#willy with glasses makes my safety blanket

[hockeybabe1917]

Willy with glasses is exactly what I needed this a.m

[weareallstoriesintheend]

Freedom - (Reader x Zemo)

Zemo and a guard at The Raft have struck up an unlikely friendship

Prompts: Taken from @prompts-in-a-barrel

Word Count: 1,641

Warnings: None; takes place after The Falcon And The Winter Soldier (Season 1) so some small spoilers!

Part 1 of the Escape Series

You had arrived at work early today; an odd feeling nestled at the back of your mind was denying you sleep so you’d decided to clock in early. You were given your morning duties as you began the meticulous process of strapping yourself into the various components of your guard’s uniform; thankfully it was a slow morning– inmate checks only. Since The Raft currently only held three prisoners you presumed, with a small smile to yourself, that breakfast was on the cards nice and early today.

The Raft had several floors where prisoners could be kept and right now, for safety, each prisoner was kept in a cell on a separate floor. It was nice and quiet this early in the morning with only you and a few cleaners milling around the floors so you could take your time walking between each level.

It was early so Trish Walker and Willis Stryker were still fast asleep in their cells. Trish was curled up in her tight, protective ball as usual and Willis was sat up, head leaning against the metal wall behind him eyes tightly closed. A scan of the cell rooms, a glancing health check on each prisoner, check the locks and integrity of the cell glass and that’s another tick on the list.

You stopped, leaning against the cold metal wall of the stairwell checking your watch, an hour till breakfast. You were making your way through each prisoner reasonably leisurely for a number of reasons; one of those reasons had to do with who was housed on Level 3.

Working on an underwater containment facility didn’t really have too many perks, it often felt like you were a prisoner here yourself but it paid well so who were you to complain. Although, when you stopped to think about it, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen daylight. Every day was pretty much the same, which was until a new prisoner was brought to the facility by the Dora Milaje of Wakanda.

Baron Helmut Zemo had certainly livened things up around here, at least for you. He was kinder and calmer than anyone had expected him to be, given the stories that followed in his wake, and unlike the other two prisoners he held no contempt towards those in charge of his care. The guards on the other hand tended veer towards hate at his pretentious turns of phrase and his intelligence, you guessed this was because they didn’t like feeling less than someone being kept as a prisoner. But for you it provided some much needed entertainment. You would never admit it but listening to his deep gravelly tone tell you stories of Sovokia often brightened your day, sometimes you would even stay on shift well past the end of your working day to hear him speak of his family. Unable to stop him as his eyes clouded over with grief, there was so much more to this rich, cocky Baron than what met the eye. He’d often made you bets or promises of what he could provide for you if you were to help him leave this place; these offers always met with a scoff and roll of the eyes from you trying to hide how nervous it made you. He would sweeten his offers with soft nicknames and tell you how he would even marry you to give you the life, in his words, that you deserved.

You reached level 3, punching in the code to the heavy reinforced door; you walked in to see exactly what you had expected. Zemo was sitting up in bed, lights on, reading one of the few books he’d been allowed upon his arrival. The room was pretty much in darkness except for the dull lights on the ceiling and bright light of his cell illuminating him in front of you. He sat, leaning casually, in a blue inmate’s uniform. “Morning Zemo, how you are today?” you said cheerily as you approached the cell. You gave the room a quick scan and saw nothing amiss; you pulled out your report notebook from your pocket.

“What do you want?” he replied, voice so low it was almost a whisper. He seemed tired today; you guessed his mind was plagued again today so he hadn’t slept. The dark bags under his eyes gave that away.

“Just checking in. Are you okay? You haven’t tried to breach containment since last Tuesday.”

He chuckled in a low tone and carefully placed his book, open with the pages down, on the grey blanket beside him.

“Well… I have no reason to leave nor can I at present, therefore…” he shrugged to end his sentence. He curled his feet up under himself and shuffled to face you.

“You look tired milaya” he commented, studying your face with his classic tilted head. His eyes were squinted but were travelling over your face so intensely it made you squirm on your feet.

“Keep your pet names to yourself” you grumbled, writing your check-up report in your notebook.

“Ah of course, I always do forget you can speak Russian” he smiles as you roll your eyes. “So many skills you have Krasotka, wasted here I should think” You roll your eyes again, raising them from the page of your notebook to look at him, but you can’t help the small laugh you let out at the satisfied smirk on his face. Unfortunately it was at that moment your superior officer decided to arrive on the floor, catching you in the act of being just a little too friendly with a prisoner… again. He pulled you aside with a gesture of his head, you trundled after him knowing exactly what was coming.

For the next few minutes he gave you another lecture on proper protocol when talking to inmates. During his rant, with his back turned to Zemo, he couldn’t see the mocking faces being pulled at his words. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. The officer took your three inmate reports from you and sulked back off into the stairwell.

“Well he is pleasant as ever this morning” Zemo quipped as the door to the stairwell closed loudly. “You are going to get me in serious trouble one day Zemo” you tsk’d, tucking your notebook back into the pocket on your uniform.

“They don’t appreciate you. Not a single one of them.”

“You talk big for someone stuck in cell you know that right?”

“I’m just saying it as I see it. But you already know that, don’t you? That they’re only using you. That they’ll never accept you or your talents.”

“Me and my talents are leaving now.” You turned on your heel, making for the door.

“I see you. I accept you. I’ve offered you a place beside me before. The offer still stands. You would be valued. Cherished.”

You turned back around abruptly, unable to listen to him talk anymore “Don’t bullshit me. I’m not some fragile idiot you can manipulate to your side. You want to use me just the same as they do.”

“You’re wrong.” He said simply.

You eyed him cautiously “I know how this goes Zemo. I break you out of here and you run off leaving me to end up in my own cell. No thank you”

He smiled, chuckling quietly to himself as he rose off the bed and onto his feet; placing one hand on the glass he beckoned you over. You shook your head and didn’t move, but something in the way he was with you made you…intrigued. You didn’t want to play into his game but you’d seen him with other guards and, mostly, his words for you seemed sincere. He beckoned again and you stepped a little closer, still maintaining a distance despite him having no way of getting to you through the thick glass and bars on his cell.

“This is not what you think. You know what I can give you and you know I am right” he whispered, running his eyes over your body. You squirmed again, his gaze igniting something within you that was more confusing that uncomfortable.

“Oh really? Because I think I’m right, I’m not getting champagne on a private jet out of this. I’m getting a nice cushy cell, much like this one, for the rest of my life for breaking a terrorist out of prison!”

Zemo smiled and shook his head “Is that all you want? Champagne and a private jet? I can give you that and more, you know this. Have you ever joined the… what is you Americans call it? The mile high club” he laughed darkly at the swift, nervous shift of your expression.

“We’re done here” you retorted matter of factly, trying to ignore the heat creeping up the back of your neck. You spun on your heel once more, your quiet steps the only thing filling the void within the room.

As you reached out for the handle of the door his voice made you flinch, so loud in the potent silence, “Just think it over Krasivaya. The life I can give you would be so much more than what you give yourself day to day within the walls of this prison. I would say we both yearn for a little… freedom”

“Enough!” you shouted, voice echoing around the room.

He raised his hands in defeat and you watched as he flicked the radio on, a quiet crackle before a news channel began playing filling the painful stillness that had come over the room once more. He sat back down on the low bed and picked up his book, gently licked the top of his middle finger and used it to turn the page; he didn’t look up as he spoke “Just some food for thought”

[bookdancerfics]

hear the noise (it’s a voice he can’t forget), a JatP Whumptober fic

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

Summary: Bobby wears Trevor Wilson as a cover, uses Sunset Curve’s music as a safety blanket, but it builds and builds and builds, snowballing until the moment it’s too late and he can’t take any of it back.

Rated T, Gen, 1.1k+ Words. Cross-posted to ao3 and ff.net (Bookdancer)

also, just a note that i've been seeing some tumblr posts and fics floating around that talk about what may have happened with bobby, and i was trying to figure out what to write for this day and eventually stumbled onto this. this isn't meant to excuse what bobby did at all, more like to give some reason to it. anyway i hope you all enjoy!

--

It only takes Bobby three weeks after the deaths of his best friends to decide he doesn’t want to be Bobby Basset anymore. Bobby Basset was a part of Sunset Curve, and Sunset Curve is no longer known for their good, up-and-coming music, but for the deaths of three-quarters of the band. If his name is Bobby Basset and he was a part of Sunset Curve, then he’s the only part of Sunset Curve still breathing, and he sees everyone from close friends to acquaintances to complete strangers make these connections as if it’s their life that depends on it. A friendly smile drops to furrowed brows, a tilted mouth, a “where did I hear that name before?”

And then it clicks.

He watches their eyes widen, their jaws drop. One woman brings her hand to her chest, as if she has a pearl necklace there that she’s used to clutching, as if she’s used to hearing about tragedies like his. They all try to salvage their reactions, of course—they try smiling again, lips wobbling, or they go to shake his hand, their mouths open to spill apologies they feel obligated to give.

They’re not the ones Bobby wants apologies from, though. No, he wants one from Luke, for the wet willy being the last thing he ever gave Bobby. He wants one from Reggie, for making him deal with the mess he left in the studio. And he wants one from Alex, for choosing to eat street-dogs of all things when he was supposed to be the smart one. Bobby wants apologies from all of them, for those things and for more, for everything else they made Bobby face in their absence. But most of all, for leaving Bobby alone.

So, yeah. Bobby reaches week four, month one, and he starts trying out new names. He avoids the Ls, and the Rs, and the As, and he even steers clear of the Bs, but that still leaves him with 22 more letters of the alphabet. His parents resist the change, at first. He goes through Matthew, Sonny, Joseph, Charles, Hank, and half a dozen other names before his mother finally clues in that he’s not budging.

She asks if she can help name him, again, and he can barely hide his relief when she picks Trevor. At age 18 he legally becomes Trevor Wilson, no longer a part of Sunset Curve.

Reggie’s parents sell their beach house.

Luke’s refuse to move.

He doesn’t check on Alex’s.

On the first anniversary of their death he finds his parents’ liquor stash and helps himself, and his father comes downstairs in the dead of night to find him crying on the couch, trying to strum along to “Now or Never” with clumsy, drunk fingers. He can’t even get past the first chorus.

His father kneels in front of him, places a hand over his, and Trevor leans over, still crying, to dig his forehead into his father’s shoulder and wish he could get drunk enough to escape this.

“Why don’t you sing their songs more?” his mother asks in the morning. Trevor’s head is on the kitchen table, pillowed in his arms, and it hurts, but he still looks up at her, squinting in confusion.

“They were the band’s,” he says. ‘Luke’s,’ he doesn’t add, but his mother knows. “It would feel wrong.”

“But it would be a healthier outlet, wouldn’t it?” she says. She pours him a glass of orange juice, sets it in front of him, and leans down to kiss his forehead. “Just think about it, alright?”

And he does, hard. It’s been awhile since he played, besides that one drunken night, and he misses it. He misses their songs. He misses busking with his best friends out on the beach, hoping for tips. He misses playing with them in small, crowded bars, bumping shoulders in tandem when they spot a familiar face, a possible fan, in the crowd. He misses them.

Trevor Wilson plays his first performance on the beach exactly where Sunset Curve made their busking debut.

He plays “Now or Never,” and “Get Lost,” and even “Crooked Teeth” when he thinks he won’t get through the night without a little laughter. And the crowd loves them. Him.

So he does it again, two weeks later. And again, after another week. And then he hits one bar, two bars, and he’s playing all of Luke’s good songs now but two—“My Name Is Luke” and “Unsaid Emily.”

By the time he’s 25 he’s a household name.

His parents are proud of him, and tell him as much, but there’s two stones in his gut that refuse to leave. One is grief, the ghosts of his friends following him in persistence even now, eight years after the fact. And the other is guilt.

He tells himself he can stop at any time, that he can reveal who the real songwriter was, but every time he tries he sees that woman with the invisible pearl necklace. He watches as her hand clutches at thin air, as her mouth drops open, as she turns to her husband as if looking for the right words to say because she didn’t understand that there were none. That those words still, even now, don’t exist.

He can see the tabloids’ headlines screaming, “Trevor Wilson, Current Heartthrob, Former Teenage Tragedy.”

So he doesn’t say anything.

It’s not as if he’s hurting anyone, after all. His friends are dead. He has his parents make sure that Reggie and Luke’s families get part of the profits, anonymously of course, and staunchly refuses when they ask about Alex’s parents.

And then he meets the love of his life, and they have Carrie, and his producer begs him for at least one more hit. And he does try for the original stuff, at least at first. But his producer shakes his head, then keeps shaking his head, and all he can think about is what if he’s not able to play their music anymore? What if he has to raise Carrie on something other than their music?

So Trevor drops the hit single “My Name Is Luke.”

He laughs about it in interviews, of course. What else could he do? He claims it’s the name of an old friend—true. He says he used the name for the rhyme—false. He tells the audience, and the interviewer, and anyone else who will ever see it that he wishes his friend Luke could see him now.

“I’m sure he’s very proud,” the interviewer says, and Trevor smiles, strained.

“I’m sure.”

Except over the next few years, his life falls apart. Carrie’s mother leaves. Sunset Curve’s songs are dried up; he refuses to play “Unsaid Emily,” leaves it tucked away in Luke’s old notebook where it will stay, unsaid, unsung. He’s still well known, still makes appearances at charity concerts, but his last album didn’t sell well and both he and his producer agreed that he was done. He focuses on Carrie, makes sure to spoil her rotten even as his own parents protest.

And then, one day, he hears them again. Sunset Curve.

[amydancepants-peralta]

i love your precious heart

(chapter seven of we’re the fortunate ones) ♥️

season seven: i love your precious heart

For the longest time, there was a part of Jake Peralta that genuinely didn’t believe he was deserving of any special kind of love or affection.  Years of rejection; from the revolving doors made up of fathers, step-fathers and short-lived relationships, had led to the once quiet inner voices growing louder - reminding him every chance they could that any state of legitimate happiness simply was not meant for him.

(Dr. Marcia, the therapist he’s been seeing once a fortnight for a close to a year now, has helped him to understand this.)

This New Year’s Eve, standing here on the fire escape that runs along the outside of the apartment he shares with his wife, is not one of those moments.

Their plans for the evening had skewed slightly from their original schedule, partially because Jake had heard the sighs of dejection Amy made when she’d returned yet another ill-fitting dress back into their wardrobe.  Her body is changing in a lot of ways this year - some of them rapidly, others sneaking up on her so slowly it drove her insane - and when he remembered that Amy hadn’t really had the chance to go shopping for a decent range of maternity clothes yet, Jake had moved quickly to devise an alternative plan that seemed both spontaneous and not-at-all-related to a lack of party outfit options.  

Pouring them each a glass of sparkling apple cider (if Amy can’t drink, then Jake can’t drink - and he’s not interested in hearing arguments that suggest otherwise), he had googled events that were happening nearby, found one with fireworks, and with his brilliant detective skills had deduced that their fire escape will face exactly the right direction to watch the show without ever having to leave their house.  And maybe Amy had already been hoping that he would come to the same conclusion, or maybe she was just a really big fan of fire escape parties (he suspects, though, that it is the former) but either way, her dress had been swapped for sweatpants within minutes of Jake’s suggestion, and the relaxation on her face simply made her all the more beautiful.

They’d spent the entire evening rotating between the living room and the tiny space outside that Jake had stocked up with blankets and snacks, talking and laughing as they reminisced the year that was.  There had even been a sweet little slow dance, to a song playing on Jake’s phone as it stayed nestled in his pocket - and it would have been totally romantic, if it hadn’t been interrupted by some dude yarfing onto the street below.   Still, the feeling of holding his wife in his arms, while their baby stayed nestled in-between them, was something that Jake will hold onto forever.  

The breeze has grown colder now, the wind rustling through Jake’s hair as he waits for Amy to return from her seventeenth trip to the bathroom (sadly, not an exaggeration), and as he reaches into the storage box for another blanket for his wife, Jake finds himself looking back on the last few months with a smile.  Even now, there’s a tiny piece of his mind that is still incredulous that she is pregnant - that the two of them are having a baby.  In just four short months, there will be a tiny human that is part Amy, part Jake and wholly them, and he’s never ever been more excited for the future.  

He can still recall the moment it had all changed for the better - when Amy had turned to him with the brightest smile he had ever seen, and nodded her head.  He’d sat beside her on the floor of their bathroom for longer than he’d realised, staring at the plastic stick with it’s stamped lettering and two thin red lines that told him that Amy was pregnant.  His eyes had kept darting from left to right, his brain frantically trying to reassure himself that he was, in fact, reading it all correctly.  That the love of his life was carrying his child, and the world as he knew it was never going to be the same again.  It just … hadn’t made any sense, how easily it had all changed.  Every part of his life involved filling out some sort of paperwork or prior approval or whatever - it was a reality that he merely tolerated, but Amy adored.  But, in the blink of an eye (and a round of admittedly great sex), Jake Peralta was going to be a father.    

Deciding to start trying had been one of the most uncomplicated decisions of his life, and one that he hasn’t reconsidered for a second (it had surprised him at first, how easily it came to him - but that’s the thing about finally being in a secure relationship.  Even the things that terrified him the most, suddenly didn’t seem so bad when he knew Amy would be by his side).  But it had stunned him, how in just one moment, seeing the word pregnant on a little piece of plastic had made him fall in love with something (or someone, really) that he hadn’t even met.  

He had known, in approximately 0.0003 seconds after seeing their daughter for the very first time on the ultrasound screen, that he wouldn’t ever do anything that could hurt her.  That he will fight for her safety and security, with every fibre of his being, until the very last day of his life.  This tiny little shadow on the screen, with it’s echoing heartbeat and what thankfully looked to be Amy’s nose, was now the single-most greatest thing that Jake had ever done: and nothing was ever going to change that.  These past few months have made Jake understand his father even less, and appreciate Amy all the more, if for nothing else than the fact that she’d given Jake a second chance to show just how capable - and deserving - of love he can be.  

Hearing a soft grunt to his left, Jake turns his head in time to see Amy wriggling through the window frame, the swell of her belly turning what used to be an easy move into something that requires a little more finesse.  There’s a soft metallic thud that reverberates towards the empty streets below as both of her slipper covered feet hit the gridded surface, and she grins in triumph before making her way over to Jake.  

“Starting to get over this whole ‘needing to pee every half hour’ thing that I’ve got going on.”

Grinning, Jake leans against the balustrade of their makeshift balcony, ignoring the gentle dig of the metal against his skin.  “I mean, you know my feelings about water, hun.”

Raising an eyebrow, Amy shakes her head in response.  “Hate to tell you this, but all I’ve been drinking today is orange soda - and we both know that’s your genes at play here, Peralta.”  Amy winks at Jake’s responsive wince, cupping his chin in her hand as she pulls him closer for a quick kiss.  “It’s a good thing that I love you, huh?”

“Oh, it’s a very good thing, Ames.”  The best thing ever, actually, that she loves him.  She tells him a lot - even more so since falling pregnant, a side effect that has been hated by absolutely no-one - and every time feels better than the last.  

A car passes them below, the loud music pumping from the speakers and filtering it’s way up to the two of them, and Amy looks down at her sweats, turning to give Jake an apprehensive look.  “What a wild New Year’s Eve we’ve ended up having.  Maybe we should have gone to Terry’s party after all?  I mean, it is the last child free one we’re going to have for a long time.”

Slinging an arm around Amy’s shoulders, Jake pulls her closer to him, smiling as her hand wraps around his waist in a move that is absolutely second nature.  “No way, Ames.  I’ve got my two best girls here with me, and in five minutes I’m going to have the greatest seats in New York as that building over there lets off fireworks from their roof.  Terry’s party can suck it.”  

Right now, a bunch of fugitives could climb out from the sewer clutching diamonds from the biggest jeweller in town, and he wouldn’t move.  Bruce Willis himself could knock on the door, and Jake would tell him that he needed to come back tomorrow (please, please, please - come back tomorrow).  

This was his home - he’d built a world between these four walls, with the love of his life - the only one to run a hand over his scars, both physical and mental, and still call him beautiful.  His partner, in every way imaginable, and easily the greatest person he’s ever known.  And just when he didn’t think she could be any more magic, she’d begun carrying their child, and now he is absolutely certain that Amy is completely made of stardust.  

Even when her hormones are out of control, and she’s yelling at him for not mixing enough pickles into her ice cream.

There was nowhere he’d rather be, and nobody he’d rather be with.  Literally everything he needed, for the rest of his life, was right here in his arms.  

(Okay yes, technically he would eventually need orange soda and gummy worms and maybe some water if Amy insisted.  But there was a healthy stock of all that in their kitchen, and by ‘right here’ he obviously means their apartment.)

Amy hums - this sweet little hmmming sound that Jake knows to mean contentment ever since he heard it on their first night together, a sound that he’s heard a million times since then and just never, ever fails to transcend him - and she leans a little more of her body weight against him, blinking slowly as fatigue begins to set in.  There were countless books and testimonials that told them to get as much sleep as they could, because once the baby came sleep would become a long-lost memory, and Jake could tell that Amy was secretly dying to curl up into bed.  Baby-growing, it would seem, was a highly exhaustive task - and in all honesty the idea of curling up underneath the blanket with her for the rest of the evening sounded kind of amazing.   

Jake’s just about to suggest a retreat to their bedroom when he hears the first whoosh of a firework streaking through the sky, the subsequent explosion of light piercing his eyes as tiny blue stars litter their previously dark canvas.  Either the revellers had decided to celebrate early, or his watch was slow (entirely possible, he’d bought it for three whole dollars at their local bodega) - whatever the reason, Jake cannot help the smile that stretches across his face as more colours begin to light the sky.  

Now completely awake, Amy moves closer still to Jake, standing in front of him and gripping his forearms in her hands when they wrap around her clavicle.  From behind Jake can hear her tiny gasps as each bang and pop takes place, and after a minute he cries out in surprise, moving quickly to place his hands on either side of Amy’s pregnant belly in a protective stance.

Shifting her head to the side, Amy looks at Jake in confusion, pointing downwards.  “What’s with the sudden coverage, babe?”

Eyes wide and earnest, Jake nods in the direction of his hands, explaining - “I’ve got to protect the baby’s ears, Ames!  These fireworks are loud - and what if she’s asleep right now?  She’s part Peralta, and you and I both know Peraltas are NOT a fan of being woken up.”

Amy laughs, her nose crinkling up in that completely adorable way that Jake absolutely loves, shaking her head as her fingers link with his on either side of her bump.  “Our baby is totally fine in there, Jake.  But I love you so much for thinking of her right now.”  There’s a slight shift underneath Jake’s hands, and he can’t be sure if it’s a kick of just a general nudge from their daughter, but either way he takes it as a sign that their little one agrees with Amy’s statement.  Nodding; he smiles at Amy, suddenly feeling a little foolish - but perhaps, he’s just foolishly in love.  Above them, the fireworks continue to explode, only now they don’t seem so loud.

Moving one hand away from his, Amy cups the back of Jake’s neck, gently pulling him downwards for a soft kiss.  “Only five months in, and you’re already the greatest dad ever,” she whispers against his lips, pressing against them with her own once more.  He’s blushing by the time she pulls away, he can feel it in the sudden tingle of his cheeks, but all he can think about is the title greatest dad ever, and how much he can’t wait until those very words are emblazoned on a mug or some other kind of gift their child decides to buy him.  He wants it on hats, and shirts, on socks and a keyring and everywhere in between - because when it came to Jake and fatherhood, there was not a chance in hell that history was going to end up repeating.        

“Hey,” came Amy’s soft voice, pulling Jake out of his thoughts as her fingers return to the back of his neck and toy with the curls that live along the bottom of his hairline.  Briefly, he remembers that he meant to get his hair cut two weeks ago.  “You okay, babe?”

Taking a deep breath, Jake smiles and nods, waiting until Amy has turned to face him completely before tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear.  “Happy New Year, Ames.  I know I’ve said this before, but this year is going to be totally amazing.”

Amy nods back, giggling as Jake swoops in for a kiss.  “I’m going to remember this moment when we’re elbow deep in dirty diapers and our eyelids are being held up by toothpicks.”

Joining in on Amy’s laughter, Jake shrugs his shoulders in defeat.  “This is probably going to sound insane, and I’m definitely going to deny I ever said this when we’re in that situation; but even that sounds a little bit awesome, because it’ll mean that she’s here and we can hold her and talk to her and just love her for reals.”

“Totally insane, and I completely agree.”

It’s less than an hour later that both Jake and Amy are tucked into bed, the sound of Amy’s gentle snores lulling Jake to sleep as 2020 begins to stretch her limbs.  Their apartment is quiet, but filled to the brim with love - right down to the printed sonogram, sharing the space of a heart-shaped magnet with a photo of a young couple falling for each other - and there is a small room adjacent to the kitchen that is almost ready for it’s tiny occupant to arrive.  

As his eyelids grow heavy, Jake thinks back to all the years he and Amy had spent together, and how many times they’ve had to push back against all the things that have tried to keep them apart.  He knows now that it was worth it - all of it was worth it - because truly, the best was yet to come.  

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

pillows and thunderstorms

Summary: A horrible thunderstorm is a perfect opportunity for another date, but Clementine had expected candlelight, or maybe some soft music, but this... is neither of those things. She’s definitely not complaining, though. 

I had a really bad day so here’s a short little clouis thing that I wrote on my lunch break to calm myself down.

Read on AO3 

---

The inky sky lit in a quick flash, breaking the blanket of darkness thrown over the school and surrounding woods mere moments before a mutter of thunder vibrates through the earth. The wind carries with it heavy, cold droplets and torn leaves from the trees, all beating down over the roof and echoing through the halls.

They knew this storm would come. The tempestuous clouds daunting above them at dinner time, the sudden increase of the whistling wind, and that distinct scent of cool, metallic earth were more than enough signs to get them moving; closing the windows, moving the tables under shelter, covering the woodpile, securing the gates.

This storm, so booming and chaotic, left a damper on the morale among the group that evening, each dispersing throughout the school.

Clementine, staring out the front windows at the thick, gray curtain of rain with a somber frown, breathes out a low, heavy sigh. Her breath fogs over the glass where she absently draws a little smiley face.

Thunderstorm or not, the day itself hadn’t been great.

In fact, she’d dare say it’d been shitty.

Real shitty.

“Hey.”

Louis’ warm hands grip her upper arms as he leans to peer over her shoulder. She presses back into him, letting out another sigh at the comfort his presence always provided.

“Hey.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

Clementine can feel his stare but keeps her eyes peered forward, forcing interest in the patterns and crossed paths of the droplets slipping over the glass.

“Yeah.”

Louis reaches over and adds a tongue to the smiley face she previously traced, saying, “AJ’s having a sleepover with Tenn and Willy tonight.”

She turns to glance up at him, brows raised.

Ever since they first came to Ericson’s, she and AJ always slept in the same room no matter what, especially in the beginning and right after they took down the delta. Some nights he’d go out on patrol, but AJ still came back to flop down on his bed to sleep.  

The thought of him wanting to sleep somewhere else never occurred to her.

“Really?”

“Yeah, he, uh-” Louis frowns, “-Tenn doesn’t do too good with storms that’re bad like this. AJ thought he and Willy could help distract him from it, y’know?”

Clementine’s expression softens into a small grin.

Louis lets her go, moving to lean himself against the window pane with a mischievous grin adorning his full lips. She eyes him, brow perked curiously at the way he tugs on the flaps of his jacket and cocks his head at her.

“What?”

“Since the child’s out for the night, I planned a little surprise for you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep! Think of it like-” his smirk softens, becoming almost timid, “-a date, if you will.”

“A date, huh?” she smiles. “Haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“I think we’re due.”

She nods, reaching out to grab his hand, running her thumb over a scab on his knuckles, a small injury he acquired from hunting.

“A date does sound really nice.”

“I’ll see you up there, then?”

“Of course. I’ll be up in a minute.”

---

She had expected romantic candlelight, or perhaps ever a slow song from the gramophone to play for them to dance to.

But, this… is neither of those things.

Off-white sheets spread across from on bunk bed to the other, draping over the high stacks of pillows and covering more than half of the room. A soft glow repressed through the sheets reveals Louis’ silhouette within the extravagant pillow fort.

His fingers slip through the opening of the sheets as he peeks out at her with a grin.  

“What have you done to our room?”

“Proving that we can, in fact, keep my entire collection in here.”

She laughs at that, approaching the pillow fort with crossed arms. “Is that right? Not very practical.”

“Maybe so, but you’ll change your mind once you’re inside.” He pushes the sheet open further, letting the yellow of the flashlight bleed out onto the wooden floors. “Won’t you join me?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“I have pretzels,” he offers in a tempting, sing-song voice, reaching behind to shake the wrinkly bag.

“Are they stale?”

“Oh, yeah. They taste like chunks of cardboard.”

Clementine smirks, shrugging off her jacket and taking off her hat, tossing them by the closet doors to join his coat. 

“Just how I like ‘em.”

The pillows are soft and clean, and for a split second, she wonders where he found the time to bring all those pillowcases to the river to wash. They get comfortable, sitting close enough for their knees to touch with the flashlight pointing up between them.

A particularly hard roar of thunder vibrates through the earth, but instead of bringing any feeling of dread, it’s almost like a lull within the safety of the sheets and stacks of pillows.

“Pretty nice, huh?”

“Alright, I admit it,” Clementine reaches over to lace their fingers together, “this is cozy.”

“Cozy enough to keep it like this?”

“Let’s not get crazy.”

“Why not?” he asks. “It’s good to be a little crazy every once and a while! You can think of it as waking up every morning in your own little pillow castle.” Then, he nudges her, emphasizing, “Queen Clem.”

She rolls her eyes, giggling at the silly nickname. “Only if you’ll be my court jester, Belouga.”

Louis winks, saying, “Anything for the queen.”

They’re both laughing now as Clementine leans into him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He shifts, the laughter slowing as he leans back, bringing her to lie down beside him. She allows herself to relax against the fluffy materials beneath them, sighing contently at the soothing thunderstorm still shaking the earth outside.

Louis pulls a blanket over them, careful to avoid knocking over the flashlight. The warmth envelops them.

They’re comfortably quiet, blinking up at the ceiling of the pillow fort and enjoying each other’s company. The exhaustion of the day hits her, and just as her eyes begin to droop, weariness beginning to take over.

“What a shitty day,” she murmurs with a sigh.

Louis’ hand squeezes hers, bringing them up to rest against his chest.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t say anything, turning herself completely onto her side to snuggle closer into his shoulder.

“Violet’ll come around.”

She shakes her head. “So you say.”

“She will,” he insists. “Eventually.”

“I should’ve just stayed out of it.”

“You were worried about her. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Worried was a little of an understatement.

When Violet walked back through the gates with Aasim by her side and a bloodied arm, Clementine was the first one there with panic in her wide eyes.

Thankfully, it hadn’t been a bite. One of the traps malfunctioned and sliced Violet’s arm. When Clementine asked her if she was alright, all she got in return was a harsh glare. Then, when Clementine reached out- her first mistake- Violet took her good arm and shoved her to the ground.

“Get the fuck away from me!”

“Violet!”

Louis stepped in between them, turning a fuming Violet around and guiding her towards Ruby. Aasim helped her up as he explained what happened, but Clementine’s focus was solely on Violet as Ruby hurried her inside before Mitch came out to see what happened.

The fall hadn’t hurt nearly as much as the sting those harsh, furious words or the contempt still lingering in those eyes.

Damn near a year later, and still… Violet still looked at her like that.

“How’s her arm?” she asks.

“Ruby said it wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, so an easy fix. I’ll go check on her in the morning and-” he pauses, squeezing her hand again, ”I could try talking to her-”

“No,” she cuts him off. “Not after what happened last time.”

“That was different. More time has passed now. She might listen to me.”

“You can’t force her to be friends with me again, Lou.”

“...I know,” he sighs. “I just hate seeing you both like that. I... I know how much you miss her.”

She doesn’t respond.

The silence falls over them again, only interrupted with the frequent rumbling from outside. She tries to push those thoughts of Violet out of her mind, rather wanting to focus on the comfort of the boy beside her, on this fingers absently running along her back. She pulls the blanket up closer, allowing her eyes to drift shut. When it feels as though sleep might take her, Louis’ voice brings her back. 

“Clementine?”

The use of her full name, the way it rolls off his tongue so smooth and natural, so soft, spreads a strange shot of warmth through her stomach.

Louis turns on his side, chin resting in his palm as he gazes down at her, chewing on his lip with hesitation in his eyes. Almost as if contemplating.

“I've decided something,” he finally says slowly.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What have you decided?”

He tilts his head, studying her thoughtfully. His eyes fall to her lips.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

She blinks up at him, fully awake now, eyes widening at such a blunt statement. The pulse beating in her neck quickens with the fluttering of her belly and spreading heat through her face and down her neck. 

She waits, expecting him to lean over, grip the back of her head and bring their lips together. 

However, he does nothing. 

She breathes out, “Well?”

“Oh, not right now,” he smiles. “But I will before our date’s over, so don’t fall asleep on me, yeah?”

She could smack him. She truly could. All she’d need to do is grab one of the many pillows surrounding them and give him a good wack for making her heart flutter like that.

When Louis begins to chuckle at her expression, her slightly agitated pout, Clementine moves to try and kiss him herself. However, even though the idea went smoothly in her head, the execution didn’t work so well. While trying to crawl over him, her leg knocks into the flashlight when it becomes tangled with another blanket, causing the fort to fall dark.

“Shit-”

“Ow!”

Clementine sits up, patting around for the fallen light within the blankets.

“Where’d it go?”

“Um, that’s my foot!”

“Are you sure?”

“Clem, I’m pretty sure I know the difference between a flashlight and my own foot, thank you.”

Louis moves beside her, helping in the search of the fallen light while chuckling lightly to himself.

She jerks the blanket up, hearing the light crash down against the bare wooden floors. The glow stutters, flashing twice before being covered again when a stack of pillows knocks over, caving in part of the fort.

“Oops.”

“Clementine, are you destroying my- hey hey hey!”

The sheets fall on top of them, bringing down the rest of the fort to crash around them in a fairly silent avalanche of pillows. They’re both stuck in a tangled mess of sheets, pillows, and blankets, trying to find an opening of escape. 

Louis pulls the sheet off of her, exposing her to the fresh air of the room where they both burst out laughing. He managed to find the flashlight, beating it against his palm before it shines again, uncovering the disaster they sit in. 

“What a mess.”

“I blame you.”

Clementine laughs, carefully bringing herself to her feet and offering him a hand. “C’mon, we gotta pick this up.”

“Says who? I say we leave it, sleep among the destruction, and rebuild tomorrow.”

“Nope,” she shakes her head. “Queen’s orders. These all go back to the jester’s quarters.”

“You’re a strict ruler, your majesty. Very commanding. I like that.”

She smiles.

With the light set on AJ’s desk to help illuminate the room, Clementine begins folding up the sheets into nice, smooth squares, setting them on the bed. She glances back at Louis’ reluctant frown at the mess.

“Can’t say this is where I thought our date would go. Any idea where the pretzels went- Oh-” there’s crunching beneath his foot, “-nevermind.”

She moves over to their bed with a grin still pulling at her lips as she reaches down to grab the blanket.

Something hits her shoulders and back.

Though it didn’t hurt, the suddenness of it causes an embarrassing noise to escape her throat as she whips around. A pillow rests at her feet, the obvious culprit for what struck her.

Her narrow gaze darts up at Louis, whose back is to her. Cheerfully humming to himself, he stacks his pillows into a neat pile oh so innocently.

“Did you just throw that at me?”

“Hm?”

Louis peers over his shoulder, brow raised with a small, knowing smirk pressing to his mouth.

“Louis.”

“What?”

“You hit me!”

“What?” he repeats, pressing a hand over his chest and producing a faux innocence in his expression. “Clem, I would never.”

She kicks the pillow at him. “Then, what’s this?”

“...A pillow from the pillow fort you elegantly destroyed?”

Her head leans back as she rolls her eyes. She turns, but before she can finish bending down to grab the blanket she dropped, Clementine’s hit again, this time against her bottom.

“Louis!”

He laughs, throwing the pillow at her, this time harder as he admits, “Okay, I lied.”

Clementine catches it against her chest, pausing to playfully glare at his challenging expression before darting forward. Louis blocks her attack, shielding himself with his arms as he grabs more pillows, swinging them at her.

Pillows fly everywhere, being thrown and swung around as the two continue to laugh and fight for several minutes, the room buzzing with delightful laughter and soft thuds knocking around.

Clementine manages to knock him down against the cushioned ground where he lays sprawled, chuckling breathlessly as his chest heaves. 

Triumphant with hands on her hips, she towers over him, saying, “I win.”

“Oh, no,” he huffs, pointing up at her, “you don’t.”

Louis weakly throws another pillow at her, which she catches and tosses back at him. He lets it fall over his face, muffling his laughter. Maneuvering herself onto the floor to crawl above him, she yanks the pillow off and secures both his wrists beside his head with a victorious smirk.

He barely struggles, allowing her to overpower him with a slight pout on his lips.

“Say ‘Uncle!’”

“No!”

“Say it!”

“Never!”

Clementine’s in a fit of giggles, barely able to get out, “You’ve already lost, so just give up!”

“Oh-ho!” Louis gives a challenging grin. “But, my darling, I’ve got one last trick up my sleeve.”

“And what-”

He’s quick, forcing himself up to break his wrists free of her grasp, hands moving behind her head to bring her into a firm liplock. A soft noise vibrates in her throat at the sudden contact, but the shock is fleeting. Eyes flutter shut as her hands run over his shoulders and to his neck. She kisses him back, moving her lips with his in the soft, ardent way they always do. 

Too focused on him, his lips and his hands, that she barely notices when her back presses against the comfortable mess of pillows. He tries to pull away, to end the kiss, but she brings him back to her lips. He grins, giving in and kissing her again. 

Clementine lets him move away this time, both lightly panting and gazing at each other through loving, lidded eyes. 

Louis smiles down at her.

“I win.”

[yellowsugarwords]

I just thought of an angsty af violet line “I’m nobody’s first choice” idk where I though of it from but can you please write something angsty for violet because as soon as that popped into my head I was desperate for violet angst aaaaaaa

I’m combining it with this one:

I’m not sure if you’ve seen the theories going around about Violet having amnesia but I would love to read something around it!

because aaaaangst

Violet sat isolated at the table.

But it was nothing knew.

Mitch and Omar were cracking jokes with Willy, keeping him entertained.

AJ and Tenn sat together, doodling between bites.

They sat by Clementine and Louis, flirting up a storm.

Treating the little two as if they were their own.

Aasim and Ruby sat cuddled up.

There Violet sat.

Alone at the end of the table.

Stomaching her sadness.

Saying nothing.

“Goodnight Violet,” Clem called.

Violet said nothing.

Ignoring Clementine calling her from down the hall.

Violet entered her room without a word.

And snapped the door shut.

Everyone always took chores in pairs.

Normally Violet worked alone.

Or tacked onto a pair of 2.

Normally, she wanted to be alone.

She felt less like a burden that way.

Everyone was paired up later that week for chores.

Clem and Louis were giggling getting ready for hunting.

The others couples were geared up for cooking and wood chopping and hauling.

Violet stood alone.

Watching.

Waiting to go fishing.

“I need a fishing partner,” Violet said.

She was met with silence.

Everyone chattering with each other.

Ignoring her.

She snapped her hand-made fishing rod in half.

And everyone stopped.

When eyes landed on her, Violet threw it to the ground.

“Forget it.” She hissed.

“Violet?” Clem asked.

“Fuck off,” Violet snapped.

Louis scoffed, appalled. “Violet, what—“

“I said fuck off!” She yelled, starting away.

Clementine detached herself from Louis, starting after her.

She settled a hand against the blonde’s shoulder. “Violet—“

Violet whipped around.

And ripped it off.

They made dead eye-contact.

And Clementine felt a chill surge through her.

“Violet—”

“Leave me alone, Clementine.” Violet snapped.

Her words were poisonous.

Clementine’s gaze rang with hurt. “But why?”

Violet didn’t care. “Because I’m really sick of always being the last choice around here.”

Everyone froze.

Clementine’s stance faltered.

Her eyes bulged.

Everyone behind them held their breath.

Violet took a glance over everyone.

And scoffed.

“Leave me alone. All of you.”

She ripped away.

From behind her, she heard Louis call her.

“Vi, please—”

“I don’t want your pity.” She snapped.

And slammed Ericson’s front doors behind her.

Violet stayed stowed away for days.

Only coming out for food.

To work.

But she worked alone.

And talked to no one.

It wasn’t different from before.

Only now, there was open hostility.

That was, until Delta swung by.

And threatened their presence.

And vanished.

Violet still kept to herself.

She was only more alert now.

But continued ignoring everyone’s advances.

She didn’t want to hear it.

Then, Delta attacked.

Came barging in.

Horses and torches blaring.

Violet had been fighting off a Delta soldier.

Yelling and screaming.

Trying to wriggle the baseball bat out of their palms.

Then, the Delta soldier kicked her in the stomach.

Her head flew forward.

Smashed against the wood.

And she crumpled to the ground.

Blacked out.

From afar, Clem thought she was dead.

So, she screamed.

And she didn’t know she was doing it.

The world was silent.

She couldn’t control herself.

Her grief took control of her.

And wrangled control from her brain.

Clementine body-tackled the Delta soldier.

Slamming her knife into his side.

She couldn’t hear his scream.

She could only see his mouth open.

After she had pinned him to the ground.

Louis pulled Violet away.

Carrying her body to Ericson’s front doors.

Pulling her to shelter.

Clementine kept stabbing.

And sobbing.

She couldn’t stop.

She could only watch the pain surge in his eyes.

It still wasn’t enough.

Lilly kicked her off.

And Clem grunted as she was slammed into the dirt.

And watched through blurred tears as the figure before he was tugged to his feet.

And started stumbling away.

Clementine could hardly see.

Or breathe.

Or feel.

She was too numbed.

Too horrified.

They were retreating.

Lilly saw the violence they carried.

The vile violence they were capable of.

And wanted no part of it.

They were out of there in a matter of minutes.

So quickly she almost left some men behind.

But they needed to get out.

They didn’t want to poke the bear that was Ericson.

They didn’t want to kill more of their men at the hands of children.

How mortifying.

Mitch, stabbed by Lilly but still functioning, close the front gates.

Clutching his wounded shoulder.

Willy helped to ease his pressure.

AJ helped Tenn to safety.

Ruby helped  Aasim walk on his wounded ankle.

She began guiding him to a place to sit.

Willy tugged Mitch to the same area.

Inside was where Clementine stumbled to.

Disorientated and sore from Lilly’s kick.

And there, the moment she opened the doors, she saw them.

She saw Louis on the ground.

Violet sprawled in his arms.

Still.

And silent.

Clem released another strangled sob.

Louis’ gaze didn’t flinch from the blonde.

“She’s breathing,” he said softly. “Just knocked out.”

Clementine crashed to her knees.

And wept.

“Oh thank God,” she bubbled through tears.

Louis tugged her closer.

Under his arm.

Tightly.

Snuggly.

Holding her broken pieces together.

They brought her into the music room.

And laid her down with pillows and blankets.

Everyone took shifts watching her.

But Louis and Clementine never left.

Clementine was beginning to fade.

She was exhausted.

Her head ached and throbbed.

Louis slipped up behind her and cupped her shoulders.

“Clem,” he started, “you should rest.”

Clementine parted his lips to protest.

Hesitating to let her brain catch up with her lips.

And then, they heard a groan.

They snapped to life.

And attention.

And Clementine threw herself to her feet.

It had been nearing 6 hours.

And they had been terrified to wait longer.

Her eyes slid open.

And seemed glasses over and vacant.

“Violet,” Clem sobbed, clutching her hand.

Louis smiled, tears bubbling. “We’re so glad to see you back, Vi.”

Violet blinked.

And glanced from side to side.

And furrowed her brows.

Clem blinked, confused. “Vi?”

Violet squinted more. “What?” She finally pushed out.

And Louis and Clem froze.

And hitched their breath.

“No,” Louis hushed. “There’s no way.”

Clementine could see her spirit leave her body.

She felt weightless.

Lost in disbelief.

Violet didn’t know who they were.

She didn’t know who any of them were.

The Violet they knew before, the one so angry with them, was gone.

They couldn’t apologize.

They couldn’t fix it.

They couldn’t make her feel better.

They lost her.

The Violet they once knew was gone.

Ruby brought her water and food.

Violet greedily took it.

And everyone watched.

Clementine and Louis guided Violet outside at sunrise.

And sat her down for breakfast.

They rattled through everyone’s names.

And Violet listener blankly.

Her innocence and confusion almost made their guilt worse.

They taught her how to hunt.

And how to to fish.

She laughed when she caught her first fish.

And groaned when Mitch showed her out to gut it.

Violet didn’t talk much these days.

She couldn’t. Just normally didn’t.

She didn’t see a need to.

AJ taught her how to play cards.

And she dominated against Louis.

Tenn taught her how to draw.

Horribly.

And Willy always made fun of her.

And Violet always became genuinely offended by his teasing.

Violet lived for hunting with Louis.

Even though she sucked at it.

Louis loved seeing the joy in her eyes.

The excitement.

The disgust.

It brought him joy.

Her newfound happy innocence.

At dinner that night, Clementine sat with Violet.

And watched as Violet smiled at her and sat down.

For the first time since Violet’s outburst, Clementine felt peace.

She never thought she would see that smile ever again.

One with such forgiveness.

Such gentleness.

Violet are happily.

Humming as the people around her spoke.

Laughing.

Beaming.

Being a whole new Violet.

Clementine watched.

As Louis did.

Amazed.

At peace.

Maybe this was a chance.

A chance to start over.

To be better to Violet.

To value her as she deserved to be.

Clementine wavered in her tears.

Watching Violet’s happiness.

Watching the way Violet’s gaze settled on her again.

Kindly.

Happily.

Then, seeing Violet’s eyes on her, watching her smile as she chewed, Clementine’s stomach flipped.

And she lunged out.

And hugged her.

And Violet blinked.

And looked at Louis.

And hesitantly hugged her back

It was the start of a new beginning.

For all of them.

But especially for Violet.

But maybe one day it wouldn’t need to be.

Maybe one day she could go back to the past.

And maybe, if that day arrives, the past can become happier.

Because now, they have a chance to change it.

[smokeycannabisco]

Wonderleaf: Small Batch Oils Of The Highest Quality

If you have never cracked a Wonderleaf CO2 Oil Syringe, then you probably wouldn’t know why this product is unique. The syringe, or “C-Ringe,” as it is presented, looks NOTHING like a traditional syringe. The way this product is set up, one would have no idea it was even a cannabis product if they saw it in your room or backpack. Unscrew the child safe lid, and you’ll find the removable stainless steel tip in a small storage area. Screw this on, and you’re ready to go! To dispense the oil, gently press inside of the bottom of the “C-Ringe.” Be warned though, it doesn’t take much to get that golden goodness flowing!

The top contains a holster for the removable steel tip, which is good for both dabs and refilling your favorite oil cart!

I just LOVE how discreet this thing is. I have tried it two different ways: as a refill and as a dab on the nail of my rig. This syringe is incredibly easy to use for refilling your cartridge. I have a generic glass and steel 250mg cartridge that I use for the majority of my oils. This is by far one of the easiest CO2 refills I have used. The cart I have has two small notches on the inside which fit the stainless tip of the syringe PERFECTLY! All I did was gently put the syringe into the cart, and gave it a couple pumps, and there I was! Pro Tip: use your battery’s preheat function (if applicable) after a refill to loosen up the oil and get things going! As far as the Wonderleaf Syringe’s application for dabs, I had little issue there as well. After letting my red hot nail cool down for about 30 seconds (#WASTEITTOTASTEIT), I put the tip to nail and hit the depressor. After 3-4 hits, I was able to really dial in the size of dab that I wanted. I will say that I have gotten feedback from coworkers who say that they had issue with the oil continuously running through the dram, even after removing from their rig, but I did not have this issue. I would say that a way around this is just to be sure you aren’t getting the tip too hot. My only real issue with the syringe is the inability to pull the plunger back. This leaves a small amount of oil inside of the syringe at the end of your session/refill, but the small amount left over can be harvested by removing the tip and placing it directly on your nail. If you were able to retract the oil back inside of the dram, I think it might work a little better. It is worth noting though, that Wonderleaf sells a premium syringe that comes in all glass, and it is TO DIE FOR! Well, I’ve talked almost as much as I can about the form factor of the “C-Ringe,” so you’re probably wondering about the oil inside. Wow. The strain is Girl Scout Cookies, and it is very obvious from the first hit. This oil is very much true to the plant in its taste and high  GSC is a favorite strain of mine, and the deep euphoria and relaxation is present within the first 15 minutes. Currently, I am writing this, sitting in an airport waiting for my wife to arrive. I've taken probably six rips off of this pen, and I am so happy my wife is driving us home (Safety first!). Some people may be turned off by the 67% on the side of the dram, especially in comparison to some of the 80%+ oils that we carry, but make no mistake: this is a heavy hitter. The body high alone feels like the most comfortable blanket you've ever had around you, and the euphoria sends you straight to cloud nine. Listening to music through headphones provides an almost psychedelic experience with the music waving in and out, and a strong feeling of serenity. Even twenty or thirty minutes later, the high is still coming on strong and feelings of paranoia are nowhere to be found. The taste is one of the sweetest I have ever had from a vapor pen. The vapor is smooth and feels good on the lungs. Cottonmouth is definitely going to happen, so be sure you keep your water handy. Foolishly, I've left mine in the car. My suggested musical pairing would have to be Willie The Pimp by Frank Zappa.

I like to hold my purchases to a standard, and so I rate them 1 - 5, with five being a top score. The categories change from time to time, depending on the product at hand, but in this case 20/20 is a perfect score. With all of that said, let’s rate this mother:

Stealth +5: All you have to do for this thing to become just another object in your bag of toiletries is pull off a sticker. Great Job

Form Factor: +4: I would have given this a top score if it wasn’t for the feedback I have gotten about the oil continually dripping when used as a dabber. Again, this probably isn’t the intended use of the “C-Ringe” but since it is an option I have to rate it.

Quality of Oil: +5 - See the paragraph I wrote above! Between semi-psychedelia and a strong calm feeling, this oil is TOP TIER. The price point of $39.99 makes it an EVEN MORE competitive product.

Ease Of Use: +4 - This ties in with the issue under Form Factor. The bit of oil that gets stuck in the tip, while not a lot, is still wasted terp sauce. I was raised to not let terp sauce go to waste EVER, so I do have to deduct points for this.

ENDING JUDGEMENT: 18/20

Wonderleaf is easily my favorite cartridge company on the market today. Their oils are consistently good, and they always seem to taste true to the plant. They also have a line of terpenes that will knock your socks off. I could talk all day long about this amazing product and the incredibly kind people behind the brand, but their CO2 oils can do it much better.. You can pick up a gram of this small batch, handcrafted oil for $39.99 at either of our stores.

#theonewiththedog #TeamSmokeys #Smokeys420 #cannabis shops in Colorado