not sure if you do anons but if you do and If it’s available could I be- 🐙?

(I’m 19 years old)

hi anon, of course you can be 🐙 (also thank you for specifying your age, that's very sweet of you but not necessary. i'm going to trust my anons that they're over 18)

gosh lets see what i can pull up as a follow up for this post. i'll have to dig into my murky memories to see if i can remember where it was going (or maybe to drag up some inspiration).

TW: unspecified intoxication, nausea mention (but no vomit), dubcon touching (johnny doesn't ask before touching the reader character, and the reader character can't consent anyway).

pairing: john mactavish x female reader --

you're sat on the kitchen floor, cool tiles bleeding the slightly feverish heat from your body, propping yourself up against the cabinet behind you. you stomach roils and you take a careful breath through your nose.

"y'alright there, hen?"

you blink open your eyes hazily, not entirely sure when they dropped closed, to look up at one of the men from the living room. did he follow you? where's your friend? you swallow and shake your head carefully. the kitchen blurs and spins around you so you close your eyes again.

"easy, easy. don't want ye makin' yerself sick now."

you feel two calloused palms cradle your face, a thumb strokes your cheekbone lightly sending a burst of heat and static up into your temple.

"m'gonna be sick." you manage to slur out through numb lips but the hands don't pull away.

"naw, yer no'. just need a drink of water is all, hen." one of the hands moves away from your hot face and you feel something cool and smooth nudge your lower lip. you blink your rolling eyes open so you can focus on the glass of water - is it water? - under your nose.

the man tilts your head back slightly and you sip carefully. the water washes away the slightly sour taste in your mouth and you hum to let this helpful stranger know you're done for now.

"good girl, well done." your helpful stranger practically purrs at you as he removes the glass from your lips. you feel his thumb swipe at a bead of water in the corner of your mouth and your world tilts slightly on its axis again. maybe you should ask him to stop touching you now, but you feel like you'll shatter into pieces without the anchor of his palm on your cheek and the thumb that's now resting on your bottom lip.

"is that right?" he asks sounding amused. oh, you must've mumbled some of that out loud. you blink at your stranger, wondering if his eyes really are that blue. who is he anyway? did he follow you? where's your friend?

"'m johnny. i saw you go out into the kitchen. your friend..." he pauses briefly and you're fascinated by the way his lips twitch as he contemplates the words he wants to say. you want to touch the stubble on his jaw. "is a wee bit busy at the moment. so i thought i'd better check on you."

you hum, you know what busy means. and oh, you must've asked him your questions out loud again. you don't know if that's a good thing so you close your heavy eyelids again. maybe that will help you keep your thoughts inside your head.

"hey, c'mon hen. you cannae fall asleep here." johnny taps your lip to get your attention. "let's get you somewhere more comfortable."

you mumble something half formed and garbled about not wanting to see whatever it is your friend is doing with the other men in the living room and johnny huffs a quiet laugh.

"naw, naw. c'mon i'll put you up in my room, how does that sound?"

that sounds pretty good. so you let johnny manoeuvre your uncooperative body upwards and trust him to guide you out of the kitchen in your haze.

you miss whatever he says to the hulking figure in the doorway as you focus on keeping your feet in contact with the floor but you're very aware of the way his hand on your waist burns like a brand.

somewhere in the back of your mind a tiny shrill voice warns you about something before it gets washed away. maybe you'll remember after having a lie down.

-- taglist: @kaadaaan

[pushing500]

What do you do with your toxic wastepacks?

Step 1. Get your constructoids to build a big freezer near a steam geyser for continual power

Step 2. Wring your money's worth of chemfuel out of your boomalope and smoosh the wastepacks in transport pods

Step 3. Continue humanity's trend of polluting every ocean we come into contact with

Step 4. Oh no! Anyway, do you guys from The Green Clam Gobar want some of this nice yayo I found? Oooooh, it's so nice! Goodwill isn't an issue, and toxic waste is dealt with! 👍

[whitechocolateanti]

samtory as sydina from ianowt ft. miguel as stanley, probably kyler as bradley, and peyton's short hair in school spirits cs the vibes just match idk i never watched it but lord give tory a bisexual bob 2024 the girls that get it get it.

[the-aussie-simmer]

A turn of events no one was expecting 😂

[almightyhamslice]

Queen Bouncelia redesign!! I might sound like a broken record here but I feel like the bros rlly missed a lot of potential with her! She presents herself as a kind angel of a character, but she's the Naughty Ones' mother and she was a part of Sir Dadadoo's conspiracy-- she was aware of his plan and was ok with raising her children to be an army. I think that's so interesting but she's just a plain good guy who dies in the game!!! not fair. Maybe someday we'll find out she's not rlly dead n we'll understand what her deal is?

My AU differs from canon in that Bouncelia was actually a fully active mascot in the resort, allowed to interact with the public in two character greeting areas: an extravagant castle and a trampoline park. She was very popular with young girls back in her prime. She was a very charismatic person and had a sense of warmth and comfort to her that many of the other mascots lacked.

She and Sir Dadadoo were always somewhat warm towards each other, they'd meet during evenings, between the end of Bouncelia's shift and the beginning of the resort's curfew, when Dadadoo would be active. They'd spend most of their nights together. He would often muse to her about his plans of escaping the resort and going out into the real world, and she was enthralled. Soon enough, she began scheming with him and working out a proper plan. Sir Dadadoo figured they'd need an army, so he invited Syringeon to help him create his own "subcases" (or rather, mutants). After lots of trial and error, it was decided that Bouncelia and Dadadoo should create the mutants with a combination of both their DNA, and so Bouncelia agreed. Though they were initially both very clinical about the creation of the Naughty Ones, Bouncelia grew attached to them and doted on them. They were a family after all, in a strange kind of way.

Of course, everything went wrong when Bouncelia and Syringeon were caught. Management realized Dadadoo was the mastermind and would be unreasonable and unpersuadable, so they sought to target his cohorts in hopes they'd all gang up on him (under the threat of their lives). So, they did, though Bouncelia begged and pleaded management to spare his life and the lives of their children. Management heeded her request, but in a very twisted way. Syringeon was ordered to sedate Sir Dadadoo and the naughty ones, and seal them inside Queen Bouncelia's pouch using givanium entrapment, stitching and fusing her pouch shut. The hope was that the Naughty Ones and Dadadoo would slowly suffocate and starve, but the Naughty Ones were desperate to survive and began to cannibalize each other like fetal tiger sharks do (please don't look that up if you're squeamish!).

Queen Bouncelia couldn't be allowed to know that this was meant to slowly kill her family members, so was put on a heavy dosage of sedatives while the resort was still active. The function was twofold-- the drugs clouded her mind so she wouldn't realize what danger they were in, and they kept her from jumping around and potentially ripping her pouch open by mistake. Bittergiggle, her most trusted friend, was tasked with delivering her medicine every day; however, they never knew what the true purpose of the drugs were.

Post attempted rebellion, Bouncelia still tries to keep a kind and warm demeanor, but everything is so scrambled now. Thanks to the steady supply of intense sedative drugs, she always feels half asleep and half awake, finding difficulty in telling dreams from reality. Not so much a perpetual hallucination (though she is likely prone to hallucinating as well), moreso thinking on a completely new and almost alien plane. Things she says make sense through word associations in her head, but are nearly indecipherable to outsiders other than Bittergiggle.

I love her so much. I'm going to cry if she's literally just dead in canon n the skeletons in her closet were like, accidental lol. I had lots of fun designing her especially her mask n cape! Also I really don't think the scepter is magic I'm sorry that's just jumping the shark for me lol.

[whumble-beeee]

WOOP WOOP THAT'S THE SOUND OF DA POLICE

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 15

Content: kidnapping/captivity, noncon drugging, recreational drug use, OD references, captivity references, honestly this is probably the closest thing to fluff you'll get from me: the funny

(AN: just a mini-chapter this week before we get back into things!)

* * * * A Brief Interlude * * * *

It had been a pretty easy drive so far.

Stan seemed more than content to just sit in his seat with his arms bound behind his back, completely relaxed except for the brief moments when his eyes would fly open and he would lurch up stock straight in his seat. Then just settle back and close his eyes right back up. Made Declan jump every time. Though he was really just happy that he didn’t have to blindfold the kid, excepting the intermittent night terrors, or whatever those were.

He knew he really should put the kid in the trunk or something, at least the back seat, but he was slightly worried he’d OD Stan, considering the way he was acting, the blank staring the complete lack of fight. Not to mention Declan’d kinda forgotten to account for his tiny size with the dosage. He was like, what, half Declan's size? More? Better to keep an eye on him.

It was pretty funny though, how high he was. And it’d be fine. No one would see them. It was dark, and Declan was taking the backroad highway that was usually deserted at night anyway. 

That being said, Stanny hadn’t said a word since they started driving… almost an hour ago now? The pill Declan’d taken earlier was really starting to hit him, too, lightly smudging the dark trees as they went sailing by, muting the rumble of the engine, a warm buzz enveloping his body as they sat in an easy silence aided by the light tunes of classic rock. Darkness washed over them like calm waves on a beach, only broken by the lime-green illuminations from the buttons on the dashboard and the odd car blasting them with their brights as it screamed down the opposite side of the highway. That was usually around when Stan would lurch up, actually.

“Hey, Uh… Declan. Deeby, DB, Deebers, Eeby Deeby, uh... Darth… Bucky…” Stan mumbled, eyes fluttering open.

Declan snorted at Stan’s ramblings, even if it did interrupt his favorite part of ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World’. He turned the speaker down to a dull whisper.

“What, that my new nickname?” he bantered lazily. “I’ve definitely heard better.”

“Y’know, you’d be like,” Stan pitched his head back until it lightly thumped on the headrest, glassy eyes fixed firmly on the cloth ceiling. “Like, really hot, super hot, y’know? If you weren’t evil. Like really hot. The-the bandana, and the cowboy hat, and the tall and that accent and the whole… cyberpunk cowboy shit?... that’s fuckin’... that’s hot, man… not to me though but like, ahh... 'M not blind…”

Holy shit, what? God, he loved drugged people. 

“Y’know, some people would say that the evil makes me hotter,” Declan pointed out, humoring the captive than anything else. Besides, he wasn’t wrong. That was one of the tactics he used to capture, sometimes. Charms. The mask, the hat, the whole rugged cowboy look. It often got people excited, lulled them into a sense of safety and wanting. Very useful skill, being ‘hot’.

“Well… yeah,” Stan conceded. “But not me. Because you’re evil. Actually evil, a real actual villain who does villain things... Also not really my… my type. My fiancé though? D’loooove you‘f you weren’t evil. And if you didn’t kidnap me. He'd punch you in the face. S’mine though, hands off.”

Declan snorted. “Yeah, nah, don’t worry, I’m not gonna try to hit that. I think he’d be more angry with me anyway. Or scared, I guess. I certainly wouldn’t wanna meet me again.”

Stan lifted his head up. “What?”

“Hm?”

“You uh… you-you… met? How’d you know Marcus?”

“You told me about him. He’s your boyfriend,” Declan led on. It was kinda fun, this game of almost revealing information to him.

“F-fffiancé!”

“Ah, right. Fiancé. My bad.”

“T’ssssss uh…” He laid his head back again and closed his eyes.  “It’s fine…” 

And he was gone again. Settled back into the seat, like he’d just fallen asleep on a long late-night road trip.

Except for the blood running down his shirt and temples and the excessive bruises and red angry cuts that covered his body, his arms, his face, his neck. Ugh, all he could think now was that he probably should have cleaned Stan up a bit before sticking him in the front seat of his truck. 

Not to mention the collar. That's what really worried him. It was discernable from a mile away, and everyone knew what it was: A super detainment device. He hated that collar. It was so demeaning, and for what? Why a collar? There were power-dampening cuffs, he knew they existed.

It was all just for show, some ill-disguised power fantasy. Parade around the supers, look, they’re not dangerous anymore, they’re collared. They can’t hurt the regular people! You’re safe from the freaks! Police definitely liked it, power-tripping bastards. And he knew Vaughn definitely loved the collars.

And Lana.

Ew.

Not thinking about them right now. The engine of car roared over the music. He let up off the gas just a smidge. Declan had better things to do while high, anyway. Like vibe. Which was the complete opposite of those two. He’d much rather listen to ‘Hotel California’.

He turned the radio back up and let the music envelop him.

And in the master's chambers, they gathered for the feast They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast Last thing I remember, I was running for the door I had to find the passage back to the place I was before "Relax, " said the night man, "We are programmed to receive You can check out any time you like–”

Piercing sirens suddenly hammered his ear-drums, wrecking through his easy concentration. He nearly swerved off the damn road. Bright reds and blues bathed the interior of the car in eerie, dangerous rave-like flashes of light. Stan’s eyes startled open with a small gasp. 

Lightning shocked through Declan’s body.

The police.

God dammit, why? Was he speeding? Was Stan more visible than he thought?!

Declan slammed his hands against the steering wheel with an angry shout, and this time Stan squeaked and cowered into himself. 

God, and now he had to get out his ‘fuck da police’ playlist, the vibes were completely different now!

This is what he got for breaking his damn rules!

Shit.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything

@paperprinxe | @tippytappytyping | @chaotic-orphan | @notactuallyluska | @lumpofsand

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees | @whumpwhittler | @thelazywitchphotographer

(If you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

[inv3ga]

Vessel get out of my stash!!!

[comraderoscoes]

.

[pfhwrittes]

a quick little something for dealing drugs and feelings while i sort out my ghost hc (i’m plotting out johnny and gaz’s now but ngl i’m most nervous of writing gaz’s)

not quite a dark!fic but it could head that way.

TW: Unspecified intoxication, fem!reader, references to implied drug usage.

drabble; 200-300 words.

you grunt softly as a large warm body shifts on the sofa next to you, compressing the stuffing around you and making you blink slowly as your head tilts - rolls - spins - against a firm bicep.

you’re not meant to be here. in a dingy living room, hazy with sweet-sour smoke, surrounded by men, your friend curled in the lap of a stranger on another sofa. you shouldn’t have followed her to this house - a friend of a friend’s she said with a grin that cracked around the edges -

“ - alright luv?”

you thoughts scatter at the deep voice, into the haze of the room. you jolt and tilt away from the arm, the voice that licks up your spine and settles at the nape of your neck like weighty palm -

oh but that is a warm palm at the nape of your neck. when did that happen? your head rolls to the other side. ah. there is another man on the sofa, his arm slung over your shoulders, thighs pressing against yours causing a static hum to bloom under your skin.

suddenly you’re too warm. the cloying haze of smoke is overbearing and the static under your skin whines in shrill panic. you shouldn’t be here.

you wriggle forwards wanting to reacquaint your body with momentum before trying to pitch yourself upwards, desperate for fresher air before you make more of a fool of yourself.

two gazes, one blue and the other brown, meet over your head. across the coffee table on the sofa opposite, two other gazes meet over the top of your friend’s head. either way you fail to notice.

perhaps if you had, things wouldn’t be quite as they are now.

- - -

taglist: @kaadaaan