#tw. marihuana

[athenaccrs-blog]

🫶🏻

[4pocal1ps3]

Y la sonrisa vuelve a mi rostro cada vez que te vuelvo a probar

[b4df4c333v1cu]

q lindas las fans de sara, hablo de mi, yo soy la fan linda de sara

[soloquieroserchiquita]

sera cierto que fumando compulsivamente marihuana uno baja de peso?

[mamin-krasny-chlapec]

[skinny-angel00]

I may have done you wrong, but it wasn't even for that long.

You told me to wait, but didn't want to be late.

You told me take it slow while I already wanted to know.

I realized I may never have a taste of your dry lips, I may just cry and hope you change your mind but after all, I was just on 4dd3rall ;))

[pansytheleia]

Isn't it kinda the plot of a sitcom that the year I turn straight edge my parents start growing pot?

[catliacutegirl]

Quiero amigaaaaas, escríbanme:)

[lascivuscorvus]

Weed cat

[s4tanzone]

i swear i'm ok *smoke weed til forget who i am*

[biior]

* BIOR BRUNET en la mano de dionisio en north heaven .

[momomowitch]

Ni modo

[crisal-siar]

No hay alcohol ni marihuana que me mantenga con calma...

[ott0s]

él no piensa mucho cada vez que le pone oportunidad de regresar a la fama en bandeja de plata. otto, por supuesto, no entiende mucho la decisión que ha tomado porque no se ha sentado a preguntarle directamente. tal vez es porque tampoco le interesa mucho, cuando chica todavía parece que se puede permitir vida de lujo. su padre le ha dado información puntual, le ha enseñado un par de vídeos de la rubia y le ha puesto como misión que la lleve a la disquera, que los presente incluso. él, por supuesto, ha tomado el reto y lo trata de cumplir de manera mediocre, tal vez un poco insensible y descarada, porque no es la primera vez que la chica evade darle una respuesta precisa, pero puede decir que le agrada bastante cuando decide bromear de aquella manera. suelta una risita, alzando las manos en señal de paz, en un no te pienso preguntar más... por hoy ' probablemente los tenemos ya pero confirmo y te aviso ' le guiña el ojo, zanjando tema cuando da una calada a su cigarrillo, manteniendo humo mientras le contesta ' lo sé, hermosa ' expresión se suaviza antes de exhalar humo y reír ' ya voy un poco borracho, así que supongo que sí - ¿tú? ' ✮ — @salovila

Sonríe tratando de no parecer tensa. No es que la incomode Otto. En realidad, ahora que lo mira, hasta piensa en compartirle el cigarrillo de marihuana que guarda en su cartera, bien pegada al vestido de Blumarine. Es otra cosa: el sentir que, en realidad, debería tomar esa oferta; que fue injusto y cruel retirarse antes de una gira, que ha hecho que sus fanáticos se depriman y que, por supuesto, Salomé Vila no sabe existir fuera de los focos pues su primera audición fue a los tres años y a los ocho ya estaba ingresada en una empresa multimedial de largos brazos. La sonrisa permanece cuando habla: —Soy compasiva—le explica—, no quiero hacerte pasar por eso. Aunque si tienes una red de psicólogos que me atiendan, quizá me la pienso. —Y se lleva el vape de vuelta a los labios, fumando antes de echar el humo con un movimiento hacia atrás de la cabeza. Es sombría y lo sabe, a lo mejor un poco tétrica, pero no puede evitarlo. Además, la vida no ayuda: desde su retiro, Salomé llena el espacio con Investigation Discovery, lo cual sólo empeora el estado. Lo cierto es que no tiene gran cosa que hacer. Han llegado ofertas para convertirse en escritora fantasma de las artistas pop que la reemplazarán prontamente, más no encuentra la voluntad para aceptarlas. —Era un chiste. —Avisa por si acaso. — ¿Lo estás pasando bien?

[c0tt0nballz]

Eltingville headcanons bc the worms are eating my brains

Tw : Drug use

Bill : claims to have tried hardcore shit just to seem cool, the most intense trip he ever had was with half a bottle of cough medicine, maybe got addicted to pot for a while but i feel like he is more of a beer can guy

Josh : never cared for drugs, maybe got peer presured 1 or 2 times but never with something huge like heroine or some shit, it was just never at the top of his head

Pete : unlike bill he actually did try hardcore shit, i imagine due to his job he was able to find some contacts, some days he would wake up in a dark alley with only his boxers, 1 single stained sock, and a silly hat, after a while he got tired and left them aside, but from time to time he comes back for a little taste, never look at his teeth while you talk to him, they are fuckedy fuck fucked

Mushrooms and marihuana

Jerry : are we seeing his shaggy cut??? This man cultivates his own stash, he is a loving father to very numerous plants that he later on eats with some lazy vegan meal, i dont really see him drinking alcohol tho, maybe some wine here and there, DEFINITELY drinking herbal teas (coughcough kombucha), but i do see him saying "i only consume what mother nature gives me", either that or he believes a puff will kill him, pick your poison

[v1nsmoke]

𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐘 // 𝐂𝐎𝐏!𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

oneshot - cop!shanks x fem!reader

tw: age gap (both are adults though), mention of guns, smoking

summary: when your cop dad brings you to his promotion party at the police station, you don't expect to meet a red-haired coworker of your dad

fandom: one piece

a/n: remember that zoro oneshot i wrote back in 2023 october with a tiny cop shanks cameo at the end? and how i mentioned that i might make it a full length oneshot? yeah, this is it! I never wrote romance oh lawd and this feels new…

tags: stargirldelight 

wc: 1.2k

notes: modern au, first person pov. 

Dads with daughters - if they don’t despise them - usually threaten boyfriends or suitors with something along the lines of “if you cross my daughter or make her cry, i’ll break your jaw,” and mine was no exception. Unlike most of those dads, he actually could. His ultimate, go-to threat was that if any boy hurts me, he will take them to jail. He did once. That guy was involved in some illegal marihuana deals and owned a gun without any permission, so he went to jail for actual reasons. 

With my single dad being a cop, I used to spend my free time at the police station where he worked whenever he couldn’t find anybody to babysit me. Luckily, his co-workers didn’t mind, and often took care of me while I was there. The last time I visited that station was when I was around fifteen, after that I was allowed to stay at home alone for days. Up until that, I had to be supervised at the station. It wasn’t as boring as it may sound at first, there is lots of exploring to do and many gadgets to ruin. I didn’t do the latter. Maybe once, as an accident, but it got fixed up real quick. My dad’s colleagues taught me how to shoot a gun, which my dad disapproved of. I was seven years old back then, of course he did.

It’s been almost a decade since that happened, and now, I’ve been invited to a get-together to celebrate my father’s promotion at the station. It was well-deserved, he’s done many great deeds and had been working hard, harder than anyone. I was tasked with the food. I thought that the best would be to make pizzas and something sweet for dessert, maybe some of those mini pretzels for a snack, but there was no way I’d make the latter. There are shops for that.

“How’s the progress?” My dad asks, sneaking up on me.

“Almost done,” I answer, adding the finishing touches.

“Hm, they look good,” he says, taking one of the freshly prepared cupcakes.

“You’ll get them at the station, until that, no more!”

I load the two boxes into the car, dad sitting in the driver’s seat picking the music while he waits.

“I could use a hand here,” I call out.

“Grow a third one,” he replies calmly.

I hop into the car. Dad revs up the engine, and the vehicle finally gets moving.

“Lots of things have changed since you were last there,” he starts the conversation. 

“Like what?”

“I got some new coworkers, you’ll like them. We also renovated some rooms.”

“You mentioned the renovations before. I remember that you ruined most of your jeans because of it, we had to throw out like ten pairs because they all had paint on them and I couldn’t wash it out.”

“The good old times,” he sighs. “It’s been real lonely since you moved away. Feel free to move back if you feel like it.”

He parks the car in the tiny parking lot of the police station. He sits in the car, immersed in the song playing on the radio.

At the ripe age of twenty, I moved to my own tiny house. Up until that point, I didn’t even stop to think that he might feel alone. I made a mental note that I’ll make sure to visit him more often now.

“You’re not going in?” I ask.

“Do I need to? There’s gonna be lots of people,” he whines.

“I thought you were my dad, not my son.”

“Go, get the food out from the trunk, in the meantime, I’ll mentally prepare myself,” he instructs.

With a sigh, I get out of the car, and lift the trunk open.

“You need help with that?” an unknown voice asks.

I turn around to find a man leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his fingers. Light smoke swirled around him as he stepped forward.

“I think I can handle it,” I nervously answer.

“Here, let me,” he says, taking one of the boxes from my hand with a gentle move.

My dad gets out of the car.

“Shanks, good to see you!” He greets the man next to me. “I see you already found my daughter.”

“This fine lady is your daughter? You better watch out, then,” he smiles at him mischievously.

“Don’t you dare, Red Hair!” Dad replies.

“At least he helped me with the boxes,” I intervene.

“Your pa didn’t?” 

“He told me to grow a third arm.”

The red haired man chuckles, looking over to my dad.

“Not too nice of you, Hank,” he says, walking off with the box.

Inside gathered a swarm of people. Some people I knew, some I didn’t. Dad did say he got some new coworkers, and I assumed this red-haired man was one of them. Most of them wore their regular uniforms, some, who were off-duty that day, had casual clothes on.

I place the box on one of the tables, the red-haired man following suit. I take the food out of the said boxes, placing them onto separate trays and plates.

“Where can one get this food from? Looks delicious,” he speaks, picking up a slice of pizza. Luckily it was still fresh enough.

“From me,” I answer.

“Thank you, it’s nice to hear someone appreciating it,” I reply.

“You made all this? Impressive, I might just move to your house only for the food,” he says before taking a bite of the dish. “No, not might. Definitely.”

I chuckle at his statement.

“Your dad doesn't? He should, it’s amazing,” he says, his mouth still stuffed.

“Even if he does, he doesn’t say it out loud.”

“Are you a chef or something? Or is this just a hobby of yours?”

“More like a hobby. I work in an office, I hate it. I want to see the world or do some action, y’know.”

“Of course I do. I wanted action too, that’s why I’m an officer. They still give me paperwork, but when there really is some action, it’s worth it. We can teach you some things if you want.”

“You really would?” I enthusiastically inquire.

“Why not? I’ll do it in exchange for more food of yours. Deal?”

“Deal,” we shake hands.

“So first, I really want to teach you how to shoot a gun. You did that before?” He asks, walking back and forth in front of me.

“A few times, many years back.”

“You remember how to do it?”

I hold the handgun firmly, bringing it upwards. I lock my eyes on the target, an old soda can that he likely got from the trash, and I pull the trigger. The bullet was close, but flew by the can. I lower my hand in defeat.

“Mostly.”

“Here,” he says, handing me a handgun, “aim at that can right there.”

“Give it another try,” he encourages.

I lift my arms back up, aiming again. This time, the bullet made a dent into the can.

“That’s it! Off to a good start,” he speaks, patting my shoulders. “Maybe your posture is the only problem I had, though really minor.”

He comes closer, behind me. He gently places his hand on my arm and adjusts my shoulders. 

“There you go,” he whispers next to my ear. 

“Officer,” my dad interrupts.

“Yes sir?” The red-haired man turns to him. “Keep the posture,” he instructs me.

“Is that my daughter?”

“Yes sir.”

“Please don’t call me sir. Makes me feel old,” my dad grunts, walking closer. He comes to a halt next to me, observing me. Please don’t take the gun away, please don’t take the gun away…

“Keep up the good work. Teach her good, officer,” says my dad, walking back to where he came from.

red-haired shanks belongs to eiichiro oda.

© v1nsmokes 2024. Do not modify, translate or rewrite.