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#I don’t weed but I do have strong feelings about the half-assing of legalization without amnesty
oopsabird · 3 years
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oh hey look at that it’s 4/20. if you live in a place where cannabis has been legalized, please consider (during the part of the day when you’re still sober enough to write an email) contacting your politicians to demand full amnesty for anyone currently serving sentence or with a criminal record for past cannabis-related offences which are now legal. also, remember to pace yourself when taking edibles unless you wanna be feeling like a melted crayon in a few hours. k love you bye
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hillbillied · 4 years
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(Warning: NSFW, entirely. 18+ smut content. | Ao3 link.)
After the war's end, Andy and Eddie invite their favourite mortarman over for a visit. Eugene agrees to the visit, and some other things.
The ruin of one Eugene Sledge (by pleasure of Andrew Haldane and Edward Jones)
They discuss it at length, the two of them.
Full novel length, chapters upon chapters, with subheadings and notes in the margin. Clauses and subclauses and sub-subclauses are proposed and ratified over the course of many an afternoon. Debates rattle over dinner plates, wild hypotheticals meet very real concerns for thorough consideration. (Which might be deemed a little much for what would probably fold into under five hours of action, including the inevitable water chugging between rounds.)
Their exceptional communication skills and stable relationship certainly allow proceedings to progress without a hitch. They have always discussed their sexual endeavours at length, after all.
Being in the commonly considered ‘sexual deviant’ category of existence means even your most vanilla sex is beyond the comprehendible realms of your white picket fence neighbours. (Not that they have a white picket fence. Theirs is cast iron. And their Boston apartment comfortably on the city lines, not in the suburbs.)
They end up taking no small amount of pride in it. That they can casually discuss exactly what turns them on, slipping further into potential depravity as they open up about themselves. Usually, however, these conversations last all of half an hour before they fall into bed to test their proposed plans. That aside, the process is exactly the same.
Andy says he’d be open to watching Eddie with another man. Or sharing him with another man. Or something to the ‘another man’ effect. Eddie asks him to elaborate.
Ack Ack considers, chews his lip with half-lidded eyes. “Maybe blowing him.” He says.
“Only if ye’ hold m’ hair.” comes the reply on Eddie’s part.
“You want me in control.” Andy deduces.
His aroused smirk makes Hillbilly’s blood boil. What a smart, omniscient cunt. The greatest displeasure? He’s right. That is exactly where his lover wants him.
They chew it over from there. Negotiations last longer than necessary due to constant courtroom breaks, since the prosecution and defence keep getting turned on and needing to take the time to fuck. The most fruitful discussions are never when the topic is spontaneously brought up, but rather at least an hour after, when Eddie’s lit his post-sex cigarette and Andy’s playing with his hair.
Eventually, the green light is given. They’re eating dinner across their humble wooden kitchen table. (Hillbilly’s gravy could drown a dead rat on a plate and it would still taste divine.) They’ve settled on an agreement and want to go ahead with the idea.
“Well,” Eddie says around a mouthful of beef, “Pick your man.”
   This choice is harder than it sounds because it has to be someone they know. They’re an item, sweet and simple. A stranger might get some bright ideas about their place in this scenario. Plus, it’s 1952. Some secrets need to remain under wraps.
Another problem is that the shortlist starts with Burgie.
Eddie’s rubbing his forehead in exasperation, reclining in their frayed armchair. “We attended his weddin’, Andy.” He explains, talking to nothing short of a fool, “Ye’ was with me in the arch a’ sabres.”
That absolute fool is currently pacing across the carpet, tapping his finger against his lips.
“Is it not polite to ask regardless?” Andy muses, pausing in his motions.
He receives an aggravated grunt. Low, drawn-out, and unimpressed.
“Not Burgin, then.” The captain finally acknowledges. The name is mentally crossed from the list, though not before he points an accusing finger his lover’s way, “But you wanted it, too.”
   After a deep, longing pull from his cigarette, Eddie gives the answer they’ve been looking for.
“Sledge.” He says.
The name floats upwards with the smoke. It catches on their small porch roof; one they share with the apartment next door, divided by more iron fencing. He’s sitting on the steps, Andy leaning against the doorframe behind him.
“What about him?” The blond asks. The conversation had previously been about weeding, what to do with all the insects tearing up the captain’s petunias.
Eddie takes another drag.
“He’s our third man.”
   “I know he’s queer,” Andy asks, “Does he know he’s queer?”
‘He’ is Eugene Sledge. The name stuck, dangling over their heads constantly since they’d been stupid enough to mention it. The possibility of their fantasy scenario drifts ever closer.
“By now, yeah.” Eddie says, staring up at their bedroom ceiling. He’s playing with his chest hair, curling it around his finger, “But I bet he ain’t got his dick wet much.”
Lying beside him, Ack Ack smothers his laughter in his lover’s neck. The words ring so horribly true. He reaches up regardless and slaps Hillbilly’s peck. Right on the nipple for that extra sting. The hiss the man emits confirms an acceptable amount of pain, retribution for his mean words. (Honest words but mean nonetheless.)
If they didn’t have sweat cooling on their bodies from a good fuck, the smack would turn Eddie on.
“It’ll be good f’ him.” He suggests instead, not wanting to earn another punishment.
“You think?” Andy replies, propping himself up on his elbows.
“Yeah.” Hillbilly says, “If he’s up fer’ it.”
   Andy writes the letter.
It’s scribbled with barely pent-up excitement and the slightest tremor in his hand. The penmanship is far from pristine, the careful innuendo and wax poetic only legally veiling the message conspired within. The raw arousal motivating the ink is on full display.
He’s absolutely fucking losing it.
Watching from the doorway, Eddie shakes his head. That’s the moment he knows Andrew has been fantasising about this longer than they’ve been discussing it.
He tries to pretend he’s shocked by the realisation.
   “Why Eugene?” Andy asks.
Again, for the fifteenth time. They have, as per, already discussed the reasoning at length. Eddie’s about ready to grab the man by his sweater vest and give him a good hard slap across the cheek.
Instead, he summarises.
“’cause he’s always wanted to fuck you, Andy.” Hillbilly explains, “And I’m about t’ let him.”
   If Eugene’s smart, which he is, he won’t pass up this opportunity.
If Eugene accepts the opportunity, which he does, any nervousness he may have will be proven weaker than his excitement over the proposition.
And if his excitement is that strong, which it definitely feels like, then it’ll be all over his face when he arrives in Boston.
Andy collects him from the train station. Hands in the pockets of his pale slacks and short-sleeved shirt tucked in. He’s wearing a braided belt because it complements the look. He’s gay and he’s about to show this young man a wild time, why not make it special from the start?
He waves at the redhead who steps off the 4 o’clock train from Birmingham. It’s sunny and warm, painting that ginger hair with yellow streaks. It’s very attractive when seen without the sweat and dirt of combat or those ugly helmets crushing it flat.
Not that they haven’t seen each other several times before now. This is the first time, however, that Eugene’s wore his shirt without a tie. Today, the white of his collar is unadorned, handsome beige suit jacket left unbuttoned. Casual, familiar. No formality in sight, which is relieving.
He’s got a green carnation pinned to his lapel.
Andy has to keep his smile from splitting his cheeks. It wouldn’t be polite to wear the satisfaction of victory across the entirety of his features.
   “I should have known you’d be familiar with Wilde’s work.” Andy says, referring to the flower.
He’s driving Eddie’s blue pickup, which they have come to share the use of. Fancy cars are for rich cocksuckers and married couples who don’t have the imagination to use the truck bed. You can’t fuck beneath the stars in an estate.
“It was always my favourite.” Eugene notes. He chews on the bit of his pipe thoughtfully, “Even when I couldn’t place quite why.”
“It’s a fantastic touch.” Ack Ack compliments.
Pleasantly calm, every glance he sends across the cab radiates pride. The young man – just a man, really, but that might teeter on Andy thinking himself ‘old’ and they would be having none of that – has grown so much since ’44.
Eugene’s strong nose and dark eyes will never bleed with unbreakable confidence, for sure. But that’s a favourable trait, it keeps him far from arrogance and the unattractive features that come with it. Yet Sledge is still surer of himself than he used to be. Or perhaps he’s just learnt to hide his self-consciousness. (Really, they’re the same thing.) The only hint of nervousness is the drumming of his nails against the door, resting his elbow out the open window. A touch of trepidation for what’s coming.
Keeping the wheel steady, Andy reaches out and places a hand on his company’s thigh.
Eugene doesn’t flinch as his captain used to expect. (They both distinctly remember how a tipsy and boisterous young lady had ran a hand over Sledge’s ass at Burgin’s wedding. The redhead had jumped high enough to paint the ceiling ginger. And spilt wine all over the poor girl’s dress.)
Good. Better than good.
“I’m glad you could come, Eugene.” With a laugh, Ack Ack quickly clarifies, “It’s always a pleasure to see you, I mean that wholeheartedly.”
Pink colours Sledge’s cheeks, his smile sweet. He’s convinced it’s the truth, should have known that already. That doesn’t make it any less warming to hear.
“I’ll admit I did consider replying in a more-“ He searches for the word across the dashboard, “-reserved nature, so I could visit without fear of gettin’ cold feet.”
The hand on his thigh is reservedly placed nearer his knee. It pats him comfortingly. Andy opens his mouth to speak and assure the young man that his excited scribbles – and the excited scribbled response – are not legally binding. They can enjoy a repeat of prior visitations if desired.
Eugene beats him to the punch.
“But sittin’ here now-”
Those dark brown eyes flutter downwards. Over the steering wheel, that neat braided belt, the front of Andy’s slacks. Sledge’s tongue flashes across his lips, wetting the dry skin. His pipe hovers uselessly, forgotten as his mind drifts elsewhere.
He catches himself enough to speak. His gaze is torn slowly from the fabric over his company’s cock.
“I think I made the right decision.” He mutters. It’s quiet and a little shy, but not unsure.
The fingers on his thigh squeeze happily.
   Eddie opens the door with a grin of true happiness. The sunlight turns his curls that slightest hint of ginger, though it’s nothing on the crop of hair sliding out the passenger side of his truck.
“Eugene Sledge.” He drawls like he can’t believe his eyes, like he isn’t in on the plan. His arms are folded loosely across his chest, “M’ favourite mortarman.”
Jury might be out on that one, prior to this moment. Right now? This is absolutely his favourite mortarman.
“Hillbilly.” Eugene greets with a bashful smile.
There’s a respect lingering there that has already been dropped with Andy. Not that it didn’t take a couple of years’ effort to achieve that, too. They’re steadily working their way to Sledge dropping all pretence from the Marines, the two of them. They are so remarkably close, the title of captain and lieutenant fully thrown to the wind sometime around 1948.
That might prove to be a spanner in the works later. Andy fully planned on bringing those titles back this evening.
For now, though, he focuses on Eugene and Eddie.
“It’s good t’ see you ag’in.” The latter says.
They stand as far apart as the compact space of the porch allows. (Not much, apparently.) They both glance Andy’s way as he shuts the cast iron gate and ascends the steps. He’s carrying Eugene’s suitcase like a gentleman. Now there’s three grown men in a one-and-half-man area of entranceway.
Eddie has to huff out a laugh. He kicks the door open behind him.
“C’mon,” He says, “We’re drawin’ more attention with this tomfoolery than if I’d kissed ye’.”
   It’s a pleasure of an afternoon.
Eugene helps Eddie cook dinner. Andy had insisted on it. A strategic placement of their visitor, if he does say so himself, perfectly aligned so the two can share close quarters. Unpressured by expectations and protected by clothing for the time being. Sledge chops vegetables, unphased as Hillbilly stands behind him, chest against his back to guide his hand.
Their captain sips his tea from the kitchen table. His boys work to cook a meal for him to enjoy, at his instruction, without him lifting a finger. That victory smile returns and this time he can hide it behind his mug.
While he’s certain Eugene will be learning a few things tonight about how to draw submission from a man, there’s no outmanoeuvring a master.
   They eat, they talk. Some of it about the letter’s content and expectations for the evening. Most of it about how Alabama is and Eugene’s new job. About the petunias in the front garden and the pests that are ruining them.
Eventually, they clean their plates away. (Well, two of them do. Andy gets brought more tea.) They retire to the sitting room. It’s small and cosy. Andy takes the armchair, facing the men on the couch so he can actually finish his drink in relative peace.
Eddie sits and reclines against the arm of the sofa, head propped up by his hand. Eugene moves to sit on the other end. His company has different plans.
Hillbilly grunts. A complete and non-verbal ‘no’. Ass halfway to its destination, Sledge is off balance enough that the arm around his waist completely topples him. He’s brought down in the middle of the couch, all but in Eddie’s lap were it not for their closed legs.
They all laugh at the familiar horseplay. It’s short only a ruffle of red hair. (The lieutenant declines that, it’d be too condescending considering he plans on blowing this boy’s mind soon. And blowing him, period.)
“You gonna surprise me like that every time I sit down?” Eugene asks.
“I’m gon’ surprise ye’ a whole lot.” Eddie replies.
Andy hums approvingly into his mug. They both turn his way. It’s a good distraction; the redhead doesn’t notice Hillbilly adjusting their position. Getting comfy with the other man leaning against his chest, his hand coming to rest on Sledge’s hip. A warm hand on warm skin, separated only by thin shirt fabric. His thumb rubs small circles over the ribs he can reach.
“Let that inform tonight’s exploits,” Ack Ack muses, finished with his tea, “Whatever they may be.”
He sets the mug down on the small table to his left, beside the room’s ashtray. Eugene’s raised eyebrow begs him to explain.
Andy obliges. “Eddie can lift me quite easily.” He says, “He could probably break either of us in two. Don’t worry about playing rough.”
Behind his head, Sledge can feel the warmth of Eddie’s grin at the acute description. A strong arm is slung around his shoulder now, no longer content on his hip. The taller man’s hand is running over his chest absentmindedly, brushing his collarbone. Without any conscious effort on his part, Eugene has leant his full weight backward and against the warmth holding him.
“I have every confidence that if he wants you to stop,” Andy continues with a shrug, “He’ll stop you.”
Sledge glances to his right, head turned just enough to glimpse confirmation. At his back, he can see Hillbilly’s smile. His lips brush red hair as he speaks into the young man’s ear.
“He’s right.” is whispered against his skin, “But he’s still bein’ a bastard about it.”
“How am I being a bastard?” Andy laughs.
“Ye’ just are.” Eddie calls across the room.
They all chuckle. If they can’t have a sense of humour about this, there’s no point even attempting the deed. A little comedy won’t kill the mood and can save most faux pas.
During their bit, Eugene’s hand drifts to Hillbilly’s thigh. Testing at first, fingers ghosting over the thick denim of his jeans. Then pressing down, sliding over the fabric close to his knee. It sits there presently, finally building up the confidence to squeeze exploratively.
Those dark brown eyes glance down at his own machinations. Eddie’s hand on his chest slides across his peck, arm around Sledge’s shoulder gripping him tighter.
Andy sits back in his armchair, stretches his back. He’s convinced he can watch this forever. Or however long it takes to play out, at least.
“I want you to know,” Eugene drawls softly, his focus still on rubbing circles on Hillbilly’s thigh, “I’m not the most experienced at this.”
Politely, neither of the other men mention their knowledge of the fact. (Especially not mentioning how the fact may have played into a prior discussion.)
“Experience isn’t particularly important.” Andy says, “Attitude and a little guidance goes a long way.”
His fingers play idly with the handle of the mug at his side. Every pair of eyes are on him, yet he can’t care less. He looks like he can’t care less, cultivates the persona whilst he speaks with absolute authority.
“For example,” Ack Ack explains, “If Eddie were to keep his hands to himself for a moment…”
There’s no ‘if’ present in his tone. The hypothetical is a veiled command, upheld by the man who uttered it with crossed legs and gaze focused nonchalantly on his empty mug.
Eugene feels the rumble in Hillbilly’s chest behind him. That large hand retreats from where it had ventured over his nipple. While still leaning against the tall man, Sledge is no longer held captive in his grasp. (Not that he wanted his hostage situation to end.) Eddie even sits back, arms now slung over the back and arm of the couch, respectively. The heat of his breath disappears from the redhead’s ear.
All without so much as a raise of Andy’s voice.
“Then,” The blond continues, turning to the pair on his own cue, “You can come sit over here, and I can show you exactly what I mean.”
As Eugene stands, he uses the hand on Hillbilly’s thigh for leverage. It’s the last part of him to abandon the couch, sliding his way over to the armchair with all the grace he can muster. His steps are casual, taking their time. An impressive display, complimented by the hands casually slipped into the pockets of his slacks. Like he’s in no rush, can’t care less.
(Behind him, Eddie forces down a knowing smile. There’s no finer flattery than imitation and the young man has always been a fast learner. Copying Captain Haldane, even now, will serve him well.)
Dark eyes meet pale blue for a moment at the armchair crossroads. Andy uncrosses his legs, spreading them wide to he can lean purposefully on his knee. Eugene’s eyes wander back over the front of those beige slacks. The fabric had been just a fraction tense during their car ride. It sits taught in the living room, but it’s not for Sledge to ogle freely.
Andy reaches up and tilts the man’s chin towards his face. Eyes on mine, please.
Eugene’s smile has grown bashful under the gaze of Captain Haldane. He doesn’t reach to touch like he had with Eddie. That stare is intense. It’s too much too soon and Ack Ack can recognise that. Not a problem.
“Unlike our rude associate over there,” Andy teases, bringing some comedy back into the thickness of the air, “I’m going to ask you to sit down.”
“The rudeness was ye’ takin’ that boy off this couch before I was done with him.” Eddie remarks.
He makes no move to leave his position or rectify the offence.
“Can you believe him?” Andy mutters.
The soft-spoken, relaxed-rhetorical disguises the arms he puts around Eugene’s hips. Turning him around without meeting his eyes, acting as he had with the mug. Calm, collected, like it’s nothing of note to him. Manhandling the chuckling redhead to face away, towards Hillbilly. (Out of line with that intense stare, until further notice.)
Pausing his motions, Andy glances up at Eugene. He nods, satisfied.
He then waves his hand across his lap.
“There’s enough space for both of us.” He comments.
Sledge, no doubt picking it up from the bastard tactics continuing across the evening, frowns for a moment. His consideration is definitely not genuine.
“I think there is.” He agrees. Andy beams in response.
Eugene settles down between his legs, the armchair being fairly deep. (It isn’t a lie to say it can fit them both.) Ack Ack adjusts himself with a hum, arms around his company’s waist. Hugging him momentarily to set him just-so.
His forearms withdraw partially but leave his hands to dangle between Eugene’s legs. Noncommittally, tapping the muscles of his inner thighs as if it were the arms of the chair. He’s thinking.
“Mnn, yes.” Andy concludes, “This is much better.”
Orange hues momentarily bring Eddie’s face into sharp relief. His pale eyes are absolutely fixed on the display, flashing in the flame of his lighter. Smoke trails towards the ceiling, unnoticed. His first drag is deep, steeling himself. He scratches his crotch without shame, the denim only failing to tent due to its weight.
The two men in the armchair embrace the staring competition.
“What was I talking about before this?” Andy chuckles against Sledge’s ear.
“Attitude and guidance.” The redhead recalls.
“Right.” It comes out as another laugh.
The captain is enjoying himself and it shows. Far too much for the role he’s playing within their trio, relying on his collected vigour to operate the steering wheel.
“Well, attitude is obviously about a man’s words, his manner, his posture-” Firm hands run up over Eugene’s forearms and onto his shoulders, “Making sure your orders are followed without needing to ever threaten a punishment.”
Those fingers roll the muscles under them, relaxing Sledge’s posture. Who hums instinctively, blush returning as he shamefully enjoys the feeling of his beloved captain massaging him. Doting on him, Ack Ack’s handsome nose gently poking the soft skin behind his ear.
“Not that you should be afraid to mention punishments.” Andy mutters. His eyes trot leisurely over to Eddie before trotting leisurely to Eugene, “Rewards just work better.”
His breathing is perfectly regulated as he moves his lips to Sledge’s cheek. Suspiciously perfect, timed and regimented into slow, deliberate motions of his chest. (Without the heavy cloud of lust on the redhead’s mind, he might have deduced that the captain is reigning himself in purposefully. That his collected aura is but a façade to an equally aroused interior.)
“So,” He whispers, hot and husky against Eugene’s ear, “We could ask Eddie to take all his clothes off and say we’d whoop him if he didn’t, or-”
The sentence is punctuated by a jerk of Andy’s head, turning to face the man on the couch opposite. The motion brings cold air to the skin he’d been breathing on, making Sledge inhale sharply. As if he’d been spanked. He enjoys the sensation.
“Take your clothes off, Jones.” Ack Ack orders.
His tone is grave, terrifyingly level with just enough give to keep it below a threat. A perfect command.
“Can I finish m’ smoke first, Skipper?” Hillbilly asks. He hadn’t waited for an answer, already sitting up from where he’d been reclining and rubbing himself through his jeans. An order is an order, after all.
Andy blinks, raising his eyebrows in consideration. He chews it over but gives no answer. He turns to Eugene instead. The redhead mirrors him, both twisting in their entangled sitting position so they can face each other. Ack Ack waits for his response.
“No.” Sledge says carefully, studying the blond’s features.
Though nowhere close to the dominating tone before, Eddie relents. This isn’t a competitive match. It’s a team game and he definitely wants to continue playing. He crosses the short few paces of the room and leans towards the pair.
The other men watch as he bends before them, head bowing as he stubs his unfinished cigarette into the ashtray beside Andy’s mug. Hillbilly twists the smoke gradually, holding himself in that position, an inch lower than their seated statures.
When he straightens up, he steps back a single pace. Enough that he can move his arms freely without fearing his elbow will whack anyone’s skull as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. He tosses it away dismissively.
Andy can feel Eugene’s chest rise with elation as Eddie’s muscles are brought into the light. Just as Eugene can feel Andy’s erection twitch, against the base of his spine, when the man’s boyfriend undresses for them.
Hillbilly is smart enough to have removed his socks earlier and avoid the difficult chore of tugging them off for an audience. He can smirk freely, letting his heavy belt buckle rattle in the quiet room as he tugs it free. He looks like he’s about to drop it when Andy holds out his hand. His fingers make a come-hither gesture.
Sledge’s chest hitches a second time as the folded leather slaps against Ack Ack’s palm.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He says, pulling the belt into Eugene’s lap.
Eddie huffs out the ghost of a laugh. Yet he averts his eyes and scratches the front of his jeans, failing to cover the elation and arousal he takes from Andy’s simple gratitude.
“Praise goes a long way, Eugene.” The captain muses.
His hands are slipped under the man’s arms, using one to draw the belt across the palm of the other. All done in Sledge’s lap, the leather falling free to drag across the front of his slacks. Accidentally, of course.
Eddie pops the buttons of his jeans one by one. Eugene fights to draw his eyes away, finally turning to Andy. Whether brewing with confidence or just overwhelmed with lust, it doesn’t matter; he presses his face to Ack Ack’s cheek.
“It’s hard to order an officer around-” He hisses. His breathing is the opposite of Andy’s, uncomposed and erratic as he speaks, “-as an enlisted man.”
Andy sniggers quietly, nodding his agreement. The hand unclaimed by the belt retreats, fishing around in his pocket for a brief moment. It returns to Eugene’s lap in time with the fall of Hillbilly’s jeans. The tall man steps free and kicks them aside.
The removal of his underwear is paused only by his wide grin, shake of his head, and hands landing on his hips.
“Ye’ are a bastard.” He concludes, watching Andy clip a silver bar pin to the collar of Sledge’s shirt.
Two bars joined together, in fact. The insignia of a captain.
“Congratulations, Captain Sledge.” Ack Ack says, “You outrank our friend here.”
All three of them laugh, giggles that rattle their chests and set the final ghosts of tension adrift. You have to have a sense of humour in these scenarios.
“You’re very prepared.” Eugene notes. He’s smiling as he says it.
It’s an accusation rather than a compliment. The blond has to suffer a moment of all eyes on him and not in a submissive sense; in a pointed, silent judgement sense. He’s been planning this longer and more in depth than he’d admitted, even to Eddie.
Not one to let his authority slip, Andy lets his chuckle fade.
Both his hands move in unison, a precise pincer movement on the room. His right reaches down between Eugene’s legs, grabbing a handful of the man’s slacks. His fingers tug towards him, forcing a yelp from Sledge as his cock is squeezed suddenly. Ack Ack’s left hand, still holding the belt, cracks it hard against the armrest. It lets out a distinct smack that has even Eddie’s back straightening.
“Thought I told you to strip, Eddie.” Andy muses, tilting his head up to fix Hillbilly with a small, pleasant smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s being kept waiting.
His hand is moving against Sledge’s slacks as he speaks. Palming his length, feeling it already stiff and yearning under the fabric.
Eddie catches his eye briefly, cheek twitching in that familiar lustful frustration that they both know means they’ve struck oil. His thumbs hook into his underwear and pull them down. He straightens up without another word.
For the first time, Andy has to take a steadying breath. (Hillbilly probably notices, Sledge definitely doesn’t. The former’s lip curls just a touch.) With his hand kneading Eugene’s dick and his own pressed tantalisingly up against the redhead’s ass, the heat is more than even Captain Haldane can ignore. The pleasure of drinking Eddie in is exquisite, every curve of his muscles and colour of his ink, his unsheathed cock bouncing free from his waistband.
He forgets occasionally that the hill country man really can snap the two of them in half. He’s incredibly muscular, built like a brick shithouse. It’s only his height, drawing his limbs out a little lankier, that hides the weight behind his hands.
Andy huffs quietly. Short and soft and barely audible. The exhale allows him to turn back to Sledge, who’s head has tipped back, leaning on his shoulder. The redhead’s eyes remain on Eddie, watching with stricken desire as he grinds rhythmically against Ack Ack’s hand. None of his usual gentlemanly conversation will be escaping him presently.
“Do you want him to suck you off here or in the bedroom?” Andy asks. His lips press hard against the man’s ear, tilting their weight against the armrest.
Around gritted teeth, Sledge manages; “Bedroom.”
“You heard the Captain.” Ack Ack says, nodding Eddie’s way. His grip releases from Eugene’s slacks.
Hillbilly reaches out his hand. Sledge takes it enthusiastically. The taller man leads the way, squeezing his smitten follower’s fingers.
Neither of them catches how Andy exhales, a quiet ‘woah’ blowing out his cheeks as he composes himself. A glance down at his slacks reveals the smallest of droplets seeping into the fabric. He considers himself lucky he’s still hard and hasn’t come prematurely.
He wipes his brow, gets his shit together, and stands up to follow.
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lazingonsunday · 5 years
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Tag Game!!
I was tagged by @gretavanfic and @bigthighsandstupidguys , thank you, lovelies!! 💛
1. What is your middle name?
Starts with G lol
2. How old are you?
20
3. When is your birthday?
Dec 2
4. What is your zodiac sign?
Everyone is putting like moon and sun and rising and I have no idea what that mean lmao, sorry! I think I’m a Sagittarius though
5. What is your favourite colour?
Orange or Yellow 🧡💛
6. What’s your lucky number?
Don’t really have one, but I always tried to be #10 on my volleyball jersey
7. Do you have any pets?
An old border collie named Riley
8. Where are you from?
Canada! 🇨🇦
9. How tall are you?
Like 5’7 ish
10. What shoe size are you?
Usually 9.5 or 10. I got big ass feet :(
11. How many pairs of shoes do you own?
Way more than one human being needs
12. What was your last dream about?
I went to IT chapter 2 last night so safe to say I was having some freaky clown dreams all night lol
13. What talents do you have?
Um, I can say the alphabet backwards, which is super random lol. I can also kinda play guitar, bass, ukulele, and harmonica, but I’m not very good at any of them yet lol
14. Are you psychic in any way?
I used to think so when I was little, but not so much anymore
15. Favourite song?
Ooh, this is hard. Right now I really love When The Curtain Falls by GVF, but I would say an all time fave might be Forever in Blue Jeans by Neil Diamond because it reminds me of my mom
16. Favourite movie?
Oh, also a tough one! I think either Rocky IV or The Sandlot
17. Who would be your ideal partner?
Jake Kiszka, obviously. But in all seriousness, anyone who is genuinely kind that I feel comfortable and happy around.
18. Do you want children?
I never thought so, but now a bunch of my older cousins are having kids and they’re pretty cool, so maybe one day if I found the right person to raise them with
19. Do you want a church wedding?
No, even though my mom will kill me if I don’t lol
20. Are you religious?
I was raised Catholic, but I don’t consider myself religious anymore.
21. Have you ever been to the hospital?
Yes, I’m asthmatic af lol, and prone to breaking my fingers playing rugby
22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law?
No, I am a well-behaved child
23. Have you ever met any celebrities?
I met the magicians Penn & Teller if that counts haha
24. Baths or showers?
For practical purposes of actually getting clean, showers, but I l o v e baths
25. What colour socks are you wearing?
Black
26. Have you ever been famous?
No
27. Would you like to be a big celebrity?
While I daydream about it frequently, realistically I know I would hate it
28. What type of music do you like?
Literally the most random taste in music, it changes all the time. I don’t even have certain genres that I like, just certain artists or albums from a variety of genres
29. Have you ever been skinny dipping?
Yes. I was very drunk lmao
30. How many pillows do you sleep with?
Three normal ones and a body pillow
31. What position do you usually sleep in?
On my side cuddled up with the pillows
32. How big is your house?
Typical white suburban neighbourhood house
33. What do you typically have for breakfast?
I typically pout in the kitchen for 10 minutes before I give up and make something completely inappropriate for breakfast lmao. Usually grilled cheese. This morning alphagetti. I hate breakfast so much lol
34. Have you ever fired a gun?
Nope. No desire to.
35. Have you ever tried archery?
Yes, we did it in school a few times
36. Favourite clean word?
Love
37. Favourite swear word?
Idk if it’s a swear word, but I say ‘goddammit’ a lot
38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?
Not long, I’m a sleepy bitch. Probably 24 hours
39. Do you have any scars?
Yes
40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?
In 9th grade I found out this guy had a crush on my and told literally everyone but me lol
41. Are you a good liar?
I don’t lie very often, but mostly because I am a terrible liar
42. Are you a good judge of character?
Yes. I frequently get such strong vibes off of people and I can tell right away if they’re the kind of person that’s gonna stress me out
43. Can you do any other accents other than your own?
Not well
44. Do you have a strong accent?
I guess I probably have a Canadian accent, but not super strong. The region I’m from has a pretty neutral North American accent
45. What is your favourite accent?
Certain regions of Irish accent are so beautiful. Like Hozier’s accent
46. What is your personality type?
Quite shy, but generally very kind
47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing?
I have a shirt that I got for work that was like a hundred bucks and I never wear it cause I sprayed foundation on it once and now I’m scared I’m gonna ruin it lol
48. Can you curl your tongue?
Yes
49. Are you an innie or outie?
Innie
50. Left or right handed?
Right
51. Are you scared or spiders?
Not really scared of them, but I don’t like them to be close to me if that makes sense
52. Favourite food?
Probably burritos
53. Favourite foreign food?
Mexican
54. Are you a clean or messy person?
Fairly clean
55. Most used phrase?
I really don’t think I have one?
56. Most used word?
Completely. I say it like to agree with someone or acknowledge what they’re saying
57. How long does it take for you to get ready?
Depends what I’m getting ready. For school or something I don’t really care about, maybe half an hour. For work or going out, probably over an hour.
58. Do you have much of an ego?
I don’t think so
59. Do you suck or bite lollipops?
Suck until I get bored and crunch it lol
60. Do you talk to yourself?
Yes, a concerning amount. Like full conversations with myself at full volume, constantly when I’m alone.
61. Do you sing to yourself?
Occasionally
62. Are you a good singer?
Not really
63. Biggest fear?
Never learning how to make meaningful connections , pushing all my friends away, and dying alone.
64. Are you a gossip?
No, I hate it! My friends try to tell me about people we went to high school with, and I just genuinely don’t care and don’t want to know lmao
65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen?
Idk what classifies as a ‘dramatic’ movie, but I guess the Rocky movies again
66. Do you like long or short hair?
I love long hair, I’m so jealous of people with really long hair. Mine grows so slow :(
67. Can you name all 50 states of America?
Maybe, if I thought really hard about it? I can barely remember Canadian provinces lmao
68. Favourite school subject?
I always really loved some topics in science, but then hated others. I was probably best at English.
69. Introvert or extrovert?
Introvert af
70. Have you ever been scuba diving?
No, even snorkeling freaks me out. The ocean is some scary soup
71. What makes you nervous?
Pretty much everything lol. But mostly any social situation where there’s people I don’t know, or I don’t know exactly what to expect.
72. Are you scared of the dark?
Really depends where I am. Usually no, but if I’m outside then usually yes, and after watching It last night, yes lol
73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes?
Depends who it is and what the mistake is
74. Are you ticklish?
Honestly, not really
75. Have you ever started a rumour?
Not intentionally
76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?
Kind of? At work they have like hourly leaders who are in charge of the sales floor, and I did that a lot, but it’s not really a lot of power or responsibility. Also babysitting I guess
77. Have you ever drank underage?
Yes
78. Have you ever done drugs?
Honestly, this is gonna sound so stupid, but I’ve never done anything other than alcohol and cigarettes. I actually high key wanna try weed, but again the whole ‘not knowing what to expect makes me anxious thing.’ Not even so much that I’m nervous to try the drug but that I’m nervous to try to buy it or get it, even though it’s fully legal in Canada and there’s a dispensary on every corner lmao
79. Who was your first real crush?
The first one I remember was a boy named Evan in first grade
80. How many piercings do you have?
Just my ears, and I rarely wear earrings so I always have to stab through them again when I do
81. Can you roll your R’s?
No, and I can’t whistle either! Which is deeply infuriating!
82. How fast can you type?
Fast enough to not look foolish
83. How fast can you run?
Not fast at all. I’m asthmatic and out of shape lmao
84. What colour is your hair?
An ugly medium mousy brown. I always wanna dye it a little lighter, but I go to the hairdresser like once every two years so it would look stupid when it grew out lol
85. What colour are your eyes?
Hazel-y greenish
86. What are you allergic to?
All sorts of environmental allergies; dust, pollen, animal hair, etc. I’m always sneezing and watery eyes lol
87. Do you keep a journal?
I carry a notebook, but it’s more like an agenda than a diary
88. What do your parents do?
My dad owns a drywall company and my mom is a stay-at-home mom, but she volunteers a lot now that we’re older
89. Do you like your age?
No. I think that being in your late teens and twenties can be really stressful because you feel like there’s certain things that you should have accomplished or experienced and it can be very overwhelming, feeling like you’re competing with all your peers to get your life together
90. What makes you angry?
Rude and disrespectful people
91. Do you like your own name?
Not really
92. Have you thought of baby names, and if so what are they?
I’ve definitely thought about it but I don’t really have specific favourites
93. Do you want a boy or girl for a child?
I don’t have a preference. I’d probably like to have one of each
94. What are your strengths?
I think I’ve become a lot more kind and open-hearted in the last few years.
95. What are your weaknesses?
I feel like I have let fear dictate my entire life, and there’s so many things I haven’t done because I’ve been afraid. I need to step outside my comfort zone more often.
96. How did you get your name?
There was a character on a TV show called my name that my parents liked
97. Were your ancestors royalty?
Not that I am aware of
98. Do you have any tattoos?
I changed the question because scars was an earlier one. I have two tattoos on my right arm
99. Colour of your bedspread?
Because it’s summer, I have a lighter blanket that’s light blue. My winter duvet is navy
100. Colour of your room?
Light blue
That was LONG lmao but really fun! I’m too lazy to bold the questions so sorry if it’s hard to read!
Tagging: @frcmthefires @sweetkiszkadreams @okietrish @sammyscherub @gretavanbobatea @jake-thomas-kiszka @mr-stank-i-dont-feel-so-dank and anyone else who wants to do it!!
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captaindaddykru · 5 years
Text
you hurt the ones you love (i don't believe that)
for @obviesbellarke based on this photo ;)
Raven has always prided herself on her work ethic. She didn’t come from much, her parents did not plan on having a child which about described her relationship with them, and she worked part-time jobs ever since the goverment allowed her to. (Since they put her in the system and the system failed her, she felt like she could pretty much do whatever she wanted to the system. So sometimes she repaid the cards they dealt her by doing some not so legal hacking into college databases to slightly change rich frat boy GPA’s and make some extra cash.) 
It paid off, because now Raven works for NASA and she didn’t even apply for the job. They asked her to come work for them. Who can say NASA asked them to come work for them? Raven Reyes can. Why? Because she is a certified genius who worked her way through high school, and college, and a master degree, and still managed to look halfway attractive, get in thirty minutes of exercise a day and keep a semi-active social life throughout it all. 
She loved her job. She did, but—but it also meant long days, a lot of overtime, even more time spend on business trips and conference calls. If it wasn’t for her boyfriend Zeke working in the same building as her, she’s pretty sure she would never see him either since she barely ever goes home. She just happened to luck out and get the most amazing, understanding and supportive friends in the universe. 
Besides, after spending half her life ‘being friends’ with Finn—who fucked her over and ghosted her after mere nine days apart at different colleges—Raven has come to learn what real friendship is. Emori tags her in a meme at least every other day, Harper brings over fresh vegetables from her and Monty’s garden whenever she looks extra pale and Clarke dutifully keeps her up to date on all her favorite shows she has zero time to watch. They’re as real as it gets. 
Hence, when things start to cross over from a strong work ethic to borderline workaholic slash inevitable burn-out and her boss Sinclair forces her to take two weeks off, she is disappointed when the first three people she asks to hang out on her first free Saturday night that year already have plans. They barely hear from her in months beside a quick ‘what’s up’ in their group chat before she falls asleep on her couch every Saint Glinglin and they have the audacity to not keep their nights free in case she might ask them to hang out sometime? Assholes. 
Since Emori and Murphy are out of town (probably robbing a house or something, she still doesn’t know what they do in their free time), and Harper and Monty have dinner with her parents, Clarke is up next. Raven texts her asking what she is doing that weekend, opening up a bottle of wine before padding over to her living room without a glass. She deserves the entire thing. Raven starts up Netflix on her smart TV while she waits for her friend to reply. 
Twenty minutes deep into an episode of Homeland, her phone buzzes annoyingly on the armrest. 
CLARKE [8:51 PM]:
who’s number is this?
RAVEN [8:54 PM]:
very funny griffin. drinks on saturday?
It takes a surprisingly long time for Clarke to answer her text, even though she isn’t a notorious bad back-texter unlike her boyfriend. One time like two years back, Raven asked Bellamy if he wanted to chip in on Murphy’s birthday present and he still hasn’t replied to this day. She’s pretty sure he isn’t even aware of the fact iMessage exists.
Raven has almost single-handedly finished off a bag of Cheetos before her phone buzzes again. She unlocks her phone to find a photo of a pregnancy test staring back at her, balanced precariously on what she assumes is Clarke’s knee, like the night terrors she used to have in middle school, terrified to end up like the other girls in her neighbourhood, sure a boy even looking at her could knock her up. 
RAVEN [9:08 PM]:
so no drinks then???
The reply comes faster this time, Raven sure that Clarke was just jumping for her to something. Anything.
CLARKE [09:09 PM]:
i just found out and my first instinct was to grab a bottle of beer, i’m fucked
She’s not sure what Clarke wants from her here—that one always had more up her sleeve than expected—a congrats or a condolences, so she settles on the safe middle of comic relief. 
RAVEN [9:10 PM]:
who’s the father?
CLARKE [09:10 PM]:
seriously?
RAVEN [9:11 PM]:
what? thought you two went to that swingers club the other month
CLARKE [09:14 PM]:
that was a teacher’s conference. he begged me to come
RAVEN [9:15 PM]:
i thought YOU begged HIM to come and now we’re in this whole mess?
A reply doesn’t come for two minutes, and then three, and when the clock ticks closer to five minutes, Raven decides to dial her number. It switches over to Facetime, but the screen is black, static commotion of the phone being moved around the only sound between their two devices for a good ten seconds. Finally, she asks, “Clarke?” 
“I didn’t plan for this, Rave,” is the first thing out of her mouth, and Raven has to bite back a smile. Clarke is such a in-the-closet neurotic mess and she missed it. The screen turns very bright, then finally she can make out her friend. From the looks of it, she is on the floor in her bathroom, mascara smudged lightly under her eyes, wavy hair a mess on top of her head. “I haven’t even finished school yet. My NCLEX exam isn’t until next month—“
“Sound like perfect timing to me,” Raven snorts, keeping her tone very bored. Is this all she has? Are these her best arguments? She’s off her game. “You’ll ace the exam, get a few months of nursing experience at the hospital and then you can go on maternity leave. Your mom owns the surgical ward, I’m pretty sure she can make it happen.”
She watches Clarke draw her knees up to her chest, resting her forehead on top of them for a moment before looking back up at her phone. She does look wrecked. Raven hesistates for a second, then inquires, “Have you told him?”
“No,” Clarke replies, and then she is quiet for another second. She sounds softer this time, “What if he doesn’t want this?”
Raven almost cackles out loud. That loser would do anything for her, even if he didn’t want a baby with her—which seemed very unlikely—he would probably go to his grave swearing it was all he ever wanted. Besides, Bellamy has a few years on Clarke, is a well-known mother hen and is practically smitten with his sister’s toddler. (The only pictures he ever posts on social media are either of Clarke, his sister, that bratty little Octavia look-alike, or the three of them together—which was probably Nirvana by his definition.) He was more than ready, Raven’s sure that his old man primal hormones are just off the charts.
“Fat chance,” Raven settles on, instead of manic laughter because she’s a good friend, eyebrows practically disappearing into her hairline. “You’re talking about Bellamy Blake? The same Bellamy Blake who, when you introduced him to me and I told him I would kick his ass if he ever hurt you, said he couldn’t wait to have your babies someday?”
Clarke scrunches up her nose in disbelief, and Raven wonders if she needs to get her sight checked. Does she not see how that buffoon looks at her? “He said that?”
“Yep,” Raven drags out, seemingly unimpressed.
“He was drunk,” she argues, brushing her off as she runs a hand through her tangled blonde hair. 
���That makes it more true, Clarke, not less,” Raven replies without skipping a beat, can’t help but sound a little tiny bit judgemental just because of who she is as a person. There’s more silence, Clarke chewing on her thumbnail as she stares off in the distance and Raven sighs, softening her voice. “No offense, but why are you complaining to me about this, babe? It isn’t like you to be this insecure.”
Was this not the Clarke Griffin who marched up to their arrogant orange-President-affliated professor and told him he might be an art teacher, but she was an artist? It was a popular meme around their college for weeks, black sunglasses and a animated blunt photoshopped onto her yearbook picture and plastered around the halls. The same Clarke Griffin who punched through a glass window because racist campus police let her go and took Monty into a interrogation room alone after catching the both of them with some weed brownies and still has the scar to prove it? Was she not the Clarke Griffin who got everyone to sign a petition to get Kyle Wick kicked out of school when he tweeted out a sexually suggestive picture of Raven?
“Because you know he’ll be excited,” she presses, aggrevated, blue eyes dark as she stares at her camera as if she can stare straight into Raven’s soul. “And I can’t break his heart and tell him that—”
“That what?” Raven cocks an eyebrow, figuring it’s time for some though love now. “You dont want a baby?”
“No—“ She tries to get it, but Raven doesn’t relent, keeps pressing, “That you don’t want his baby?”
“No!” Clarke blurts out harshly, cutting her off as her eyes brim with tears. “That I didn’t plan for this!” She swallows tightly, and Raven just watches her, chest heaving up and down erraticly, blue eyes darting from left to right as she tries to get her thoughts together.  “You know what happened when I started medical school, why I had to drop out,” her voice finally breaks, lip trembling. “This time, I was going to better. I was going to do it right.”
“You had a nervous breakdown, Clarke,” Raven snaps, tired of the sugarcoating. She was so hard on herself, and Raven still feels the slighest pang of guilt at that because she used to encourage that quality in her, held her to even higher standards. Maybe at first because she was jealous of her, of the golden girl who got everything handed to her. When she realized that wasn’t true, it was more because Raven knew she could be brilliant. Then after everything went down, she realized Clarke had already been brilliant all along. “You were making eighteen hour days, Lexa broke your heart and then your dad died in your arms. I think not having a breakdown over that would’ve qualified you as a sociopath.”
Clarke quickly wipes at the wetness trailing down her cheek, like she is trying to keep Raven from seeing, hugging her knees closer to her chest. Quietly, she sniffs, wondering, “What if it happens again?”
“It won’t. Because you’ve learned you can’t plan everything because life comes at you fast,” Raven says, authoratively, like she’s reading it from the pamphlet her therapist got them back then. “—and to communicate about how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. Eat enough vegetables and sleep enough hours.”
Clarke takes a deep breath, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand as she lets herself nod. Raven can’t help but press, “Isn’t that what you and Bellamy use as foreplay? A good old fashioned emotional conversation?”
Clarke scoffs. “No, like talking shop doesn’t get you and Shaw going.”
Raven lifts a shoulder, indifferent. She’s not going to sit here and pretend like him being able to name every component of a Harvey Davidson motorcycle in alphabetical order doesn’t get her all hot and bothered.
Clarke wipes her palms on her jeans-clad thighs, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “What if I’m not any good at this?”
“Then the child will have the most awesome aunt to fall back on,” Raven smirks, and luckily, Clarke finally cracks a smile too. “You’re Clarke fucking Griffin. If this is something that you want—“ She drags out the last word, pausing to get her confirmation (she’s pretty sure it’s something she does want, deep down, but it doesn’t hurt to check before she rolls out the whole peptalk), and reluctantly, her friend nods, corners of her lips turned up almost shyly. “If it’s something that you want, you’ll succeed at it. You care about everyone, Clarke, to a fault.”
Raven finds herself smirking again, pretending to be half-distracted with re-tightening her brace. “And I know it’ll be hard to care about that baby knowing it’s Bellamy’s—“
“Shut up,” Clarke deadpans, and her eyes look brighter, clearer. Tentatively, her hand comes to rest on top of her lower belly, fingers flexing on top of her shirt for just a second. Raven can’t help but smile, happy for her friends. It’s what they deserve.
“You should really call him,” Raven pushes, pursing her lips satisfactory, “He’s going to be so salty you told me before him.”
“Probably,” Clarke snorts, just the slightest bit of nervousness flashing across her eyes before they soften as she says, “But, thanks, Rave. I’m glad to see NASA lets you out on probation every six months.”
“It’s NASA though,” she responds—a little boastful, because it’s NASA, she gets to be boastful—then stretches out her free arm. “Also, mocktails Saturday?”
Clarke beams. “Deal.”
(The next time Raven gets a text from Clarke, it’s a photo of a ring on her finger.)
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Text
the hargreeves kids as things my friends have said
I know I used some of these for my raven cycle post but I couldn't resist
Luther
I want another Clementine but they've all been juggled!
contrary to popular belief, your hands are NOT wrenches.
You got snow? don't worry about it. all I need is my chair and I'll take care of it.
No, [Allison], I'm not doing a line of smarties off your buttcrack.
Don't belittle my teeth!
I have... milk sadness.
There's a lot more gay popes than I thought there were.
remember that thing we did yesterday? yeet the moon.
How do you smoke weed? oh you SMOKE it!
They always ask who I'm throwing... but they never ask who's throwing me :(
Diego
What's it called... English? is it English? Fuck English.
You don't tell a lady to keep her spear in the trunk.
Chickens are fine. I don't think they have feelings.
What, you have boneless water where you live like some kind of fancy person?
Hell yeah ladies get on this scarf dick
You can't slorp without knowing the consequences.
We're just... hands
I swear I've developed a cowboy persona.
The cheese has little knives, the milk has daggers, ice cream has poison, and the yogurt has a disk sander, and if you don't have a strong stomach membrane that's lactose intolerance because they try to kill you.
My aunt Rosalie could kick your aunt Rosalie's ASS
Allison
Hashtag baddie cowboy emoji sunglasses emoji
I need a favor involving olives.
Sorry to disappoint, cannibal
not getting vaccinated is the equivalent of a spawn kill
Beekeeper on the top, party on the bottom.
Nothing says "hail satan!" like a Yankee candle
s... something just... dabbed in there....
in AND out burger? that seems excessive.
Yknow, shirt genres?
What DOESN'T sound like a bathtub?
Klaus
Dom brain takes over and there are no survivors. Not even me
I'm the lover! dab on me!
That's a bone, bitch!
When was i... New York!!
Y'all ever smoke Fall Out Boy?
The 3 genders: male, female, fear
I'm a mall Santa by day, hospital twerker by night
picture this: the middle of the desert. Now picture this: total anarchy. Are you intrigued?
Stop wizard-splaining
My sexuality is Nickelodeon slime
Juice is temporary. Sauce is forever. My brother said that. he's dead now. the juice got him
The West Virginian mountains could fuck me
live your best life. eat your own ass
I don't know what God tastes like but pussy tastes like good fuckin food
have you ever seen the human centipede?? THAT WOULD BE THE BEST ORAL SEX EVER!
[Allison] just lay on the floor and we'll all smell you
Its teeth are hands? oh I'm so proud of you!
does big suck on small peen result in detachment?
The best way to ask someone's sexuality: what's your favorite flavor of crotch?
Five
I promise I will never call you a beanie bitch
Pack the wife and kids and go watch Mt. St. Helena erupt
The rectangle and the rhombus fell in love and made a baby named the square and then they eventually commited suicide
Are you implying that all other spas are run by robots?
I don't want your styrofoam spheres!
Blue highlighters will never amount to anything.
Fine print is for wimps
Its called a prayer circle, dumbass
Out of all the animals that would dab, the Clydesdale horse is not one of them
Only white people are legally allowed to play ultimate frisbee.
The shamrock shake gave me ptsd
Just casual arson, I guess
If you give the baby LSD, maybe it'll be happy.
Dying alone, GONG. Now there's a bell in your head.
Ben
Uranium can't be transuranium... unless it wants to be and that's fine
I want a Graham cracker taped to a rock as my tombstone
Everyone is just an allele goodwill
Wildfires kill people, [Klaus]!
Have fun getting shanked by the bathroom clown
You're worth negative corn chips
I don't trust buildings with upside dowm handicap signs
bikes are causing discrepancies amongst the skeleton mating habits
The light at the end of the tunnel is a train. heaven is a train.
posse pentacle pass the tentacle
kill me on your favorite salad
why do olives make you feel like a shark?
Vanya
that's what music is. it's a lot of seIlf hatred wrapped up in a little violin.
string quartet? you mean fourplay?
well, it's not MY half lemon...
we do NOT want bananas in our cellos.
when the bees are inside you, you understand them.
you should try slapping a crab sometime
are....... are you conquered?
Have a vengeance against the sight reading. This piece killed your father.
Alright. lime screaming over
What the fuck? it's not even whale time!
You sound like your shoelaces are tied together
Just let the fingers have a little dancing fun!
You gotta pour your sheet music
I love the sound of smooth jazz and distant screaming
I don't deserve fingers
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littlelovelymemes · 7 years
Text
✰ * º ❛ even more popular text posts ask meme. ❜
‘  my kink is getting some fuckin sleep.  ’ ‘  omg here goes your lil crybaby ass.  ’ ‘  the beatles wouldn’t even fucking exist if big time rush hadn’t paved the path for them so shut the fuck up.  ’ ‘  don’t start buddy. don’t you dare.  ’ ‘  gay rights? true, as a gay, i am always right.  ’ ‘  not to vent, but: fuck.  ’ ‘  the worst pain is to make small talk with someone you once told everything to.  ’ ‘  i think i accidentally break my own heart a lot.  ’ ‘  sometimes ‘brb’ stands for ‘be ready bitch’ so you have to be careful.  ’ ‘  i want to kiss you in a way that makes you not want to kiss anyone else ever again.  ’ ‘  shout out to the people who are still friends with me even though i’m a fucking idiot.  ’ ‘  it’s safe to assume that at any given moment i want to go back to bed.  ’ ‘  i’m a big fan of anything that will help me chill the fuck out.  ’ ‘  i don’t go through people’s pictures on their phone cause i wasn’t raised in the jungle.  ’ ‘  i think we, as a people, just need to have a glass of water.  ’ ‘  i don’t have enough black clothes.  ’ ‘  sweetie, i could sleep for ten years and i’d still be tired.  ’ ‘  i would sleep so much better with your arms wrapped around me.  ’ ‘  me??? tired??? sleepy??? yes, constantly.  ’ ‘  i’m pb&j -- petty, bitter, and jealous.  ’ ‘  the fact that sloths aren’t extinct somehow proves that if you go at your own pace and mind your own fucking business you too can succeed.  ’ ‘  i wish i could be the person i want to be, but i’m too tired.  ’ ‘  i always look sleep deprived. is that hot?  ’ ‘  just because there’s always room for improvement doesn’t mean you’ll never be good enough.  ’ ‘  my heart is a soft and sensitive mess.  ’ ‘  all i want is a big garden and no responsibilities.  ’ ‘  honestly someone not liking beyonce is a deal breaker and not for any political reasons, but just like you’re probably, definitely really boring.  ’ ‘  hey guys, i’m a huge fan of genuine love and affection.  ’ ‘  now i’m falling asleep and she’s calling a crab and he’s having a smoke and she’s kissing the crab.  ’ ‘  i’ve been ever since i heard ‘lonely’ by akon at 9 years-old.  ’ ‘  my new years resolution is to stop.  ’ ‘  i’m irritated cause i’m not lovable in a romantic soulmate way.  ’ ‘  i hate knowing that people that ruined parts of me still live and function like nothing ever happened.  ’ ‘  i know i’m cute, but you can remind me.  ’ ‘  hey, just wondering, but are you fucking kidding me????  ’ ‘  i can’t wait to be in love with someone who is also deepfuck in love with me and we love each other forever n’ ever.  ’ ‘  me? clingy? yes. please don’t leave me.  ’ ‘  girlfriend application compatibility question: do you keep your depression pile on the bed or on the floor?  ’ ‘  anything heart shaped is automatically 200% better. this is a fact.  ’ ‘  today’s agenda: screaming into the abyss.  ’ ‘  going from ‘today is a good day’ to ‘i hate my life’ takes me approximately 2.6 seconds.  ’ ‘  everyone needs to wash their face and go to bed.  ’ ‘  i’m worth so much more than the ways i’ve been treated.  ’ ‘  hey, can i claim you guys as dependents on my taxes?  ’ ‘  i really just ignore phone calls. like leave a message. i don’t check those either but like  ’ ‘  i honestly just want to pack my bags and go travel the world and see and explore everything possible.  ’ ‘  remember being little and thinking dandelions were fun or a pretty color or something and every adult in an 80 mile radius wouldn’t let you say that without screaming IT’S A WEED.  ’ ‘  why did we just accept catdog?  ’ ‘  my ‘stay in bed all day’ game’s too strong.  ’ ‘  you deserve to be loved without having to hide the parts of yourself that you think are unlovable.  ’ ‘  i always forget that i literally don’t owe anyone anything!  ’ ‘  i wonder what it feels like to know what the fuck is going on.  ’ ‘  honestly... us girls? us women? we always out here, knowin.  ’ ‘  would an alien think i’m pretty?  ’ ‘  i love boys, but only as a concept.  ’ ‘  why do parents get mad when you sleep in all day? like i’m staying out of trouble and i’m not spending your money like what’s the issue here????  ’ ‘  i identify as an inconvenience to the world.  ’ ‘  i seriously regret telling anyone, anything, ever lmao  ’ ‘  dating me is like dating a five year-old. i need all of your attention and i’m cranky if i haven’t had a nap.  ’ ‘  i’m literally tired of myself.  ’ ‘  don’t introduce me to ur parents unless you plan on marrying me because they’re going to love me and ask about me for the rest of your life lol  ’ ‘  what the hell is a straight person? only straight thing i know about is the edge of my beloved sword.  ’ ‘  i highly recommend never having feelings.  ’ ‘  self care is going into a cornfield at night to get abducted by aliens.  ’ ‘  staying up late with another human is such a weird thing like you get this special bond and a what-is-this feeling  ’ ‘  do u ever feel like ur not even friends with ur friends?  ’ ‘  um no offense but whom’st’ve going to loveth me?  ’ ‘  date a girl who fucks everything up.  ’ ‘  not all who mcfreakin wander are mcfreakin lost.  ’ ‘  i may legally be an adult but don’t be fooled. i have no idea what i’m doing.  ’ ‘  a fun and interesting fact about me is that i’m a fucking idiot.  ’ ‘  you can start again anytime!  ’ ‘  all you can do is learn your lesson. there’s no point in wishing you had did differently. the past is the past.  ’ ‘  i can’t believe an angel like me has to suffer so much.  ’ ‘  you’re all so obsessed with love and being loved. what about just going to sleep?  ’ ‘  i’m smart, but i do dumb shit anyway.  ’ ‘  tbh i never deal with my emotions. i just let them ravage my body and then go to bed and then i wake up and do it all over again.  ’ ‘  first of all: i don’t know shit, so jot that down.  ’ ‘  i’ll just ¯\ _(ツ)_/¯ my way through life.  ’ ‘  i’m tired of things costing money.  ’ ‘  don’t you hate it when you’re dead inside and run out of apps to refresh?  ’ ‘  who cares? do better, move on.  ’ ‘  i don’t need a significant other. just a significant income.  ’ ‘  appreciation for everyone who’s ever talked to me bc i’m annoying and dumb.  ’ ‘  thnks fr th mntl llnss.  ’ ‘  what  hasn’t killed me has just made me overly sensitive and defensive.  ’ ‘  i don’t know shit ya’ll!!!!! i’m just out here.  ’ ‘  binge-watching is great until you run out of the show and have to start watching it weekly like some sort of medieval peasant.  ’ ‘  i’m in the wrong realm and i think everyone can tell.  ’ ‘  this might come as a shock but I’m Not Feelin too good my dudes.  ’ ‘  i’m alive, but only ironically.  ’ ‘  there she goes again being over dramatic and by she, i mean me.  ’ ‘  do you ever feel like have tried Too Hard to a friend and now you have become That Obnoxious Weirdo?  ’ ‘  lgbt: lasagna! garfield’s beloved treat.  ’ ‘  my favorite phrase in the english language is ‘i shit you not.’  ’ ‘  i’m a real boring bitch! a snoozer!  ’ ‘  i honestly look so good lounging in an oversized t-shirt and no pants. when will someone experience the blessing of domestic living w/ me?  ’ ‘  you don’t understand how hard it is to take a selfie when you’re ugly.  ’ ‘  you son of a mumford!  ’ ‘  hi, i’m here to ruin everything.  ’ ‘  you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their hands. for example, if it’s a skeleton hand then they’re dead.  ’ ‘  the year is 2020 and i am found guilty of treason against the united states for vague blogging that i hate someone and donald trump thought it was about him.  ’ ‘  everybody calm down, we’re going to be fine! :))) we’ve weathered worse than this! :) :) :) :) really all this panic just seems like a huge overreaction imho   ’ ‘  no beta readers. we publish our crap writing like men.  ’ ‘  i need $$$$$ not feelings.  ’ ‘  ‘idk imma see’ = i ain’t coming, never was coming, never considered it, never gave it a single thought, only remembered cause you asked again.  ’ ‘  oops, i don’t care lol  ’ ‘  why girls always crop the halo out of their selfies? stop being so modest. we know the truth.  ’ ‘  maurice, you’re not gonna fucking believe this,  ’ ‘  i always get told i look like a bitch bc i’m always glaring while i walk, but i’m not glaring, i’m squinting. i have sensitive eyes. they’re watering.  ’ ‘  concept: it’s 3 am. candle lit room. a record is spinning. you’re kissing me. we have no worries in the world. we’re warm and content.  ’ ‘  i need to go into the forest and scream for an hour and a half.  ’ ‘  pls kill all men who yell at girls from cars.  ’ ‘  life really isn’t what i expected it to be. less quicksand. almost no quicksand to be honest. lots of metaphorical quicksand tho.  ’ ‘  i have a question for u: like are u done... like is it over?  ’ ‘  we all have that one person who ruins your day by being alive.  ’ ‘  we all have that one person who ruins your day by being alive. for me, it’s myself.  ’ ‘  whenever i see police i always try not to act suspicious and fail internally even though i never did anything wrong.  ’ ‘  new years resolution: less bitter, more glitter.  ’
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tigresjumeaux · 7 years
Text
As per the request of @my-insanity-is-irrelevant​, here goes nothing. Not even gonna reblog the ask meme post bc I’m literally answering every question rip
1. What is you middle name? Marie. #basic 2. How old are you? 19. 3. When is your birthday? May 31.  4. What is your zodiac sign? Gemini. I’m actually two people and they’re both snakes.  5. What is your favorite color? I honestly don’t have one, they all have their perks. I do tend to favor cooler and darker colors tho 6. What’s your lucky number? 7 and 9, but odd numbers tend to treat me nicely in general.  7. Do you have any pets? Three! A Boxer named Buster, and two 14 y/o cats named Asheley and Nadia. Here’s hoping for many more in the future. :’) 8. Where are you from? Born in Seattle, raised in the greater St. Louis area, and going to school in Muncie, IN.  9. How tall are you? 5′6″ 10. What shoe size are you? 8 in American women’s size. 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? Oh lord. Probably like 15 because I refuse to get rid of any, but I only wear like 4. 12. What was your last dream about? Roller coasters and an ex being nasty. DJ Khaled was there.  13. What talents do you have? I’m fairly good at reading people, and also drawing. I’m also a quick learner, if that counts as a talent? 14. Are you psychic in any way? I wish. I have a weird force of karma that seems to follow the people who have hurt me around, but that could be coincidence. I’ve helped check other people’s energies (as well as my own) before, but my knowledge is limited and I don’t think I have the sense of self to pursue that right now. 15. Favorite song? At no point in my life have I had just one, but “Fury” by Muse and “Love is Mystical” by the Cold War Kids are up there right now.  16. Favorite movie? Wonder Woman was so, so good, y’all. I also like  17. Who would be your ideal partner? daisy ridley right now, my standards are both really low and really high. Just...someone I get along with and who gives a rat’s ass?  18. Do you want children? I think I might, yeah. Depends on who I end up with, but I like the idea of making small humans and showing them how the world works. Teaching others has always helped me figure shit out, anyway.  19. Do you want a church wedding? nooooo thank you 20. Are you religious? Not in the sense that I participate in organized religion, but I do believe in aspects of many different religions. I’m particularly fond of reincarnation. 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? I had to have my chin stitched up when I was like, 3. And also I had my tonsils out at 10.  22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? Nope, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.  23. Have you ever met any celebrities? I met Paramore the summer before my junior year, and I met Jensen, Jared, and Misha from SPN my senior year! 24. Baths or showers? Showers. 25. What color socks are you wearing? au naturale i’m barefoot bitches 26. Have you ever been famous? one time i did a drawing and it got 100 notes 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? noooooo maybe C-list at most 28. What type of music do you like? I’ll listen to just about anything, but I lean towards alt rock, metal, punk, some indie if it isn’t too hippie-ish. 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? nah 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? Like...7?  31. What position do you usually sleep in? On my stomach with my top half wrapped around a pillow or a blanket.  32. How big is your house? Two-story, four bedrooms. Parents raised three wild kiddos here 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? A smoothie or a sandwich when I’m actually up in time.  34. Have you ever fired a gun? No, but I’d like to at least try. 35. Have you ever tried archery? yes and i ain’t no katniss 36. Favorite clean word? Maverick (that’s one of many) 37. Favorite swear word? Fuck. it’s just so versatile 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 60 hours or so 39. Do you have any scars? On my heels, chin, thighs, hips, and over my wristbones. I’m clumsy, have pets, and have self-harmed. 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? An anon flirted w me on Tumblr but it was someone in my French class, lel. Wasn’t a secret for too long. 41. Are you a good liar? White lies, yes. Big lies, noooo. 42. Are you a good judge of character? Generally? 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? Not a whole lot on my own, but I’ll pick up anything I hear regularly. 44. Do you have a strong accent? Not really? I just kinda talk and drop bits of different accents here and there. I don’t think I have that much of a St. Louis accent. 45. What is your favorite accent? I have a soft spot for slight Southern accents. Eastern European and Australian are also awesome.  46. What is your personality type? sad 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? A $120 jacket from Zumiez. It’s HUF brand but I bought it for the wolves on it tbh 48. Can you curl your tongue? Yes and it comes in handy w girlfriends 49. Are you an innie or an outie? Innie  50. Left or right handed? Right 51. Are you scared of spiders? I used to, but I’m getting better. They startle me but I’ve carried a wolf spider outside so 52. Favorite food? changes by the hour tbh tho chicken is always good 53. Favorite foreign food? Shepherd’s Pie.  54. Are you a clean or messy person? Clean, but disorganized. My room is cluttered but not like, dirty.  55. Most used phrase? "Oh my god.” 56. Most used word? like 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? depends. not usually over 45 minutes unless I’m getting Fancy.  58. Do you have much of an ego? Not really.  59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? Yes. 60. Do you talk to yourself? More than anyone else. 61. Do you sing to yourself? Yes, especially when I can’t hear my own voice. 62. Are you a good singer? N o 63. Biggest Fear? Forgetting and being forgotten. 64. Are you a gossip? drama that don’t involve me is the best drama 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? Goodwill Hunting aaaaaa 66. Do you like long or short hair? On myself, defs long. I love pulling it back too much for short.  67. Can you name all 50 states of America? Yep! I 68. Favorite school subject? English. Also psychology.  69. Extrovert or Introvert? Extrovert with trust issues, abandonment issues, and that shuts down a lot. and also clinical depression 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? No, but I’ve been snorkeling! 71. What makes you nervous? Anything has the potential to make me nervous, tbh. But not knowing things is The Worst 72. Are you scared of the dark? Oh god yes 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? I do when it’s something small. Big mistakes are things you gotta figure out for yourself. 74. Are you ticklish? Less and less over time, tbh.  75. Have you ever started a rumor? Never on purpose. I’ve heard a few things I’ve said get distorted and spread but I try to Cut That Shit Out Quick 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? I was a President of a few clubs in high school, captain of the swim team, and a manager for the track and cross country teams.  77. Have you ever drank underage? Whenever I can, tbh. Not even to get drunk, necessarily, it just tastes good 78. Have you ever done drugs? Only weed with a close friendo of mine. I also may have saved a few narcotics from my wisdom tooth removal for a rainy day 79. Who was your first real crush? My best friend in middle school. That was a doozy.  80. How many piercings do you have? I have doubles in my ears, so 4. I’d like triples and possibly a septum piercing.  81. Can you roll your Rs? Yep! Sometimes I do it by accident when speaking 82. How fast can you type? Not very tbh 83. How fast can you run? That depends on why I’m running. 84. What color is your hair? Dirty blonde. 85. What color are your eyes? Blue-gray. 86. What are you allergic to? Certain kinds of deodorant and also tumblr 87. Do you keep a journal? I mean I scribble down stream of consciousness shit when trying to Cope w things, but I don’t keep one regularly.  88. What do your parents do? Dad’s an engineer, mom’s the HR person for a whackass ad company w fun people 89. Do you like your age? I mean I’d rather be able to legally drink, but I’m a legal adult but it doesn’t feel Real yet so I guess it ain’t all bad 90. What makes you angry? When people are mean for literally no good reason. 91. Do you like your own name? it’s aiight. people trying to pronounce my last name is amusing 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? I like the name Oliver a lot for a guy? But really I guess it’d depend on my what my wife likes 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? dog 94. What are your strengths? I know people and can communicate pretty well, and I’m generally good at being pretty friendly. Also I can swim so if someone throws me in the water the joke is on them 95. What are your weaknesses? Can’t be left alone for long periods of time, relying on one person for everything, and ignoring myself and other friends, compulsive tendencies, and an overall obsessive personality. 96. How did you get your name? Named after my dad’s grandma, iirc. Except Claire instead of Clara.  97. Were your ancestors royalty? I’m sure someone was idk 98. Do you have any scars? didn’t I answer this already 99. Color of your bedspread? Black and white at home, orange and purple in my dorm. 100. Color of your room? Very dark forest green. I like it lots.
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storiesbybrian · 7 years
Text
Jane, His Wife (September, 2014)
Paul is about to miss his plane. A viable excuse is right up his ass, a cannaboid suppository purchased as a kind of reward after a very contentious meeting. He could probably amuse his boss into forgiving him for not even making it to the airport with a straightforward account of his inability to resist grabbing something from a shelf labeled “Edibles and Anables”and then, being on such an impulsive roll, marching straight from the register to the unisex bathroom where he pretended to defecate but really went ahead and dented his anal virginity right there in the dispensary, higher than Robert Mitchum before the water from the fake shit flush  finished swirling. But the real reason Paul’s flight takes off without him is a girl he used to know. He thinks her name is Sonja.
Emerging from the bathroom, more of a man/less of a man, too confused to know which codes to honor at the moment, Paul bumped into a guy engrosssed in his smartphone. He was very muscular, with a barcode tattooed on the back of his bald head, and he wore a coat, tie and acid washed jeans. Ironic or resolutely earnest, again Paul couldn’t decipher. So, before manners or fear could stop him, Paul peaked at the phone screen, hoping it might give him a better sense of what this guy was all about. And there she was, holding a baby, grinning unabashedly at the semi-well-dressed man and telling him something about a movie she was almost finished watching. Over the past 25 years, Paul had imagined seeing Sonja again many times, but never in fulfillment of Jetsonian prophecy by the bathroom at a legal weed emporium.
Paul remembers her name as evoking kerchiefs and ice skating, so maybe it’s really Brigitte or Helena. Theirs had been one of those acquaintances that advanced too rapidly to ask for a reminder without compromising the probability of sex, especially since she made a big point of knowing his name, shoehorning it into nearly everything she told him. And then, after what had happened, the mutual acquaintance that had introduced them never mentioned her again and Paul was not about to ask after “your friend, you know, that depressed girl with the ungainly feet and Jupiter spot on her eyeball?” Those feet. They seemed to be clutching something delicate, or maybe she was just trying to make them seem smaller. Anyway, Paul follows her husband out of the dispensary, knowing he has to call work, and his own spouse, and no surer what to say to either of them than how to broach a conversation with a stranger whose physique and pants might imply a penchant  for violence.
Paul follows Mr. Sonja across Rainier Avenue to Chinook Beach Park. This must be where most recreational customers go to light up as now, with one acid washed leg draped over the other, far less threatening seated than upright, the bar code-necked man rolls himself a blunt. For a moment, Paul is afraid of being mistaken for some kind of moocher who hangs around the parking lot waiting for someone to come out and offer him a puff. But just about any misrepresentation, no matter how unflattering, would be preferable to who Paul really is to the mother of this guy’s child.
Meanwhile, what about Paul’s more pressing concerns, like the personal and professional upheaval he causes by being here instead of home in two hours? And in an irony he feels like he has to be very still to keep straight, Paul notes that he is drumming up excuses for the homefront to delay his encounter with a sartorial schizophrenic, while he very well could have mistaken the visage on the guy’s smartphone and set off in pursuit of resolution 25 years in the making to put off the stresses inherent in maintaining all of the routines he is forsaking to be here.  Like he’s avoiding returning to the life he’s now invoking to avoid further avoidment.
He pulls out his own phone and starts dialing Anna Lyza’s mobile number. Her name is not symbolic coincidence, just the product of really strange parents. Paul has made vague allusions to a girl he traumatized in college, but never told Anna Lyza the full story of his day with Sonja. And to go into it now would sound like he was lying to cover for something far more nefarious than a digital goose chase.
So Paul needs to lie to his wife, tell half truths to his boss and come completely clean to this weirdly dressed stranger on a bench. Great, let’s talk to the very strong guy who has good reason to hate you. While he’s high. Paul starts repocketing his phone when it rings. It’s Dan.
“Hello?”
“Paul! So glad I caught you!”
“Oh hi Dan.”
“Listen! Can you talk?”
“To you?”
“Funny. Look, at the meeting earlier today? Jordy said he licenses all of his material through Quatre Saisons? Not true, my man.”
“So we don’t want to…?”
“Dude doesn’t license any of his stuff!”
“Like it’s all-?”
“Open-Sourced! So why were we about to shell out 2nd round funding for free shit?”
“Because you said-“
“Ehnhnhnhnhnh! I didn’t say shit Paul. You said we needed to deal with the Franco-Vivaldi fuckers.”
“Well…”
“Alright, whatever. We’ll talk about this when you get back.”
“Yeah well-“
“Hey Paul?”
“Yeah?”
“Dude, you sound higher than me right now.”
Paul hangs up the phone and rubs his head, appearing far more stressed than he actually is. Sure enough, he gets Sonja’s husband’s attention from the next bench over. Paul gives him his best hangdog and the guy smiles and offers him the blunt. So phase one initiated, but Paul’s resorting to manipulation to make progress toward amends for 25 year-old emotional abuse makes the whole thing feel tarnished before it even gets off the ground.
“Thanks man.”
The guy nods, then thinks better of silence. “Hey, what’d you get in there bro?” His voice is raspy.
Paul takes a deep breath and points to his ass.
“No shit!”
“Not right now.” It gets a laugh.
“So gimme that back, yo. You’re already baked!”
Paul nods enthusiastically. “Appreciate the company though.”
Either the guy will accept the friendly overture or reject it and maybe get suspicious. If the suspicion can manifest itself in a way he’s supposed to notice, Paul will flash his wedding ring and broach the topic of spouses (though the irony of grousing about being married to women as a way to tell men you are not gay is not lost on Paul). But the guy just blanks out and it occurs to Paul that people can say “bro” without awkwardness and still have gaping social deficiencies. In fact, how many times has Paul mistaken one or two words for more comprehensive coolness? He needs to restructure his entire socio-evaluative process but now is not the time. Or is that more personal procrastination and cowardice? Why not now?
“Nice here,” Paul tries.
“You ain’t from Seattle?”
“San Francisco.”
“City by the Bay. Nice bro!”
Paul nods. Briefly he considers just asking the guy what his wife’s name is. But he can only see it seeming  like he’s got a jacket lining full of hot watches for sale. And maybe the guy’s impression of Paul is still unformed enough that coming across as sleazy and awkward himself will not seem out of character, and might even arouse compassion. Like maybe the guy will assume that Paul’s life is so pathetic that sharing the details of his own will seem charitable. But that’s a stretch, even between two stoned strangers.
“Been there? I mean do you live in Seattle? Actually I don’t know what to ask.”
The guy laughs and slaps Paul on the back. It hurts.
“I like you, bro. Name’s Paul.”
“No way! That’s my name too!”
“Bullshit!”
Paul pulls out his driver’s license. The whole time he has been trying to seize the opportunity to bestow an apology whose due is old enough to rent a car, he has assumed that Sonja relegated their afternoon together to some minor episode that never bore recounting to anybody. And before he can consider otherwise, his ID makes Acid Washed Paul potentially angry.
“Did you go to Boulder bro?”
It would be easy to say no, catch another flight and try to smooth everything over back home. But Paul can not chalk all of the other things he’s neglecting to be here up to larkishness.
“Yes.”
“This might sound fucked up, but I know who you are.”
“I saw you FaceTiming with her. I was hoping…”
Paul clamps a hand on Paul’s shoulder and squeezes cruelly. Paul tries to squirm out of it but the grip is too tight. With the other hand Paul holds the blunt close like a paintbrush.
Paul has never been in this much physical danger. He thinks that if he had, or anyone had ever hurt him very badly, he might not carry as much guilt around. As the ember glows an inch from his face, black trees past it swaying by the water, he realizes that maybe he wants to get burned. That rather than explaining to Sonja that he enjoyed being kind to her when she expected cruelty, but then couldn’t help switching to contempt when she started expecting or even demanding kindness after only knowing him for two hours, it might be more satisfying to all parties concerned if her husband damaged him permanently and then brought pictures of it home to his dear sweet wife as sort of a trophy, first prize in the KarmaBall League.
“I wanted…”
Acid Washed Paul’s eyes narrow, but the ember bobbles and his threat of burning seems to recede. Paul almost starts crying and wishes that he would.
“I wanted to apologize to her. She’s… She’s told you what happened?”
“You know what she says? She says it was like you lifted her up to the greatest view she’d ever seen, and then you kicked her lower than she’d been before you’d ever met. She didn’t even wanna know anybody else named Paul, much less marry me! You know she’d just gone back to school after a suicide attempt.”
“No. I didn’t know that. I really didn’t!”
“And it’s stayed with you too, huh?”
Paul nods.
Paul stubs out the blunt and unholsters his phone, weighing it in his hand.
“Well this is a buzzkill.”
Paul tries to maintain eye contact and now he does begin to cry. To his shame, it’s probably out of relief that he escaped a mangling.
“Jesus. You need a drink more ‘n me!”
“I don’t drink.”
“What?”
“I quit when I turned 40.”
“Like W.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Well, he is disciplined I guess.”
They go to a coffee shop that serves beer. Paul seems to know several people there, though Paul can not tell how highly they regard him.
Paul gets a pint of something dark and frothy. Paul has Earl Grey tea.
“Is she… happy?”
“Who Anna?”
Paul rocks back in his seat. All this time he had her name wrong but meanwhile married someone else with the same name. And of course so did she. He thinks it’s a coincidence that shouldn’t mean much, but worries again that dismissiveness is tantamount to cowardice. Paul does not know anything else about Paul. If Paul shares more information, the coincidence will gain the freight of expectations and make the whole thing look like some time bomb detonating at the altar. But he cops out and sits on it, pretending he knew Sonja was Anna all along, and that her San Francisco counterpart is named something other than Anna Lyza.
“I mean… If you’re askin’ how guilty are you supposed to feel, I can tell you that plenty of dudes have done her way worse than you managed in one afternoon.”
“But, well, do you know all their names too?”
“Oh yeah. All named Paul. Every last one of ‘em!”
Inhalant Paul looks bewildered for a moment, then cracks up loud enough for dozens of faces haunted by laptops to stare at him. He can not stop laughing. The faces plead for quiet. Rectal Paul is not sure whether to laugh along, stay mired in the horror that seized him when he thought Paul was serious, or take the spectral freelancers’ side and admonish Paul to simmer down.  He sips his tea without committing to anything.
“Man, I don’t even think she remembers every one’s name. And trust me, it ain’t like I ain’t done my share of damage too. But I’ve stuck around so…”
“I really would like to apologize to her.”
“Yeah that probably works for you bro, but I’m not sure it’s such a good idea on her end. Mad hormonal since the baby.”
“I hear that! We have a two year-old.”
“Tell me it gets easier.”
“It does. I mean, you get to start sleeping through the night again. But that’s right around the same time they learn to move on their own so there’s more chasing ‘em around, instinctively covering every table corner with your hand.”
Paul does not ask Paul any follow ups, how old, how masculine, any others. Paul is relieved by this. If Paul were generous enough to be curious, he would occupy the high road more imposingly. But being all about his own deal, Paul does not have to cede as much moral leverage for his past sins.
Music has been playing continuously, though a specific song comes on before Paul notices. It is a classic rock anthem that Paul’s high school classmates used to sing along with and quote in yearbooks while he felt alienated for cherishing the knowledge that the song was the musical equivalent of shit past its expiration date. But now he smiles and feels the urge to sing along, nearly certain that Paul will join right in.
Before the verse drives up to the chorus, a giant hand tries to pry the coffee shop’s roof from the top of its walls. Everything quakes. Coffee cups chit and shatter. The song keeps playing. Nobody wants to be the one to shriek. The giant hand can not separate the roof from the walls. The quaking stops for a moment, then the giant hand punches through the roof, smashing into a pinball machine. It tries to shake the plaster and glass out of its wounded knuckles. It has a wedding ring that knocks people down.
Paul and Paul look up through the hole in the building. Giant Anna glares down at them, raising her foot til it blocks out the light.
Paul says, “Holy shit that’s my wife!”
Paul thinks with so many people under threat of imminent smushing, he might have pretended otherwise. But in his final moment before Anna grounds him and everyone else there into the carpeting, he envies Paul’s lack of guile.
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dabwoodscarts1 · 3 years
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Is weed gay?: Iconic influence in America
Cannabis and LGBTQIA+ culture intersect in all corners of society, from our individual social lives to our culture as a whole.
Throughout BUY DABWOODS CART ONLINE , and particularly during the last century, the place of cannabis and queer people in society has shifted dramatically. Through it all, the strong bond of queer culture and cannabis culture has remained.
While both cultures enjoy a good activism moment, we are also human beings who want to socialize, relax, create art, and find communities where we feel safe and seen.
A growing part of LGBTQIA+ social life
(Adobe)
For many queer people, cannabis usage fits closely to an ethos of living life separate from strict rules of society and the judgments of more conservative social norms. It’s part of not only how queer people unwind and relax, but in how we indulge, bond, and socialize with other queer people and with sexual and romantic partners.
Cannabis companies have taken notice too. In recent years, cannabis companies have increasingly marketed their products towards queer consumers and offered deals and special products during the Pride season.
However, the Pride-exclusive nature of many of these marketing efforts leaves much room to grow, especially when queer consumers make up such a strong market year round.
With over $5.4 trillion dollars in global purchasing power and a clear passion for cannabis, queer consumers are going to continue to grow as a priority for smart cannabis brands.
So why is cannabis so popular in queer circles?
Shared anti-establishment roots
Once upon a time, both cannabis use and queer identity were seen as immoral, outsider behavior in America. Instead of abandoning what and who they loved, many people adapted and changed the country forever.
Counterculture icons like the great beat poets of the 1950’s and the punk musicians of the 1980’s rejected traditional gender roles, sexual mores, and, of course, cannabis prohibition. As the counterculture movement grew with both LGBTQ+ people and cannabis lovers, the creative arts would play an important role in furthering the influence of queer people and cannabis enthusiasts alike.
Shaping the arts landscape
(Adobe)
Both cannabis and queer culture are linked to some of the most important art movements in American and global history.
Jazz, one of the most influential movements in American music, has a history that is rich with both queer artists and cannabis. Notable queer musicians like Tony Jackson, Gladys Bentley, Gertrude “Ma” Rainy, and Bessie Smith helped shape Jazz music.
Related
Why weed’s greatest villain hounded Billie Holiday to death
Cannabis was equally influential in Jazz, so much so that joints gained both popularity and the nickname “jazz cigarettes” through their prevalence in the scene.
On the art scene, we find more connections. Frida Kahlo, one of the most influential painters of all time, was not only a bisexual woman but also used cannabis while creating her masterpieces and for her body. The prevalence of cannabis and queerness among respected artists helped bring respect to both cannabis and queer people.
Reefer and rebellion
The 1960s saw a rise in the rebellion and self-expression that would embolden many young queer people and cannabis enthusiasts alike.
In California, the hippie movement kickstarted many underground queer magazines and pulp novels. In New York, the influential visual arts scene featured an abundance of queer art legends like Andy Warhol and David Hockney, as well as a rich cannabis culture. Queer musicians of the 1960s, like Janis Joplin, were increasingly speaking freely about their love of cannabis. The art, fashion, sound, and style found its way into the mainstream of suburbia and made a huge impact on the artistic sensibilities of a generation.
Related
7 weed strains to celebrate Pride
In the 1990’s, the Club Kids scene in New York was steeped heavily in not only the groundbreaking creativity and vibrant expression of queer artists, but also the freedom of psychoactive experimentation. The scene’s celebrities, like Ru Paul, would go on to become massive cultural figures, transcending the underground scene they originated in and influencing fashion, music and television for decades to come.
Without queer artists and the carefree, creative energy that many artists find in cannabis, visual arts, music, literature and film might not be quite as vibrant or free spirited as it is today. It was through art scenes like these that queer people were able to become icons and cannabis began to be seen as a tool for creativity instead of a vice.
(Adobe)
As we have progressed as a society, it’s (fortunately) fallen out of fashion to spend one’s time getting bent out of shape about the harmless actions of other people. In the latter half of the twentieth century, both queer life and cannabis consumption started to become less taboo.
The Hays Code, which made it illegal to show representations of queer people and of drug use in film, was repealed in the 1960s, and more queer representation made its way into the mainstream.
Increased representation helped change the public perception around LGBTQIA+ people and cannabis alike, forever shifting popular culture.
Young people today are more likely to support cannabis legalization and LGBTQ+ rights. This is in part because both queer people and cannabis users have been humanized in pop culture instead of made the butt of the joke.
With new freedom to break cultural norms and live in ways that work for them, cannabis has become just one more way that queer people are able to openly pursue a life that feels authentic and free.
(Cannaclusive)
Another reason why cannabis is so prevalent in queer culture is because many queer people find smoke sesh partners in their queer friend groups or in groups of open-minded queer allies.
This is because as queer people, both our social circles and our communal smoke circles find their roots in the very same thing: a circle of trust.
In a prohibition environment, it isn’t smart to consume cannabis with people you don’t trust. Doing so might mean exposing yourself to those who might rat you out to the authorities or otherwise disclose your stoner status in ways that might damage your public and professional standing.
Similarly, throughout history, your life could be destroyed if you were outed as gay. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, police would raid suspected LGBTQ+ bars and establishments and publish suspected queer people’s information in newspapers.
This information could destroy families and careers and lead to isolation from one’s relatives, friends, and religious community. For many queer people in conservative areas of the United States or in more conservative countries across the world, being outed can still pose a very real threat to livelihood and physical safety.
Trust is key
For generations, both the cannabis and queer community have survived only on the basis of trust. For queer people, our social groups are a place where we can explore our gender presentation, express our desires and live with dignity. They are a natural safe space for enjoying cannabis without fear of judgment or punishment.
Not all queer people enjoy cannabis. Not all queer people want to be around cannabis. Not all queer social circles are an appropriate place for cannabis. But when the two meet up, they form a unique environment where queer stoners can relax and feel safe among friends. And for queer people across the globe, that is a gift.
In conclusion: Yes, weed is gay.
Cannabis is core to queer culture. Its path to legalization and political acceptance mirrors ours. In health care, cannabis is an important wellness resource for queer people. Socially, cannabis has gone hand in hand with the way we create art, the way we relax, and the way we find comfort in a community of like-minded individuals.
(Leafly)
The story of queer people and cannabis is about more than history or medicine or art or socializing. It is also a story about survival, about community and about our will to live in ways that feel authentic and true.
If you’re queer, celebrate Pride by rolling up a joint like our forefathers, foremothers, and forepeople. If you’re an ally, smoke out your queer friends. And by the power vested in me via this byline, if you’re a homophobe, I hope someone sells you some dirty ass oregano this Pride month.
Read more about queer culture and weed
C. Merten
C. Merten is a Chicago-based writer, creative, and cannabis enthusiast. Their passions include breakfast, 70's music, pina coladas, and getting caught in the rain.
View C. Merten's articles
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alwaysbesparkly · 6 years
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07:30
I don’t think I ever experienced tiredness like this but oh well. We need to work in order to afford this crazy rollercoaster. 6 hours of work and then off to Amsterdam to meet Yael, who I never thought I would be meeting this soon because the distance Amsterdam – Israel isn’t the easiest one to break. But it’s actually happening after like what, 3 years of talking? But first, work. I will spare you the details of a work day with very little sleep and a lot of nerves. 
15:00
AMSTERDAM! I get out of the train on a very crowded Amsterdam Central Station. What’s new though? However, there are already a LOT of pink themed people for the Toppers in Pink (wow really?) concert that’s this weekend in the arena. I hop on a tram and make a pit stop to score the cheapest short dress at the H&M. It’s unusually hot in Amsterdam and I somehow thought putting on long jeans, long black thick Levi’s jeans, was a smart idea. With my newly bought dress I hop on another tram to the cat cafe. Is it weird to say that I am nervous? It has been ages since I met up with “internet” friends.
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21:00
My cat-café date with Yael was genuinely lovely. What a sweet girl she is. Nerves weren’t necessary at all. Talking with her felt so natural and like we have been friends for years. And her purple hair – I am obsessed. I’m now in the hostel, waiting on Renske and Thomas to come back from grocery shopping because if you’re gonna queue all day you’re gonna need food. And drinks. And coffee. Loads of strong coffee. The metro ride to this hostel was quite a ride. We were surrounded by pink and drunk Topper fans. Nothing against them, but I don’t think I can see or hear the word pink anymore after this weekend. 
21:30
We are in the room and it isn’t even that bad. Renske and I claim the big bed, because… well because we are gonna meet Katy this weekend and we need a good night rest? Something like that. Anyway, Renske managed to arrange that we were all in the same room together and it actually worked out. We drop our stuff and go out to find something to eat. We end up at Domino’s, where the weirdest atmosphere is hanging. As soon as we have our pizza’s, we head back to the hostel where Patrick and Emma join us. The pizza was delicious by the way. 
22:00
Nervous. I am definitely nervous. And also exhausted. Dead exhausted. And we still have 6 shows to go. But I couldn’t be more hyped. 
06:00
Our alarm goes off a little bit later than in Antwerp, but you still can’t call it sleeping in. We jump in our outfits and head to the Ziggo Dome. I don’t think I’m lying when I’m saying that we are all a little bit nervous. Amsterdam is our hometown show and when you get up at a crazy time like this, you do wanna be the first. And we are the first. Number 1-2-3-4-5-6. I can finally breath a bit again and maybe sleep a bit again, because I am tired. 
08:00
“Why are we doing this again?” Is the little sentence that spooked around in my head this past two hours. Sleeping isn’t gonna happen anymore, so we kill the time with eating,  feeling sorry for ourselves, but most off all being very excited for tonight. After the Antwerp-drama, I make sure I feed myself every two hours because we don’t want that to happen ever again. 
12:00
On a bandage-mission I leave the queue to go to the hostel. I can’t deny that I’m not nervous leaving the queue, despite all my friends still being in it. I get on the metro, that’s again FULL of pink people. I’m actually scared of the color pink now. And disgusted by the beer smell. I get out at the stop, quickly change in the room and go downstairs to ask for a scissor to actually cut the bandages. The girl doesn’t speak Dutch so the conversation is partly English and partly hand gestures, but she eventually gets what I mean. 
15:00 
Two hours to go. The worst part I didn’t even tell you yet. We actually do not have our tickets yet. Our physical tickets that we NEED to get inside the arena. We still have to pick them up at the ticketbox, that won’t open until 4 PM. Originally it wouldn’t open until 5 PM, but I think after all the complain e-mails and tweets they received about that, they changed it to 4 PM. Thankfully it goes without too much stress. It’s now half an hour later and we actually have our tickets in our hand. Diamond Witness. Dropzone. Amsterdam. Ziggo Dome. 275 euro’s. The last time i’m just trying to forget. 
17:00
We are INSIDE. Well, not inside-inside yet, but we are in the hallway of the Ziggo Dome. Right across the merchandise AND close to the toilets, which is for me with the peanut-bladder, very nice. We have our blue-glittery wristbands on and have our VIP-bag with all the VIP-goodies. I’m already terrified of dropping that mug. 
19:00
A school class going somewhere. That’s how I would describe the queue. Arm in arm, two by two and in one long line we WALK (yes, actually WALK) the arena in and the dropzone in. We are actually the first to enter that dropzone. But still, I only have the feeling that I can breath again, when I touch the barrier. Mainstage barrier. Center Mainstage barrier. 
19:30
Tove! I had to get used to her music and style, but I start to really like her. And she’s so cute. 
21:00 – 23:00
“Hot ‘N Cold in dutch?” Im pretty sure I almost pushed my insides out while leaning so far over the barrier as soon as I realized she was asking it to me. Me. I didn’t know what was happening around me, I didn’t even see the big camera that was right in my face, I was just busy trying to make Katy understand what is “Hot ‘N Cold” in Dutch. Obviously the over emotional Cassandra broke down in tears after this. Bare with me. 
23:00 
My dear God. What a show. What. A. Show. I know that Katy likes, loves, Amsterdam and that she loves the legal weed and the coffee shops and what not, but I didn’t know she could be THIS happy during a show. And to not even mention all the laughs, smiles, interactions and.. weird hand gestures during California Gurls. I love her. 
00:00
With a huge ass smile Renske and I are laying in our EMTPY 6-PERSONS SHARED BEDROOM. Empty. Not one pink Topper fan to see. I don’t know how it happened the room is empty, but I’m not complaining at all. 
WITNESS THE TOUR: 25/26.05.2018 07:30 I don’t think I ever experienced tiredness like this but oh well. We need to work in order to afford this crazy rollercoaster.
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