#or force me into a tolerance break where I stop buying weed

[ceruleanchillin]

Honeymoon Headcanons: Mayans Edition

Characters: Angel, Coco, EZ x F!Reader

Miami (Angel)

It wasn’t difficult at all to decide where the two of you would take your honeymoon. When you weren’t gonna be naked, Angel wanted you in sundresses and bikinis. You wanted him in linen shirts, and to feel him up in a club. Couple that with you both wanting a tropical environment, and Miami it is.

Angel letting you handle the accommodations, because you seem to know more about what you wanna see/where you wanna go than he does. He only cares about a bed and shower for when he’s not taking you in the inappropriate places. He just hands over the cash, though he complains about his hurt wallet.

Angel hard as a rock when he sees your new name on your plane ticket.

The two of you nearly missing your flight because your husband needs to “show his wife he loves her”.

You babying him on the flight, because Angel has never flown anywhere before.

“Mami, it’s perfectly valid to feel like a flying toaster can’t safely get you anywhere but a casket. Which they can’t even put you in, because you’ll be everywhere!”

Cue you distracting him with kisses and dirty words in his ear, which gets you initiated into the Mile High Club

Barely making it into the cute little condo before the two of you are at it again, collapsing in the late hours to jet lag and mutual satisfaction.

Your first official day is spent dragging Angel around the humid streets. Knowing he stresses easily if you plan things too tightly, and wanting to wing it yourself. It’s surprising how well you to fit in, it almost feels like home.

Angel switching from being jealous, because your tiny cotton sundress is attracting more than just his attention, to him kissing all over your dewy skin because so much of it is visible.

You getting as jealous as Angel, because it seems like each place you drag him to has openly interested ladies. It’s the white linen shirt that he won’t fully button no matter how many times you try to make him.

Angel basking in the attention, and even playing it up to force you to be the one to initiate inappropriate public sex.

Smirking when you break after a woman pays for his (and unintentionally yours) order at a small cafe you stepped into and you snap and drag him to a hidden place.

“I only love you querida, mi alma.” he whispers in your ear when he bottoms out inside you.

You two are a beautiful couple. Photogenic as all hell. Alone, neither of you have a problem attracting interest, but together, you make people want to be seen around you. That’s why you have no problem club hopping to all the exclusive places.

Angel taking photos and videos of you dancing because he’s so enthralled. He can’t wait to show your kids one day when they ask why he fell for you, and he explains how full of life you are.

Getting enough liquor in Angel to get him dance somewhere away from the club, especially since he (lies) and says he can’t.

You and Angel competing to see who can get the most people to buy your drinks + the two of you losing track because you both get drunk.

A quickie in the coatroom is the prize, Angel fucking you to the hypnotic beat.

Spending a few hours apart the following day, only to still keep texting and FaceTiming each other until you met up, touch starved, at a small restaurant.

Deciding to spend the rest of the day at your Airbnb laid up under each other after Angel scores weed. Teasing Angel about his monetary complaints when you spend all night enjoying the small backyard pool.

Angel thanking God for getting an adventure loving woman as his soulmate when you wake him up the next afternoon to inform him you rented jet skis for the day.

You being impressed when, while jet skiing, Angel silver tongues your way into an invitation to a nearby yacht party out of the host.

FaceTiming Gilly to make him jealous that you two are doing Hookah and drinking Casamigos in a hot tub.

Angel ramping up the mockery when EZ and Coco appear on screen, attracted by Gilly’s whining. Everyone looking overworked and salty, while you and Angel are living your best non-sober lives.

Slipping away from the party to one of the rooms on the boat, because once again, you and Angel never know when to stop teasing each other before it ends up in sex.

Feeling bold enough to suggest that since Angel’s been documenting so much of the trip, that maybe he should film this too.

The aftermath being a surprisingly sweet series of kisses and confessions where the two of you express how thankful you are to have found each other. How you can’t wait to build a forever together.

Marfa + Roswell (Coco)

No one knew how you got Coco to agree to travel for your honeymoon until you finally revealed where you were going. Splitting a week between Marfa and Roswell.

You and Coco are that “weird” conspiracy, incense, and weed couple, so it makes sense.

Giving Coco an edible before you leave, because like Angel, he doesn’t fuck with air travel like that.

“They got me with that bullshit in the military, but that was out of my control. You askin’ a lot right now, you’re lucky you’re cute mujer.”

Coco getting progressively handsy during the flight as the edible hits. Eventually, you stop fake-fighting his neck kisses and forward touches.

Also like Angel in that he’s unafraid to become a member of the Mile High Club.

The ride from the El Paso airport, to the car rental place, to Marfa takes far longer than Coco would like.

He’s used to long stretches of trip on his bike, and when you notice him becoming antsy, you distract him with interesting facts about Marfa.

The entire time, Coco can’t help but think that you’re the perfect road trip co-pilot, only to realize he actually meant his life in general now.

Coco proud as hell when you fall in love with his accommodations choice like he did. The colorful airstream trailers of the El Cosmico hotel are the two of you through and through.

You both trying to be responsible adults and refresh after travel, but continuing to get lost in each other during the whole process.

Shower sex -> Making out while drying off -> Touching while searching through your bags for something to wear -> bed sex -> repeat

Looking thoroughly mauled when you finally manage to get Coco off of you and into the car in search of food the next afternoon.

Coco being happy you can’t cover up due to the heat, while you wonder what superpower he and his boys have that let them wear flannel and long sleeves in the heat.

Dragging Coco to a cute cafe you saw on instagram, and him knowing, by the hipster design of it, that his wallet is about to cry.

Stealing food from his plate, and laughing at him sucking his teeth and whining when he catches you.

“You’re stuck with me forever now Johnny sooo….get used to this.”

“Small price to pay for that I guess.”

Finding small shops to go to and being Siamese twins in every one. Coco showing he has good taste in a lot of things one might think he wouldn’t. Him opening up his wallet at everything you 'ooh' and 'aww' at. He can’t help it, he likes you happy, and your kisses and adoring looks are addicting.

For almost everything you get, Letty gets something too. Neither of you wants that tantrum when you get back.

You fighting yourself to avoid the art supply store, and Coco not having it.

“I have so many supplies already, it’s an addiction at this point.”

“So? Get some more. It’s our week, we shouldn’t stress about shit.”

Coco bragging on your talents and successes to the art shop cashier when you checkout.

“Cocoooo.” you murmur hiding your face in his shoulder, arms around his waist.

“Don’t be shy ma, you’re fucking amazing. I love your skills.”

Cue the cashier swooning at the two of you.

Finding unique liquor stores and getting tipsy on samples. It becomes twice as fun when locals, and other tourists alike, start discussing the Marfa lights with you, and you and Coco impress everyone with your ideas.

Being invited to a bonfire smoke session with the other El Cosmico guests when you get back.

Sketching Coco by the firelight, because he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in that moment, and now he’s officially yours.

The sex being on another level of intimate that night, because all day you and Coco have been engaging in your respective love languages, and it culminates in mutual need for each other.

The drive to Roswell being more tolerable for Coco, but he still misses his bike. Your excitement about AlienFest is so palpable however, he quickly forgets.

Your hotel being more conventional, but the people you meet making up for it. Finally, you and Coco aren’t the weirdest ones in the room.

Taking the time before the festival starts to check in with friends and family and accumulate odd souvenirs for them. You believe Coco is intentionally getting them stuff they’ll hate.

“Taza won’t wear that baby, he has better taste in jewelry than UFO earrings.”

“Ok, but can he bitch about us not getting him anything? Plus, you can guilt anyone into anything.”

Doing cute edible pastries at the festival.

“You know Aliens are demons right? Jack Parsons and L. Ron Hubbard were doing summoning rituals in the Mojave in 1946, and Roswell was the following year.”

“Word?…Shit. Tell me that again when we’re not rolling. I wanna read about it………you’re so smart mami.”

Coco realizing between every snack stop, every dance he shares with you, every trinket you pick up, and every little conspiracy tidbit you share, that you’re his wife now. That the peace he’s been feeling all week, that he thought he’d never have, is going to be his new normal.

New Orleans (EZ)

You and EZ both enjoy engaging with history and culture, and felt that your honeymoon should be built off of your shared interests. During your meticulous wedding planning, it was decided New Orleans would be the honeymoon destination. It didn’t hurt that you missed your southern roots too, even if you weren’t from New Orleans.

Traveling with EZ is a dream considering you’re both pretty organized, together people. He’s not afraid of flying, but you’re always a little nervous.

EZ being Best Husband™️ and soothing even the most minor of your stresses by turning your attention to the excitement of your trip and your new relationship status.

Teasing EZ in-flight won’t get you Mile High Club initiated, because he finds it much more entertaining to punish you by letting you work the both of you up, and making you stay that way for the duration of the flight. He’s got enough will power to suffer through it, because your soft whines make it worth it.

The airbnb is everything it was promised to be, and you’d appreciate that later, but all you can think of is your husband when you step through the door. That’s the other half of why EZ likes to leave you waiting. Your aggression and exclusive desire for him gets, and keeps, him hard.

It rains the following day, which is just as well, because neither of you are quite ready to stop physically expressing your love for each other. The day consists of ordering food, falling out of your clothes and onto each other, separating to read, falling back on each other, and quick naps.

Angel sending mocking texts in your Reyes group about how you’re trying to turn his brother bamma like you, only to stop when you threaten him with no souvenirs.

EZ and you taking responsibility for your own tour because let’s face it, you both know exactly what you want to see, and can plan a more satisfying tour for the both of you. You take turns deciding where to go next.

When it’s his turn, EZ picks an art museum, and can’t quit smiling about it. You think it’s because he picked a place he really wanted to go to.

“Babe, I have a surprise for you.”

“What?” your excitement always makes EZ’s heart race with his own.

He hands you the guide brochure he picked up at the door, folded to the section he wants you to look at.

“Faith Ringgold exhibit?!”

He hums and nods, grunting when you knock into him with a hug.

“Thank you for thinking of me. I love you.” you look up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears and he just kisses you, afraid he’ll cry if he says anything.

The two of you avoid the tourist trap spots for lunch and find a cute family owned cafe. You order for the both of you based on what you know about southern cuisine and both of your tastes.

You love watching EZ fall in love with the food as he keeps asking “Can you make this?” about everything he eats.

The two of you walking through the Garden District in the evening. Hands swinging between you with no plans but to admire the beautiful homes and foliage.

EZ noting how awestruck you are, and you describing what you love about the historic, towering homes.

He catches that when you describe what your dream home in the area would be, he and your future children are mentioned frequently, and it makes butterflies dance in his stomach. He can picture your family in the yards around him.

The two of you almost make it back to your Airbnb, but give into your baser urges after all the domestic conversation. EZ pulls you into an alley for a quickie, the two of you fighting to silence the other’s vocal expression.

You teasing EZ after that he’s more like his brother than he thinks. Him teasing back the two of you would’ve been caught and arrested if he was like Angel.

The following day is relaxed and less planned. The both of you getting thoughtful gifts for each member of your family, blood and otherwise. EZ scores major points for the gifts he suggests for your mom and dad, and you kind of want to jump him again.

EZ is glad you’re impressed, but it’s nothing to him. It all comes naturally because he loves you so much, and refuses to be anything other than the husband he knows you deserve.

AN:

I didn’t want to add this, cuz I wanted to end on a sweet note, but you just know Angel would accidentally send that vid to one of his boys.

Personally, I lose it for shit like this. Anything domestic in writings is my jam, so I decided to make these headcanons.

- Fun fact: Jet Ski is kind of like Bandaid in that it’s become the generic term for “personal water vehicles”, but it’s actually a specific brand’s name for their PWVs. I learned this while writing this enjoy💀.

#mayans mc #mayans imagine #angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #coco cruz #coco cruz x reader #ez reyes #ez reyes x reader #reader insert #angel reyes imagine #coco cruz imagine #ez reyes imagine

[aboyandhisstarship]

Kindergarten AU: car crash

Thanks to @dysphoric-artist for the prompt and proof reading

still written in a diary style  and () are still kid adding his thoughts in after the fact 

anyway without further ado lets hop into it 

Ok now, you may not unreasonably say something along the lines of “Mike, you have literally died, hundreds of times. A good chuck of which happened when you were just a kid…how are you not 8 different kinds of traumatized.” And I thank you for your concern (weird guy who is reading my diary…really who does that you would have to broke into my room and stole this thing…which is uncool in every state) to be frank, I am traumatized…but I can’t really tell anyone why, what am I going to tell a headshrinker?

 Headshrinker: so Mike…why don’t you talk to me about the tragic events at your kindergarten….”

Me:  *bursts out laughing* which one…the time I got killed by the principle…or bugs, or monty, or Cindy…or the janitor…or those weird monster things (this would go on for some time)

Headshrinker: uhhh, I think you’re crazy…off to the crazy house!  (ok in fairness I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work this way…but I’m not exactly keen to find out.)

“Ok Mike” you may retort, “They might think you’re crazy…but you could be a superhero! Like the Flash, or Batman! They could call you….Reapto!”  (First off Random guy, Reapto? that’s the best you can come up with?) I tried that once to be the big hero…it can be rather hit or miss.

 High school parking lot:

Nugget said with a smile “if friend Mike, Friend Carla and the Pretty Lilly would be willing to accompany Nugget, we will indulge in some super…”

Nugget was interrupted by the loudest car screech I ever heard, my eyes went wide as felt massive pain and the air forced out of my chest.

I shoot up hyperventling as my alarm went off screaming a little bit too loudly “FUCK!”

My mother bless her soul, responded with an “I know you don’t want to go to school today young man but I will not tolerant such language.” (yea that was embarrassing)

I shook my self-off, and considered putting on a tally before deciding that it was a one off death adding to my journal *Don’t go to the parking lot after school Dummy* (normally I leave myself notes like this…and normally they are a lot more helpful, like don’t mix the red and green flowers it blows up the room you know useful stuff)

 Hallway, My high school:

I had been glancing at my watch about 4 times and Carla (Perceptive as she is) finally snapped “goddamn it Mike you got a date or something?”

I smiled awkwardly “what me no!?”

Lillie frowned “alright you are sketchy…”

Nugget nodded “friend Mike is definitely hiding something.”

A second later a car came crashing into the school slamming through several walls, nailing all 3 of us I paused briefly musing  “man I didn’t think the school was this badly built,” Before hitting the ground hard.

I woke up to the sound of my alarm and groaned grabbing my pillow throwing my face into it saying “not again!”

Before throwing himself out of bed grabbing his marker he added two marks onto my skin

5 loops later:

Ok I didn’t know the school was this badly built, guess what no matter where I was I got taken out by that car, the bathroom, Boom, the library, boom…I even skipped school once…I may have gotten grounded but I laughed thinking I had in fact won, only to get hit by a different car crossing the road, and looping. (I sometimes wonder if the universe hates me…)

But before I died I did get some valuable intel, I saw the death count (the entire school by the way…yea after this I wrote a strongly worded letter to the school board…again) but also the names of the folks in the car, two high school seniors…(now for the sake of timelines I can’t tell you who they are, but mike they didn’t die! Yea yea…just trust me the less anyone knows about the other timelines the better off we all are, tried that once when I first started looping…the planet literally exploded, so no names) so these teens who I dub….Bob and Bertha  crash and kill the whole school…and I need to find out why.

 So I approached the gang saying “alright sit down.”

Monty asked “what this about mike.” His voice clearly impaintent

so I lifted my arm showing the tally’s, that was it they were all ears as I explained “alright in exactly.” I glanced at my watch “4 and half hours, a car comes crashing into school and kill literally everyone, we need to stop that so ideas?”

Jerome proposed “maybe tell them?”

Buggs shook his head “real high and mighty types won’t listen to us.”

Lilly sighed “well they crashed into the building…so they clearly were not leaving it…”

Billy nodded “that’s right, that means they left are coming back for someone or something…we figure out what and bing bang boom.”

I pointed out “has it literally ever been that easy?”

Ted smiled “me and penny can think about cars, figure out what caused it.” Quickly blushing

Penny also blushed “I would love to Teddy…”

Felix cleared his throat “perhaps me and Cindy can get close to them ?”

Cindy smiled brightly (she had grown out of her bitchiness, but she was natural born queen bee, even if she was cool with us all the snobs and assholes in school love her.) “I can reach out…maybe find out what they have going on and more intel.”

I nodded “right find out what we can but tell me before it happens, so I can write it down.”

Everyone responded “right!”

I spent most of the loop with Monty and Carla using their connections to figure out if they were getting any drugs or other fun stuff to explain there “Skillful” driving (got em….yea ok not the best burn)

 Loop 12th:

I woke up with another groan “If I have to read another book about cars I am going to lose it!”

He glanced at his notes the car (a 66 Camaro…I swear those two are like a couple form the 60’s) and the other intel he had gathered from the others (they had indeed been indulging in drugs those bad bad boys and girls…ok I’m not one to talk, seeing  the number of crimes I have technically committed…but those were other timelines…and you know what let’s not go down that rabbit hole)  but the issue was simple, they had indeed nought some weed from Carla and monty’s secretive network (I never asked) but had not in fact gotten it yet, so the question still stood as to what exactly caused it.

 Nugget hole:

The Lair  (Ozzy wanted to call it that)  is what we call our base of operation’s,  I have been spending my time shooting down ideas that we already tried and smiling with evil glee whenever I  make ted and penny work together (honestly I want to yell make out already whenever I see them) but then it hit us, instead of stopping the car crash maybe we should stop them leaving.

 Now mike, you are likely saying, I literally thought of that after like the third loop, first off no you didn’t you liar, (seeing as we didn’t even know who they were then) also, this loop was different normally there are multiple things that need doing to affect a change in the timeline, so it is almost never that easy (ohh jee mister principle, the star athlete and his girl are going to skip class and kill us all ohh geee, yea real convincing huh?)  there was of course the factor, that our group (ok just me) were not exactly popular around school or town, they called us the kinder busters (pretty badass name right?...yea I don’t dig it either) so people consider us bad luck (to be fair…we did end up at two schools run by crazy kidnappers in a row…if that is not unlucky I don’t know what is.)so we needed a couple of people that will actually be believed, now 3 guesses of who my friends who Is the most likely to believed about that kind of thing?

Cindy? Well no seeing as she has her queen bee rep they may think that she is “fronting” (there words not mine…I shuddered just thinking about them trying to street)

Bugs? (HAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHAHAHA *snort* HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA…wait your serious… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA)

Carla or Monty (better, but no joy they are bit to up to something…we need purist faces.)

Ok by now you have either guess correctly (good job!) or are yelling at the page, “stop teasing me mike and tell me!”

And naturally the answer is Ted and Penny, (I mean have you seen those faces! Who could say no to them?!)

Of course I had to convince them to do it.

 Nugget hole:

Ted asked “are you sure about this?”

I smiled “of course I am…ninty percent sure this will work.”

Penny smiled “relax Teddy this will be fine.”

I pulled out 5 dollars “here you go get yourselves some ice cream afterwards.”

Ted pointed out “you know I’m a billionaire right…”

Penny took the five dollars saying “deal! Come on Teddy.”

Now you dear reader may be sitting there thinking “that was easy, that’s it, what no boss fight, no dramatic showdown, no sweet groundhog day style montage where you do whatever you want?” (that was happened…more on that later)

My rebuttal to that dear sir, is screw you  let me have this, alright most of time when I start looping I have to fight monsters and a whole thing so I think I earned a nice break, but you might be sitting thinking “that was anti-climactic! Did Ted and Penny at least go on a date!?”

My answer to that is a yes… and no, you see both told me (under the promise to never tell a soul after the loop) they also sadly made me promise not tell the other person, now you may say Mike…after the loop they would not remember, you can pull a sneaky and just tell them that they like each other, and while you are right I don’t for a couple of reasons, number one being I keep my promises, number 2 is they would think I am messing with them (I know right those oblivious idoits.)

But sadly this journal is not a relationship journal of ted and penny (sorry guys, but this supposed to be a record of loops) but I will quietly disclose that they may have been a kiss on the cheek (I screamed I tell you)  of course they are still claiming to be friends in front of us but I don’t buy it…anyway I should proably end this entry…

So thanks for reading? (I mean you are reading a private journal…so I don’t know why you are reading this)

Mike June 26 20XX

#kindergarten game #nugget kindergarten #monty kindergarten #ted kindergarten #carla kindergarten #penny kindergarten #lilly kindergarten #Ted X Penny #Kid Kindergarten #Cindy Kindergarten #as always feed back and prompts are welcome #this verse is really fun to write for so fire em my way

[galacticgarbagedump-blog]

Stan x Reader: I'll Always Remember

You stood at the bus stop next to Kenny as usual, though you appeared to be thinking of something, stuck in your own world and staring into space, ignoring the argument between Kyle and Cartman about who was a bigger bitch. That is, unless someone were to follow your line of sight to see that you were stunned at Stan walking hand in hand with Wendy to the stop, standing right beside you. All talking ceased as everyone turned to look at Stan, who was giggling and whispering to his- new, again- girlfriend.

Cartman groaned, throwing his hands up. "Dude, seriously!?" Kyle could only cringe at the sight of them being together yet again, and Kenny was rolling his eyes, a harsh look on his exposed features. You merely cleared your throat and smiled politely at them, sticking your hand out for Wendy to shake. "Hey Wendy, what brings you here?" God you were trying so hard to be nice to this girl, I mean she had broken your best friend's heart every other week since third grade, so it was kind of difficult for you.

You, however, would grin and bear anything if it made your friends happy.

Wendy smiled gleefully and with (fake) enthusiasm, shook your hand. "Oh, Stan wanted to walk with me to take the bus, since we don't see each other enough!" She giggled and looked at Stan doe-eyed. Stan smiled bashfully and nodded. "Yeah, I thought it'd be a good change of pace, since, y'know, Wendy never takes the bus and I only hang out with you guys in the mornings, so I figured you wouldn't mind."

Cartman huffed. "Well, news flash for you two hippie fuckers, we do mind. Go make out with your whore girlfriend somewhere else, where nobody has to look at you gross faces." Stan scoffed. "Just because you're still stuck in third grade and you're afraid of cooties doesn't mean everyone else is, right?" Kyle shrugged, clearly not wanting to upset his super best friend, and Kenny looked ahead, not responding though clearly annoyed. You nodded. "Of course not, just ignore Cartman. You two are really cute together." Okay, you were lying, you hated Wendy with a burning passion and you knew for a fact that the feeling was mutual, but you didn't want to call attention to it because you also knew for a fact that drama was utterly annoying and exhausting.

Cartman said nothing more, but he looked at you as though you had just grown two heads. Kyle looked at you in a concerned manner and Kenny patted your shoulder sympathetically, shaking his head sadly. All three of them knew of your crush on Stan, but you threatened to cut off their balls if they ever told anyone and they knew you would do it. Cartman struggled, but complied anyways after you gave him a few bags of Cheesypoofs and an entire chocolate cake. (That you had to spend you allowance on, but you expected nothing less from Cartman.)

After the bus had rolled up and you had gotten to school relatively safely, you immediately headed to class, skipping any conversation or greetings and sitting at your desk, pulling out your phone to read some fanfiction before class started. As you had predicted though, a flash of purple caught your eye and you were forced to look up from your phone to view Wendy's irritated expression. You blinked slowly, trying to think of what you might had done to upset the admittedly rash and overbearing, but still tolerable, girl in front of you. "Ye-" "Listen here, I don't know what you're planning by trying to act all sweet and innocent around Stan, but you need to stop. Don't think I haven't noticed the looks you give each other and the flirty ass way you talk to him." She cut you off, huffing and glaring at you.

"Flirty- wh, Wendy I'm genuinely just trying to support your relationship, I swear I'm not planning anything, do I look like Cartman to you?" She looked as though she were thinking, hesitantly speaking again. "Well, you do hang out with him a lot, so I guess I just kind of figured..." You gave her a soft, reasoning smile, one that a mother would give her child, and placed a hand gently on hers. "I'm not like that girl, I'm not two faced, I promise. Why would I try to break apart two people who are happy together?" She paused for another moment, before nodding, and smiling at you. "You're right. Let's just... Be friends from now on, okay?" You grinned, and even though you didn't really like her, you supposed you could make an attempt, and nodded. "Friends we are!"

She giggled softly, and then reached into her bag. "Well, since we're friends, I can give you this!" She handed you a baby pink invitation letter. "Bebe and I are throwing a party this weekend at her house, since her parents are out of town working. Do you maybe want to come?" You checked the date and nodded, you had no plans ever so it wouldn't really be an issue. "Of course- ah, that's the bell. You should sit down before Mr. Garrison has a hissy fit. But I'll definitely be there." She grinned and gave you a thumbs up before heading back to her own seat, seemingly pleased with herself.

*-*-*-

You had never regretted a decision more in your life. You had taken one step inside the house and already the music was hurting your ears with its volume, and the smell of alcohol and weed burned your nostrils. You figured that all you had to do was say hi to Wendy and then get the hell out of there though, so you grit your teeth and bared it, looking for those familiar locks of raven hair. However, before you could get to her, she was already in front of the stereo and the music had been turned off, mic in her hand and gathering everyone's attention until they were completely silent. "Now, I know I told you guys I had a very special guest coming, right?" "Yeah!" Everyone else chorused. No, you didn't remember that. An odd sense of dread filled your stomach, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You had a feeling you already knew where this was going, and that you had just been tricked. "Well, here they are! (Y/n), come on up!" You slowly and silently stepped towards her. She was using her cheerleader voice. You hated that voice.

"Everyone, meet the gullible piece of shit who's been trying to steal my man from day one! Bebe, if you will." The blonde seemed hesitant, what with your paled, fearful expression, though she puled the rope she gripped in her palms anyways, and suddenly your vision was gone. You screamed hysterically, wiping at your eyes and looking down at yourself, half-sobbing half-trying to speak. Everyone else seemed just as shocked as you, and somewhat disgusted. Your eyes landed on Stan's blue orbs, and you silently pleaded for him to stop her. Thankfully, he shook himself out of his stupor and turned to his girlfriend. "Wendy, stop, what the fuck are you-" "HEIDI!" The girl pulled another rope and your vision was once again stolen from you momentarily. Glitter and feathers covered you head to toe, and you were an emotional train wreck. Wendy was laughing, but nobody else was. They knew she could be mean, but this was going too far. Your friends who had shown up immediately rushed to your aid, trying to wipe everything off of you. Cartman complained about it the whole time, though he looked as worried as everyone else. Even those who didn't know you existed asked if you were alright. Wendy scoffed. "Oh come on, we all know that was hilarious."

Stan was frantically trying to comfort you, soothing words escaping his lips, telling you everything was alright. "Stan, don't help them! Come on, babe-" "Don't fucking call me that." She flinched at the venom in his voice. "What do you-" "We're done. For good this time." Her violet eyes flashed with momentary hurt before narrowing in anger. "What the fuck ever, I didn't need you anyways!" She tried to step over to Bebe, but the blonde only shook her head and walked towards you, apologizing repeatedly and telling Wendy to get off of her property. After assuring that Wendy was gone and you could at least walk, Stan gripped your hand tightly in reassurance and led you out of the house after letting everyone know he was taking you home and that he'd make sure you were alright. On the way, he never once let you go, and started talking about small things to help get your mind off of what had happened a few minutes before, understanding that you wouldn't respond much. "You know, now that I think of it, I don't know why I kept going back to Wendy. Maybe it was because I felt like she was the only person who'd always be there for me to turn back to. But... I think I realized something about a month ago. There's this one person who's always there for me no matter what, and.... doesn't use me for popularity or to buy them new things. And today, just now actually, a thought hit me really hard. I've always known what little crushes felt like, but I've never experienced love before. And I think this might be it. I think I'm in love with them."

Your chest tightened and you looked away, choking back a painful sob. Why was he telling you this? You knew he was just trying to help, but it honestly only worsened your foul mood. "Hey, don't cry, did.. I say something bad...?" He paused for a long moment, and took in a deep breath, his features creased with anxiousness and worry. "Hey, (y/n)? Do you know what love feels like?" His grip on your hand tightened as you nodded, and he swallowed thickly. "I hope... I hope it's when you're around me. I know that- that this is kind of sudden and stupid of me to say, but I don't know if I'll ever get this chance again, so I... I want you to know that, I'm in love with you..." He trailed of, looking into your eyes. You don't remember when you two had stopped walking, or when you had pulled him in, but you do remember the way his lips felt against yours, and the way the world had seemed to stop revolving for that one moment. You remember the way you two laughed together afterwards because the glitter had smeared all over Stan's face and jacket, and the way that he had told you you two were matching now, and that you had never been so happy before in your entire life. You'll always remember your first and last kiss.

And you'll definitely remember Wendy's face when you walked into the school together hand-in-hand and happy as you could ever be.

#i wrote this like 2 days ago #yeet #south park #south park imagine #south park x reader #stan marsh #south park stan #x reader #reader insert #stan marsh x reader

[violetsystems]

#personal

The most momentous thing that happened this week was the payment for my health insurance depositing.  I guess you could also include the president catching covid-19 in there too.  In an era where staying safe is the new bling, I’m not too worried about the funding.  I spent the first day of October in a spreadsheet budgeting out everything cash forward for the first time in forever.�� Most of the heavy lifting has been taken care of without much advice or counsel from anyone.  I spent the entire summer mostly alone in this struggle when it comes to real life, mental health and taxes.  On the eve of my health insurance benefit running out from my old employer, I ran into someone I used to work with outside of a church in Pilsen.  I was out doing laundry at the time and as I passed quickly they acknowledged me silently.  I nodded and kept walking.  I could only imagine what they wanted to say and the window for that kind of thing went out with the weather.  The next day an old employee finally responded to my message on LinkedIn from the 15th of September.  I had left my number there plain as day in that very same message.  They had said they tried contacting me on Facebook.  I don’t use it and had deleted it over a year ago along with Instagram and Twitter as of recently.  I had told people countless times in the office I had deleted most of my social media and my stance on privacy in IT.  The conversation ended abruptly from there much like my employment.  A fishing expedition gone wrong.  The reality of everything became clearer when I left the bank after rolling over a portion of a lump sum to an IRA.  There are opportunities in everything.  A great side effect of the Heroes act passed by Congress was that my pension benefit was easier to melt down with less penalties.  The simple fact that I even had a pension after working twenty years was a red line on somebody’s balance sheet somewhere.  You just wish it wouldn’t have been in the eyes of those who champion art and fairness.  This is where rich people always fall short.  Beyond the news of our president taking a sixteen year loss on his tax returns, I’ve read even more troubling things.  A billionaire criticizing a billionaire for implementing a fair tax law in Illinois.  I voted for that even after staring at the measly amount of retirement I’ve had to turn into my living expenses as taxable income for this year.  The other right leaning billionaire shuffled his prized Basquiat piece into the museum in a rush to open between donating for Rubio and Cruz’s political campaigns.  I often take breaks between researching tax law to wonder just how much of that is tax deductible.  That billionaire also got rich with the aid of family ties during the market crash of the nineties.  If all this money is tied up in politics and absolved from taxes where can you expect democracy to fit in?  Possibly somewhere nestled in my quiet little cottage overlooked by the public transit system.  Everyone morning I get emails.  Mostly from LinkedIn telling me about more jobs in China I’d be a good fit for.  

All the while getting bullied by recruiters, headhunters, venture capitalists and the fringe tribes in this city that work for them and not taxpayers like myself.  Not much time to enjoy video games or life at all with all this bullshit on my mind.  I do have conversations with people in passing that don’t suck.  I mostly stay in the neighborhood these days though I do shop downtown.  I passed a kid in a bootleg Chanel mask outside of a bodega I never explored.  I asked him where he got it somewhat stilted as he was caught off guard.  An older version of me would have never had the confidence to approach a situation like that.  It took a couple of tries but he mumbled that he got it inside.  I said I’d stop back later and did after a stop at the ATM.  The owner seemed guarded and suspicious.  He told me he was sold out but to come back in the next two days.  I came back on that Tuesday to discover he now only had Nike masks for sale.  I told him about my job search and we joked about loss prevention.  He said he might have more in the future and to stop back.  There was an honest connection that I made by pushing myself and being confident.  Something that was tied to the future and not my past that I cannot seemingly escape.  I’m not really all that comfortable with what’s happened in my past.  The real depressing realization lately has been exactly how hard it is to escape society’s plan for you.  The easiest way is to walk away from it.  That’s hard to do sometimes in America for any amount of reasons.  For myself, I was saddled with a lot of bad decisions that were made out of earnest.  I helped people financially.  I took jobs for passion and not for money.  I got paid less than what I was worth.  Now I look at the Chicago market and people are looking for Senior auditor positions at my old non-profit salary.  Soulless corporate work for the sake of galvanizing and restructuring purchases by capitalists in a crumbling utopia.  Meanwhile Vice Media is the top search for my profile on the job site.  All the while people still pretend that I don’t exist unless I play by their sociopathic rules that reward bullies.  And the game has gotten old and unfair.  The cards up the sleeve are starting to show.  And for myself, the only revolution has been staying alive, fed and happy in the face of absolute failure of leadership and vision.  The irony of bootleg masks and my attention to them is that the pandemic is not over.  There is no vaccine.  People are going back to the office to fill vast properties tied to investments that rich people are losing money rapidly on.  Old money isn’t agile.  It’s wrapped up in fairy tale land hustles that make pyramid schemes look like an endless tesseract of panama papers.  I was listening to a podcast that described the money laundering discovered in the FinCEN files as “old news.”  Old news is the new fake news.  The last twenty years of my life is old news to most people.  And yet three months later, people want to kick me around like a can for gossip and worse.  I don’t really trust anything other than the money in my bank account at this point.  I did vote by mail.  I trust that got counted because I received an email from the city.  I also trust that people trust me.  I hold myself accountable.  I have the taxes set aside for my pension with little or no deductions or losses to prove it.  Who is really fucked at the end of the day?  

Granted my Bohemian lifestyle has an expiration date.  It’s a year past October 1st when my COBRA runs out.  I don’t think anybody would hold it against you if you stayed out of the job market until a vaccine was out there.  The simple fact is could you afford it?  I can by burning my pension benefit to ash.  I didn’t buy a car or anything.  I bought a laptop.  I didn’t treat myself.  Most of that disposable income goes to paying health insurances premiums that cost as much as my rent per month.  I have that rent, utilities, and health insurance set aside liquid past that date.  And it seems like I have all the answers without having to claim I’m unemployed.  And yet everybody is still trying to game and hustle me into something I’m not quite aware of.  Everybody trusts rich old money that sits on a mountain of cash everybody is addicted to.  Nobody speaks to me other than here in my dash.  And it’s a telling sign the only people in life I really trust are phantoms and avatars that I’ve come to know over the years.  I don’t for the record think anything in America is normal right now.  Not after this entire situation with the virus and the president succumbing to it.  So I’ve simply taken to what I know is bankable.  That person is me.  I trust me.  I’ve kept myself alive and healthy.  I feel sexier.  Less bogged down by the opinions of people who never stop to remember what social media platforms I’ve dropped off and why.  I’ve listened to the community I’ve been a part of for years on this site particularly.  Been a responsible and transparent adult to people regardless of their age, orientation, religious or political beliefs.  And I’ve become a more tolerant and fulfilled person because of it.  I make choices that I feel people on here would respect.  I don’t have much to hide other than a voracious appetite for weed on occasion.  I am stressed and lost in all of this.  But strangely I’ve felt more connected to real people out there.  And I explore through that confidence and try to be the hero everyone here expects me to be.  And in that it’s pretty much the same old Tim.  Except I’m not stressed out about working for a goal and a vision that doesn’t respect what I want to be.  I spend a lot of time working on myself and my surroundings.  I ordered new curtains for the living room.  I cook dinner on the stove and make coffee in the sunlight of a cozy kitchen with forced heat and air.  I don’t have any debt anymore to speak of.  I’ve been breathing through that space to see myself independently of everything.  And yet I’m still attached to things I cannot explain even if I tried.  The good news is nobody who knows the truth behind me ever feels the need to ask.  They just show support.  And real support lately throughout this nightmare is out there for me.  It’s pretty hard not to see.  Bright pink as far as the eye can see.  At least I’m no longer in the red.  <3 Tim

[killprettymagazine]

Never Again - An Edible Marijuana Horror Story

“Never again” is a phrase that you should utter with decreasing frequency as you mature: You should learn from your mistakes.  When you’re a kid, the world is full of sparkly phenomena, and you have not yet accrued enough disappointments to employ skepticism in investigating the seemingly endless sources of sparkle.  When you’re nine-years-old, for instance, you may not have yet learned that candied apples are detestable pieces of shit.  Imagine a giant apple that you can hold on a stick, like a king with a goddamned scepter, encapsulated by a reflective deep red coating.  Just the sound it must make when you bite into it, that crunch – you’re left with no choice but to force your parent or legal guardian to buy you one.  Then you try one.  It turns out that you can’t eat this magical apple like you would a regular apple, expecting each bite to be covered by a proportionate coating of candy, because hard candy doesn’t break like that; it shatters into many hostile shards of candy that annihilate your teeth.  It turns out, shards.  It turns out that if you wanted to, you could theoretically break the apple and use it as a fucking weapon.  And all that work and torture went into unearthing the most flavorless, soul-crushing apple variety: A Granny Smith.  Is it any wonder that so many of us develop trust issues as adults?

Sometimes, after experiencing a never again situation, you’re struck by a wave of amnesia and get pushed back into a neutral pre-trauma state.  Unfortunately, when this happens, the universe is burdened with the task of correcting you in a more memorable manner.

A few months ago, I suffered a bout of this type of amnesia during an ill-fated trip to a pot dispensary.  While there, I was brazen enough to pose the question, “Why don’t I ever get edibles when I shop here?” 

(As a side note, yes, I used the word “shop” in this context: While I am an avid believer in the medicinal benefits of pot, whose properties are vastly complex, visiting a dispensary sure doesn’t feel very medically official. You’d be hard-pressed to find a medication called “Alaskan Thunderfuck” at a conventional pharmacy). 

After interacting with the budtender at the dispensary - whose white lab coat, long Zen master’s beard and cosmic presence made me feel like I was talking to God - I got home and prepared for an epic night.  I purchased a ribeye that was so beautiful that I felt like I should apologize to it for the mess in my kitchen.  I was going to cook it sous vide at 130 degrees and then sear it to perfection in clarified butter.  Coltrane’s Giant Steps.  16-year-old single malt Macallan.  Porn, probably.  I ate half of one of the grown-up lozenges that I procured and risky-business’ed my way into the shower.

As I dried off with a towel, I felt the first signs of tingling in my toes; a very welcome sensation. About 20 minutes later, as I was tinkering with the immersion circulator, I still only felt the tingling.  “Shouldn’t I be giggling by now?” I wondered, “I’m preparing a bath for a steak while wearing a robe and I have a mustache.  I look like I’m about to fuck this steak.”  But my high seemed to be reaching stasis and I was not about to settle for the smooth jazz of evenings after dropping $25 on a single piece of meat.  I popped the other half of the lozenge in my mouth and proceeded with my grooming routine as the steak-bath reached temperature.

By the time the immersion circulator reached 130 degrees, a smile appeared on my face.  “That’s more like it,” I thought, “now I can honor the bull that was sacrificed for this evening appropriately.”  I would have never guessed that the next five hours of my life would consist of scrotum-gripping dread.

The first signs of trouble appeared as I removed the steak from the butcher paper in preparation for its bath.  I unwrapped the packet and stared in horror at the practically pulsating piece of flesh that I was about to consume.  I must have stared at the thing for the better part of five minutes.  “Oh, Christ,” I thought, “Not again.  I’ve already been through this – I’m not going to become a vegetarian.”  But I could not tolerate the idea of eating this steak so I wrapped it back up and returned it to the fridge, where I hoped it would be safe from whatever awful force was possessing me.  I opted for a couple of potatoes that I “baked” in the microwave.

As the potatoes cooked, which could have occupied anywhere from a few minutes to several weeks, I noticed that I could feel my heart beating in my chest without touching it.  “Does it always do that?” I wondered.  Suddenly concerned, I elected to take my own pulse; I placed my index and middle fingers on my wrist and started counting.  I kept losing my place and had to start over, again and again, which it turned out did not help my anxiety.  But I’m not a quitter; I would take my own pulse come hell or high water.  As I counted, it occurred to me that I had no clue about what constituted a normal or an abnormal pulse.  “Who do I think I am,” I thought, “a fucking doctor?”  But I continued to count for some reason.  My efforts were then interrupted by a heinously loud siren, which catapulted me out of my kitchen chair.  “JESUS CHRIST!” I exclaimed.  I no longer had to check my pulse; I knew that it was off the charts at this point.  I was on the verge of weeping from fear – then I realized that my potatoes were done.

I opened the microwave door to retrieve my potatoes, which now resembled the wrinkly testicles of a 90-year-old, and realized that I did not have enough saliva in my mouth to move my tongue, let alone to eat potatoes – the driest of root vegetables.  I shut the door, imprisoning the potatoes in the microwave.  It was time to lie down.  

“This lozenge is very, very mellow,” the budtender at the dispensary said.  “You’ll hardly notice that you’re high,” he said.  “One might not even be enough for you,” he said.  As the second half of the lozenge high-fived the first that was already reclining in a La-Z-Boy somewhere in my amygdala, I fantasized about finding that budtender, yanking him by his wizard’s beard and screaming, “IS THIS WHAT YOU MEANT BY ‘VERY, VERY MELLOW,’ YOU FECKLESS TURD?”  I wanted to strap him into a “good vibe” equivalent of an electric chair and pump him with the strongest possible current of good vibes until he exploded into a supernova of ineffectuality.  Because I wasn’t mellow, I was going to die.  I’m not using the phrase “going to die” to indicate that I was in any actual danger, nor in a histrionic Morrissey sense (…and you go home and you cry and you want to die).  No, as far as I knew, I was dying. 

I’ve danced around the rainbow of anxiety experiences in my life, including several shades located in the “bad pot trip” wavelength.  Most pot anxiety I’ve experienced, while often terrible, is usually short-lived: You smoke, the effects come on and intensify rapidly, you panic, you take a benzodiazepine (at least if you’re me) and 15 minutes later you’re back to watching cat videos on YouTube and eating pretzels.  Easy as pie.  This, on the other hand, was like some archaic form of corporal punishment – like being chained to a giant rock and then pushed off a cliff into the sea.

I was now curled up in the fetal position on my bed, my whole body trembling violently; I was a six-foot vibrator.  “W-w-when will it stop?” I might have said out loud.  The Ativan wasn’t working.  It occurred to me that I had no idea how much time had elapsed since I had placed the tiny pill under my tongue so I grabbed a small alarm clock that was on my nightstand and placed it right in front of my face on the opposite pillow.  It looked like the clock and I had just finished making love.  Then I realized that tracking time might not be such a great idea so I buried the clock under the covers and proceeded with my trembling regimen.   

At this point, my anxiety was so severe that my perception of reality started to waver; I felt like I was in a movie or a dream.  I was so scared that nothing around me seemed real and, every time I thought my fear could not become any more severe, I was proven wrong.  “Aren’t I supposed to be enlightened by now?” I wondered.  I was hitherto under the impression that if I would experience a state of fear that was adequately extreme, I would ultimately be led into a state of oceanic tranquility and be one with the cosmos.  “That Alan Watts didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about!” I thought. 

It was now 1:23 AM according to the clock that I hid under the covers.  My anxiety was not letting up and I was hallucinating.  I needed to talk to someone, preferably a human.  I needed to hear something other than my auditory hallucinations or the sound of my absurdly dry “NPR” mouth, the latter of which was really starting to grate on my nerves.  I didn’t want to call any relatives because I was worried about being chided for my weed blunder.  I called one of my friends but he was busy.  Then I suddenly remembered a recent conversation with another friend who, upon learning that I was going through a bad breakup, made the mistake of telling me that I could call him whenever I wanted if I needed to talk. 

“Did I wake you?” I asked.  “Umm, no,” he groaned in response.  “Yes, I did.”  Silence.  “I’m having the worst anxiety attack I’ve ever had.  I’m gonna die.”  “You’re not going to die.  Just breathe.”  The conversation consisted mainly of me proclaiming that I was going to die and my friend telling me that I was not dying.  He eventually tried to distract me by transitioning to other subjects but I could not focus on what he was saying.  At one point, it occurred to me that he was talking about Jeff Goldblum for a reason that was beyond my comprehension to such an extent that I considered taking another Ativan.  If I was going to die, I really hoped that my last conversation would not be about Jeff Goldblum.

After about 40 minutes on the phone, multiple references to Jeff Goldblum and several hundred “I’m gonna die’s,” I felt an internal release.  Finally, after about five hours of swimming through the rectum of the psychedelic spectrum, I was free.  I suddenly realized that my friend was still talking.  Eventually, noting my silence he asked, “You doing better?”  “I think so,” I said, “I’m starving now.”  I remembered that I still had those delicious wrinkled potatoes.  While cradling the phone on my shoulder, I walked over to the kitchen and opened the microwave door.  The potatoes looked like Guantanamo Bay detainees.  I suddenly remembered Obama’s quote, “…under my administration the United States does not torture” and started laughing maniacally.  I couldn’t breathe.  I tried to share this thought with my friend.  “I’m going to sleep,” he responded.  I continued laughing when I got off the phone.  I ate the potatoes and went to sleep, occasionally bursting into laughter in the dark. 

The next day I woke up and treated myself to a ribeye breakfast.  As I chewed the steak, I reflected on the events of the previous evening and wondered, “Was that a valuable experience?”  I concluded that it might have been but only in the crudest sense.  It would be like saying that the experience of intentionally hitting yourself in the balls was a valuable experience because it taught you not to do that.  Would you really have to be doubled in pain to figure that one out?  Still, I can say with gusto that I would sooner wipe my ass with a cactus than ever ingest another edible.  Never, ever again.

#edible #marijuana #horror #axiety #funny

[bungou-stray-dogs-indulgences]

In honor of the holiday, I bring you: 4/20 headcanons. For the sake of getting everyone together assume it’s a college AU (or at least something where they can meet without a gang war). In the words of illustrious former president Barack Obama: “Pass the reefer, Joe.”

ADA

Dazai Osamu:

Shows up to work blasted out of his mind but handling his high rather well. He invites everyone to chill at his place after they’re all off the clock, and although he doesn’t outright say what for, his ‘you know what day it is’ comments whenever someone points out his firetruck red eyes make it perfectly clear just what’s happening at in Dazai’s apartment tonight. In honor of the holiday he swears to stick to only marijuana but ends up sneaking out his window to a next door 7/11′s bathroom so that he can secretly chew a few mushies.

Nakajima Atsushi: 

has no idea that 420 is anything besides a normal unit of measurement, and is completely appalled when he shows up to Dazai’s prepared for a laid back evening with his friends only to find smoke pouring out of the windows and no less than three gallon-sized Ziploc bags bursting with marijuana sitting on Dazai’s kitchen counter. Despite his initial shock, Atsushi eventually warms up to this marijuana extravaganza and somehow winds up in a ‘how many hits can you take before you can’t feel your face’ contest with Tachihara (right after he wins he curls up on the floor for a ‘five minute nap’ which morphs into him spending the whole next day asleep on Dazai’s bedroom floorboards.).

Kunikida Doppo: 

Insists he is not, under any circumstances, attending Dazai’s get-together. He shows up anyway and smokes about two blunts’ worth before throwing in the towel. Unsurprisingly, he’s the least affected and ends up being the one running around stopping Tachihara from trying to backflip out of a second story window “because Dazai dared him to”. Despite the fact that he’s the worst out of literally every single licensed driver at the party, he takes everyone home because he’s at least composed enough to not shout “STOP LIGHTS ARE ONLY A SUGGESTION” as he blows through every other intersection and drive 55 in a strictly 30mph zone.

Edogawa Ranpo:

Refuses to take his weed in anything but infused gummy bears. Ends up passing out in the middle of the living room floor an hour into the party because he liked the way the candy tasted and downed the entire bag within five minutes. Understandably, he doesn’t show up to work for the next three days.

Akiko Yosano:

Has the tolerance of a native Californian. Yosano insists on edibles because she doesn’t want to wreck her lungs and ends up downing about three brownies, all of which are slathered in cookie butter that’s way too potent to be storebought. When she finally gets properly high she’s incredibly horny and is sending bedroom eyes at every single legal female in a ten mile radius. Disappears from Dazai’s place early (probably to take a pretty little thing home for some private fun).

Tanizaki Junichirou: 

Waits until everyone else has taken what they want before he takes a hit because he wants to be doubly sure everyone gets enough. He plans on getting incredibly high but ends up only smoking one joint because he has to keep Naomi from breaking Dazai’s table lamp and crying.

Tanizaki Naomi:

Gets ridiculously high after only about two inhales. Tries to convince Tanizaki to shotgun a few breaths with her. After Kunikida demands that the weed party stays an incest-free zone she considers slapping him but decides to lay down on the couch and get scarily invested in reality TV shows instead. Tanizaki’s forced to bring her home after she sneaks some of Ranpo’s gummies and starts tweeting at RuPaul.

Fukuzawa Yukichi:

Is not invited because he’s the boss, but is still completely aware everyone’s going crazy at Dazai’s apartment. Texts Kunikida to tell him to make sure nobody ends up waking up in a holding cell the next morning, but otherwise doesn’t say anything about the whole thing. Considers smoking a bowl full before bed to reminisce about the ‘good old days’ when he went a bit overboard himself, but decides it’s not worth the effort.

Izumi Kyouka:

Tagged along with Atsushi because she’s exponentially more aware of the fact that the party’s just one giant community bong and like any middle-schooler, is curious. Tries to sneak a blunt but keeps getting thwarted by Kunikida who always manages to snatch it away from her and mumble something about teenage delinquents being out of control. Eventually gets ahold of a brownie, has two bites, and dumps it behind Dazai’s TV stand because it tastes nasty. Still, she manages to get a pretty solid high and gets Atsushi nearly in tears because bringing her to this party ‘destroyed her innocence’.

Port Mafia

Akutagawa Ryunosuke:

Was not invited because the place is going to be smoggier than a cheap strip club with new smoke generators and his lungs would disintegrate if he got within five miles of Dazai’s apartment. Naturally, though, since Dazai’s the host he’s not going to pass up this chance and sneaks in through an open second story window. Downs about four brownies so he doesn’t have to smoke and then wanders around, trying to find Dazai until the weed kicks in. Then he just sits on the floor, spacing out with a blank expression on his face until a ‘philosophical’ thought crosses his mind (”Why do they market trash bags as trash bags? Really, they’re only normal bags until you put trash in them.)

Nakahara Chuuya:

Also was not invited, but specifically told to stay away (by Dazai, naturally). He sneaks in anyway because this is a perfect opportunity to wreck some of Dazai’s shit; everyone’s going too stoned to keep him from Levi-kicking Dazai’s TV stand, he figures. After noticing some mutual friends he ends up getting sidetracked with a few bong hits, and before long he’s covered in chicks wanting to shotgun a few breaths. Decides to take a girl to bed in Dazai’s room because he knows Dazai’s going to flip his lid (and be forced to buy a new mattress) when he finds Chuuya rolling around naked in his sheets.

Higuchi Ichiyou:

Only showed up because she noticed Akutagawa climbing in through the window. Smokes about two blunts before she gets more relaxed than she’s ever been in her entire life and starts gossiping to Naomi about Akutagawa’s surprisingly shapely abs. When asked how she’s seen Akutagawa at least partially naked she turns red as a fire truck and immediately drives home to recover her dignity.

Tachihara Michizou

Loses control the second he steps through Dazai’s doorway. At one point was sighted with three entire blunts in his mouth and wearing Kenji’s hat (a strange garment option considering Kenji wasn’t even invited to the weed party). 

Akutagawa Gin

Chainsmokes for the majority of the time. Nobody knows how long she’s been sitting there on Dazai’s couch but the ashtray next to her has no less than five blunts in it. Eventually she stands up just long enough to say “Suck me off, you rust-headed band-aid fucker,” to Tachihara and then just leaves.

Motojirou Kaiji

Nobody can tell if he’s just smoked the entire medical marijuana population out of their prescription for three months or if he hasn’t touched a leaf. He’s just being... well, himself.

Mori Ougai

Definitely not invited; not only is he the less-nice boss out of the two uninvited bosses, but an out of control Mori is something no one wants to see. Considering the fact that even when he’s sober he likes his girls how he likes his memorized multiplication tables (twelve and under), there’s obviously a few screws loose and nobody wants to discover the effects of a drug-induced party craze.

#Still on hiatus but I couldn't pass up my favorite holiday #Bungou Stray Dogs #BSD Imagines #Dazai #Chuuya #Akutagawa #Atsushi #Tachihara #Gin #Naomi #Tanizaki #Kunikida #Kyouka #Kaiji #Higuchi #Fukuzawa #Yosano #Ranpo #Mori

[lycanwitch]

i’m just gonna rant and vent my feelings rn sorry but posting on here is my equivalent of screaming into the void

I started smoking cigarettes when I was 13. Why? Because I was young, curious, and stupid. Curiousity got the best of me and now 5 years later, I have to live with the addiction. I’ve tried to quit many times in the past but never followed through. You never know how bad addiction is until you deal with it first hand. I had no idea my choices back then would lead to these consequences because I was young and naive. “I wont get addicted” I would tell myself. Well, look where that got me lol.

I’ve been trying to take better care of myself and I know I shouldn’t be smoking. But god is it a hard thing stop. I always end up impulse buying cigarettes since I’m 18 and they’re readily available to me at any time. I dont want to waste my money on it but I keep doing it anyway. Every time I smoke a cigarette now I don’t enjoy it. I always get filled with dread whenever I light one up. But its the physical and mental addiction that keeps me doing it.

Lung cancer runs in my dad’s side of the family. My dad and his dad don’t have it, so ever since I found that out I’ve been paranoid that I’ll be the one that gets it, and I’m probably propelling it the more I smoke. A relative on my mom’s side was diagnosed with cancer and she had been smoking her whole life, which prompted my mom to give me the “i’m worried about you” talk. And yknow I understand why shes worried and she cares about my health but at the time it really upset me. She’s never known the extent of my addiction because I never talked to her about it. The only way she found out was that one time last summer when I went to the hospital because I was deeply suicidal. I wanted to scream at her, “you think i actually enjoy smoking? you dont know what I’m dealing with, you dont know how hard it is to quit” etc. and its hard when my only friends are heavy smokers too. Being around them makes me crave it more because they smoke so frequently during the day.

I dont know where I’m going with this but I want to stop so bad. I keep subconciously putting myself down which doesnt help and I cant control it when I do. I have depression, putting myself down is just something I do, something my brain naturally does. I’ve been trying so so hard to get my mind on the right track but. I feel like I always give in. Life fucking sucks right now and I wake up every morning wanting to kill myself and I’m so numb at this point substance abuse is the only thing keeping me stable. I hate cigarettes and I hate booze but when you develop a physical addiction to them both its a hard habit to kick. and even with weed, yknow I love weed and I genuinely believe its something good that can be used to help people but my mind does this thing where it just wants to be high all the time. I smoke 4+ bowls a day, jack up my tolerance, buy more weed, rinse and repeat. I’m blowing through $30-$50 worth of weed every few days. I’m going to really force myself to take a break though, and I really want to discipline myself into smoking no more than 2 a day. And since you can’t get physically addicted to weed it’s been easier, somewhat, but still strains me mentally. If theres anything you take away from this: please dont start smoking cigarettes. dont start drinking. you’re risking your health by doing it and it should never be an emotional crutch, but I guess I’m too stupid to figure that out and apply it to myself.

[davidastbury]

Ah, Lundun. Smells of weed, kebabs and sitting next to a man at the bus stop with a big box of economy Daz between his knees trying to crack a coconut on someone's garden wall :)).

Michelle Goldsmith

The Dreamer. 1962

From his bedroom window he could see how summer was expiring and giving way to Autumn. In the early mornings the landscape was obscured by low mists, as if changes were being made and, like in a theatre interval, we aren’t meant to see - and then it lifted and the leaves were a little more golden; the plant stalks were sagging even lower; the distant trees darker and with denser shadows, more blue than green. The wooden fence was slimy and speckled with moss and beyond it the meadow (Buttercup Meadow!) was like wet crushed velvet. Birds were circulating above the trees and thousands of creatures were preparing for the coming cold weather. Every tree, plant and animal knew exactly what to do ... he was entranced by the solemn purposefulness of everything - of the unquestioning and unquestionable perfection of it all. He was caught - hardly able to breathe, giving himself up to the voluptuous thrill of being part of the force driving every created being towards its own correct and individual destiny.

On the Train

Old couple. I bet they would agree with me if I said to them that the popular idea of long married couples ‘growing more alike over the years’ is a load of rubbish. You don’t become the same; you don’t develop a single mind; your souls do not ‘merge’. Instead, if the relationship is good, you actually intensify your individuality; you remain yourself; you do not deviate from what feels natural.

But there is something else - quite the opposite of the popular delusion. People who have been together for a long time take on a duty to each other for which there is no name. The only writer who has tried to illustrate this duty (the only writer I have come across!) is Rainer Maria Rilke, who refers to it as ‘...becoming the guardian of each other’s solitude’.

The guardian of each other’s solitude - magnificent,

Towards a better understanding of Hamlet’s Soliloquy

During the Elizabethan period most sensible folk would do anything to avoid doctors, depending instead on natural remedies for most of their ills. One such all-purpose embrocation was known as Gruffle, a mixture to be applied externally on the affected parts. The three main ingredients were Wormwood, Chamomile and Cowslip, pounded in a pestle and mortar and then stewed in Mead. When solidified it could be smeared, with a warmed spoon directly onto the skin.

Imagine, if you will, an Elizabeth bedroom, where, in the gloom of a seven watt candle, a typical hard-working couple grope their way to the bedstead. They toss off their heavy garments - the doublet and breeches; the corsets and ruffs and peer into the darkness for the pewter pot of Gruffle. The is a noise of small items falling onto the wooden floor - and then a voice rings out loud and clear - ‘Ay, there’s the rub!’

Nearly on the Train

Dad at the wheel and he’s going too fast on slow roads and too slow on fast roads - perhaps because he’s upset. Morning mists over the Cumbria moors and nearly fifty miles to Carlisle. Every visit home gets sadder; it’s like seeing a loved one becoming deaf - you do your best but they aren’t fully with you in the way they once were. The car passed the gate leading up to a farm; an old school friend now runs it - just a glimpse of farmhouse through the window condensation. There was no future for her here; she would never live here again; her childhood days on her friend’s farm, the village school, the church choir, the little shops, were becoming a closed book.

So...she would get the 10.50 from Carlisle to London - and then three days (and nights!) with her boyfriend before traveling down to the South of France. He was nice but couldn’t match the importance of her ambition.

She’s done two years at the Sorbonne and is taking a year of research at the university of Montpellier. Her speciality is C19 literature, particularly the work of Balzac. As the car swept through the villages it never occurred to her that all her life she had been surrounded by Balzac’s stories.

Watched a TV documentary on the life of Steve McQueen. Steve, apparently was deaf, and this added considerably to his sex-appeal. Let me explain. Struggling to understand what people were saying brought about his trademark facial expression - he would cock his head and narrow his eyes, which women found utterly irresistible.

My one good ear pricked up - in no uncertain terms - (as Holden Caulfield would say) - in no uncertain terms!

Ben and Lorna and Ian...........1966

I think I have mentioned Ben before; he was an old chap who, every evening during the working week used to occupy a bar-stool in the Bodega, Cross Street, Manchester. He was a widower, wealthy and weary - good suits and bow-ties, white beard and gold glasses, Coutts Bank, Russian cigarettes, and double measures of Irish whiskey. All the regulars knew him - and liked him.

One night I was drinking with Ian and his girlfriend Lorna. Lorna went to the bar to buy something and got into conversation with Ben. It went on for some time - Ian looking round every so often to see what was happening. Finally she left Ben and went to the toilets - again quite a long time. As soon as she rejoined us it was clear that she was upset. She wasn’t crying but she had that look - you know what I mean.

Ian didn’t miss out on this either; he wanted an explanation and she just sat and shook her head - I began to feel that I should leave them alone. The following week I met Ian and, into our second drinks, I asked him what had happened between Lorna and Ben.

Apparently it had been very difficult for Lorna to put it into words, but she tried. And now Ian, who had struggled to understand what she was on about, had the same difficulty in trying to explain it to me - and I now have the same difficulty, fifty-one years later, writing it.

Essentially - and incredibly - Lorna had felt during her short chat with Ben - that this elderly, elegant, sad old man was the only person, in all her nineteen years, who actually understood her.

Simon B

Simon came to Britain from Berlin in the Kindertransport system set up just before World War ll.

He was taken in by a Quaker couple who looked after him and with that sublime tolerance often found in Quakers, never tried to introduce him to their religion. Later, when it became clear that he no longer had a family, they formally adopted him. He found scholarships for his years through Grammar schools and then studied medicine. His chosen speciality was caring for sick children and he became a Consultant Paediatrician.

I have occasionally met him - the last time was at a Holocaust conference - where he was a guest speaker. I was near him during one of the breaks and caught some fragments of his conversation. He looked like everyone’s idea of the perfect English gentleman; the patient, kindly, slightly humorous voice; the top-drawer manners; the deference to the other persons viewpoint; the quick eye for peoples feelings and all the other qualities that are a delight to experience.

And I heard him say - ‘Yes, I have been back - and guess what? The factory is still standing!’

A Day at the Lakes.

It was a struggle finding somewhere to park the car but by luck and a bit of aggression he squeezed into a slot. For an hour or so they wandered the cobbled streets, drifting into a few shops, and then had afternoon tea in a crowded little cafe with tiny windows. He suggested spending some time ‘on the water’. Everything about the boy involved a story - he had a friend whose dad had a connection to the conservation authorities and....he had arranged to borrow a boat. All they had to do was mention the dad’s name at the marina office.

Soon, she was sitting prettily in a very narrow and elegantly varnished rowing boat. It had steel scrollwork at the passenger end, cushioned seating and all in all she wouldn’t have felt out of place holding a parasol. The boy started to row, enjoying being watched by queues of day trippers, and turned the boat towards the open lake. Her serenity was disturbed when she touched the water and the coldness surprised her. It would be awful to have an accident and have to swim - she would probably be helpless - she would panic and drown. He was rowing expertly, but he was also watching her - it was as if he could read her thoughts.

‘The water is three-hundred feet deep here’ - he said.

She knew he was the sort that would enjoy frightening her - that he might do stupid things, like rocking the boat side to side - and find it amusing.

But he continued rowing - they were a long way from the shore and he kept looking over his shoulder - heading for a small Island. She saw the small jetty and the painted sign with the words - ‘Private Island: Landing not Permitted’.

He said - ‘ It’s fine, don’t worry’.

Together they pulled the boat out of the water, dragging it into the waterside bushes, and then set about exploring the island. The trees took away most of the light and the ground was thick with pine needles. And then the trees ended and they found themselves in a sort of clearing - like someone’s back garden - a neatly trimmed lawn, flower beds and a wooden pavilion.

He tried the door and it swung open. She didn’t even look at him - she was tired of his irritating cockiness and was thinking of what she was going to do next.

once started work for a firm at about this time of year - the run-up to Christmas. It was an open plan office and most of the staff had worked there for years. Everyone knew what they were doing (except me) and there was a lot of proprietorial and territorial rules and customs to be observed - who sat where and who always had the first lunch break etc. I studied the various power groupings of the women and their likes and dislikes. The men, mostly dull and unhelpful, wanted to get through the day and then round to the pub.

Anyway, things were eased up as the holiday approached and the desks became cluttered with greetings cards. These people - or more accurately - these women, who worked together all day and every day, gave each other Christmas cards; and it was important to them that I wasn’t left out. My work surface was taken over by right pictures of robins and jovial Santas - placed surreptitiously on the desk by women I didn’t even know.

Given the chance I would throw this at every writer who has broken our hearts with the great love stories - ‘Yes, yes, yes - but you did not write about the “real one” - it is impossible to write about the “real one” !

Autumn Morning in Whalley Range ......1965

They had met at a party and had left together. They shuffled along, as young people do, jauntily kicking up the leaves, heading towards the main road, hoping that the buses had started. It was misty - the street lights acid yellow against a cold sky. They passed rows of Victorian villas that once-upon-a-time had servants in the attics and kitchens in the basements - now decaying and split up into flats.

You could hear their laughter in the silent street. And then - they stopped and kissed - just at the junction of Mayfield Road and Alexandra Road - near to the pub where there had been a stabbing.

R

R lost her mother at the age of twelve, and her father quickly remarried. She was the youngest of four; there was a eight year gap to her nearest sister. She left school at fifteen and took a job in a textile company where she learned to touch-type. At seventeen she became a receptionist at a dental surgery - but the job didn’t last because the dentist assaulted her. She was sacked and paid up to the day of the assault. It was around this time that she was also assaulted by her best friend’s dad. Her boyfriend was angry and went to the police. The desk sergeant listened to him and replied - ‘What you’ve got to understand son, is that men only do this sort of thing to women who give certain signals’. So that was that.

I think it was from then onwards that she really did give the ‘certain signals’. She entered and won a glamour contest run by her new employer. The advertising agency sent her to the Lucy Clayton school and she found work modelling. She left our town and as far as I know, never came back.

R. (and her boyfriend)

Following the second assault R’s boyfriend noticed a sharp change in her personality. After such shocks, at a vulnerable age, you might expect to see some sort of mistrust and withdrawal - instead she became aggressively extroverted and as far as men where concerned, very flirtatious. She viewed her exceptional good looks as the means to ‘get the better’ of every man she came across - she knew that she was irresistible.

All this was upsetting to her boyfriend. He was like the boy in the Arabian Nights tale - an orphan who begged in the streets and one day saw a diamond - a perfect diamond - lying in the dust. His joy subsided when he realised that every dealer in the souk would cheat him. R’s boyfriend wanted to keep her for himself, but she wanted to go dancing and drinking in clubs - places where she would make heads turn and provoke words of admiring insinuation.

The boyfriend was utterly unworldly - as innocent and wide-eyed as a lamb on the way to the abattoir. And the good friend advising him to finish with her - who consoled him and said he would soon find someone nicer - who bought him another drink and all the time had a R’s phone number scribbled on a cigarette packet.