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bitterrfruit · 1 year ago

Text

you invite him inside

It's Summer 2007, and you're on your way home from a party in Edinburgh. You encounter an exceptionally forward Scottish stranger with a buzzed head and a brow ring, calling himself Soap - you roll the dice, and let him walk you home.

18+ MDNI - cw: reader is drunk - 5k words

tags: Indie Sleaze(!!) Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish x f!Reader, teasing & denial, flirting & banter

a/n: this is (some) of the first chapter of my longfic Trainspotting on A03, bitterfruit. I thought I'd share on here since I'm working on a part 2!! ♡

You carve through the beating crowd of the house party; sloshing drinks and drunken hands intercept you as you attempt to navigate your way to the front door. MGMT’s Kids thunders from the speakers in the hallway, its deafening volume only exacerbated by the passionate chanting of the dancers that hover around it.

Control yourself! Take only what you neeeed from it!

Your friend Katie, who had brought you as a plus-one, had long disappeared with some boy she had been all over - taking your coat with her - leaving you to make your way home in nothing but your needlessly skimpy playboy bunny costume.

Finally stumbling out of the dense jungle of partygoers, you burst through the front door as if you’d just been birthed, sweaty and panting.

Just a fifteen-minute walk.

With your arms crossed, you trudge down the steps in the stiletto pumps you had borrowed from Katie – glossy, sharp, and a size too small. Fuck, they ache. Before you even make it past the gate, you throw in the towel and unstuff your feet from their latex trappings; holding the shoes with two fingers hooked at the heels, doing your best to avoid stepping on the broken glass on the footpath.

As your distance from the house party grows and the echoes of Paper Planes begin to fade, it dawns on you that you’re far drunker than you had believed yourself to be. Being surrounded by students two boxes and three pingers deep has the tendency to make you feel staunchly sober by comparison.

Still, you feel the slabs of concrete wobbling beneath your feet, your head starts to spin like you’ve stepped off a carousel if you shut your eyes for too long. The streets are utterly quiet, devoid of cars or people, despite the neighbourhood’s proximity to the CBD. You may well have found it off-putting if you were sober, but in truth, you’re just thanking Christ there’s nobody around to see you trotting down the road in nothing but a bodysuit and fishnets. You imagine a car might pull up alongside you, rolling slowly on its wheels as the driver asks through his window, “how much for an hour?”

And that would almost be preferable to what you actually encounter once you’re halfway home – crossing the street, stumbling in your bare feet as you walk past shops with steel shutters blocking their doors and windows.

You hear the distinctive thuds of sprinting feet from far behind you; the soles of sneakers slamming hard on the footpath, in a rapid enough pace that the person might as well be an Olympian runner. As they get louder, closer, your first instinct is to flee – but before you even have the chance to turn to look over your shoulder, the sprinter has come to a screeching halt beside you, tearing off their jacket and tossing it over your shoulders as if it were a cape.

“What the fu–” You yelp, hastily cut short.

“Shh – shut up, pretend y’know me.”

A man, and a local, evidently – the kind of Scottish accent so thick you can barely distinguish the beginning of one word from the end of another.

“Get away fr–”

He interrupts you once again, tossing an arm over your shoulder as he walks alongside you, shoving his other fist into the pocket of his loose black jeans. “Please, lassie, do me a favour and just go with it.”

Amidst his breathlessness he sounds quite desperate – voice deep and warm, oozing sincerity despite the edge in his tone. So you weigh your options, whether or not to trust him, or to help him, or to scream and flee. You tilt your head just enough to take a peek at him; he hunches over, shoulders shrugging high as if keeping his neck warm, head low like it might hide his buzzcut from whoever may be chasing him.

You quickly discover that there are, in fact, people chasing him – more echoes from further down the road of multiple sets of running feet. You hear an enraged roar from a man behind you; your body tenses on instinct, head twisting further in the hopes of checking how close they are to you.

“Don’t look at ‘em,” he instructs you pointedly, under his breath.

More indistinguishable yelling erupts from his pursuers, though they no longer seem to be approaching. “Cheap fucken’ trick, ye fucken’ coward!”

“Keep walkin’ with me,” he mutters, tugging you along with his heaving arm draped around the back of your neck, forcing you to accelerate so that you can keep up with him.

Adrenaline throbbing hotly in your ears, you try to steal glances at the controlling stranger, not able to see much of him in your periphery. You realise now that the gifting of his jacket was not a chivalrous gesture, but a failed attempt to trick his pursuers. “Sounds like they’ve spotted you,” you whisper-yell, facing ahead.

“Aye,” he grunts, “but they won’t touch me if there’s a witness.”

“I don’t want to be a witness,” you squeak, nervous terror in your throat.

He chuckles breathily, gives a single shake of his head. “Too late.”

“Next time I see ye, yer a fucken’ dead man, hear me? With or without yer hoor!”

The stranger groans as he scoops you around a corner, keeping a hurried pace, shooting looks over his shoulder to ensure he’s no longer being followed. Fortunately – or, unfortunately – this was the corner you would have taken anyway.

“Did he just call me a whore?” You whisper, still in shock.

He chortles at you again, sliding his weighty arm from your shoulders and releasing you at long last. “Ignore ‘em. Fucken' wankers.”

You finally have the opportunity to turn around fully to check behind you, seeing only empty, silent street.

“They won’t follow us,” he assures you, still walking alongside you, arrogant in his assumption that you won’t tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t, not yet. “Why – why were they chasing you?”

“Nosy wee thing, aren’t ye?” He smiles, crossing his arms, and you finally get a good look at him.

Hair buzzed short, the sort of job he likely did himself over his sink with an electric clipper plugged into the wall. A curved barbel pierces through the tail of his left eyebrow, almost as flashy as the sharp grey eyes pointing down at you from beneath it. His grin pushes dimples into his densely stubbled cheeks, revealing charmingly crooked teeth, and a golden crown on his right canine.

There’s something tired, jaded about him, dark eyes and low brows; face speckled with a variety of little scars, one white slash through his right eyebrow, a few pink lines carving over his temple and through his shaven scalp.

You blink, reminding yourself to speak.

“Nosy?” You snap, “you brought me into this!”

He tilts his head, appearing to acquiesce. “Aye, true. They’re just mad ‘cos I short-changed ‘em.”

As he shrugs, the hem of his cropped t-shirt tugs up on his stomach, revealing the hem of plaid boxers sticking out from his baggy trousers, a sliver of firm abdomen, a dusting of curly hair trailing down from his navel. You swallow.

“Hm. For what?” You pester.

“Now yer bein’ nosy.”

You huff, crossing your arms underneath the cape of his jacket, checking over your shoulder one last time to be certain you’re no longer being stalked.

“Fine,” you pout. After a beat of silence, you decide to add; “I’m not a prostitute, by the way.”

He snickers hoarsely, “’course not. Prostitutes are much more subtle. You’d be the first I’ve ever seen dressed as a – a what, a bunny?”

He reaches behind you, the cocky prick, lifting the back of his cloaking jacket and flicking the puffball pinned to your ass. You gawk at him, a surge of adrenaline buzzing within your chest – curious, that it’s not out of fear but fascination.

“See a lot of prostitutes, do you?” You sneer, noting how briefly his gaze lingers on your backside before it flits to your face.

“Not ‘round this side of town,” he chortles. You suspect he’s joking, but who’s to say? “So… why a bunny?”

“Playboy bunny,” you correct him, turning your head to glance at him; he just looks bewildered. “Pimps and hoes party.”

He laughs, richly, lurching forward as he does. “Ha! Had no idea they still did those.”

“Sure do,” you say, failing to suppress your grin. “Too old for them, are you?”

“Aye, for house parties full o’ students,” he admits, “but not too old to party. M’only twenty-six.”

You smile. “Good for you.”

“Got no girlie-mates to walk ye home?” He changes the subject.

Peeking at him, you squint. “You’re not supposed to ask a girl if she’s alone, you know.”

“Oh,” he frowns, “why’s that?”

“Like, stranger danger.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles deeply. “Do you think I’m dangerous?”

You turn to look at him, running your eyes from his cocksure grin, down to his Chucks and back again. He certainly looks the part. Rough around the edges. You wonder if you would have avoided him, had he not approached you so blithely.

“Very,” you nod. “Plus, you’re following me.”

“Am I?” He jibes, “well, love, if ye want me to leave y’alone, tell me and I’ll try to leave ye be.”

Your pout shifts into a girlish smirk despite your dire efforts to contain it. “You’ll try?”

“Mm. Might be easier said than done,” he ribs, leering down at you. Your quiet titter only serves to embolden him. “It’s probably for the best that I found ye.”

“You reckon?”

“Mm. Not very bright o’ye to be walking home by yerself at this hour. And in that.”

You click your tongue impatiently. “You sound like my mum.”

“Then she’s a smart woman,” he says, with a sternness that leaves you taken aback.

You peer up at him, scrutinising. For fuck’s sake, you curse at yourself, get a grip. All better judgement, your guardian angel, screams at you to stop flirting with this bizarre studded stranger and hurry your ass home. But the little devil on your other shoulder is far more interested in seeing how this unusual interaction plays out.

“You gonna protect me, are ya?” You probe.

“Naturally,” he chuffs.

“Walking me home, then?”

A devilish grin stretches in his lips. “Happily.”

“Promise you’re not a psychopath or something?”

He inhales deeply, blowing a raspberry as he puts his hands on his hips. “No promises.”

“Mm. Well, I shouldn’t be surprised,” you say, “only psychopaths would roam the streets at three-a.m.”

“Yeah? What does that make you?”

You giggle. “Shit. You got me.”

“You bet I do. What kind of psycho wears a fucken’ outfit like that ‘on the streets at 3-a.m.’?”

Taking a peek down at yourself, you’re confronted immediately by your obnoxious cleavage, unsure how you could have forgotten it was there. You decide to slip your arms into the roomy sleeves of his jacket, wearing it properly rather than as a cloak – much warmer.

“What’s wrong with it?” You wonder in jest, feigning offence.

“Yer jokin’.” He scoffs.

“What?” You gaze at him, with a cock of your brow; he unashamedly glowers at you, vibrantly grey eyes raking from your lips to your feet before climbing back to your stare.

He huffs petulantly. “I could see yer tits from across the street,” he murmurs, “don’t make me say something about the stockings.”

You laugh coyly, feeling your cheeks burn hot and red. Seems like you got the answer you wanted. “S’that why you ran up to me, huh?”

He shakes his head. “Nae. That was just dumb luck.”

“Ah. Lucky you.”

“Mhm,” he rumbles, voice low, “very lucky.”

Why is your heart fluttering? Why are you suddenly hanging on his every word like a fucking teenage girl? You blame the cherry-flavoured RTDs you were knocking back every ten minutes while you were at that party. They’ve made your cheeks all pink and your tongue all wet.

Yet in the current quiet, strolling nonchalantly down an empty street at half-past three in the morning, you don’t feel any awkwardness in the silence. You just smile at your feet like an idiot.

“What’s yer name, then?” He asks casually, both fists in his pockets.

You hum in thought, “hmm. I can’t tell you that.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“You’re a stranger, remember?”

“So?” He disputes, grinning and playfully biting his bottom lip with his top teeth, brandishing that glistening golden canine.

You shake your head. “Who knows what you could do with my name! You could be a stalker for all I know,” you explain defensively, “you might find out where I work on MySpace, or something.”

He snickers. “Wouldn’t need MySpace to figure that out, lass.”

Frowning, you give him a disapproving smirk. “You’re proving my point.”

“Ye really won’t tell me?”

“Nope.”

He huffs disappointedly. “Alright, then, I’ll just have to call ye the bunny I found on the street.”

“Fine by me,” you declare proudly. “What can I call you, then? The playboy?”

With a chuckle, he purses his lips in contemplation. “The playboy to yer bunny, I like that,” he says. “But, pals call me Soap.”

“Soap?” You question incredulously, “seriously?”

“Aye. If I can’t have yer name, y'can’t have mine.”

You snort. “Is it meant to be ironic?”

“Can’t be,” he refutes, quick to detect your insult, “I’m clean as a whistle.”

As you open your mouth to offer back some snippy response, you spot your mailbox, number eighteen, three terraced townhouses down – you had lost track of how long the walk was, your charming stranger having sponged up every last drop of your attention.

You find yourself disappointed, unjustifiably; you even consider, briefly, not mentioning that you had arrived home just so you can keep walking with him. God, you’re pathetic.

But imagining yourself having to eventually turn around, having to admit that you purposefully missed your stop – you begrudgingly decide to be a good girl and put yourself to bed.

“This is me,” you say flatly, slowing your steps before you come to a stop.

“Ah,” he stops beside you and rocks on the balls of his feet. “Bugger.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, mindlessly slipping your hands into the pockets of his jacket, preceding a reluctant silence. “Well, um... thanks for walking me home. Who knows what danger I could’ve gotten into.”

He waves away your jocose gratitude. “Oh, ‘course,” he says, “had to make sure ye didn’t get tricked into a chase by some strange gadgie.”

You snicker. “Oh, yeah. That would be terrifying.”

Crossing his arms, her gives you a wide but wistful grin. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it, hen.”

“Okay,” you nod, chewing your lip, you feel something in his pocket – rolling it between your fingers, feels like a wad of paper. Cash? A receipt? You start to wonder what he might have ‘short-changed’ those thugs for. Don’t be nosy. “Oh – your jacket.”

As you slip it off your shoulders, he disputes; “don’t wanna keep it as a memento?”

You chuckle, frowning, shaking your head in bemusement. Memento? What a peculiar bloke. “No. It sorta smells.”

“Bollocks,” he retorts, reaching to take the jacket from you – a brown leather bomber, now that you can see it properly. “I smell divine.”

God, he does. Like patchouli and sweat and leather; some sort of earthy masculine concoction, the kind of scent that’s probably entirely accidental – underpinned, you note, by something strangely chemical, like he had just taken a walk through a hospital. Still, so delightfully distinct from the stench of Axe body spray that the boys at your university gassed themselves with daily.

You pass him the bomber, shivering once your scantily clad body is once again exposed to the chilly air of the night. He’s quite shameless, this stranger, eyes almost bulging as they comb brazenly over you – legs, hips, tits – finally getting a good look at you, he takes his time.

“Eyes up here, playboy,” you chide.

He smirks, piercing gaze jumping to yours while his head remains tilted down; you’re almost intimidated the intensity of his eye contact from under his brow. “Aye. They’re just as pretty.”

“Alright, alright,” you giggle, face glowing hot. “I’d better turn in.”

“Yes, you’d better.”

Before you bring yourself to turn around, his hand reaches toward you, plucking the bunny-eared headband from the top of your head.

“Oi!” You bark, smoothing your disturbed hair; watching in confusion as he meticulously sits them on his head, flicking one of the fuzzy white ears with a pleased grin stretched in his lips.

“I want a memento,” he explains boldly. “Never know when I'm dreamin’ these days.”

You stare at him in bewilderment, amused and oddly endeared. He slips on his jacket, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shrugging it over his shoulders.

“Fine, all yours,” you capitulate, smiling meekly, once again letting a pregnant silence linger while you resist a goodbye. “Um. Alright. Goodnight. Soap.”

He nods. “G’night, wee bunny.”

You nod, too, finally turning on your bare feet and walking up the stairs of your flat’s brick stoop. Fumbling around in your handbag, you pluck out your keys – jingling loudly with all of your various keychains as you unlock the painted white door.

You hear his footsteps as he strolls away, slowly, growing duller as the distance grows. You find yourself frozen in the open doorway, staring into the dark abyss of your foyer, facing solitude. Bouncing in dispute with yourself, you exert all strength to bite your tongue. Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid.

He starts to whistle, some obscure tune from just down the street, as if he is purposefully reminding you he’s still in earshot – a smug little prompt.

Fuck it.

Spinning around to face the road, you lean out of the door, and call out; “Hey!”

As though he had expected it, he stops in his tracks, twirling on his heel to face you with his hands still in his pockets. Had lit himself a cigarette already, in the thirty seconds since you had bid him farewell.

“Hm? Want the ears back after all?”

“Um–” You scramble to come up with an excuse. “Those guys won’t be looking for you, will they?”

He grins. “Oh, they could well be.”

“What’ll they do if they find you?”

“Who knows,” he huffs. “Probably kill me. Might gimme one o’ those Glasgow smiles.”

“That would be pretty terrible,” you remark solemnly.

“Aye. It sure would.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, battling with your drunken little demon. “Maybe you should hide out here for the night.” You daft bitch.

“Hm,” he ponders aloud, sauntering slowly back towards your stairs, squinting in thought. “Sounds like a bad idea.”

“How come?” You challenge, tapping the inside of the doorframe with shy fingers.

He creeps up your short footpath. “Never know what might happen.”

Your lips curl into an impish smirk. “That’s the best part.”

He laughs, plucking the cigarette from his teeth, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. “How drunk are ye. On a scale one-through-ten.”

“Um,” you muse, biting your lip. “I’m not that drunk.”

“Well, hen, you must be steamed. ‘Cos that’s not a number.”

You snicker, then groan impatiently. “Four.”

“Only four, eh?” He asks dubiously, standing at the base of your stairs, he gazes up at you devilishly. “You gonna remember in the mornin’ that you asked me to come in?”

“’Course,” you say. “I want you to come inside.”

He sneers. Filthy boy. “Don’t wanna get in trouble,” he refutes.

“I want you to come in,” you insist, correcting your wording just slightly.

He hums, feigning deep thought, as if he hasn’t been hoping you’d ask. “Alright,” he surrenders. “Why not.”

You do your best to conceal your glee, nodding, grinning, you turn to step inside and you hear him follow you.

“Ye live alone?” He asks, as he looks around the empty hallway, shrouded in darkness.

Shutting the door behind you and locking it, you tut at him. “Still shouldn’t ask that.”

“You’ve already invited me in,” he jeers, “if you’re worried I’ll hurt ye, you’ve made it well easy for me.”

“I s’pose so,” you admit, smiling sheepishly as you go to switch on the light hanging in the centre of the foyer. Christ, it’s a tip – you and Katie are equally dishevelled, leaving shoes and lip gloss and hair ties and clothes in your wake wherever you venture. “Can’t be too careful,” you add – very aware of how uncareful you are being.

“Do I scare ye?” He asks coyly, taking a raffish drag of his cigarette.

“I dunno,” you answer frankly, leaning bashfully against your front door with your hands tucked behind you. “Should I be scared of you?”

“Mm,” he shrugs, “probably.”

You purse your lips and nod. “Stranger danger,” you remind yourself.

“I reckon you’re a lot more dangerous than me,” he grins.

You frown. “Why’s that?”

He puts his cigarette between his lips, holding it with a pinch, taking a puff as he eyes you scrupulously. “Look at you.”

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Fucking hell.

“I have a flatmate,” you finally answer his initial question, and change the subject. “But she’s not home tonight.”

“Good,” he says, milky smoke spilling from his smile.

“Um,” you make noises to fill your flustered silence. “Want to go upstairs?”

He cocks his eyebrows. “Lead the way.”

Pushing yourself from the door, you slip past him and trot up the staircase that sits flush with the panelled wall. The old oak creaks and moans under the weight of his heavy steps, he follows you steadily.

Rushing to get to your room before he can see it, you scuttle across to your bedroom door from the landing, hoping he ignores the kaleidoscope of peeling stickers you’ve tacked above the handle. You shove it open, quickly kicking aside a pair of twisted up panties you had left on your red shag rug.

In a blink he’s behind you, standing in the doorframe, a terrifyingly tall and bulky silhouette against the dim glow emerging from downstairs – made uniquely funny by the rabbit ears sticking up from his head.

You step over the piles of discarded outfit options and switch on the lamp by your bed; the yellow bulb glows coral pink from behind the vintage fabric lampshade. Looking back at him, he’s already perusing your room like it’s a museum.

He picks up and analyses the assortment of trinkets on your shelves and chest-of-drawers (old jewellery, empty lighters, some strange ceramic babies you once picked up at a flea market), and admires the mosaic of posters on your wall (Gorillaz, Feist, The Killers, MGMT, Arcade Fire, The Strokes, Peter Bjorn and John – careful cherry-picks of your favourite bands, in the hopes you’d one day impress some hot guy with taste as good as yours).

“Bit of an artiste, are ye?” He queries, nodding at the easel against your wall – housing a half-finished and long-hated painting of yours, an attempt at a masterwork copy of Monet; sitting amongst a bombsite of palettes, brushes in dirty cups, and curled-up tubes of oil paint.

“Guess so,” you answer. “It’s my degree.”

He leans into your hideous painting, taking a drag but careful not to stain the canvas with the smoke. “Still studying, then?”

“Yeah, uh, my Master’s.”

He nods. “If you’re already this good, what does a Master’s in painting get ye?”

You snort. “Good fuckin’ question.”

Feeling suddenly shy, you venture to busy yourself, electing to pull the curtains shut over your window.

You hear him chuckle while you aren’t looking. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

You spin on the ball of your foot, and freeze instantly – stare caught on your grape-coloured vibrator, held comfortably in the palm of his hand, he tosses it and catches it again. You had left it on your bed, a rookie mistake. You fucking idiot!

Your hand shoots to cover your mouth, fire burns white-hot behind your cheeks; but you can only giggle, humiliated. “Put that down,” you plead into your palm.

Ignoring you, he inspects it, quickly finding the button to turn it on; its buzzing rings out obnoxiously loud into the cripplingly awkward silence, forcing you to grimace. He doesn’t seem to find it awkward at all, holding the end of the purple rod into his other hand, curling his lips in disapproval as he evidently evaluates the vibration against his skin.

“Never understood why you girls like these things,” he remarks insouciantly.

“Please put it down,” you cry, staring at the ceiling as if it might hide you from the embarrassment.

He only sniggers. “Cannae compare to the real thing.”

You cover your eyes. “It fills the void,” you quietly admit.

He finally switches it off, but continues to fiddle with it as he ambles towards you. “Mustn’t do a very good job o’ that.”

Uncovering your face, finally, you jolt when you see how close he is to you – only a foot between you, you can feel the heat of him from where you stand. You do your utter best to prevent your eyes from jumping to the vibrator in his grip, but he still toys with it, as if just to taunt you.

“What makes you say that?”

He gazes down at you, lips stretched into a smug grin. “Why’d you invite me in, eh?”

You swallow, stifling a giggle – you look around capriciously, anywhere but his drilling stare. “Just wanted to help you out.”

“Help me out?” He interrogates you, inching forward, forcing you to step onto your back foot.

You’re suddenly short of breath. “I didn’t want you to get stabbed.”

He gleams that cheshire smile, suddenly his canines seem sharper. “You’re a bad liar, wee bunny.”

“Am I?” You utter, shambling back further has he continues to encroach.

“Took me to yer bedroom straight away… didn’t even offer me a drink…” he teases, “I’m thinkin’ ye want me to help you out.”

You feel a sudden bump as your back hits the door of your cupboard, shrinking as he leans over you, closing the gap. Your eyes catch on his lips as he again places his cigarette in between them, its smoke drifting softly over your face, your stare lingers.

“Dunno where you got that idea,” you breathe, entranced by the cloud that’s left in his mouth once he tugs the roll out again.

Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid.

Ignoring any remaining shred of common sense, you step up on your tiptoes to slam your lips against his, sucking down the smoke lingering behind his teeth deep into your chest. He matches you with no hint of hesitation, leaning into you with the full weight of his body, you hear him finally drop the vibrator as it lands on the carpet with a dull thud.

Fuck, his tongue tastes good – like tobacco and peppermint chewing gum, soft and hungry as it writhes against yours. He does what he can with his one free hand, starting tastefully with a cup of your cheek, then a hold of the side of your neck, down to your shoulder – before plunging into a greedy handful of your breast, kneading it like dough.

His wet and eager lips drag along from yours, taking soft bites out of your cheek, hot tongue licking from your jaw to your neck, where he burrows his teeth. You let out a breathy whimper, fervid fingers clutch and claw at his chest through his t-shirt, using the fabric to pull him closer. His busy hand ventures along your waist, taking a palmful of your hip and tugging it only slightly towards him.

Impatient, ravenous, your fingers slither down his firm stomach to the waistband of his jeans, fumbling to get his button undone; you feel him smile against your skin, a breathy chuckle, before his other hand moves to stop you with a hold of your wrist.

He releases your neck from his maw, standing upright with a fucking cocky and self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. You let go of his button and return your hands to your sides, worried you’d been too eager, put him off with your fervour.

“Glad to know it’s this easy to get ye hot n’ bothered,” he drawls, taking another drag of what is now nearly just the butt.

“No idea what you mean,” you pant, utterly breathless, you sweep some stray hair from your forehead with your palm. “I’m not hot and bothered.”

“Aren’t you?” He goads, and the hand that clutches your hip sneaks towards your centre, prompting you to hold your breath; he snakes it over your mound, gliding it brazenly between your closed legs.

His shrewd eyes watch you, arrogantly, as he palms your aching pussy through the thin fabric of your bodysuit – under which you wore no panties, you wonder if he can feel how damp it is. He pushes a coaxing pressure against your covered clit with the heel of his palm, forcing you to whine in desperation; your insatiable hands return to his chest, balling the fabric of his t-shirt into your fists – and he only chortles.

“I could fry an egg on that,” he says.

And suddenly you snort, breaking into cackling laughter as you shove him away with both hands. “God, you’re disgusting!”

He laughs with you, proud of himself, he finally takes off the fucking bunny ears.

“I could hang a towel on that,” you jab, eyes suddenly caught on the frightening tent pitched in his roomy trousers. That can’t be real.

“You could hang a lot on it,” he agrees rakishly, chuckling, palming the length under his pants to tuck it away.

You try to contain your giggles as you push yourself upright, attempting to un-fluster yourself by smoothing your hair and wiping the dampness of his saliva from your neck. You feel the slippery wetness of your cunt with a step. “You’re evil,” you spit, still throbbing from his attention.

“Cannae fuck you yet,” he declares bluntly, turning to dump the end of his cigarette into your paintbrush cup full of brown water.

“Why not?” You pout, whingeing like a spoilt brat.

He returns with a debonair grin. “Gotta give you a reason to see me again.”

#johnny mactavish absolutely fucks with a brow ring #johnny soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x female reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #indie sleaze #johnny soap mactavish smut #soap x you

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prettyflyshyguy · 19 days ago

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ALRIGHT - it's AVCon recap time! What a wild ride. So much happened across three days, I can't recall all of it because I'm still absolutely obliterated from the trip but I'll try and give you the best-of. It'll be a bit of a long post.

And a trigger warning for anyone with emetophobia (spoiler allert -- but I promise you. The story is REALLY FUNNY, and at my expense)

Things kicked off very early on friday morning as I had to be at the airport by 9AM to catch a flight to Adelaide.

This photo of my vitamin/energy supplement drink is absolutely haunting me (you will find out why later). This was both my first AVCon and my first interstate con experience vending (and a bunch of my friends it was the first for them too!)

Found this random furby sticker out in the wild near the event and of course I stopped mid conversation to ensure I got a propper photo.

I met up with some friends and once we arrived, we crammed our absurdly large group luggage into an uber and went straight to the event location for bump in. AVCon is one of the notable events that had a big reputation, one that was considered very worthwhile travelling for, so we were all pretty excited. There was only 151 artists in the alley, which seems small yes, but it was a highly curated juried convention and the convention was expected to have its biggest, best year yet for both vendors and attendees. (And this was a BIG event for Adelaide!)

This was also my first event where everything came together for my table setup. My dream vision was finally complete. I crammed so much into this half table.

Once we were all ready, we went and dumped all our stuff at our shared group accommodation and we hit up the CBD and checked out a fantastic arcade. I spent too much money failing at claw machines, only for my friend Sarah to swoop in and somehow win me this capybara blind box??? She then went and won this giant capybara backpack, amongst multiple other items for both herself and for our other friends. It was wild. No claw machine is safe if she’s in its vicinity.

I stand by my statement that “arcades are great when you roll in as a squad.”

I passed out on the couch friday night while we were all hanging out, woke up when food arrived, ate, then failed to fall asleep after because I’d started to develop a furious, pounding headache. OK, fair enough, I didn’t get enough sleep the night before, I hadn’t drunk much caffeine, I was exhausted, I’m sure it’ll be gone by the morning.

It was not gone by the morning. (TW: EMETOPHOBIA)

I woke up at like 6am, horrible headache. I drank a dissolvable energy supplement (berocca) and took some painkillers. Started to feel nauseous, figured it was just a bad sleep plus no caffeine plus no breakfast yet. I was pep talking myself in the bathroom saying "you're not gonna throw up".

We left the airbnb and halfway to the gate of the property I went from feeling normal nauseus to 'oh I'm going to throw up' but my thought process was 'I cannot throw up inside the perimeter of the airbnb property'

So I walk outside the gate, put my bag down on the footpath and I tell the gang I need a minute.

I walk over to the curb where there's just grass and I can feel it coming on and in the moment I'm like, I can't tell my friends I'm going to throw up, that's too much, that'll freak them out and it's gross.

So instead I say: "Something very bad is about to happen to me."

And then immediately after i say that, I projectile vomited bright RED liquid.

My first thought was 'is that blood' (it was not. The berocca was Red40 bright red) then followed by 'wow its like I'm in a horror movie how cool!' Followed by 'oh my god my friends are gonna think it's blood'

So then I blurt out "that's not blood!"

Then immediately projectile vomited bright red two more times before I swiftly recovered.

Anyway I went on to have a record breaking day 1 of a con sales wise.

By popular demand from my friends (three of which were DIRECT EYE WITNESSES TO THE INCIDENT), here's my illustrated account.

It is by far the funniest thing that happened at the whole event and I did not hear the end of it from everyone. We were crying laughing about it telling everyone who missed out on seeing it firsthand that night, and then for the next 48 hours anytime I looked mildly ill, tired, or out of it people would ask me "Is something bad about to happen to you?"

Gotta be easily one of the highlight moments of my entire existence.

I'm a horror artist/writer, everyone.

Anyway I immediately went and got coffee and a bread roll and I was all good :)

YEAH. Uhhhh. I broke like two records on the first day of sales. What the fuck Adelaide. I didn't get many photos during the event because I was too busy being flat-out with customers! It was all go from open till close of event.

This event had an 18+ After Dark experience on the saturday night, the artist alley closed at 5 and then the event re-opened at 6, with the alley split up so a handful of the aisles were closed and roped off, with the artist that opted in grouped together so they could sell adult content for an extra four hours of the evening. Myself and my travel gang all weren't participating in this, but we decided to check it out as the artists were still selling their usual range they had during the day (and we were friends with a bunch of them) and also the normal vendors hall was also open so we figured it'd be a great chance to walk around and buy things guilt-free since we weren't supposed to be 'working' behind our tables.

The real irony being we all ignored the adult content and flocked to the booth selling pokemon plushies. I picked up so many gacha boxes (pokemon and monster hunter LMAO)

I don't have haul photos cause I was too tired to get any nice ones, I'm sorry :(

I had an incredibly funny faux pas experience with an artist who sold some 40K stickers, they were tabling during the after dark experience and I asked if they'd ever make any Horus Heresy work. I told them, and I quote:

"I'm a freak for Heresy." somehow forgetting that I was standing in the middle of an 18+ artist alley event, and that there was a high chance that statement would be misinterpreted outside of my original intent (that being: that I have multiple Heresy armies and I love painting minis and I'm very obsessed with the lore)

We laughed it off though! But it was a very on-brand moment for me.

Day 2 kicked off considerably less eventfully, and we were all utterly exhausted but keen for a new day. I was lucky enough to be joined on my coffee run by the actual coordinator of the artist alley himself, and while we were having a laugh at the self serve coffee machine at the local grocery store, it died on us when we had 15 minutes to get back to the venue. Truly I was just exuding bad luck (I'd tripped on the same bit of concrete on the footpath both ways 2 days in a row now too)

Day 2 was a bit slower, but was still exciting and was an absolute blast. We speedran bump out, everyone that had time (which was most of the 151 artists) all gathered for a group photo and a group applause and thank-you offered at the alley coordinator (he was an absolutely amazing coordinator and a lovely person!) and then once we were all packed up we all crawled back to the airport to immediately fly home.

That was the best pho and lemon lime bitters I'd ever had for dinner in my life.

One member of our group forgot to take his wallet out during the security scan, and the officer looked him dead in the eyes and said

"What have you got in your pockets you naughty boy?"

We all thought he was joking when he initially told us. He was not.

All in all it was one to remember for my first interstate artist alley con adventure, and I hope I can return next year. Radelaide you rocked.

#shy talks #not art #shy's convention adventures #I AM SO TIRED BUT IT WAS SO GOOD

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must-be-mythtaken · 6 months ago

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Bit of a Situation Report on the General Fucked-up-itude of My Life:

-bought hot pink duct tape for various uses and repairs, mostly because it's fun to have colorful tools

-bought a yard of clear vinyl to create a temporary window for the car (it fell out) (yes I will be using the pink tape for this as well)

-picked up silly chicken nuggets from the store (they have peas and carrots in them!)

-since they're changing Aiden's ADHD meds and I'm uninsured and can't get mine right now, I've decided to use his as needed (don't tell on me I'm doing my Best)

-started cleaning the room! I picked up some boxes and bags for storage and organization, and I splurged on some nice smelling and more environmentally friendly cleaning spray. It's like how it's easier to get into the idea of showering if you have fun body wash to use! Or using sparkly kid toothpaste to make brushing your teeth more fun! I really recommend this technique.

-sleeping is...not going well. Once I'm asleep it's hard to wake up, but falling asleep has been hell. I still have 2 sleeping pills leftover, but I'm saving those for a time when I know I need to get up in the morning or something. I'm doing my best to avoid alcohol (middling success) and I've been making use of my thc/cbd gummies to numb out when it gets to be Too Much.

-went to therapy! My job gives us 5 free sessions a year (a criminally small number but I'll take what I can get rn) so I decided to use those now. I like my therapist even if he is from Texas and bullied me for having family from Oklahoma. I told him he has no rizz, so I think we're even.

-still sleeping with the light on every night. haven't managed to shower. crying, like full-on sobbing, at random times.

-been calling Aiden twice a day, and it's...well it's something. I like hearing what he's been up to. Yesterday they had strawberry cake, and today they're making Valentine's Day decorations and cards. He's been trying new foods and expanding his palate, which is awesome!

-he's been trying to keep his spirits up, but he definitely doesn't want to be there any longer than he has to, and he says he's not been sleeping well either. It's frustrating how jail-like these sorts of facilities are. I'm trying to figure out a way for him to listen to audiobooks without breaking any of the rules or being unsafe, but I'm not sure. I'm going to call them tomorrow and see if there's anything. It says that headphones aren't allowed, maybe because of the cord? But I have some ideas that might fit within their rules so wish me luck! He loves books but has a really hard time reading print, so I really hope we can work something out.

-bought some cute socks with a little frog in a witch hat

-I barely have any hours at work next week and I'm really worried that I'm gonna crash out hard. I'm going to try to use the time to build myself a bit more of a routine, and keep working to organize our space. My therapist gave me some great advice: he asked what I would do if Aiden had gone to the hospital for a broken leg. How would I prepare the house for him to come home? Basically, he suggested I focus on what I can do in the space to make it more comfortable in the same way I would if he was physically injured. I really appreciated the mission.

-I'm just...really sad not gonna lie. I'm lonely. I feel like people think that I'm...not fine exactly, but that someone Aiden is the "fucked up mentally ill" one and I'm some kind of long-suffering girlfriend who is perfect and some kind of martyr. It's either that or I feel like people are surprised I'm sticking around, as if they expect me to break up with him? Maybe that's why I hate being called his girlfriend. In every way but legally, we are married. I just...like, this is why people get legally married in some ways, right? At least there's no issue with his family keeping me away from him or anything, that's not what I'm worried about. And honestly, I think most of this weirdness I'm feeling is a tiny feeling that's getting exacerbated and blown out of proportion by my PMDD symtoms (which of course started this week because fuck me right?)

-one thing I've been noticing (and that I described to my therapist) is that my brain doesn't have any examples or stories to latch onto about this situation that aren't...bad. My brain only knows that person gone = person never coming back. Person in hospital = person is disappearing from my life. I also don't have any good stories I can think of about something going through a mental health break like this. I mean, I can think of plenty of stories where someone deals with delusions, but then it always turns out that the aliens/fairies/grand conspiracy they were seeing was totally real and that's when the story really starts getting going. Any suggestions would be great! I'm having a hard time focusing on books but I'll take books, movies, shows, games, literally anything right now.

-looks like the earliest he might get out is this Wednesday, but it's still up in the air. I think we have a meeting with the social worker coming up? I want to make sure I'm there. I feel like I haven't been as involved in the decisions being made as I'd like to be, which is frustrating because I'm the one who has seen what Aiden had/has been going through the most. My goal is to advocate more strongly for myself and for him.

-he did finally get his glasses! I was ready to go camp out in the lobby until they confirmed he got them.

-I got new and more powerful lactose intolerance medicine to try! What should I eat first?

#personal #mental health

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d33pwithinmys0ul · 1 year ago

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AOT characters coffee/cafe orders and general headcanons from a local coffee shop barista thats trying to romanticize her hellish schedule this week (my opinion doesn’t matter though) (specifically inspired by the menu at my job)

eren-whatever dark roast drip coffee is available but also asks for “six sugars and four creams” as if the cafe has cream in those little creamer cups. eventually put onto white mochas (hot then eventually iced) by barista recommendation. more of a redbull guy anyway

mikasa-quad shot hot amaretto latte. warm nutty flavor with enough caffeine for the shit she needs to get done. impressed by pretty latte art too

armin- typically, house brew black, because what’s a coffee place if their house brew sucks? if he really likes a place he’ll try out their different pour overs. once he falls in love with a specific brew, armin isn’t afraid to pay upwards of $20 for a box of coffee beans (and has his own grinder at home)

levi-obviously a tea guy-prefers the earl grey he has at home but seriously appreciates a good quality jasmine or currant tea with just a bit of sugar and steamed milk

hange-hot mocha lattes, though when they want some real caffeine they’ll get a lavender cold brew with a double shot of espresso (go big or go home i guess)

erwin-small hot americano, with a little honey. a known but mysterious regular, never volunteering much info about himself but tips decently. baristas usually see him by the door and have his cup ready by the time he makes it to the register.

sasha-iced decaf breve with whipped cream and six pumps of french vanilla. she loves the taste of coffee but tries to keep from bouncing off the walls. always gets at least one pastry from the bakery, loves danishes. alternatively (since this is based on my jobs menu) she gets a 125% sweet brown sugar milk tea with half lychee jelly half tapioca and super thick cinnamon milk cap/cold foam.

connie-iced caramel macchiato with a CBD drop. doesn’t know or really care about what a macchiato is, just ordered it one day because of its popularity and loved it.

jean-usually likes vanilla cold brew with a splash of half and half. will definitely get a cortado to seem cool and mysterious on a date if he’s nervous.

marco-shameless frappe guy. hazelnut and mocha with whipped cream and an extra shot of espresso.

reiner-a hot chai latte with cinnamon powder on top. never returns to a cafe that has shitty tasteless chai, usually gets a croissant too

bertholdt- straight double shot of espresso. the tiny cups are comical in his hands and that’s honestly half the fun.

annie- super into matcha. just ceremonial grade high quality matcha and tries to avoid the “quality matcha color” debate to avoid sounding pretentious-though it shouldn’t be a debate in the first place. prefers her iced matcha half sweet and her hot matcha lattes with lavender.

historia-iced rose vanilla latte with oat milk. will get a mixed berry smoothie with strawberry boba if she’s avoiding caffeine.

ymir-prefers energy drinks by far and just comes with historia when she’s at the cafe. eventually gets roped into trying an iced white mocha and likes it well enough.

hitch-iced dirty chai (chai with a shot of espresso) with whipped cream. still a little miffed that the banana latte was a temporary seasonal flavor.

zeke- flat white with two splendas. also a regular and the only reason why the cafe still has splendas to begin with. always gets a muffin to go with his coffee.

#aot headcanons #coffee au #aot #snk #hcs #rambles #my hcs

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charlesandmartine · 7 months ago

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Tuesday 31st December 2024 the end

New Year's Eve

A cloudy start once again in downtown Balgowlah, but hopes of better things as the sun climbed, as was the case. It would have been a bit of a shame if the planned fireworks on the Bridge went off like damp squibs, especially as the authorities probably went for the deluxe selection box.

Understandably, we decided to have a relaxing morning before gearing up for the excitement of the Opera, fireworks, and very late and possibly difficult journey home afterwards. The biggest problem we could foresee might be that our formal wear, slightly more appropriate for societal occasions such as the SOH, and hitherto been tucked away for the entire trip in suitcase 2, may turn out, when tried on, to have somewhat shrunk during their time of isolation and require us to lose half a stone by the evening. It happens.

Well, worry no further. The required ensembles were retrieved from their solitude, creases ironed out, and apart from the odd additional bulge, fitted extremely well. Martine looked a million dollars, and I, well, at least I wasn't wearing shorts!

The 173x wisked us away to the city where we had our priorities. One to get a meal down us, and two, not to get it 'down' us on the glad rags.

The whole of Sydney city centre up from CQ was shutting down from 15.00. Tannoy messages spookily booming down at us around the streets like something out of 1984, warning us of street closures and no possible entry to the CQ area. We found our burger bar (best burgers in Sydney) with the assurance that we would be able to get to the head of the queue for SOH.

I don't think I was quite prepared for the system designed to so strictly enable but control entrance to the Opera House. I would like to describe it as organised chaos, but that would be overstating the level of organisation. There were people absolutely everywhere; many outside of the SOH who had camped overnight to ensure a great view. Numbers were by ticket, but there were hundreds of thousands who had postioned themselves in the bars, restaurants, the steps to the House, and all around its perimeter. Somehow, alost impossibly, this was controlled by a small army of security personnel. There was a queue to go past the portals and into the Concert Hall itself, then up the normally empty stairs to join another ziggy zaggy queue that had an unclear purpose other than it was something to do and it was a queue afterall. Some were dragged away from the queue because they should have been by then tucking into their pre-show meal and were in the wrong queue entirely. Those that remained, including us, bemused, eventually found that we were there to collect our colour coded wristband, that was to indicate which location we could watch the fireworks from. I asked a member of staff if they'd done it this way before. No, she said. Eventually, we made it to the front and were presented with an envelope with a couple of lilac wristbands. A quizzical soothsayer might seek the truth by asking, couldn't some of these been issued with the tickets when they were collected 2 days ago, or even issued when your right of passage had been assured? Well, eventually, we all shuffled through this crazy process and emerged into the light of the deserted theatre bar and podium. A glass or two of fizz, standing on the western podium with the magnificent backdrop that is Sydney Harbour, and all was forgotten, watching the sun setting beyond the CBD and with the expectation of the gala show to come. We were here again, and that was all that mattered.

The gala show was amazing, with works by Mozart, Strauss, Bernstein, Puccini, Gluck, Bizet, banging out those huge arias such as from Magic Flute, Cosi Fan Tutte, Barber of Seville, Carmen, La Boheme. Fantastic, then it was out to see fireworks. There is a bit of a practice at 9 pm when they have a short display, which always coincides with the interval. But as the clock ticked, the last moments of 2024 leaked away, perhaps wasted in the anticipation of the main display to come, or maybe the desire to get home and go to bed, either way destiny was determined to mark a new chapter, the turning of the page. Consequently, as the seconds display counted down on the port bridge tower, someone, somewhere, with a shaky hand, struck the first match, on the first strike of midnight. Coloured lights spread instantly across the skies; Sydney Harbour Bridge ablaze with a myriad display of combustion and the first to herald in a new year. Whether Sydney's fireworks are any better or worse than London, Paris, or New York is a matter of opinion, but for us, this is such an iconic place that we love very much, that we would not wish to be anywhere else. The fireworks thundered around Circular Quays and I have to say, with the atmosphere of the massive crowd, the gasps of surprise, and screams of approval, explosions in front of us from the bridge, explosions above us across the sails of SOH, the golden curtain of fire from the length of the bridge, it was the best display I've ever seen, probably!

HAPPY NEW YEAR! HAPPY 2025!

#Fireworks #SOH #Opera

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smokegem · 3 months ago

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Disposable Vape versus Cartridges: The Differences You Should Know

Vaping is the process of inhaling and exhaling vapor created by an electronic device called a vaporizer or vape. It is widely recognized as a healthier alternative to smoking cannabis, as it minimizes exposure to fine particles and burned plant matter, which are typically found in smoke.

Disposable Vapes: What Are They?

Disposable vapes are user-friendly since they come already assembled, filled, and ready to use. They are perfect for beginners or people who need a portable option, as they do not require upkeep. Certain individuals prefer disposable vapes to CBD cartridges due to their convenience and discreetness.

Disposable vape pens are portable and ideal for folks who are constantly on the go. Think of them as vaping's fast-food equivalent.

Disposable Vapes Features

Pre-filled: No additional juice or coils need to be tampered with. These pens are preloaded and functional right out of the box.

Convenience: They are compact, sleek, inconspicuous, easy to hold, and disposable, requiring no further care.

No Need for Charging: The battery's lifespan is equal to that of its juice. It's out when the puffs stop coming.

What are Vape Cartridges?

Vape cartridges, often known as carts, are small canisters filled with a concentrated cannabis oil or other e-liquid. They are designed to be used with a vape pen or similar vaporizing device and include a heating element. When triggered, the heating element warms the vape oil or liquid, producing vapor that the user can inhale.

Vape Cartridge Features:

Convenience: Using vape cartridges is quite easy. They are ready to use and already filled.

Simpleness of Use: Using a vape cartridge is simple. Usually, all you have to do is plug the cart into a battery and take a breath. Complicated settings or upkeep are not required.

Portability: Vape cartridges are convenient to carry around due to their compact size.

Discreetness: Because cartridges are smaller and emit less odor than smoking, they can be used in public or communal areas without drawing attention to themselves.

Variety of Flavors and Potencies: Users can select from a large selection of flavors and potencies in cartridges, based on their personal tastes. There is a cartridge to suit your preference for a mild or powerful effect.

Vape cartridges versus disposable vapes

Disposables are a great choice for vapers who want something simple, informal, or on-the-go because of their great portability and user-friendliness.

Customization vs. Simplicity: While disposable vape devices are an excellent choice for convenient vaping because they are simple and easy to use, vape cartridges allow you to add different substances and purchased cartridges are reusable.

Maintenance-free: Unlike vape cartridges, which need to be cleaned and their batteries charged on a regular basis, disposable vapes are filled and charged at the factory and require no maintenance.

Cost: Cartridges may be more expensive initially, but they may end up saving more money over time because you might only need to change the cannabis concentrate rather than the complete device.

Which Is Better: Disposable Vapes or Vape Cartridges?

It all boils down to this: we suggest the cartridges if you want to customize your vaping experience and feel more satisfied after using them. We advise keeping both disposable vapes and vape cartridges on hand if you value convenience and dislike waiting for your device to heat up. Above all, have fun with your vape!

Where to Purchase Disposable Vape Products and Cartridges Online

The majority of people wonder where they may find the best deals on vape cartridges or disposable vapes in their area. So there's no reason to freak out? The best location is you. The greatest internet retailer is Smokegem. We provide a large range of high-grade, authentic hemp-derived items that have been checked for quality. Regardless of your level of experience, we offer a reliable, easy, and secure buying experience. Browse our online store to locate the ideal disposable vapes and cartridges that meet your needs and are shipped right to your door.

#smokegem #Disposable vapes #CBD

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non-un-topo · 2 years ago

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tw // talk of anti-trans violence, school shootings, just anxiety venting

Going to have to spend today calming myself down and convincing myself that I am not going to be killed on campus today. No, it doesn't happen a whole lot here in Canada. Yes, it has been happening more frequently in the last few years. My campus especially seems to have a history of violence and random attacks (there were several just last year and it freaked the fuck out of everyone), but I'm especially on high alert ever since the attack at the University of Waterloo. Which was a specific attack on gender studies students by a recent graduate. And then of course we have the van attack in 2018, and Polytechnique --- hard to forget. So with all of my classes having very obvious titles and being easily accessible in the main building, I'm obviously very nervous. I am also visibly queer, so. There's that. I don't know how I somehow forgot how scared I was on campus last year. Maybe I didn't forget and I was just distracted. Took me hours to fall asleep last night because I was just tormented with the most violent intrusive thoughts and ruminations in a long time. Horrific scenarios going through my head...

Anyway, if some guy wants to enter my classroom with hate-motivated intent and a weapon, there's literally nothing I can do. There's virtually no safety at my school. Most of the classrooms are as small as a cardboard box and have only one entrance/exit, and no door lock. They've increased campus security, but it has done absolutely nothing. The security guards are just bored 22 year old assholes with hardly any training. Not that it hasn't always been a scary time to be queer and to study gender studies, but I need to reiterate that this is a bad time. Not going to sugar-coat it because people get scared. This is a bad time in history for queer, especially trans, people, and those who study feminist theory and gender studies. Canada has issued a travel advisory warning for queer people NOT to travel to the U.S. With this anti-trans, "anti-woke" crusade taking off and really bleeding into Canada, things are not good.

I just want to hurry up and graduate. I'm definitely not alone in not feeling safe. I've talked to plenty of other gs students. Too bad self-defense weapons are virtually illegal here. Maybe I should take up boxing like I wanted to uhhhhhhh five(?) years ago. Not sure how to calm myself down while I'm on campus. CBD makes me crazy and paranoid. Alcohol makes me irritable and hopeless. Psychiatry is a Joke, capital J. But CBD pure indica it is, I guess. There's a dispensary on every fucking corner anyway. Begging the universe to just let me graduate without incident. If anything, all this fear is just fodder for me to finish this degree. Can't be invaluable if people literally want to kill you over it.

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13beachesxx · 2 years ago

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my period is late and i have been slipping back into my old bad habits (all of them) and i'm doing that thing where i'm floating sideways into nothingness and i hate it. i hate these sensations so much. maybe it's okay to acknowledge that another death in the house, however small, takes its toll. down to only 1 guinea pig and 3 dogs now. (and ofc the street dogs outside and the kittens and cats in the yard and the hedgehog and the owls but we don't count those. they come with the territory). she said that boy is probably next because guinea pigs don't do well at all alone, and she's going to order guinea pig CBD so that when its time comes at least it's passing in a painless way and that's some of the saddest shit i've heard.

we have so many pets buried in that fucking forest out back now it's getting a little grim, passing every stone there and knowing somebody is buried underneath it. and jackie in that box from all the way back in 2006 but god knows the box is probably gone now. and that letter. 17 years of decomposition but god i wish i could have read that letter, still. 15 year old me didn't have the archivist gene in her yet so of course i didn't preserve a copy anywhere, but i sure wish i could remember what i wrote, it was long and heartfelt and i'm sure i was writing to jackie and telling him i will never ever forget him. makes me teary eyed just thinking about it again. some people truly bond with their pets so hard and then the letting go is as hard as any human death. don't ever let anybody tell you otherwise.

#i've been like....pre mourning cousteau being gone and it's really not a nice feeling either #i need to stop doing that #he's still a relatively healthy chipper boy #turning 14 next year!!!

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420-finder · 11 days ago

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Vape Companies in the DMV – Where Innovation Meets Cannabis Convenience

In the rapidly evolving cannabis industry, vape products have taken center stage—and nowhere is that more evident than in the DMV (Washington D.C., Maryland, and Virginia). The rise of vape companies across this tri-state area reflects not only a shift in how people consume cannabis, but also how businesses are meeting demand with innovation, transparency, and customer-centric service.

Whether you’re a long-time cannabis enthusiast or a newcomer looking for a cleaner, more convenient experience, understanding the landscape of vape companies in the DMV is essential. Let’s take a deep dive into how these companies are transforming the cannabis scene, one puff at a time.

💨 Why Vaping is Revolutionizing Cannabis Consumption

Vaping has completely transformed how many people enjoy cannabis. Unlike smoking traditional flowers, vaping offers a more controlled and discreet experience. There’s no rolling papers, no harsh smoke, and most importantly, no lingering smell—making it the preferred method for people who value privacy, ease, and speed.

One of the main reasons users gravitate toward vaping is its precise dosage control. Vape cartridges are labeled with exact THC/CBD percentages, allowing users to know exactly what they're consuming. This makes vaping ideal for medical users who rely on consistent doses for conditions like anxiety, chronic pain, and insomnia.

Also, the fast onset time of vapes—usually just a few minutes—makes it perfect for those who need immediate relief or want to manage their high in real-time without waiting for edibles to kick in.

🏙️ Leading Vape Companies in the DMV

Let’s explore some of the most well-known vape companies and providers that are setting high standards for cannabis users in the DMV area:

🔹 Washington Vape Company – D.C.

Located in the heart of Washington, D.C., Washington Vape Company is known for offering a premium selection of vape pens, pre-filled THC cartridges, and disposable vapes. What sets them apart is their commitment to quality, lab-tested oils and excellent customer service.

They operate legally under D.C.’s Initiative 71 model, meaning you can receive cannabis as a gift when you purchase other items like artwork or stickers. For many locals and tourists, this is a go-to option for fast, same-day delivery and a wide variety of strain-specific cartridges like Blue Dream, OG Kush, and Gelato.

They also cater to both medical and adult-use consumers, so whether you're seeking relaxation or relief, you'll find a suitable product.

🔹 ViPeace – D.C.

ViPeace isn’t just another cannabis provider—it’s a luxury lifestyle brand. Their vape products reflect that vision, offering high-end vape pens with sleek design, elegant packaging, and premium oils extracted from small-batch, organic cannabis flowers.

Each vape product feels like a personalized gift—beautifully boxed and ideal for cannabis consumers who appreciate style, quality, and presentation. Their menu typically includes terpene-rich distillates and boutique strains.

Perfect for new users or connoisseurs, ViPeace combines fashion with function, offering a discreet, yet powerful vape experience right in the nation’s capital.

🔹 gLeaf – Maryland & Virginia

With a strong presence across medical dispensaries in Maryland and Virginia, gLeaf has become a staple brand in the DMV cannabis scene. They focus on producing pharmaceutical-grade vape cartridges, offering everything from distillate to live resin and full-spectrum extracts.

What makes gLeaf stand out is their dedication to lab transparency, consistent potency, and a strong supply chain that ensures patients get what they need, when they need it. Their medical-grade carts are available to qualifying patients and are praised for both their effectiveness and flavor.

Their popular strains include Wedding Cake, Northern Lights, and Lemon Haze—all available in sleek, leak-proof carts that fit most universal vape batteries.

🔬 How DMV Vape Companies Ensure Quality and Safety

As vaping grows in popularity, concerns about product safety remain. Reputable vape companies in the DMV area are stepping up to ensure consumer trust and safety through rigorous testing and transparent practices.

Here’s how they do it:

✅ Lab-Tested Oils

Every reputable vape company provides third-party lab results for their products. These results include information on THC/CBD content, terpene profiles, and screenings for harmful contaminants like pesticides, heavy metals, or solvents.

✅ High-Quality Extraction

Companies like ViPeace and gLeaf use CO2 extraction and live resin techniques to preserve flavor and potency without harmful additives. This ensures the vape oil remains pure and flavorful while delivering consistent effects.

✅ Premium Hardware

The cart matters as much as the oil. Top brands use ceramic or glass cartridges with metal-free pathways to ensure clean hits, proper airflow, and no leaking. Many newer models also include adjustable voltage and smart chip technology for temperature control.

🚚 Vape Delivery Services in the DMV

One of the most convenient parts of buying from DMV vape companies? You can often get your products delivered directly to your door.

Thanks to platforms like 420Finder.net, you can browse menus, compare prices, read verified reviews, and schedule same-day delivery with ease.

Whether you’re in downtown D.C., Silver Spring, or Alexandria, most delivery services offer:

Real-time menus with live inventory

Discreet, unbranded packaging

GPS tracking and text alerts

1-hour to same-day delivery windows

Cash and digital payment options

This is especially helpful for medical patients, busy professionals, or anyone who wants to avoid traffic and long dispensary lines.

🧠 What to Look for When Choosing a Vape Company

Choosing the right vape brand isn’t always easy, especially with so many options. Here's what experienced users recommend looking out for:

🔍 Reputation

Check reviews on sites like Weedmaps, Leafly, and 420Finder. A brand with a strong community reputation is usually reliable.

🌱 Strain Variety

Look for vape companies offering multiple strain types—sativa for energy, indica for relaxation, hybrids for balanced effects.

🧪 Ingredient Transparency

Reputable companies should always list ingredients. Avoid brands that use cutting agents like vitamin E acetate, PG, or PEG.

🎯 Effectiveness

Medical users should seek full-spectrum or high-potency carts tailored to their condition (e.g., chronic pain, PTSD, sleep issues).

✅ Final Thoughts

Vape companies in the DMV are setting a new gold standard in cannabis innovation. Whether you're after a stylish, boutique experience with ViPeace, a medically trusted cartridge from gLeaf, or a quick delivery from Washington Vape Company, there's something for everyone.

As cannabis becomes more accepted and accessible, vape companies will continue leading the way with smarter, cleaner, and more consumer-friendly solutions. And with delivery options making access easier than ever, there’s truly no better time to explore what DMV vape culture has to offer.

Ready to explore your options? 👉 Visit 420Finder.net to find the best vape companies near you, compare menus, and order directly from trusted dispensaries.

#vapeshop #vapecommunity #vapelife #vape

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the-royal-blue-network · 28 days ago

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Jaxson Rivers adjusted the camera, tilting it this way and that way until he and his two other co-host, Micheal and Taylor, where perfectly in frame. After hitting the red record button, a soft beep sounded as Jaxson took a seat between his best friends. Then, picking up his mic, he took a deep breath and looked straight into the camera.

“Well hello anarchist! I’m one of your handsome hosts, Jaxson Rivers.” Said Jaxson as he gripped his mic with both hands.

“And I’m your even better-looking host, Taylor Hunt, this handsome Hunk’s husband.” Taylor said, as he elbowed Micheal.

“And I am Micheal Hunt, arguably the best-looking host on this show. And you’re listening to, Bunkers and Bongs, your favorite informative, yet bat shit crazy news podcast. Apple Jax, how’s the war?” Micheal said, turning to his co-host.

Jaxson opened his mouth to respond when a loud bang went off, causing their drinking glasses, and the plywood serving as their table, to rattle.

“Well, it’s still going on, that’s for sure.” Jaxson said, looking directly into the camera.

Hosting a podcast in the middle of a war zone was indeed as bat shit crazy as it sounded. But Bunkers and Bongs hadn't always been so hectic. There was a time when Bunkers and Bongs was known as ‘The Insomniac Podcast’. Back then, Jaxson, Micheal, and Taylor’s lives were quite normal. Before the war, Jaxson, Micheal, and Taylor recorded their podcast in a proper studio; they had employees and they made money through brand deals, merch sales, and donations from their listeners.

Back then, before the civil war began, The Insomniacs, as they called themselves, had Roth IRAs and other investments, they had partners and an office which they ran their operations out of, and they had their whole lives mapped out.

But then the war started and much like the small town they lived in, all The Bunker Boys’s lives went up in flames.

....

Before the war, The Bunker Boys were known as The Tree Boys, and their podcast, Bongs N Things, was all about THC, CBD, and LGBT news.

But now, that was no longer the case, six and a half years ago, The Bunker Boys, and everyone around them, chose to write off all those who tried to warn them.

It was 2024 when it all began, anti-LGBTQ legislation was being written and in acted like movies hitting the box office. Every week there was a new law being enacted, and The Hall Monitors, a group of older gay men who had a love of law, started a blog, detailing all that was happening in every state. The Hall Monitors had friends in high places who would inform them of what was happening on the federal level, and The Hall Monitors tried to spread the news; but with very little knowledge about how to work their devices, and even less about how social media worked, The Hall Monitors' message failed to reached a wide enough audience. The Monitors tried to use the popular publications to get the news in the paper, but no one was really reading the paper anymore, at least not the local ones that The Monitors had access to.

Eventually, when people finally did realize what was going on, their neighborhoods where already filled with men dressed in cameo uniforms, and the entire country was now under total government control.

For some, the uniformed men weren’t a problem; that is until they widened their scope of targets, going from targeting just LGBT folks, to then targeting people with disabilities, people who held jobs that the government deemed as ‘unimportant’, or just anyone the government saw as a threat. And of course, all the ‘die hard citizens’, the bigots, and all those who opposed any and everyone who decided to go against the grain, they joined the government, and soon, the entire country was divided into two halves, and all hell broke loose.

But a civil war? The country of Deston, where The Insomniacs used to live, could handle a simple civil war; hell, their country started with a civil war! But this war was far greater than any civil war the world had ever seen before. Both halves of this war didn’t just have bombs, guns, and tanks, they also had concoctions that could raise the dead and powders that if inhaled, would allow the makers of that powder to fully control whoever had ingested it.

All the while, while the citizens of Deston were busy killing one another, The Insomniacs were simply trying to get as far away from the chaos as possible. But when the lock down came, Jaxson, Micheal, and Taylor got trapped in Deston, and they figured they were going to die there. So, the trio found a bunker, and they hid out. For days, they just sat in the bunker and did their best not to get involved in the fight.

Friends of the boys, who had been forced into the fight, would come by the bunker to check on the trio; they brought snacks and updates about what was happening, and luckily for the boys, prior to starting the podcast, Taylor and Micheal worked as nurses, so they were able to patch up the soldiers in exchange for protection.

Eventually, Micheal somehow managed to find their old studio amongst the rubble, and through a sheer act of God, all their recording equipment was able to be salvaged, and after convincing the general, of the small army they’d been staying with, to allow them to use the army’s internet, The Insomniac Boys where back online, this time as Bongs and Bunkers.

“Boy, I really wish we would have paid a little more attention to the sales of military grade weapons to your average, everyday citizen.” Taylor said as he stared directly into the camera.

Micheal shook his head.

“Hindsight is 20/20 my guy. Wishing to change the past isn’t gonna do shit for us now.” Micheal said.

Jaxson chuckled, now it was his turn to shake his head.

“Ahh, ever the Optimus, I’ve always loved that about ya kid.” Jaxson said as he slapped a hand on Micheal’s leg.

Between the three of them, the men where a tornado of fear, hopelessness, and a delusional level of optimism. The Bunker Boys where like a perfect scale, each man talking turns embodying the only three emotions they had; fear, numbness, and a delusional level of optimism. The men never had a conversation about which of them would embody which emotion; they just naturally gravitated towards one of the three every day. Call it fate, God, or something else, but no two men ever gravitated towards the same state of being, so they always remained in perfect harmony. They would simply wake up, assume their roles, and go about their day.

“Do you think this war will....” Jaxson’s statement was cut short by a loud thud against the bunker door.

“Sidney?” The men all said in unison as they looked at one another.

Sidney was the trio's self-assigned assistant. Since the Bunker Boys where the only ones with internet access, they recorded the podcast on tapes, and Sidney would deliver the tapes to the folks on the front line. At first, the boys tried to discourage Sydney from doing such a dangerous job, but when she explained that this podcast was all that the soldiers had to look forward to, The Bunker Boys realized they couldn’t say no. Of course, Sydney wasn’t out there all alone, she was armed, and traveled with the soldiers, but that didn’t stop the boys didn’t worrying about her.

“Sorry I’m late, we got roped into a fucking prayer circle, and we all know how long those things can last.” She said with a huff.

Plopping down onto one of the buckets the guys used for chairs, Sydney huffed as she leaned against Jaxson.

“People are really digging the pod by the way. This civil war has got everyone fiending for these tapes.” She said, holding up her sac full of food.

The guys weren’t too thrilled about Sydney crossing a literal war zone, just to give out copies of their podcast tapes, but she loved the thrill. But more than just for the thrill, Sydney truly believed that The Insomniac Podcast was more than just ‘a silly little podcast.’ The Insomniac Podcast was so many people’s sunshine in the middle of a fucking storm, and though they couldn’t stop the war, they were keeping the people informed and entertained. And for Sydney, that was worth risking her life.

And so, opening up the sac, she cracked open a soda someone had traded, slipped another tape into the recorder, and sat back and watched as her friends did their thing.

FOR MORE LGBT STORIES, CHECK OUT The Royal Blue Network!

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