#Boombox Cartel

[browniesandlemonade]

MONTA LA TAKEOVER 

BOOMBOX CARTEL 

SUBLAB 

ALEKO 

DANK FRANK 

SANTO SANTO 

?????? 

+ MANY SURPRISE GUESTS ;) 

JUNE 2, 2023

1720 WAREHOUSE 

ENTRY: https://link.dice.fm/L9dcb920c5c6

[thetaizuru]

(Boombox Cartel)

[cherry-vennom]

When the night gets cold And you're far from home Turn the lights on Till you feel my signal Through the dark

Can you hear my heart Like a missle Sending out a signal I will guide you

[1000-year-old-virgin]

Boombox Cartel ft. Nevve - Heart Of Stone

[webofdnw]

[the-mystery-of-christ]

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Story time:

There was a kid in my town who sold radios. Home stereos, portable boomboxes, car radios, it didn't matter. You wanted it, it played music, kid sold it.

This is not the part of the story where I sell you an honorable story about a kid earning for a family who can't keep up. Kid had a reasonably secure homelife, just liked having cash on hand for things they wanted. Everyone knew these were not exactly electronics with legitimate provenance, you feel me? But that didn't matter. Kid sold decent equipment at good prices, so if the kid said a case of cassette players fell off the back of a truck, then it fell off the back of a truck.

I get that some people have never lived in communities where the illegitimate market was a staple in community survival, but where I grew up "criminal" was a job title.

Story time:

My mom sold drugs for the cartels. She was a teenager alone in a city where she didn't know anyone, gay as a maypole, school drop out, couldn't hold down a job between the homophobia, the earthquakes, and the severe trauma. So she sold drugs for the local distributer because he didn't care who she fucked or when she needed a day off. Sometimes she spent her drug money on drugs of her own. Sometimes she spent it on expensive sex toys for her and her friends. Sometimes she spent it on food and rent. Sometimes she gave it away to the other queer kids.

The world is a complicated place, and people make complicated choices. Good and bad are rarely what we think they are. We can make that a problem for ourselves by fighting it, or we can accept it and play in the space.

My mom told me about her drug dealer days when she had a talk with me about recreational drug use as a kid. She told me that she tried cocaine once and liked it so much she knew she couldn't try it again. She told me to only ever smoke marijuana if I watched the buds ground up or ground them up myself. She told me not to get high or drunk with anyone unless I trusted them with my life. She told me that if I ever took something and it went wrong that I could call her. And she told me something that she ended up saying a lot: "the only absolute is that there are no absolutes"

Ironically, given my OCD, this was a really protective message. Her point was that doubt, uncertainty, change, difference, were inevitable, and would always take us by surprise until we learned how to internalize that truth. Better to build yourself a comfortable palace of self-reflection in that doubt and uncertainty, and allow the variability of life to be your anchor.

I've been supporting myself since I was a teenager, and maybe one day I'll find something as good as the sound of that giant ass boombox with the batteries the size of a hamster pumping out prince and tracy chapman and the indigo girls under the mulberry tree out front while the smell of my aunties and mom smoking up out back drifts off into the woods. Maybe I'll even find people who see the beauty and humanity in the mess the way I do.

[weirdsatellites]

Manifest #1003 from RASR-2 (L CLEARANCE) 1. Copper Boombox Laboratory 2. Cult Cartel 3. Blessed Magnets

[amnesiaguy]

tagged by @chrispineofficial to post my first ten spotify 'on repeat' songs that come up on shuffle :^)

in spite of war (yves tumor)

dancing with fire (boombox cartel)

dizzy (tchotchke)

lovin' you (dolly parton)

immaterial (sophie)

symbiosis (okay kaya)

milk and honey (jackson c. frank)

i won't hurt you (the west coast pop art experimental band)

pavlov's bell (aimee mann)

bad believer (st. vincent)

i tag all of my mutuals<3

[thetaizuru]

(Boombox Cartel)

[cherry-vennom]

Holy water, I've been sippin’ I've got memories on repeat Tastes like conny, but you're slippin’ away from me

Swear I see you in the darkness, when I'm searchin' for the light You look like every broken promise, I've been tryna hide

You're just like my shadow, everywhere you follow, everywhere you follow me

You're just like my shadow, everywhere you follow, everywhere you follow me

[mrchiipchrome]

Immediate chills

[webofdnw]

[kuhakuwu]

All around me, smoke is heavy

Going down deep, I’m not ready

The only escape is your voice in the rain…

And that’s when you whisper 🎶

[seraphtrevs]

do you think you would ever write more lalo/ciro besides lucky to be here?

I desperately want to! I actually really want to write Lalo/Nacho/Ciro, which I've had drafted for ages now. The original idea for LtBH had Nacho showing up at the end, so I wanted to use some of my ideas from that version of the fic. I also wanted to play around with the idea of Nacho being a willing spy for Gus. Plus it would be sexy.

I have a little bit of it written so far - when I get caught up with LtBH and Sweet Tooth (ha!) I might dust it off. It's called Folie à Trois

Here's what I have written so far under the cut!

Lalo’s place wasn’t like Nacho expected.

He’d expected something sleazier—a step up from Tuco, maybe, but in the same ballpark. Lalo’s place was nice, though. It reminded him of a country home he’d visited once. Back when he was a lowly dealer, one of his clients had gotten the idea to piss off her parents by bringing a scary thug for a family weekend in the country. They were all filthy rich and fatally bored—playing head games with each other was the only real pleasure they seemed to have. Same as the cartel, really—just with fewer shootings and more pastels.

What had interested him about the family was their understated displays of wealth. Their belongings were of top quality and obviously so, but their presence was like listening to classical music—elegant and enchanting, but with the ability to fade gracefully into the background. Narco wealth usually screamed like a boombox at maximum volume.

But Lalo’s place was a charming country estate, complete with a live-in staff who waited on the lawn to be presented to their master’s guest as the car made its way down the drive. Lalo smiled as he spoke easily with them (he never stopped smiling), catching up as if they were old friends and not employees. Lalo liked to be liked. He wanted love as much as obedience.

Nacho added it to his mental list of potential weaknesses. That’s what Fring had asked him to do. When Fring approached him about spying on the Salamancas, he jumped at the opportunity. Sure, it was a dangerous game, but he’d been playing dangerous games for years now. He was still alive, so that meant he must be doing something right. In exchange, he’d win freedom for himself and his dad.

The love-in with the staff came to an abrupt end when one of the guards failed to anticipate Lalo’s desire to have their luggage taken in right away. He cursed and berated the poor kid—and he was a kid, unlike all of the other guards. In all of their months together, Nacho had never seen Lalo lose his temper. The kid also seemed surprised as he fumbled with their bags. He cast a bruised look in Lalo’s direction—and then caught Nacho’s gaze. He blushed and dropped a bag, which invited another round of insults.

“A little hard on that kid, weren’t you?” Nacho observed when they were on the patio, enjoying a drink while dinner was prepared.

“Who, Ciro?” Lalo scowled. “Yeah, well, force of habit. He’s always fucking something up—once he almost burned down my house.”

Nacho’s eyebrows shot up. “How’d that happen?”

“He lit a cigarette on the stove burner in the kitchen while on patrol in the middle of the night, and forgot to turn it off. He never uses his head.”

“Then why do you keep him around?”

Lalo looked taken aback at the question, as if he’d never considered it before. “He’s an orphan,” he said eventually. “His father worked for the Salamancas—distinguished himself, too. It’s the least I can do to make sure he’s taken care of.”

“Why not write him a check? Seems like a liability to have a guard who accidentally sets fire to your house. Can’t imagine he’d be worth a lot if you were attacked.”

Lalo waved a hand. “He’d just get into trouble. Better to keep him here.”

So he cared about him. Interesting.