during an argument with Ra's about whether or not the Al Ghul family could even be considered legal royalty, Jason convinces him to spend a ridiculous amount of time and resources declaring Nanda Parbat and by consequence the League of Assassins to be a part of their own independent nation/country, of which the Al Ghuls are the royal family. an unintended consequence of this is that they are then somehow invited to participate in the Olympic games, whereupon Jason thinks it would be funny to compete in the precision shooting division. it becomes rapidly less funny when he runs into Dick Grayson in the Olympic Village, because Dick lost a bet and had to compete in America's gymnastics division for that year.
a leaked series of press shots shows a photo of the two recreating the spiderman pointing meme in the middle of the street and then a photo of Jason booking it while Dick gives chase, and the footage of Jason winning the gold will forever be immortalised in Gotham meme culture simply because Dick is seen in the background of the entire livestream, standing in the front of the viewing area with his arms crossed and fucking glaring into the side of Jason's skull without blinking or looking away for a second.
Ra's has to give a statement about how he agreed to house Bruce Wayne's second ward as part of a witness protection program, and when he comes back from the press conference he solemnly declares to Jason that 'being royalty wasn't fucking worth it.'
au where Jason is the one to deliver Damian to Bruce but he and Damian get into an argument on the drive over about how good at stealth missions Damian is and it ends in Jason double-dog daring him to skip the whole 'introduction' aspect of going to live with Bruce and instead to just sneak into the manor and see how long he can go unnoticed for.
Damian's claim is that the manor is so big and Damian's so good at remaining hidden that he could live in the manor without anybody else there clocking him easy. Jason just wants to see how long he can actually go because in his mind the longer Bruce goes without realising he has Damian in the house, the funnier the reveal will be. he's actually kinda rooting for Damian purely because it's funnier if he pulls it off for a really long time first. then Jason can snitch on him and the fall-out will be glorious.
he lasts about four months.
two weeks in and Alfred becomes suspicious, but chooses to believe that it's raccoons or pigeons in the attic because then he doesn't have to get involved. and he really doesn't want to get involved.
a month in and Damian almost gets caught by Tim while trying to steal some food in the middle of the night and getting cornered in the kitchen, but Tim hadn't slept in three days and was high on cold medicine at the time so he assumed that Damian was actually a hallucination of Bruce as a child, and all he did was stare Damian directly in the eye and solemnly tell him 'never ask your parents to go see a movie with you.' before going to pass out in the study.
two months in and Damian has gotten into a rhythm with it. feeling unchallenged, he starts waiting for Bruce to fall asleep in front of the batcomputer during hard cases so he can sneak out from the walls and fix whatever Bruce is getting wrong and solving the case before he wakes up.
three months in and Dick runs into him while sneaking in through a side door so he can grab some stuff from his bedroom without having to talk to Bruce, but Damian bullshits that he's one of Tim's school friends visiting to complete a school project, and Dick gives him twenty dollars to promise that he won't tell anybody Dick is in the building.
four months in and he gets cocky; starts ordering packages to the manor addressed to himself. Alfred asks Bruce at the dinner table why they've received an amazon package for 'Damian Wayne' and nobody knows what the fuck he's talking about. the next night the Red Hood snitches and asks how 'Damian's doing' and Bruce becomes convinced that Hood has the manor bugged. demands a full sweep of the building. Tim comes across Damian napping in a hammock in the attic wearing Tim's presumed-lost clothes next to a pile of supremely confidential files stolen from the batcave.
Damian wakes up and promptly tells them all that they aren't allowed to be mad because the statute of limitations for breaking and entering has passed already. Jason laughs so hard he cries.
it's actually so amazing she helped save the lives of the honorable men who did not wish to fight, while killing the most vile men, that is so fucking based
Also, please do not listen to how people talk about cover letters on this site. Cover letters are important, and in many industries you can be damn sure they'll be read. And no, they're not 'fanfic about working in your office', or just re-stating the resume contents in a fancier guise. If you treat them like that, then of course they're not doing much for you. That makes you sound like a syncophantic windbag, and it's not doing anything else to help.
I was trained in the dark arts of the cover letter by my mother, who is a hiring manager. And her training has paid off: I've been consistently told my cover letters are excellent. Let me pass on the wisdom.
The job of a cover letter is to give a prospective employer strictly more information than is on the resume. This is where you take the resume contents and put them into context. You look at the job requirements (you are looking at the job requirements before applying, right?) and look at your resume and ask the question (in your head) "why would a person think this candidate would be good for this job?" and your cover letter is the answer to that question. If you don't answer that question, the hiring manager is going to have to do it themselves, and you have way more information to work with than they do.
This is especially important if you're moving from one industry to another, because then the relevant connections aren't obvious. It's also very important if you're overqualified, because then you can use the letter to say "I know it looks like this job would be too entry-level for me, but I'm interested to pursue it for reasons x, y, and z". You can also use this space to explain away something that might otherwise be disqualifying, like job-hopping or a long break in employment. The tone to strike here is always matter-of-fact and constrained to topic - don't go into detail about health stuff or personal tragedy, just tell them what they need to hear: that this period of your resume was affected by [bad thing] but that it's now in the past and you're looking forward to the next chapter. Remember, one of the things they're trying to learn is whether you'd be content in this role, or whether you'd be miserable and leave after 2 months, which would force them to do all the work of hiring again. You're trying to establish that you will fit right in and not cause problems. Knowing what drew you to this job in particular (and don't just say 'money', that's true for everyone) helps with that.
And the other mistake? Everyone writes cover letters that are too long. One page is fine. Two is the absolute maximum, and that's if you have a lot of specific things to say. It's a waste of your time and theirs to pad it out with fluff. Of my two most recent successful cover letters (i.e. jobs for which I was interviewed) one was 390 words and the other was 550. That's the length of this post. How long did it take me to write this post? About 15 minutes to write, 5 to proof and edit. That's how long you should be spending on a cover letter, maximum.
I will never shy away from the word goon. goon is the only way to describe a particular type of henchman, lackey, or thug. look at these guys. they're goons.
Scientists have developed a breakthrough “superfood” for honeybees by engineering yeast to produce the essential nutrients normally found in
TLDR- Modern agriculture pollen is low in nutrients, and there aren’t enough wildflowers. Science has to develop vitamins to supplement the diets of agricultural bees. So plant some wildflowers for the wild bees near you.
The backlash was a major lawsuit from 9 tribes alongside other lawsuits from advocacy groups like NDN Collective. You can support NDN Collective by donating to them here.
Fellow white people did you know there's this cool youtube hack where you go out of your way to watch videos made by Black people. And suddenly your video recommendations will have loads of cool new channels. And then you realise youtube was literally hiding videos made by Black people from you because they assumed you wouldn't be interested
For everyone being like "we should talk about racial segregation by algorithms", you'll love Discriminating Data by Wendy Chun! She literally digs up the original study that "proved" people prefer to socialise with folks similar to them and showed that it discarded Black participants.
It's only after Poseidon leaves that Aphrodite recognises that there is a new presence within her chambers.
Distracted as she had been by the Sea Kings voluptuous behind as he swaggered away, the love goddess feels that few could hold it against her that she initially failed to notice such a tiny creature.
Especially when the little godling's essence was so much like that of her parents that she seemed to blend into the briny waves that always followed in Poseidon, and even Aphrodite's to a lesser extent, wake.
The continued presence of the Sea long after Poseidon had left had been what pushed Aphrodite to realise what had happened.
It was only after supressing her own presence that she had been able to capture any more of the babes essence.
Laughter and Screams; a dash of something that sung wonderfully with her own dominion over love; the undertones of something that tasted thick and coppery against her tongue; an edge that cut like her favourite lovers blade and even a floral scent that could pass as something similar to Aphrodite's own aspects but more distinct and limited.
It took her a while to find the child, their presence quickly saturating the room now that Poseidon's and her own were no longer supressing it.
Thankfully, before Aphrodite was forced to resort to destruction of property in her search, the love goddess heard a giggle like bell chimes break out from across the room.
Following the noise to its source, Aphrodite found her latest child hidden beneath her bed.
The godling had wrapped themself in one of her shawls, further masking their scent Aphrodite realised.
Her emotions warred between amusement and annoyance at what was no doubt an intention ploy from how the child laughed at her.
Amusement eventually won out though as the goddess found it impossible to hold onto anything negative when the child looked up at her with her own eyes.
Taking in the child's appearance, Aphrodite couldn't help but let out a noise of surprise.
They were truly gorgeous, as any child born of her would be, but that was not what drew such a reaction from her.
If one knew what to look for they would recognise the sea king in the bone structure of the godlings face or the turbulent curls that graced her hair, but most would miss it.
After all, for all the similarities Aphrodite's daughter shared with her father, they bore a far more striking resemblance to their maternal grandfather.
Constellations that at first glance might be mistaken for freckles shone as they were chased across the child's skin by the tides.
Pearls spilled from ebony curls that dripped upon the floor as the godling gave her a charming fanged smile from between blackened lips. Her skin shifted between the pallor of one gripped within a watery grave and the rich hues of a rainbow fish.
Her little godling, so young and yet already such a violent beauty.
A godling born of two greater gods who seemed to share more similarities with the Titans to those who were unaware of Aphrodite and Poseidon's true natures.
Part of why the two consistently found themselves returning to the others bed despite their many disputes following Rhode's birth was that there were few that either deity could truly be themselves around.
Aphrodite had been born of Uranus and was both Titan and Goddess. Poseidon meanwhile had been Kronos favoured son for a reason, the gods nature being far less restricted when compared to that of his siblings save perhaps Demeter.
Neither spoke of it but both sea deities knew that had they wished it during the war, the Titans would have welcomed them with open arms.
Zeus she knew suspected but had never, despite all his paranoia fuelled witch hunts, been able to prove how closely the two walked the line between the pantheons of now and then.
He had come close though.
Close enough that both gods were forever forced into wearing masks when not hidden beneath the waves lest they give their King reason to attempt to strike them down.
Aphrodite was known for her glamours. Many complementing the spell work that caused even gods to see their desires reflected back at them.
Few save Titans like Hecate herself realised that the goddess was a true shapeshifter, her form as nebulous and changing as the tides she had sprung from. Only her Kaleidoscope eyes remained unchanging, the anchor of her being and self.
Some might say that she had an easier time of it; masking her presence with subtle spells and misdirection's yet remaining in her true form but Aphrodite would disagree.
After all Aphrodite's marriage, however brief, to the Forge meant she was considered more Olympian than Seaborn and expected to remain above the waves.
Poseidon meanwhile was free to exist as his true self within his kingdom.
After all, beloved and fear in equal measure, none would whisper the truth of their kings nature to the Thunderer on High.
Poseidon's mask may be more restrictive and far heavier than her own but what did that matter when he was rarely forced to wear it?
This beautiful child, so young and innocent, seem to shine with the two gods best and most deadly aspects.
Aphrodite adored them for it just as much as the love goddess feared it.
The Godling was living proof of all that the duo had tried to hide.
Aphrodite wasn't Hera though, she had no intention of throwing her child off a mountain.
However, if Aphrodite wanted herself and her child to survive the coming centuries unscathed, something would need to be done.
The simplest method would be to hide her more ungodly aspects but the child wouldn't be able to maintain a glamour consistently enough to fool other gods for centuries yet... If she could only hide them until they were grown...
That wasn't an option though, not with the twins seeing everything that walked beneath their sun and moon.
Protectors of youth they may be, that would not stop them from turning the child over to their father.
Perhaps a physical disguise or covering?
Though, with gods like Aphrodite and Poseidon for parents any attempt to dress modestly would honestly attract more attention and suspicion...
Mayhap's armour? Now there was an idea...
Breathing in deeply she focused on a specific aspect of the godlings Essence.
The taste of copper lay heavy in her mouth, coupled with the bite of something sharp and cold steal? and Aphrodite knew this little godling was going to be a new war god.
She could use this, dress her little darling up like Wisdom and have them never part from their armour for their first few centuries the same way Athena and even Ares had refused to after them were born.
Her ex husband still owed her a few favours and he had always had a soft spot for children, it wouldn't be hard to request armour for her and swear him to secrecy.
The more she thought about it, the more she liked this idea.
The only problem was Poseidon.
He would never consent to his child hiding what they were, regardless of whether it might protect them from danger!
The fool would probably marry her off like he had Kymopoleia or her dear Rhode.
As if her daughters marriage to the sun brat was anything other than a gilded cage!
She hadn't even been allowed to raise her child, instead forced to watch as Helios shaped her to be his wife without thought or care for anything beyond her destined role.
The love between the two was real but tasted like cheap taffy, lacking substance, meaning or depth.
Aphrodite had hoped it would blossom into something more but as time past all it seemed to do was stagnate and become sickly sweet.
Eros had started making bets on who Helios would cheat on Rhodes with and whilst Aphrodite hadn't placed any bets herself she didn't disagree with her sons prediction for how that marriage would end.
Not that Rhodes cared to listen to her mothers worries.
No, Aphrodite refused to sit back and watch as Poseidon ruined another of her daughters.
Right now Poseidon had no idea that this bundle of blood and laughter existed and Aphrodite intended to keep it that way as long as possible.
Her Rhodes was such a lovely thing.
The gentle goddess couldn't help but draw the eyes of all who looked at her and this child would be much the same though far less passive and compliant if Aphrodite had anything to say about it.
She would raise her daughter to be a proper deity, invoking fear and trepidation into mortals and immortals alike.
She would be as free as the Waves and as terrify as Love.
Where Rhodes coaxed this child of theirs would demand, bloody and violent.
She would be the kind of love that gripped you by the throat and never let you go.
She would start wars, build and ruin empires...
Yes.
This daughter would be different.
Hers and hers alone.
She would pass them off as a child of her Aria aspect born of a heated spat through thought and thought alone.
If pushed she would claim Ares to be the one she quarrelled with ensuring that Poseidon had no claim to her!
A child like that needed a powerful name....
"How about I name you Persandra, do you like that Darling?"
The excited laughter was answer enough and Aphrodite joined her newest child in giggling as she gently picked them up and cradled them in her arms.
bf!peter maximoff x gn!reader
🍵 ‼️: 0.3k words. fluff. bantering. kisses!
a/n: sorry ik that this is short because this was just a random thought hehe
Your boyfriend, Peter Maximoff has an habit that you could not quite figure out. You don’t know if he is obsessed with your chapstick or your lips. Well, maybe both. Since every time you re-apply your chapstick, he’ll appear out of nowhere and steal a kiss. Then he’ll grin at you like he just won the lottery.
Right now, you and Peter are about to go out. You just finished applying your chapstick. Suddenly the next thing you knew is that Peter appeared beside you in a silver blur. “Looking delicious, babe.” he comments. “I call first taste!” Before you can even protest, he cups your cheek and steals a quick kiss.
“Peter..” you try to scold him but a flustered chuckle escapes your lips instead. A wide grin appears on his lips as he finds your reaction adorable. He looooves kissing your lips every time you’ve just applied your chapstick and also because knows that you couldn’t be mad at a kiss.
“What?? It’s delicious.” he teases you, wiggling his eyebrows. “my lips or my chapstick?” you teased him back. “Oh? That’s a trick question. I’m gonna need another taste to make a very truthful response.” with that, he starts to lean in to get another kiss. “You’re full of excuses.” You call him out playfully.
“C’mon,” he laughs, reaching for your waist. “Love you babe, just two or three more kisses. Speedsters burn calories faster. I need another kiss for energy.” That’s definitely not only gonna be two or three more kisses. That’s gonna turn to a makeout session again.
But damn you love it. You love Peter devouring your lips and showering you with this much affection and attention. This new chapstick tube you just bought is not gonna last long again. They never do if Peter’s around when you reapply it. Still, it was worth it for all the kisses Peter gave you.
likes/reblogs/comments are very much appreciated! 🫶
🍵 taglist: @bohnerrific69 @sempiternalbeauty @ethereallmonkey @zoe-benson-rp @bohnerrificc69 @xrag-dollx (lmk if anyone else wants to be added or removed!)
tbh I’ve always found it very funny that Elrond is like “there’s no point bringing Glorfindel on the quest, even though he’s a balrog-slayer. You won’t need balrog-slayers” and then thirty pages later they run into a balrog
#most elves aren’t #just glorfindel #dwarves on the other hand ARE bioluminescent #but it’s in a spectrum that elves and men and orcs can’t see in #hobbits can see in that spectrum fine #for better mushroom hunting #but they think it’s rude to point out that one of their party members is glowing #and so the dwarves have no idea the hobbits notice (via @mandaloriandy)
The first night Bilbo camped with the company he very nearly said something about it, but, having no idea what dwarves are and thinking it might be rude, he kept the observation to himself and decided that dwarves must be some kind of fungus. It improved his estimation of them most incredibly, and was, in fact, one of the observations he was most keen to pass on when he got back, seeing as how—even if it didn’t quite make him respectable, per se—it at least provided a valuable new addition to hobbits’ mushroom-lore, which no one (not even a certain few silver-spoon possessing relatives) could fault him for.
#anyways it’s common knowledge in the shire that dwarves are actually just a kind of mushroom#but no one says anything#because they think (seeing as how the dwarves haven’t brought it up themselves) it would be rude (via @willowcrowned)
My partner, reading this over my shoulder: “It never ceases to amaze me when Tolkein fans write meta that goes off in really bizarre directions”
Me: “These books are 70 years old, everything normal to say about them has been said; if you’re gonna say anything new about it, it’s gonna have to be weird”
Danny is a Chemistry teacher at Gotham Academy. His favorite student is Tim. He shocks the students by teaching and creating a Fear Antitoxin for the kids to learn as part of their curriculum.
legit the best advice i can give you: feed your friends
any time someone is in any kind of crisis or upheaval, offer to feed them. tell them they don't have to choose what it is if they can't make decisions, just ask about allergies and preferences and tell them you're just gonna make food happen at their house.
friend having a baby? delivery gift certificate to order food to the hospital after the kid shows up.
someone's relative passes away? offer to make them dinner.
buddy gets laid off? ask if you can order them lunch.
pal stuck in a depressive episode? offer to drive them to fucking mcdonalds, if that's what they want.
people in crisis are tired and sad and angry and the last thing most of them are doing is thinking about feeding themselves. so if you have the ability or time or money, providing that is always, always a good move.
legit i do this all the time, and it is 100% always appreciated. i have taught all my friends that when something happens, we feed each other. it makes people feel extremely cared for, and I cannot recommend it enough.
Right after I reblogged this I found out a friends’ mom was hospitalized — this is such a good reminder
If you can, provide disposable plates/utensils and save them from doing dishes — when my husband was diagnosed with cancer, bulk paper products were our most appreciated gift
im sorry one thing that consistently gets my goat about the xmen movies, is the fact that they never thank Peter for saving their lives, in DOFP only logan thanks him, in Apocalypse everyone is stunend and admires...mystique? HELLO!?
It was a Tuesday in 1981 when the San Francisco police kicked in the door.
Inside the small apartment, they expected to find a hardened criminal. They expected a drug kingpin. They expected resistance.
Instead, they found a 57-year-old waitress in an apron.
The air in the apartment smelled sweet, thick with chocolate and something earthier. On the kitchen counter, cooling on wire racks, were 54 dozen brownies.
The police officers began bagging the evidence. They confiscated nearly 18 pounds of marijuana. They handcuffed the woman, whose name was Mary Jane Rathbun.
She didn't look scared. She didn't look guilty.
She looked at the officers, smoothed her apron, and reportedly said, "I thought you guys were coming."
She was booked into the county jail. The headlines wrote themselves. A grandmother running a pot bakery. It seemed like a joke to the legal system, a quirky local news story about an older woman behaving badly.
But Mary wasn't baking for fun. And she certainly wasn't baking for profit.
To understand why Mary risked her freedom, you have to understand the silence of the early 1980s.
San Francisco was gripping the edge of a cliff. A mysterious illness was sweeping through the city, specifically targeting young men. Later, the world would know it as AIDS. But in those early days, it was just a death sentence that no one wanted to talk about.
Families were disowning their sons. Landlords were evicting tenants. Even doctors and nurses, paralyzed by the fear of the unknown, would sometimes leave food trays outside hospital doors, afraid to breathe the same air as their patients.
Men in their twenties were wasting away in sterile rooms, dying alone.
Mary knew what it felt like to lose a child.
Years earlier, in 1974, her daughter Peggy had been killed in a car accident. Peggy was only 22. The loss had hollowed Mary out, leaving a space in her heart that nothing seemed to fill.
When the judge sentenced Mary for that first arrest, he ordered her to perform 500 hours of community service. He likely thought the manual labor would teach her a lesson.
He sent her to the Shanti Project and San Francisco General Hospital.
It was a mistake that would change American history.
Mary walked into the AIDS wards when others were walking out. She didn't wear a hazmat suit. She didn't hold her breath. She saw rows of young men who looked like ghosts—skeletal, in pain, and terrified.
She saw "her kids."
She began mopping floors and changing sheets. But soon, she noticed something the doctors were missing. The harsh medications the men were taking caused violent nausea. They couldn't eat. They were starving to death as much as they were dying of the virus.
Mary knew a secret about the brownies she had been arrested for.
She knew they settled the stomach. She knew they brought back the appetite. She knew they could help a dying man sleep for a few hours without pain.
So, she made a choice.
She went back to her kitchen. She fired up the oven. She started mixing batter, not to sell, but to save.
Every morning, Mary would bake. She lived on a fixed income, surviving on Social Security checks that barely covered her rent. Yet, she spent nearly every dime on flour, sugar, and butter.
The most expensive ingredient—the cannabis—was donated. Local growers heard what she was doing. They began dropping off pounds of product at her door, free of charge.
She packed the brownies into a basket and took the bus to the hospital.
She walked room to room. She sat by the bedsides of men who hadn't seen their own mothers in years. She held their hands. She told them jokes. And she gave them brownies.
"Here, baby," she would say. "Eat this. It'll help."
And it did.
Nurses watched in amazement as patients who hadn't eaten in days began to ask for food. The constant retching stopped. The mood on the ward shifted from despair to a quiet sort of comfort.
Mary Jane Rathbun became "Brownie Mary."
For over a decade, this was her life. She baked roughly 600 brownies a day. She went through 50 pounds of flour a week. She became the mother to a generation of lost boys.
She washed their pajamas. She attended their funerals. She held them while they took their last breaths.
She did this while the government declared a "War on Drugs."
By the early 1990s, the political climate was hostile. Politicians were competing to see who could be "tougher" on crime. Mandatory minimum sentences were locking people away for decades.
In 1992, at the age of 70, Mary was arrested again.
This time, the stakes were lethal. She was charged with felonies. The district attorney looked at her rap sheet and saw a repeat offender. He threatened to send her to prison.
One prosecutor famously whispered to a colleague that he was going to "kick this old lady's ass."
They underestimated who they were dealing with.
They thought they were prosecuting a drug dealer. In reality, they were attacking the most beloved woman in San Francisco.
When the news broke that Brownie Mary was facing prison, the city erupted.
It wasn't just the activists who were angry. It was the doctors. It was the nurses. It was the parents who had watched Mary care for their dying sons when the government did nothing.
Mary turned her trial into a pulpit.
She arrived at court not as a defendant, but as a grandmother standing her ground. The media swarmed her. Reporters asked if she was afraid of prison. They asked if she would stop baking if they let her go.
Mary looked into the cameras, her voice gravelly and firm.
"If the narcs think I'm gonna stop baking brownies for my kids with AIDS," she said, "they can go fuck themselves in Macy's window."
The quote ran in newspapers across the country.
The court didn't stand a chance.
Testimony poured in. Doctors from San Francisco General Hospital wrote letters explaining that Mary’s brownies were medically necessary. Patients testified that she was an angel of mercy.
The charges were dropped.
Mary walked out of the courthouse a free woman. But she didn't go home to rest. She realized that her personal victory wasn't enough. As long as the law was broken, her "kids" were still in danger.
She needed to change the law.
August 25 was declared "Brownie Mary Day" by the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. It was a nice gesture, but Mary wanted policy, not plaques.
She teamed up with fellow activist Dennis Peron. Together, they opened the San Francisco Cannabis Buyers Club—the first public dispensary in the United States. It was a safe haven where patients could get their medicine without fear of arrest.
But Mary wanted more. She wanted the state of California to acknowledge the truth.
She campaigned for Proposition 215. She traveled the state, despite her failing health. She spoke in her simple, direct way. She didn't talk about liberties or economics. She talked about compassion. She talked about pain.
She forced voters to look at the issue through the eyes of a grandmother.
In 1996, Proposition 215 passed. California became the first state to legalize medical marijuana.
It was a domino effect. Because one woman refused to let her "kids" suffer, the public perception of cannabis shifted. The Economist later noted that Mary was single-handedly responsible for changing the national conversation.
She never got rich.
She had always joked that if legalization ever happened, she would sell her recipe to Betty Crocker and buy a Victorian house for her patients to live in.
She never sold the recipe. She never bought the house.
Mary Jane Rathbun died in 1999, at the age of 77. She passed away in a nursing home, poor in money but rich in legacy.
Today, over 30 states have legalized medical marijuana. Millions of people use it to manage pain, seizures, and nausea.
Most of them have never heard of Mary.
They don't know that their legal prescription exists because a waitress in San Francisco decided that the law was wrong and her heart was right.
They don't know about the 600 brownies a day.
They don't know about the thousands of hospital visits.
Mary didn't set out to be a hero. She told the Chicago Tribune years before she died, "I didn't go into this thinking I would be a hero."
She was just a mother who had lost her daughter, trying to help boys who had lost their way.
She proved that authority doesn't always equal morality.
She proved that sometimes, the most patriotic thing a citizen can do is break a bad law.
Every August, a few people in San Francisco still celebrate Brownie Mary Day. But her true memorial isn't a date on a calendar.
It is found in every oncology ward where a patient finds relief. It is found in every dispensary door that opens without fear.
It is found in the simple, quiet courage of anyone who sees suffering and refuses to look away.
Mary taught us that you don't need a law degree to change the world. You don't need millions of dollars. You don't need political office.
Sometimes, all you need is a mixing bowl, an oven, and enough love to tell the world to get out of your way.
Sources: New York Times Obituary (1999), "Brownie Mary" Rathbun. San Francisco Chronicle Archives (1992, 1996). History.com, "The History of Medical Marijuana." Weird Everything, FB december 12, 2025
I'd be only too happy to do that. I was suspicious to start, too. It seemed a bit on the nose to have the weed brownie grandma named "Mary Jane," but also, that's a very common combination in a certain place and time, so I thought it was worth the extra effort.
What I did was find sources that made the claim (in this case, that a woman named Mary Jane was a medicinal marijuana activist in California, USA in the 1980s and 90s.) I checked the dates to get some certainty those sources aren't AI slop, then checked that the sources are generally reliable.
Then I followed useful details about the place and time, and other people involved, to explore it more fully.
The first thing I did was search for "Brownie Mary" and see if that turned anything up at all. It turned up a LOT of results. Predictably, some of them were recipes, but not all of them.
Next up, I checked sources and dates. Wikipedia can be dodgy for academic use, but their policy on LLM-generated input is very clear: they don't want slop. I started by reading that page and then went on to read others.
The Atlas Obscura article is from 2018. I found another one from SFWeekly from 2017.
Both of those are decent sources - Atlas Obscura gets a High factual reporting rate from MediaBiasFactCheck, and while MBFC doesn't have a rating for SFWeekly, the verbiage in that article is very close to what GastroObscura has. (Also to what the post itself has, right down to the choice of pull quote.)
Now, we can stop there and feel pretty confident that articles published before the wide availability of LLMs are not, in fact, LLM generated.
...or we can go deeper, and run this all the way back to source.
I spotted references to a Chicago Tribune imterview of Mary Jane Rathbun, published in 1993.
My search string of "Chicago Tribune 1993 Mary Jane Rathbun" hit it in the top 3 results. That article includes some fun new details: she wore a cannabis leaf shaped pendant to her trial!
She also objected to being portrayed as a cuddly grandma up against The Man, so I must retract my flippant tags, above.
The evidence now strongly points to Brownie Mary being a real woman who really went to court for giving AIDS patients weed brownies. But can we get closer? I've now seen several mentions of a 1980 attempt at convicting her too.
The articles have mentioned Sonoma County and a nonprofit called the Shanti Project, so let's hook onto that and see what we get.
Searching for "Mary Jane Rathbun Sonoma County 1980" gets me an article from a law firm; that mentions the prosecuting attorney by name, and points to a book: Lust for Justice: The Radical Life & Law of J. Tony Serra, by Paulette Frankl. It even has an excerpt!
We can run the book down too, just for fun (now we have a primary source.) My favorite used book site has a copy for $1. Amazon gives a view of the back cover, too:
...wow. I should see if my library has that!
The excerpt on the site has a mention of a candelight vigil held for her death in 1999. It took some hunting past things I'd already read and a bunch of shops giving written tributes, but I found a news report about that, too.
There's a lot of information out there, and it's worth digging into. Otherwise it's altogether too easy to think something real and worth knowing is just another bit of slop.
