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carswreckersau · 1 year

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Get the Best “Auto Parts in Brisbane” Advice from the Experts!

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source link: https://www.carswreckers.com.au/get-the-best-auto-parts-in-brisbane-advice-from-the-experts/

#Cash for junk cars brisbane #car removal brisbane #cash for scrap cars

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qldcarremovals · 1 year

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moronic-validity · 3 years

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The Vincent Sinclair’s Boot x Reader Fic

okay so a few notes!

1) Reader is a trans guy (like your’s truly)

2) This is smut for the sake of smut, plain and simple.

3) I finished this at 2:30am and I have to be at work at 8.

This Contains: dubcon/coerced consent, drugs, bdsm, dom vincent, a boot kink, typos, almost murder, masturbation, and car problems! Everything under the cut is 18+!!!

As the temperature gauge crept higher and higher, [y/n] had to kick himself. He had been told to check his oil periodically through the road trip, but more than that, he had always been told to keep an extra thing of 5-20 in his car. Both pieces of advice went in one ear and out the other.

Which left him here, in the middle of nowhere Louisiana, 30 miles shy of Baton Rouge.

The immediate reaction was to get out of his car and scream. Sure, it was near midnight, but there wasn’t anyone nearby, so what was the worst thing that could happen. The flash of headlights on him and his car answered his question.

Great. Fantastic. Cool.

“Hey, sorry about the yelling,” he called out in the general direction of the headlights. “Any chance you have some 5-20, I’ll be right out of here if you do!”

No response. [y/n] sighed and sat on the hood of his car and watched the car. It was the middle of the night and it was still hotter than hell and humid to match. Without giving it much thought, he pulled his t shirt over his head and sat it on the hood next to him. What did it matter, he had a binder on anyway. Not like anything was showing.

The mystery driver flashed his brights at [y/n], then threw it in reverse and went back to where he came from.

Well that’s fantastic. I’m in the middle of nowhere and someone knows I’m stranded here. Perfect.

Without giving any more thought to it, he got back into his car and went to sleep, his t shirt thrown over his eyes.

The sun didn’t wake him up, the tapping on his window did.

[y/n] scrambled into an acceptable position and pulled his still damp t shirt on. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he was able to see the man standing near his window. The man wasn’t intimidating or anything, but the situation was odd and [y/n] was immediately warry.

“Sorry ‘bout that, didn mean to startle ya or nothin,” The man with the green hat said with a small laugh, “it just looked like ya might need some help, most people don like sleepin in their car this time a year.”

[y/n] squinted at the guy. It wasn’t due to the accent or the look of him, the sun just happened to be right in his eyes. The perfect start to another fantastic day.

“Uh yeah, I’ve definitely had better days. Any chance you know where to get a quart or two of oil?” He asked, ending it with a still tired yawn.

“I could give ya a lift into town, ‘m sure Bo will help you out at the station,” The green hatted man offered helpfully.

“Actually, that’d be wonderful, thank you…” [y/n] realized that he just accepted a ride from a man who’s name he didn’t even know. His mother would be so proud.

“Lester, Lester Sinclair,” Lester said with an extended hand.

“[y/n], [y/n] [l/n]” He took the other’s hand and gave a firm shake. [y/n] was acutely aware of the tacky reddish-brown smudge that was now on his hand.

The ride into town was quite, aside from the rumble of Lester’s truck and the sound of tires throwing rock.

“So where’re you headed?” Lester asked, glancing over at [y/n].

“Ah, no direction, wanted to go up, down, coast to coast. Want to see a little bit of everything, I guess,” [y/n] picked at the skin around his index finger, “I’ve only broken down once, so I figure I’m doing okay.”

“Welcome to Ambrose, I know it probably isn where ya wanted t’ go, but there are worse places.” Lester said cheerfully.

The ride went back to being quiet.

“Oh shit,” Lester whined, more to himself than anything else, as he threw the car in park and jumped out, “ya wouldn’ mind givin me a hand flipping the hubs, would ya?”

What the hell does that even mean? {y/n] thought to himself as he hopped out of the car to help Lester with the task anyway. Help was a bit of a strong word for what [y/n] did, it was more get in the way and offer moral support. Lester appreciated the gesture and the company. Most people jumped out of the car and fled into town by this point.

The two got back into the truck and drove right on into Ambrose and parked in front of the service station.

“Now, you wait here, Bo ‘ll be ‘round soon,” Lester dropped [y/n] off with a wave then drove off to wherever he worked. It occurred to [y/n] that he never thought to ask.

It also occurred to [y/n] that he’d have to walk back to his car or hope that someone in town would be willing to give him a ride. Just one more thing. He sighed and sat with his back against the wall of the station.

At least there’s shade. It’s already starting to feel like the devil’s armpit, but at least there is shade.

Time passed, could’ve been hours, could’ve been minutes.

No, it was definitely hours.

Around the point [y/n] was sure that this Bo guy would have to pry him off the cement with a spatula, Bo happened to come down the road and up to the door of the station, near where he was sitting. Bo stood within arm’s distance as [y/n] pushed himself up off the sidewalk.

“I take it you’re Bo? [Y/n] [l/n], Lester said you might have some oil?” [y/n] offered the man he assumed to be Bo his hand. Bo flashed [y/n] a smile that seemed to try to hard to be charming.

“Well, I’d introduce myself but you already know who I am,” Bo chuckled. He was in a suit and tie, didn’t seem like he was dressed for his line of work. “ Let’s see if we can’t get you back on the road, hm?” He hummed to himself as he unlocked the door to let the two men into the store.

There was no AC, and that was the first problem [y/n] had with the station. The second problem was that there appeared to be no oil. Anywhere.

What type of station doesn’t carry oil. Oil. OIL. Walmart carries oil, DG carries oil. Why does this man not have oil.

“Uh….Hey Bo, any chance you have some oil in the garage that you’re willing to part with?” [y/n] asked, while squatting and looking at another shelf devoid of oil.

“I’m sure I could check,” Bo said, his voice drifting further away. [y/n] kept looking.

“So I’ve got some bad news, I don’t have any oil down here;” ,” Bo said as he re-entered the store, wiping his hands down on a grease rag, “Good news though, I got my restock shipment in yesterday and just haven’t gotten around to bringing it down from the house. I’m more than willing to let you wait here while I go up to to get what you need, but you look like you need something to drink.”

[y/n] thought it over. This would mark the second time in less than 24 hours that he went somewhere with a random stranger, but at least this time he knew the guy’s name.

Well, the south is known for its hospitality, so I might as well go and get something to drink.

“I’d really appreciate something to drink and thank you so much for the help,” [y/n] said, suddenly aware that his mouth felt like it was full of glue.

The pair were about halfway to the house, when [y/n] finally felt the need to ask about the suit.

“Okay so, I know it’s absolutely none of my business, but why are you wearing a suit? Isn’t it a bit hot for that?” Bo stopped moving at [y/n]’s question and seemed to consider a few possible answers before he nodded to himself and kept walking.

“Well, it’s not the heat that gets you, it’s the humidity,” he chuckled to himself, “and uh,” he paused to clear his throat, “My mom passed on, was at her service.”

“Bo, I am so sorry. If you don’t mind, I’ll be sure to pay my respects before I leave town,” [y/n] couldn’t help but feel intense sympathy for Bo.

He left his mom’s funeral to help me get some oil so I can get back on the road. Holy shit.

They walked in silence for the rest of the day, [y/n] was unsure how to comfort this stranger, so he just followed the other man’s lead. Silence.

Bo unlocked the door when they got up on the step and lead [y/n] into the house.

“Washroom is down the hall if you need it, the door should be open,” Bo motioned towards the washroom, “Make yourself at home.”

With that, Bo was in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of sweet tea. [y/n] decided to take Bo up on his offer of a washroom. Once the door was shut, he fought with his binder for a minute, before finally getting it off his chest, letting it hang loosely around his neck. At this point, it just felt good to take a few deep breaths. After a few minutes passed, [y/n] pulled his binder back into place, swore he’d keep it off until he hit the next rest stop, then went back out into the house and met Bo in the kitchen.

Bo handed [y/n] the glass of sweet tea, condensation already beading on the sides. Nice and cold and incredibly sweet, it even tasted southern. And a bit salty. [y/n] had never had homemade sweet tea before, so he assumed that maybe that just happened sometimes with the tea when it cooled.

The room started to sway.

“Hey, [y/n] maybe you should sit down, looks like the heat is getting to you,” Bo said, worry in his voice, but a smile on his lips, “maybe you ought to lay down for a bit.”

Not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.

That was weird, he tried to say it out loud, but his mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Bo helped [y/n] to sit on the couch and as his vision started to darken, [y/n] swore he saw another person enter the room.

When [y/n] came to, he realized a few things in short order. It was much darker, he was not on the couch, and he was restrained to the metal table he way laying on. Ever the optimist, he was thankful for the fact that he still had his clothes on and also for the fact it was much cooler wherever he was.

A tall man with long dark hair entered his line of sight. [y/n] had a few ideas of things to yell at him, but instead, took a different approach.

“So, either I’ve been asleep for a really long time, or you’re not Bo,” [y/n] said, turning his head to get a better look at the man. The man’s shoulders shook, like he was laughing without the noise.

Okay so he can’t talk. Noted.

The man turned around to face the table and made sure his hands were in clear view as he signed, “Vincent.”

The motions were smooth and [y/n] caught it near immediately.

“Vincent is a nice name,” he mused, giving Vincent a charming smile of his own, “I’m [y/n]. Now, I do have a few questions, mainly, why am I tied up?”

Vincent turned his back on [y/n] and went back to preparing the paralytic, deciding to make it a bit stronger so the man on the table wouldn’t have to be awake for the worst of it. When he turned around and [y/n] saw the needle, the reality of the situation began to sink in and things snapped into focus.

“Hey Vincent, I don’t know what’s in that needle, but I promise you don’t have to do whatever it is you’re about to do,” [y/n] tried to keep his voice level as he squirmed and fought against the restraints, “I know we don’t know each other, but I swear you don’t need to do this.”

Vincent watched him writhe on the table and considered his options.

“Please, can we talk this out, please,” [y/n] continued to beg, tears forming in the corners of his eyes and bruises already forming at both his wrists and his ankles from the jerking around. Desperation in one hell of a drug, because in no other situation could [y/n] see himself saying, “I’ll do anything to convince you.”

Vincent set the syringe back down and walked up to the head of the table and gripped [y/n]’s jaw and turned his head to make sure he saw when he signed “Are you sure?” he drew it out to emphasize the importance of the question.

Was [y/n] sure? No. No he wasn’t, but he wasn’t in a place that allowed many options. Behind door one? Death! Behind door two? A questionable fate that could very well still end in death!

Yeah, I’ll go with door number two, please.

[y/n] nodded, Vincent’s hand still not leaving his jaw.

Vincent considered the situation for a moment. He considered the number of girls that Bo had brought to him after he had had his way with them at the station. Girls had never really been Vincent’s speed. There were plenty of attractive guys who had come through, but mostly they were either already dead or just spit curses at him. [y/n] was different. No threats, no insults, he was shockingly calm, all things considered. Vincent stroked up and down the side of [y/n]’s face, bringing his hand into the smaller man’s hair and pulling, eliciting a soft whimper.

“I want you to show me,” Vincent signed before undoing the restraints at [y/n]’s ankles. As for his hands? His hands were going to stay bound, but a change of position was still needed. Vincent kept eye contact with [y/n] as he undid his wrists.

[y/n] sat up on the table, moving slowly as to not startle Vincent. The last thing he wanted was to scare the guy who probably had a half dozen ways to kill him in arms reach. His wrists ached and were bleeding in some places. He rubbed at his sore joints before Vincent snapped his fingers, pointed directly at him, then down at the floor near his boot clad feet.

[y/n] had the opportunity to make a run for it, but instead knelt at Vincent’s feet. Vincent put his hand out and without thinking, [y/n] rested the side of his face against it. Vincent’s face burned beneath his mask, that was not what he needed the man to do. He pulled his hand away and gently slapped at the kneeling man’s face, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough for him to know that that was not the desired action. The kneeling man was a quick learner and when Vincent put his hand out again, he reluctantly placed his wrists in the larger man’s hands.

[y/n] was not thrilled at this situation, but he was also a simple man, and for all the terror in the situation, Vincent was a large man with shockingly soft hands that were big enough to envelop both of his wrists, who had complete control over the situation. Should he be getting wet due to the situation? Absolutely not, but in the one psychology class he took in high school, it was mentioned that fear and arousal were close together in the brain.

Vincent saw the bruising and blood on the smaller man’s wrists and was careful when he rebound them. Sure, he was planning on killing the guy, but his plans had changed. He threaded a rope and carefully suspended his wrists so that his wrists would remain above his head.

[y/n]’s first thought was that Vincent wanted head. Most guys he had met enjoyed getting head, so it did make sense. He carefully pressed his cheek against the man’s crotch and nuzzled against it, then looked up and into Vincent’s eyes for any sign. Instead, Vincent just lifted his knee and pushed [y/n] off of him like he was a disobedient dog.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as to what he wanted, if not a blow job. He was further confused when Vincent lifted his boot clad foot and pressed it into the smaller man’s pelvic bone, hard.

Oh.

The pressure of it was enough to lift him up just a little bit more and it had him wetter than he thought he could be in a situation like this. He pressed down onto the shoe and began to grind against it, shamelessly chasing the friction it created.

Vincent groaned. His cock twitched as he watched the man’s lewd display. He didn’t want [y/n] to touch him, not yet. There was still the chance that could go horribly wrong, what Vincent wanted was to see exactly how desperate the man was. Vincent began to palm himself, stroking through the fabric of his pants while he watched.

The answer was very. [y/n] was very desperate. [y/n] was desperate not to die and now, now he was also desperate to cum. He pressed himself harder against the toe of Vincent’s boot and rutted against it, groaning loudly when it pressed up against that bundle of nerves. He began to fall into a rhythm that hit every sensitive spot he could reach.

Vincent’s hand was now in his pants as he stroked himself to the same rhythm [y/n] was fucking himself to. God, Vincent thought to himself, this man was making an absolute whore of himself. It might not be a bad idea to keep him around. Could make work slightly less taxing. Then the bound man made a sound that snapped Vincent out of his thoughts and almost made him cream his pants.

He was getting so close, he had thrown himself so into chasing his high that he almost forgot that the circumstances that brought him to this were less than desirable. He pressed began to rotate his hips so that bundle of nerves caught significantly more pressure and more friction. He let out a loud, needy whine.

“Please Vincent, please tell me I can cum, I’ve been such a good boy, please God, Vincent,” the words came tumbling out of his mouth, he was babbling and begging for a different release now. Vincent bucked into his own hand, listening to the whines and pleas.

Tears were starting to form in [y/n]’s eyes again, he was trying so hard to be good for Vincent, trying so hard to be his good boy. Sure, less than an hour ago, he wanted nothing more than to be as far from him as possible, but God, he was so close to cumming and he just needed Vincent to tell him he had been good. Hadn’t he been good enough to deserve release?

Vincent pressed his crotch against [y/n]’s face and continued to jack himself off. He didn’t want the man’s mouth, but he wanted the proximity. He was so close to his own release. So so close, all he needed was-

“Oh GOD, sir please, I’ve been so good for you, please sir. Tell me I’ve been a good boy for you, tell me I’m your good boy, please sir; oh my God, please, please,” [y/n] continued to babble, now crying for release against Vincent’s aching cock.

Yeah, that just about did it for him. Vincent’s orgasm took him hard and left a sizable stain that leaked into the front of his pants and against the begging man’s face. Vincent closed his eyes, lost in his own release. When things snapped back into focus, he realized the other man was still whining pitifully, still having not came.

Vincent had to admit, he was impressed at the man’s willpower, it was oddly attractive to him that the man refused to grant himself pleasure without permission. This could actually work out wonderfully, Vincent thought to himself.

He took the rope in his free hand and yanked on it hard enough to knock the [y/n] off balance. He looked up at Vincent as he tried to regain balance. Vincent let go of the rope and let him drop onto his knees, but his eyes were still locked on his masked face.

Vincent thought about it for a moment before signing “I want you to cum.”

That was all [y/n] needed to hear before going back to rutting against the shoe, quickly going over the edge and coating the toe of the boot in his fluids. He braced himself against Vincent’s leg, mumbling thank yous as he came back down. Vincent allowed this to go on for a short while, before cutting the rope and pressing [y/n]’s face down to the still wet boot.

Vincent used one hand to yank [y/n]’s hair to make the blissed out man look up at him, with the other hand, he calmly signed “Clean it up.”

#slasher fucker #vincent's boots #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent x reader #house of wax #nsft #I haven't written a fanfic in years #fanfic #theo writes #theo's thoughts #teddy talks #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #sinclair brothers

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carrs-universe-writes · 3 years

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Zelda Character Sheet

“Where does seeking justice end and seeking vengeance begin?”

First name: Zelda

Middle name: None

Last name: None

Nickname: None

Birthday: May 30th

Age: 24

Height: 4′11

Myers Briggs: ISTJ-T

Alignment: Chaotic Evil

Major Arcana: The Tower

Hogwarts house: Slytherin

RPG Class: Ranger

Hair color: Bright red

Hair style: Long and wild

Eye color: Bright green

Glasses: It wears heart-shaped sunglasses

Distinguishing facial features: [REDACTED]

Most prominent body part: Hair or eyes

Body type: Petite

Makeup: Sometimes, if it's bored

Scars: Yes

Birthmarks: Freckles all over its body

Tattoos: None

Clothes: Colorful motorcycle jackets, a plain t-shirt, jeans, and no shoes. It wears a mask to cover its lower face and it wraps its wrists/knuckles

Skin: Extremely pale

Outlook: Nihilist

Mannerisms: Playing with its hair and clothes, bouncing on its feet/shifting its weight between feet

Bad habits: [REDACTED]

What makes them laugh out loud: [REDACTED]

Love language(showing): Acts of service, gift giving

Love language(receiving): Acts of service, quality time

Strongest personality trait: Anger

Weakest personality trait: Cooperativeness

Are they competitive: Yes

What is their greatest fear: [REDACTED]

When was the last time they cried: [REDACTED]

Something that haunts them: [REDACTED]

Indoors or outdoors: Outdoors

Secret habits: [REDACTED]

Pet peeves: [REDACTED]

If they could change one thing about themselves: [REDACTED]

How big is their bio family: [REDACTED]

Perception of bio family: [REDACTED]

Chosen family: None

Pets: None

What were they like as a child/teen/adolescent: [REDACTED]

Did they grow up rich or poor: [REDACTED]

Where they nurtured/neglected: [REDACTED]

Greatest achievement: [REDACTED]

First kiss: It doesn’t like the idea of kissing and isn’t comfortable with it.

One of the worst things they’ve ever said to someone they love: [REDACTED]

Ambition: Killing Leo

Advice they have for their younger self: [REDACTED]

A smell that reminds them on their youth: Bleach

Best childhood memory: [REDACTED]

Worst childhood memory: [REDACTED]

Last time they were crushed with disappointment: [REDACTED]

What is their greatest pride: [REDACTED]

Has anyone ever saved their life: Yes

Has anyone ever endangered their life: Yes

Have they ever put themselves in mortal danger to save someone: No

Strongest childhood memory: [REDACTED]

Do they believe in love at first sight: No

Are they currently in a relationship: No

How do they act in a relationship: Gentle, warm, shy

When was the last time they had sex: It doesn’t have sex

What are they like during sex: It doesn’t have sex

Have they ever been in love: No

Have they ever had their heart broken: No

How do they respond to a physical threat: Threatening it before charging

Are they more likely to fight with their fists or words: Fists

Kryptonite: [REDACTED]

What would they save from their burning house: Nothing

Phobias: [REDACTED]

Weapon of choice: [REDACTED]

What living person do they despise the most: Leo

Have they ever been bullied: No

Where do they go when they’re angry: [REDACTED]

Do they have any enemies: Yes

Current job: [REDACTED]

Feelings about job: [REDACTED]

Hobbies: Singing, stargazing, anything with flowers, [REDACTED]

Educational background: [REDACTED]

Intelligence level: High

Any specialist training: [REDACTED]

Favorite animal: Fox

Least favorite animal: [REDACTED]

Place they’d most want to visit: Nowhere specific

Most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen: [REDACTED]

Favorite color: Dark blue

Favorite food: Potato wedges

Favorite work of art: [REDACTED]

What’s in their fridge: It doesn’t have one

What’s on their bedside table: [REDACTED]

What’s in their car: [REDACTED]

What’s in their bag/wallet: It doesn’t have one

What’s in their pockets: Rocks it thought were cool

Most treasured possession: [REDACTED]

Religious views: [REDACTED]

What do they think Heaven is: [REDACTED]

What do they think Hell is: [REDACTED]

Are they superstitious: Yes

What would they like to be reincarnated as: It doesn’t want to be

How would they like to die: [REDACTED]

Spirit animal: Wasp

Zodiac: Gemini

What is the worst thing that can happen to a person in their eyes: [REDACTED]

Their version of ‘freedom’: [REDACTED]

Last time they lied: The last time it was in town

Views on lying: [REDACTED]

Last promise they made: [REDACTED]

Did they keep or break it: Keep

Eating habits: It eats very little, usually forgetting to eat for 1-2 days before it remembers.

Allergies: None

Describe their home: It lives in a car

Are they a minimalist or a clutter hoarder: Minimalist

What is the first thing they do on a weekday morning: [REDACTED]

What do they do on a Sunday afternoon: [REDACTED]

What are they usually doing on a Friday night: Go stargazing

Soft drink of choice: Anything overly sweet

Alcoholic drink of choice: Anything overly sweet

Character archetype: The Rebel

Their hero: Itself

If they could save one person(alive): No one

If they could bring one person back from the dead: No one

If they could call one person for help: No one

How someone can redeem themselves: They can’t

Do they believe in happy endings: No

Their idea of perfect happiness: [REDACTED]

#untitled wip 1 #Zelda #character sheet #[REDACTED]

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jrcraddock828 · 3 years

Text

READ, WEEP, PRINT AND KEEP!

This should be on the front page of every newspaper.

Charley Reese's Final column!

A very interesting column. COMPLETELY NEUTRAL.

Be sure to Read the Poem at the end..

Charley Reese's final column for the Orlando Sentinel... He has been a journalist for 49 years. He is retiring and this is HIS LAST COLUMN.

Be sure to read the Tax List at the end.

This is about as clear and easy to understand as it can be. The article below is completely neutral, neither anti-republican or democrat. Charlie Reese, a retired reporter for the Orlando Sentinel, has hit the nail directly on the head, defining clearly who it is that in the final analysis must assume responsibility for the judgments made that impact each one of us every day. It's a short but good read. Worth the time. Worth remembering!

545 vs. 300,000,000 People

-By Charlie Reese

Politicians are the only people in the world who create problems and then campaign against them.

Have you ever wondered, if both the Democrats and the Republicans are against deficits, WHY do we have deficits?

Have you ever wondered, if all the politicians are against inflation and high taxes, WHY do we have inflation and high taxes?

You and I don't propose a federal budget. The President does.

You and I don't have the Constitutional authority to vote on appropriations. The House of Representatives does.

You and I don't write the tax code, Congress does.

You and I don't set fiscal policy, Congress does.

You and I don't control monetary policy, the Federal Reserve Bank does.

One hundred senators, 435 congressmen, one President, and nine Supreme Court justices equates to 545 human beings out of the 300 million are directly, legally, morally, and individually responsible for the domestic problems that plague this country.

I excluded the members of the Federal Reserve Board because that problem was created by the Congress. In 1913, Congress delegated its Constitutional duty to provide a sound currency to a federally chartered, but private, central bank.

I excluded all the special interests and lobbyists for a sound reason. They have no legal authority. They have no ability to coerce a senator, a congressman, or a President to do one cotton-picking thing. I don't care if they offer a politician $1 million dollars in cash. The politician has the power to accept or reject it. No matter what the lobbyist promises, it is the legislator's responsibility to determine how he votes.

Those 545 human beings spend much of their energy convincing you that what they did is not their fault. They cooperate in this common con regardless of party.

What separates a politician from a normal human being is an excessive amount of gall. No normal human being would have the gall of a Speaker, who stood up and criticized the President for creating deficits.. ( The President can only propose a budget. He cannot force the Congress to accept it.)

The Constitution, which is the supreme law of the land, gives sole responsibility to the House of Representatives for originating and approving appropriations and taxes. Who is the speaker of the House?( John Boehner. He is the leader of the majority party. He and fellow House members, not the President, can approve any budget they want. ) If the President vetoes it, they can pass it over his veto if they agree to. [The House has passed a budget but the Senate has not approved a budget in over three years. The President's proposed budgets have gotten almost unanimous rejections in the Senate in that time. ]

It seems inconceivable to me that a nation of 300 million cannot replace 545 people who stand convicted -- by present facts -- of incompetence and irresponsibility. I can't think of a single domestic problem that is not traceable directly to those 545 people. When you fully grasp the plain truth that 545 people exercise the power of the federal government, then it must follow that what exists is what they want to exist.

If the tax code is unfair, it's because they want it unfair.

If the budget is in the red, it's because they want it in the red.

If the Army & Marines are in Iraq and Afghanistan it's because they want them in Iraq and Afghanistan ..

If they do not receive social security but are on an elite retirement plan not available to the people, it's because they want it that way.

There are no insoluble government problems.

Do not let these 545 people shift the blame to bureaucrats, whom they hire and whose jobs they can abolish; to lobbyists, whose gifts and advice they can reject; to regulators, to whom they give the power to regulate and from whom they can take this power.

Above all, do not let them con you into the belief that there exists disembodied mystical forces like "the economy," "inflation," or "politics" that prevent them from doing what they take an oath to do.

Those 545 people, and they alone, are responsible. They, and they alone, have the power.

They, and they alone, should be held accountable by the people who are their bosses. Provided the voters have the gumption to manage their own employees... We should vote all of them out of office and clean up their mess!

Charlie Reese is a former columnist of the Orlando Sentinel Newspaper.

What you do with this article now that you have read it... is up to you.

This might be funny if it weren't so true.

Be sure to read all the way to the end:

Tax his land,

Tax his bed,

Tax the table,

At which he's fed.

Tax his tractor,

Tax his mule,

Teach him taxes

Are the rule.

Tax his work,

Tax his pay,

He works for

peanuts anyway!

Tax his cow,

Tax his goat,

Tax his pants,

Tax his coat.

Tax his ties,

Tax his shirt,

Tax his work,

Tax his dirt.

Tax his tobacco,

Tax his drink,

Tax him if he

Tries to think.

Tax his cigars,

Tax his beers,

If he cries

Tax his tears.

Tax his car,

Tax his gas,

Find other ways

To tax his ass.

Tax all he has

Then let him know

That you won't be done

Till he has no dough.

When he screams and hollers;

Then tax him some more,

Tax him till

He's good and sore.

Then tax his coffin,

Tax his grave,

Tax the sod in

Which he's laid...

Put these words

Upon his tomb,

'Taxes drove me

to my doom...'

When he's gone,

Do not relax,

Its time to apply

The inheritance tax.

Accounts Receivable Tax

Building Permit Tax

CDL license Tax

Cigarette Tax

Corporate Income Tax

Dog License Tax

Excise Taxes

Federal Income Tax

Federal Unemployment Tax (FUTA)

Fishing License Tax

Food License Tax

Fuel Permit Tax

Gasoline Tax (currently 44.75 cents per gallon)

Gross Receipts Tax

Hunting License Tax

Inheritance Tax

Inventory Tax

IRS Interest Charges IRS Penalties (tax on top of tax)

Liquor Tax

Luxury Taxes

Marriage License Tax

Medicare Tax

Personal Property Tax

Property Tax

Real Estate Tax

Service Charge Tax

Social Security Tax

Road Usage Tax

Recreational Vehicle Tax

Sales Tax

School Tax

State Income Tax

State Unemployment Tax (SUTA)

Telephone Federal Excise Tax

Telephone Federal Universal Service Fee Tax

Telephone Federal, State and Local Surcharge Taxes

Telephone Minimum Usage Surcharge Tax

Telephone Recurring and Nonrecurring Charges Tax

Telephone State and Local Tax

Telephone Usage Charge Tax

Utility Taxes

Vehicle License Registration Tax

Vehicle Sales Tax

Watercraft Registration Tax

Well Permit Tax

Workers Compensation Tax

STILL THINK THIS IS FUNNY?

Not one of these taxes existed 100 years ago, & our nation was the most prosperous in the world. We had absolutely no national debt, had the largest middle class in the world, and Mom stayed home to raise the kids.

What in the heck happened? Can you spell 'politicians?'

I hope this goes around THE USA at least 545 times!!! YOU can help it get there!!!

GO AHEAD. . . BE AN AMERICAN!!!

SEND THIS TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW

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purplesurveys · 4 years

Text

1139

1 - What's your favourite TV show that was released before you were born? What is it that got you into that show in the first place? My parents introduced me to Perfect Strangers when I was 10 since they both grew up watching and enjoying the show - it came out in 1986 and ended in 1993. I love it mostly for the dynamic of Larry and Balki, which was really the whole point of the series. Then there’s also Friends, which first came out in 1994. It’s my comfort show for years to come and it’ll always be a series I’ll come back to whenever I need a pick-me-up.

2 - What is your preferred brand and flavour of ice-cream? I usually just stick to Selecta and I always get cookies and cream. Sometimes I’ll spoil myself and get Ben and Jerry’s and get whatever flavor that has cookie dough.

3 - When's the last time you got something in your eye? Can’t remember the last time I either cried or felt irritated with something in my eye.

4 - When was the last time someone got you flowers and what was the occasion? I’m not so sure. It was two or three years ago, I think. I don’t get to receive flowers or bouquets often, and especially not these days.

5 - What are your plans for tomorrow? Are these normal for that particular day of the week or are you doing something out of the ordinary? It was such a draining work week so I wanna use the free time this weekend to relax; but since I’m a bit of a workaholic I might also end up finding some time to do some work on the side just to feel productive hahah. I can’t go out either since we’re experiencing another spike in Covid cases - we’re reaching 7000 new cases a day - and stay-at-home orders and curfews are in place everywhere again, so I’ll just have to make the most of my time at home this weekend.

6 - What will you be eating for your next meal? Depends on what my mom is making for dinner, but I’m guessing another pasta dish...it’s Friday, though, and I usually allot this day to have food delivered in the evening as a reward to myself for finishing the week strong heheh. I got a spicy tuna salad and sushi again :)

7 - Who was the last person to pay you a compliment? How did you come to know that person? Andi, I think. We met at an anti-Marcos rally three years ago. They were carrying a big-ass guitar and I approached them because I liked their wrestling shirt.

8 - When is the last time the weather changed your plans? What were your plans and what did you end up doing instead? That would be last November, when we were in the middle of a bad typhoon and I had to file an emergency leave because we had a village-wide power outage and it kept me from being readily available for work. I made plans to a nearby mall to get wi-fi, but our village was seriously flooded so there was no way out. I had no choice but to begrudgingly file the leave even though I really wanted to attend work lol.

9 - What's your favourite kind of liquor? Do you prefer it "plain", flavoured or in a mixer? Tequila. Preferably as straight shots, because I like having a good time lmao.

10 - Who was the last person you spoke to via video call? Did you speak to this person via video before the pandemic hit? My workplace doesn’t really make it a norm to turn on our videos unless we’re pitching to or speaking with clients who prefer video calls. But I did just come from a Google Meet (albeit just using audio) this afternoon to present a deck and that call was with my co-workers and the clients we were presenting to. And no, I wasn’t even employed before the pandemic so other than Bea, I’ve never met any of the people in the call in person.

11 - Are you someone who prefers routine or spontaneity? I thrive on routine, but I also like it spiked with the occasional spontaneity.

12 - What streaming services (if any) are you subscribed to? Do you think they're good value for money? Just Netflix and Spotify. Yeah, I’d say both are good deals, especially Spotify.

13 - When was the last time you struggled to get to sleep? What did you do to help things? I’m not so sure, actually. I have no problem passing out these days lol. If I do have trouble falling asleep, I usually remedy it by watching YouTube videos or take a survey until my eyes feel tired.

14 - How often do you get your five a day? What was the last fruit or veggie that you ate? I’ve never heard of that concept...anyway, I looked it up and it has something to do with having a good amount of fruits and veggies per day. In any case, I had eggplants in my dinner tonight.

15 - How do you take your coffee? 3-in-1, so that it’s already made and blended well for me lmaaaaao. If I’m ordering at a coffee shop, I like sweeter flavors; I never take mine black.

16 - Is there anything that you're currently putting off? When do you think you'll finally get round to doing it? Getting new frames for my eyeglasses and an updated prescription along with it. Idk man, it just seems pointless to book an appointment for the meantime since I’m never out and I can manage during my workdays without glasses anyway. With another strict lockdown order in place, idk when I’ll ever get around to setting an appointment.

17 - When was the last time you watched a Disney film? Which one was it and is it one of your favourites? I have no idea, it’s definitely been a while.

18 - What was the last household chore you completed? Is this something you do regularly? Just cleaned out the tray underneath Cooper’s playpen since it had some food crumbs and some of his fur. Yeah, I do it every night.

19 - Who were you with the last time you went out for a meal? Angela, Hans, Pia, Kyelle, Al, Gab, and Sam.

20 - Have you had your COVID vaccine yet? If not, are you going to accept it when you're offered? No, not yet. My workplace booked a bulk order for one of the vaccines - though I can’t remember which one - and we should be getting it in a few months or so.

21 - Do you have any pets and how many? If not, would you like to have one someday? I have two dogs. I’ve always wanted dogs, so I’m okay for now.

22 - What's the most unusual meat you've ever eaten? Did you like it? Carabao meat. It was fine, not horrid-tasting or anything, but I wouldn’t have it again. The one I had felt very hastily made, apart from smelling and tasting very farm-y.

23 - Do you prefer still or sparkling water and why? Still. I don’t like carbonated stuff period, so I doubt I’d enjoy sparkling water.

24 - Do you own a car? If so, could you live your current lifestyle without one? If you don't have one, would having one change your life in any way? My parents technically own it because they bought it, but it was designated for me. I mean I’d obviously survive without a car, but I’d find it very inconvenient. Booking a Grab every time would be so costly, and I’m not willing to try out our public transport anyway because they’ve been constantly terrible with disinfection and sanitation protocols throughout the pandemic.

25 - Who was the last person you made plans with and what are you going to do? Andi; we made plans to have our thesis printed and bound so that we can finally put a close to our college life hahaha. We just have to figure out a date and I also have to remove Gabie from my acknowledgments.

26 - What's the worst kind of physical pain you've ever experienced? Is this a one-off or is it something you experience regularly? Accidentally ripping my earring off my piercing was a fucking thrill I’d never want to go through again.

27 - What's your favourite length for a survey to be? Do you get put off if surveys are longer or shorter than you like? Anywhere between 35-80 questions is fine. Anything else would be too short or long. I’ll occasionally give long surveys a pass since it’s easy to take breaks in between, but I ignore short ones altogether.

28 - What colours are you wearing at the moment? Are any of those colours your favourite? I have a multi-colored striped top on and a scarlet pair of shorts. And no, I’m not wearing any pink rn.

29 - Once you've found a TV show you like, do you tend to watch it over and over again? What was the last TV programme you watched for the second or third time? Not with all shows - like I haven’t revisited BoJack Horseman after completing it the first time. I’ve been like this with Friends and Brooklyn Nine-Nine, though.

30 - When was the last time you cried and what was the reason for it? Do you feel better now? No idea when but it was probably from a heartwarming video.

#survey #surveys

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acesophiewalten · 4 years

Text

Feral Children Steal A Car And Need A Hug

Hello, everyone! So, this takes place in the wonderful @nightxpining‘s Feral Omens AU, directly after the events of their mini-fic, Come To Me, which I’ll let you read on your own. I would recommend it heavily, as the writing isn’t just good, so is the art.

Word Count: 2,684

CW for some angst near the end, hotwiring cars, and references to killing/hurting people and demons.

I hope you like it!

“We have to rescue a fallen angel,” said Adam Young.

Adam took a small sip of his Mint Tea. It was good, he thought, not as hot as last time. His dog, Dog, laid pleasantly by his feet, gnawing on a bone Adam had willed for him. The Tea Room at the Ritz Hotel was unusually empty today, and he found relief in this. Adam liked loud noises in principle, but in practice he found them entirely overwhelming.

Adam Young was eleven years old. He had thick, dark blond hair, and his eyes were the color of dirty sink-water. He had dark brown freckles all over his face. He often looked down at Dog to give him a pat on the head or a small order not to nip at the staff passing by. He was also the antichrist.

“We have to do what?” asked Pippin Galadriel Moonchild. “Of all the things to stop the end of the world, we have to do that? We can’t, say, just kill Satan, so he can’t make you do anything? Or go to a church service?”

Pippin Galadriel Moonchild had a stubborn brown face, stubborn brown eyes, and stubborn brown hair pulled up into a stubborn high ponytail. She was eleven, and the only girl sitting at the table. She wore bright red rainboots, striped leggings, and a yellow shirt. Hanging off her chair was a red slicker that she wore always, especially when it wasn’t raining out. She had a half-eaten sandwich on her plate. Nobody called her Pippin Galadriel Moonchild, unless it was her mother, and Pippin Galadriel Moonchild hadn’t cleaned her room before going outside. Pip, Pepper, and Pep were her favorite nicknames, though Mooney had crossed some mouthes.

“No, Pepper, we can’t just kill Satan,” said Wensleydale. “Why is it that we have to keep reminding you that you can’t just kill people?”

“Satan isn’t a person,” said Brian. “Besides, if Pepper wants to kill a demon, let her. She can fend one off.”

Pepper smiled.

Brian and Wedsleydale were very similar in size and shape. Wensleydale had blond hair, light blue eyes, and comically large glasses. His face was blotchy and he was filled with a stuck-up smartness that left him inches from being kicked out of the gang. Brian’s hair was black and dead-straight, his eyes were light brown, and his wardrobe seemed to only include blacks, greys, and the occasional red or green. He, as many young boys did, had pure luck going for him, and was sure he’d make his way to an accidental fortune.

Adam then said, “We can’t just go to church and beg. God wouldn't take us seriously if we did that.”

“Can’t you make Her take us seriously? With your powers and things?”

Adam closed his eyes, took a breath, and opened them again. Maybe he should’ve kept it to himself and brought in his parents, even if they wouldn’t believe him, or simply gone down to Hell with Dog.

“You think I haven’t tried? If I could reverse it, I would’ve.”

Adam could say one good thing about being the antichrist, and that was that the job came with powers. He’d been born with the ability to simply will things into existence, to make things happen with no drawbacks or other explanations. He could get his friends anywhere by only thinking about it, get good grades by saying that he did, and cover his tracks extremely well. Adam Young had never told a lie in his life, simply because his powers didn’t allow him to. He called it willing, simply because there was no better word to call it.

He was still limited, of course. Nothing otherworldly could really happen, for a while. He couldn’t raise Atlantis out of the sea or make aliens land on Earth, but the weather where he lived remained perfect, and his school life was good, and he was generally seen as a sweet, if not secretive young boy.

When Adam turned nine, Dog came running out of Hell and into the area behind the bushes of the Young’s garden. He was still a Hellhound, then, and had been listening to Adam describing the perfect dog. Adam’s idea of a perfect dog was, of course, the exact opposite of what Dog had once been. Adam wanted a small dog, a brilliantly intelligent, independent dog, with one ear turned inside out. A proper mongrel, Adam had said.

Dog conformed. A smaller version of him, one more intelligent, more loving, and more brilliant ran out of the bushes and into Adam’s willing arms.

With Dog came more and more power. Adam could now, indeed, lift Atlantis out of the sea, and make aliens land on Earth, and transport all of his friends to the Ritz Tearoom without any of their parents noticing. One night, he, Pepper, Wedsleydale, Brian, and Dog genuinely flew around a grassy plain near Tadfield, and had one of the best nights in his life.

But with all of this power, of course, came a time limit. He had done research about his parentage all his life, and it slowly started to dawn on him that as long as he used his powers, he was set to destroy the world before his thirteenth birthday. Then, he would die, probably gruesomely, and God would see to it that his friends would be killed.

Adam was fully aware of what would happen if he failed getting the fallen angel back. All he ever wanted was to have fun, have no eyes on him, be popular and smart but not especially striking. He didn’t want the world to end, ideally, it would be around for ages and ages and ages before humans destroyed the world themselves.

Pepper nodded, solemnly, “So, what does this ‘fallen angel’ look like?”

Adam began, “He’s short. White hair. Blue eyes. Should have black wings. This might be subjective, of course, since he could look completely different as a demon. Heaven’s trying to do an analysis, but Hell isn’t going to cooperate that easily.”

“Great,” said Wedsleydale. “Does he have a name?” “Aziraphale,” said Adam. “We’ll apparently know him by his wings. They’ll be pitch-black.”

“Who told you all of this?” asked Brian.

“Metatron. He’s the voice of God. Speaks for Her and things. He visited me in a dream, once I summoned him.”

“Why did God make a man speak for Her?” asked Pepper.

Nobody had an answer to that.

“What does a fallen angel have to do with the apocalypse?” asked Wensleydale.

“Look, I don’t know. Metatron just said that I needed to save a fallen angel. That’s it. Even with me willing him to, he wouldn’t give me something else.”

“Bummer,” said Brian.

“So,” said Pepper, “what do we need? I think I can get my mum to lend me her crossbow.”

Adam smiled. If there was one thing he could count on in any situation, it was Pepper offering to help with whatever weapon came to her mind first, and the rest of the group quickly jumping to add on their own thoughts. Adam was the leader of the gang, sure, but all of them had a significant foothold, and in a way it was not one gang but four one-person gangs that had decided to team up.

“I have a slingshot,” said Wedsleydale, “Maybe I can go with my mum to church this evening and get us some knives”

Brian said, “I’ll bring dumb luck. And a couple bottles of holy water.”

“But we need something to go down there with,” said Adam. “A sturdy car. A good-looking one, too, something that’ll make us look serious. My dad’s car can barely drive in the rain.”

“Not mine, or Wedsleydale’s,” said Pepper, “our cars are so broken we can’t make it a mile.”

Everyone looked to Brian, and Brian shrugged. “I honestly don’t think we have a car.”

“You know,” said Wedsleydale, tentatively, “there’s a black Bentley parked right across from here. Sturdy thing. Looks to be from the 1920s, 1930s, maybe. We could steal it and drive it into Hell.”

“Isn’t that car Creepy Ritz Guy’s?”

Creepy Ritz Guy was the name given to the man that would show up at the Ritz Tearoom while Adam, Pepper, Wedsleydale, and Brian were either entering or leaving. He was tall, thin, with red hair and a sour, downturned mouth. He wore dark sunglasses and never opened his mouth when he spoke. Originally they simply called him The Ritz Guy, but after an incident where Adam swore that his eyes were bright yellow, Creepy was added on.

Adam, Pepper, Wedsleydale, and Brian had many theories about Creepy Ritz Guy. Pepper had suggested that he was a secret agent, Brian had posited that he was a writer looking for material without anyone noticing who he was, and Adam secretly thought he was a demon. He was not truly creepy, to them or to anyone, but he had that slithering, sly smile, the movement of someone with many things to hide. So Creepy Ritz Guy he was.

Pepper sighed, “So? Adam can start it, with his will. We’ll be out in seconds.”

Adam nodded. “She’s right. He won’t even have to know, and besides, nobody’ll suspect us. We’re children, after all.”

“I’m convinced,” Brian said.

“So,” said Adam, “how about this. We’ll steal the car after we leave here. I can start it up with my will, and we’ll park it a block away from my house. We’ll pack up tonight, meet at the Bentley, and then we’ll drive off. How does that sound?”

“Fantastic!” said Pepper.

“Wonderful!” said Wedsleydale.

“Wicked!” said Brian.

Adam smiled, and lifted Dog up onto his lap. “What about you, Dog? Do you want to come?”

Dog barked, and Adam smiled wider.

They left The Ritz Tearoom all together, walking as if they were an impenetrable wall. Just like they hoped, and knew, the Bentley was parked on the opposite side of the street, looking clean and well-made up. All of them wondered how Creepy Ritz Guy could keep such a wonderful-looking car.

They rushed to the other side of the street, and Adam stood in front of the passenger side doors.

Adam, with Dog standing right next to him, said, “Open.”

The door clicked, and Pepper ran in.

Adam ran around the other side, murmured, “Open!” and the door clicked again. Adam crawled in, Dog followed, and Adam soon opened the door for Brian and Wedsleydale to sit in the backseat.

Adam finally understood the obsession with cars many other boys had. This car was unlike anything he’d seen before, with full-leather seats, one long backseat, and a drop-down cabinet filled with sunglasses. There was a bottom cabinet that Pepper popped open, and found cassette tape upon cassette tape of Queen. It was a good car, finely built and nicely clean.

Adam placed his hands on the wheel, and said, “Turn on!”

The entire world seemed to wait in anticipation. Dog, now comfortable on Adam’s lap, tilted his head.

The car did not start. In fact, it stagnated.

Adam took a breath in. “Turn on!” he said, a little louder.

The car made a sputtering noise. For a minute, the doors looked, then unlocked again. Adam looked around.

“The will isn’t working.”

“What do you mean it’s not working?” Asked Pepper.

“I mean, it’s not turning on. This car, it must be,” Adam paused. “A demon or an angel owns this car. That’s the only explanation. Interfereing with it would mean interfereing indirectly with god, which...”

“So Creepy Ritz Guy isnt human then? What should we call him?” Asked Brian.

There was a silence.

Wensleydale piped, “I think I know how to start this thing up.”

After some questioning, Wensleydale pulled a flatheads screwdriver out of his pocket and began to explain, “We can break the locks on the ignition by hammering this against the keyhole and turning it over. We should then be able to remove the steering column and tamper with the wires, which will allow the car to start.”

Wedsleydale proceeded to do this with disturbing accuracy. Wedsleydale was a boy of knowledge, of the world, someone who had absorbed everything and kept it in the vast library of his mind. Nobody would expect him to, after all, he looked nothing more than a slightly-awkward person who would grow out of it soon enough, but people with library minds will never really develop that way. Inside their heads are the ways of the world, and what it needed, and in this case the world needed a hotwired Bentley.

After a couple tries, careful stripping of the wires, and a few sparks, the car revved. The engine started whirring, and all of them found themselves happily relived.

“Wensleydale, would you like to drive?” asked Adam.

Wedsleydale shook his head. “No. In fact, I’d like to sit in the backseat, with a seatbelt on.”

Adam nodded. Dog got up off Adam’s lap, and sat next to Wedsleydale. Dog knew what was good for him, no matter how much he adored Adam.

Adam, with his feet barely touching the pedals, pressed on the gas. The car sped down, swerved, ran past two stop signs, and nearly crushed a bird under its wheel before Adam thought to will himself the knowledge of driving cars. No pedestrians or many cars either, just in case.

Adam didn’t like driving, even if he liked the car. Pepper seemed to like it, if you could call leaning your head against the window and looking out dreamily liking something, while Wedsleydale, Brian, and Dog sat in the back hoping Adam’s will didn’t fail him. Adam felt as if there was too much pressure on him, like the car was trying to swerve and fight against him.

Was this why he didn’t want to end the world, he thought to himself, not because he was good, because he couldn’t stand the pressure? Because he would be on edge if a car he’d never driven before worked differently? He couldn’t think of it.

The car ride home was long, and awfully quiet. Halfway through the drive Pepper put in a cassette of Best of Queen, which really did nothing. They were simply quiet while drums bursted in their ears and a man sang about love.

Adam parked the car in the driveway of The Jasmine Cottage. The sun was setting, and the sky gleamed in yellow, orange, and red, and the gang dispersed.

Pepper came home to her house to find her grandmother had cooked her favorite dinner, macaroni with extra cheese and a glass of sweet pomegranate tea, and ate heartily while petting her cat and thinking vaguely of midnight. She had to start packing up soon, she figured.

Wedsleydale’s parents weren’t home yet. He sat himself on the couch with a bag of crisps for about five minutes, then got up and started packing. He figured that being early couldn’t be a crime, not in a situation like this.

Brian read a comic magazine while his parents watched television in the other room. He was used to eating late, and figured that today was like no other. After all, despite the stealing of the car, mentions of the chaotic acts and having tea at The Ritz was normal.

Adam walked into his house holding Dog. He set Dog down, poured him some dog food, and walked into his room. He packed his backpack quickly, trying to stuff as much as he could. He felt like the universe was counting on him, which it was, and it would be for a very long time. He wanted to be rid of the powers, suddenly, all of the antichrist business, the angel could stay in Hell!

No, he told himself, no. You have to keep going, you have to save this angel, or else the world will end. Or else everyone will die, and you will die too.

Adam Young didn’t eat dinner that night. His backpack, filled to the brim with knives, apples, water bottles, various books, and a once-flaming sword, was left by his bed, and he slept fitfully with Dog underneath his arm.

He had to help, somehow. He was sure about it. He just hoped that what he could do was enough, or if God would hold up on Her promise.

Midnight came. Adam rolled out of his bed, woke up Dog, and felt as if he was about to cry.

#jean.writes #jean.posts #hey night can i call you my friend in posts and things??#you're pretty cool #y'all this was supposed to be a drabble #good omens #good omens fic #crowley #aziraphale #adam young #brian good omens #wedsleydale good omens #pepper good omens #pepper #brian #wedsleydale #my fic #writing

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risingsunautomotive · 4 months

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acaciaautomaticqld · 6 days

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timelordthirteen · 4 years

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Walk of Shame

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Mature

Summary: Gold leaves Belle French's apartment, many hours after he first arrived...to head home.

Notes: Based on this picture of Bobby from OUAT filming which we all agree is clearly Gold doing a "walk of shame." And the first gif in this post.

[AO3]

Gold held up a hand to shield his eyes as he stepped into the glaring morning sun.

He leaned heavily on his cane while he fumbled in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. It took him a full minute to get one out and light it with only one hand, his loose tie dangling around either side of his neck as he bent his head, and he sighed as he took a long first drag. Two months had passed since his last one. He’d finally resolved to quit, both for his own health and so his son would stop nagging him, but something about the moment made it feel like the thing to do.

He flicked a bit of ash towards the ground and leaned on one of the poles that supported the overhang in front of the library. Smoke swirled up in front of him before catching in the light spring breeze and wafting away as he smirked and took stock of himself. His bad leg had settled into a dull, persistent throb, and his back was unusually stiff. Spending a night in an unfamiliar bed on a mattress that, while serviceable, was full of creaky springs and lumps from too many moving vans, had done him no favors, neither had not having access to his usual evening dose of pain medication. Still, there was nothing a hot shower and a couple of pills wouldn’t solve.

The streets were deserted at this time of day, thankfully. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to see him in his current state of creased trousers and wrinkled shirt, a far cry from his usual impeccability. Though he wouldn’t mind anyone knowing what he’d been up to the previous evening, he wasn’t entirely sure that the person he’d been with would feel the same. His position and power here relied on maintaining a certain sense of the unknown about himself, and an eccentricity that he didn’t really possess but that many people had imbued him with anyway. He’d been far too happy to own all the titles they would give him: evil landlord, miserly pawn broker, devil of Storybrooke; there were so many he’d been called to his face he’d lost count, and still more that he knew were muttered behind his back.

Gold smirked to himself and blew out another stream of smoke.

His lips felt slightly tender, and as he rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight an unfamiliar, yet not uncomfortable, ache spread across his body. Muscles had been used in ways they weren’t used to, showing his age a little more than he liked, but it had all been quite worthwhile.

Who would have predicted the lovely Belle French could be so...insatiable?

He shook his head and took one last, long draw from his cigarette, as his evening - and subsequent morning - with Storybrooke's librarian replayed in his mind.

Gold had been out collecting rent, like any other Thursday, saving his favorite stop for last. Belle had only lived in town for a couple of years, having moved with her father from Boston, not long after her mother's passing. She'd said once that it was about a fresh start for the two of them, and that was something Gold could easily understand.

The rent was ready and sitting on the side table just inside the apartment door, a check slid into a plain white envelope. She was never late, never short, and never not a delight to speak to, though he was perhaps a bit biased in that regard. He had expected an exchange of pleasantries, a short chat, and to be on his way with the rent in his pocket, home to his pink Victorian house and his usual solitary existence.

A moment after Belle opened the door, the sky, which had been overcast and gray all day, opened up in a deluge of rain and a sharp crack of thunder. It startled both of them, and they shared a laugh before she asked him if he wanted to come in until it passed. He’d hesitated at first, but her invitation was in earnest, and before he knew it he was seated on Belle French’s sofa and sipping tea from the delicate porcelain set he’d sold to her barely a year ago.

Later, when the rain had adamantly refused to let up, Gold had resigned himself to walking back to his shop, soaked to the bone. But she wouldn’t hear of it and insisted he stay until it had abated. He got the sense that she was pleased just to have some company, and was uncertain if it mattered that it was him or not.

That thought was dispelled some time after a dinner of reheated lasagna from Granny’s Diner, when he found himself with a lapful of a very enthusiastic Belle. It had been foolish to try to kiss her in her own kitchen, while the storm rattled the small window over the sink, and he was quite prepared to be thrown out on his arse over it. She had done quite the opposite, much to their mutual delight and satisfaction.

Multiple times.

His assumptions that Belle French was in fact wonderful, beautiful, and perfect, had all been confirmed over the course of the evening, and earlier this morning. In fact she was brilliant, stunning, and so many levels out of his league his mind boggled that she would do more than give him the time of day. And she’d done far more than that.

He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, drawing on his cigarette as a shiver washed over him. The memory of her slick warmth clenching around him made his head spin, and the sensation of her mouth dragging along his length left him shifting his cane to stay upright. He could still smell her on his fingers as he reached up and plucked the cigarette from his lips.

It had been near impossible to drag himself from her apartment this morning, leaving her wearing nothing but a naughty smile as she walked, loose legged, towards the bathroom. He was fairly certain she wouldn’t mind a repeat performance, though he would prefer it be in his bed this time, perhaps after having dazzled her with his culinary skills as a prelude to dazzling her with other skills he had yet to be able to demonstrate.

Gold’s leg twinged painfully, bringing him back to reality, and he licked his lips and stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the trash bin beside the library entrance before tossing it inside. The rest of the pack followed after it with a heavy sigh. Belle hated smoking.

He stepped off the curb onto the pavement, still wet from last evening’s rain, fighting to hold back a smile. Plans were rolling through his mind, including what kind of flowers he might send to the library this afternoon along with an invitation to dinner Saturday night, when he noticed something moving across the street.

Coming out of the side door of Granny’s Inn was Regina Mills, looking nearly as wrecked as Gold, with her usually prim suit jacket draped over her arm, her blouse untucked from her pencil skirt, and her hair a tousled mess. The inn did a fairly good business in the summer, but early spring didn’t bring many tourists to the coast of Maine, and the only known occupant at present was Emma Swan, the new Sheriff. She and Regina had been publicly sparring for the entire six months Emma had been in Storybrooke, though many noticed there was always an undercurrent of something else between them. By strange circumstance, they now shared a son, and he had assumed that much of their discord came from that particular conflict.

Gold stopped next to his Cadillac, parked in front of his shop, and watched as the Mayor looked around nervously on her way to her car, much the same as he had upon exiting Belle’s apartment over the library. A smirk spread across his face as he pulled open the door of his car and then slammed it shut, making sure to generate as much noise as possible.

Regina startled and turned slowly, her eyes going wide when she saw him.

He pulled open the car door again, smiling back at her before he reached in to set his cane on the passenger’s side. “Good morning, Regina.”

She regarded him suspiciously, and then turned to look at the library. When she faced him again, she was wearing an equally bemused expression. “Gold,” she replied, crossing the vacant street. “Late night?”

“No later than yours I’d imagine.” His grin widened, his tongue pushing at his bottom lip. “Up all night discussing the local crime rate with our new sheriff?”

She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder and attempted to smooth the front of her hair as it fell across her eyes. “And if I was?”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted at her acknowledgement. “Then I would expect the town to benefit from this newfound...cooperation between the mayor’s office and law enforcement.”

Regina tossed her hair back and fixed him with a glare. “I suppose you were just, what? Joining the weekly book club?”

His lips curled and he flashed her his teeth. “Something like that.”

She regarded him for a long moment, and then matched his look with one of her own. “Perhaps we’ll both have better things to do now than antagonizing each other at city council meetings?”

His head tilted. “Oh, I very much doubt that. You see I’ve just recently learned that the local library is greatly underfunded.”

She tipped her head back in that way which conveyed she was looking down her nose at someone, even if they were taller. “And you’re it’s new patron saint?”

He looked away, in the direction of said library, and let out a soft sigh. “Something like that.”

“As I recall,” she began, her voice dropping, “you were opposed to its reopening. What’s changed?”

He leaned forward, bracing against the car, and replied, “Let’s just say I’ve developed a new appreciation for the struggle of our public library system.”

Regina bit her lip as she started to smile. “Then we’ll have to discuss how to correct that, won’t we.”

“Indeed,” he said, seriously. Then he slid into his car, and waited as Regina moved away so he could close the door. He gave her a curt nod through the window, the Cadillac rumbling to life and disturbing the otherwise peaceful morning.

“Regina...”

“Gold...”

He pulled away from the curb, glancing in the rearview mirror to see Regina hurry off to her own vehicle, and grinned to himself. It seemed more than one new alliance had been formed in last evening’s rain.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #my rumbelle fic #walk of shame #fic #smoking cw

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iheartsunset · 4 years

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PL headcanons!? Alberto headcanon, can we? OwO

Papa Louie Alberto HCs

(Sorry if this was late, I haven’t had school all week bc of Hurricane Sally and my power’s been out for a few days and internet connection is difficult)

-Alberto Marroquin is 19 years old and has recently moved to Calypso Island from Burgerburgh to be closer to his friends and parents, Daniel and Juana. When he isn’t working at the Freezeria, he’s spending most of his free time running a prank channel online and working as a professional soccer player. He’s a member of the Calypso Fam and shared a close bond with the other members, often being noted as the smartest one (in terms of academics, that is, he’s got no common sense, that’s reserved for Okalani and Nevada to some extent).

-His personality is extremely energetic and studious, but he hates feeling competitive, although he can’t help but feel that way on any sports’ field. He is either the friend that constantly goes “Guys we shouldn’t be doing this, I think the teacher’s coming! We’re all gonna get in trouble!” or “Hey guys, I found these cool fireworks, let’s set them on fire indoors and make s’mores!” and there’s no in between. He’s also the most mischievous out of the Calypso Fam, as he likes to conduct harmless pranks all the time. If anyone was hurt because of his pranks, though, he’d feel super guilty and would do whatever he could to help make anyone get better.

-Alberto was born in Burgerburgh, but his parents’ transferred them to Calypso Island when he was 4. There, he met Utah and Gremmie after pulling pranks on them, the three soon becoming best friends. He also grew a close bond with Kahuna, Okalani, and Nevada. Alberto regularly texted and video chatted them during high school and even gave Utah some ideas for her senior pranks.

-Alberto usually reads graphic novels with Penny or dances with her in the park for their dates. They also play soccer, relax on the beach, or play video games. Alberto’s not nearly a good enough ballet dancer to keep up with her, so he and Doan take mixed genre dance classes under Timm’s guidance.

-Because of his outstanding GPA and amazing soccer skills, Alberto was scouted to attend Croquembouche Preparatory Academy in Tastyville for high school. He tearfully had to leave his loved ones behind and moved into his grandfather’s apartment in nearby Burgerburgh since his scholarship didn’t cover room and board. He was looked down on and teased by many others due to his less privileged background and his homesickness, but he met an underclassman named Penny who he began dating. He also gained recognition from multiple college scouts for his soccer skills. He was still incredibly homesick, though.

-Because of all the AP classes and dual enrollment he did, Alberto really only has to attend 2 years of college to get a degree. He’s majoring in kinesiology while still being a soccer player. That being said, Alberto still finds balancing classes, work, and his channel a real hassle.

-His senior prank was one, of not, the most infamous in Croquembouche’s history. The story varies depending on who’s telling it, but the truth is that the meaner teachers’ and students’ cars were piled up on the soccer field with caramel running down all of them. Other rumors add on that the fountain itself was filled with caramel instead of water, as were all the toilets, sinks, and teachers’ thermoses. These are all untrue, though, but Alberto was never caught.

-Any time he goes to the beach, he’ll always make someone play soccer with him. He likes to challenge Maggie, Koilee, Penny, and Cooper to marches all the time, but they’re mostly rusty on their skills or just plain tired of soccer.

-Alberto can speak some Spanish and often practices and gossips the language with Rita, Rudy, and Cecelia. He likes to use what he learned to secretly plan pranks with Utah and Gremmie (who only have a two year high school education on the language and can’t really understand him, but smile and nod anyways).

-Alberto knew dang well that Calypso Island didn’t actually have only 12 inhabitants (it actually has about 237), he just wanted to feel closer to Penny and his friends through the Freezeria job.

-Alberto doesn’t associate himself with Utah and Gremmie’s matchmaking service , but he does like to observe whatever chaos comes out of it, including Hank’s many failures wooing Johnny (they ended up together anyway) and accidentally encouraging Robby to ask out Koilee’s aunt (Koilee was NOT happy to say the least).

-He started playing soccer because his grandfather loved it and taught it to him as a child. Even though his parents and the Calypso Fam weren’t huge soccer fans, they still encouraged him. They were all basically his personal cheerleaders.

-Alberto was that dude for me, the OG is you will. Actually, the OG was Mitch for me, but whatever, stan Alberto.

(Sorry if this was too short, internet is choppy and my phobia of the dark is suffering under all the not working lights)

#flipline studios #papa louie #flipline #my hcs #alberto #calypso fam #i am not vibing well in this power outage #dang you hurricane sally #btw alberto has a prank channel

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