#unf cart

[fever-project]

I'm stoked for Uncanon Fates!!!!! Always good to see the noncanon Link's get attention! 🥹 Curious, if you're okay with sharing, which Link's are going to be in this AU?

Thank you so much! I’m okay with sharing most of the Links-and most of the non-Link cast that will show up eventually. I’m just keeping 3 of them a secret for now.

Here are the first batch of Links(8 of them) + two others we’ll meet and some info:

Rinku - mid-20s to early-30s, he lost count while in prison - he/him - First Hero: Basically the main character of this story, but we won’t focus on only his POV, just mainly on him since he’s kinda the reason this whole mess started. He generally doesn’t like people(he’s got some trust issues)but he’s always somewhat polite to new people.

Sir Raven - 26ish - he/thon but they/them is fine - From the OoA manga: That’s right I’m making a Link. Don’t call him that though, he won’t answer. He’s a bit of a goofy and mysterious guy in the manga. I’m making him more mysterious and goofy. He has the magical rings from that game as well, his favorite is the Green Ring. He’s also bad at keeping track of time.

Calli - 18.4 - he/maybe they??/maybe she????(he’s still trying to figure stuff out) - Age of Calamity: He can’t speak and and tries to come off as emotionless, but his personality still shines through his blank exterior. He’s cooked a lot before, but it wasn’t until after the war he’s tried to make it an actual hobby, because he never really had much of those before.

Trill - never ask a fairy her age - she/her - Cadence of Hyrule: She’s CoH!Link’s best friend and an assist fairy. She used to assist him with speaking-and the whole Assist Mode in the actual game-but since he doesn’t need that anymore, she chooses to help Calli with speaking instead.

Cadence - 16 - he/him - Cadence of Hyrule: He’s a bit quiet, but can talk on his own when needed. He can’t be killed-although he can die of old age-and will not let anyone know of this fact. For now. He also has a large hoard of diamonds on hand, and will jump at the opportunity to get more.

Kori - 15.25 - he/him - The CD-i games: Can not stand reflective surfaces for a multitude of reasons, only goes near bodies of water if he knows it’s safe. Does not tell anybody about this. He’s very cheerful and friendly, and has picked out most of the other Links’ nicknames by himself. His winged helm hides his eyes, which look quite uncanny to those that see them.

Cart - 15.23 - he/him - The Zelda Cartoon: Not as bad as in the actual cartoon. Somewhat lazy when it comes to anything other than heroing, flirting with Zelda, and napping. Complains a lot. Just generally insufferable, as teens kinda are. The universe will not allow him to swear, even though he really wants to. Somehow best friends Kori.

King Gustaf - 46 give or take a few years - he/him - The Minish Cap: There’s this fan theory that King Gustaf was actually the Hero of Men in the MC, which is what I’m going with for Uncanon Fates. He’s very wise, but also the most excited about this whole thing. It’s been decades since he’s done anything adventurous. He loves making new friends. He’s one of the first kings of Hyrule, and also holds the Light Force, also known as the Triforce of Wisdom.

Triforce of Wisdom - as old as the land itself i guess - does not care is literally a magical prism - Cartoon Zelda+CD-i games(at least the first two): Yeah I’m making the triforce talk. Less rhyming but still gives out vague advice. Currently in the king’s possession. Kori and Cart flock to him like birds.

Linkku - around 19 mentally, he’s basically a demigod he can live for a long time - they/he - Ancient Hero from TotK: Can’t say much about what he does in the comic, but I can tell you a bit of the made up backstory I made up. They’re Rauru and Sonia’s son and are being raised by a surviving Zonai and a Gerudo. Lesbians. His adventure mainly consisted of trying better the relationships between the Hylians and the Gerudo and fighting off what currently remained of Ganon’s evil magic.

After the first two-three-maybe even four if I feel like the characters aren’t fleshed out enough-chapters are done, they’ll be meeting some of the Hyrule Warriors cast-HW Link and Linkle will be the only Links there-who will be first briefly introduced in an interlude, and then the 3 Links I mentioned before at the start will come in and make you feel things. Impa, Zelda, and another character will also be there. That’s it for now, thanks for the ask.

[reallygrossstuff]

Sollux - Soothing Solzilla

Another personal project from me inspired by some art my boyfriend drew! No extra warnings apply, please let me know what you think because I really enjoyed writing this!

“-reports that the city has now been completely evacuated, and the national guard is maintaining an observation perimeter in case of further movement. For those not in the area just tuning in-.”

Nobody could agree on exactly where the creature came from.

The night before, New Hell, Michigan was exactly the same as it had always been, nothing out of place. Then, sometime before most of the population would have been up on an average weekday, everyone was rushed out of bed by insistent, ominous thudding from the city centre, and there it had been.

Its proportions weren’t entirely dissimilar to a troll, though there were enough distinctions to make it clearly its own entity. Its proportions were somewhat squashed, its squat legs only just longer than its torso. While its head was easily the size of a small blimp, it only just poked up above the tallest buildings, giving the impression that whatever species it was, it was something of a shortstack.

Looking past its humanoid anatomy, there was plenty more to gawk at. Its body seemed naturally heavyset, almost as wide as it was tall with dark grey flab jutting out in every direction. Its stomach sagged down in front of it, almost brushing the asphalt every time it was pushed forward by its flabby legs. It had breasts, covered by some sort of folded tarpaulin that, even at a significant size, didn’t manage to obscure their flabby shape or the small protruding areolae on each tit. The tail that dragged behind it was equally tubby, carving a small groove in the road wherever it went and brushing aside any car or cart that wasn’t pancaked by its plodding footfalls.

Unlike in the movies, the monster didn’t seem motivated by hatred for people or rage towards the city itself. Sure, it destroyed infrastructure with a terrifying casualness, and there was no doubt what would happen to anyone who couldn’t avoid its pacing, but it only seemed to move around the space to search for one thing specifically: food. Its stomping route around the city stopped at every food truck, refrigerated van or suitably large restaurant, at which point its searchlight eyes (one glowing red and the other blue, leading to it being named Sol after one of the mythologised creation gods) would fixate on the object until it was rent open with psionic force, and any food within was suctioned out into a thin stream terminating in the creature’s snaggletoothed mouth.

For now, the city had enough food to keep its interest contained, but already steps were being taken to keep it from roaming further when that source dried up. While a small force of helicopters was indeed circling the city’s perimeters, ready to sound the evacuation alarm in case of a sudden burst of movement, the majority of the national guard’s squadron was occupied with the task of shuttling yet more food into the city limits, dropping it as close to Sol as possible without risking being grabbed from the air in a fit of curiosity.

So far this had worked, but it wasn’t exactly scalable. The more Sol ate, the faster it did so, such that quantities that had initially kept it in place for almost an hour now left it unfed for five minutes between deliveries. The squadron had to strategically position the food drops to keep it from roaming too far, a measure that was seeming all too temporary.

“-receiving word now from the national guard that the creature is still contained within the tourism hub of the city. A briefing just minutes ago from incident chief Crocker confirmed there was no loss of life during the evacuation. While details have not yet been discussed, her statement also implied that steps are being taken to ensure no further displacement of American citizens from the surrounding area-.”

It was a good thing the permanent solution was already in the works.

Sol had appeared overnight, but it took the better part of two days to put a guaranteed end to its wandering.

The plan had taken shape gradually, contingencies coming together or being discarded as needed, under the observation of dozens of helicopters. Food quantities were increased. Enzymes were introduced or artificially removed to encourage a larger appetite when needed, and to momentarily shrink it pending the arrival of the custom-fitted blimp that now dominated Michigan airspace.

When it had first arrived, its size dominated even Sol itself, though this made it incredibly slow-moving, relying on a battery of secondary crafts to propel it to its destination directly above the monster. It was a soft-body vessel, yet it was pre-filled with such a quantity of feed that the whole thing appeared uniformly round without a single crease in sight.

Sol had watched the blimp’s movements closely; whether concerned about its size or already sensing the food within was unclear. Blue and red sparks pelted its body as it tried to peel it open like the trucks and stores before, but steps had been taken to make sure it would hold against such an attack. The creature had been unable to pierce it prematurely, its access to the fluid within entirely controlled by the airship’s pilot.

And then the hose had been dropped.

Only a few people knew the exact chemical makeup of the feed that now drizzled over Sol’s massive cheeks and chin. It was the culmination of dozens of patents, hundreds of proprietary secrets, all leading to a mixture that was entirely irresistible to Sol. In the hours that it was still able to, it hadn’t moved once from beneath the hose, mouth open greedily to guzzle down as much of the slop as possible, psionics ablaze to scrape any loose dollop or dribble that went wide back into his maw. Like a machine, or perhaps an animal, it was rendered completely ignorant to anything else by the new self-reinforcing desire for more of the formula.

The mix had been designed so Sol would never develop an immunity to its addictive effects, but even so there were contingencies to ensure a permanent de-fanging of the creature. Every dribble that passed its lips seemed to convert to twice as much flab on its already-padded frame, rendering even the drag of its fingers across its sides or the slow whumping glide of its tail a ponderous feat. Its skyscraper ass thudded against the ground well before its lard-covered legs fully gave out and slid from beneath it, a belly the size of a city block pinning it down terrifyingly effectively.

Throughout its beaching, Sol remained unaware. Even as its cheeks hemmed in its vision, as its sagging tits rose up to hide the ground from its eyes, as the buzz of psionics lessened and atrophied into useless sparks, it remained wholly devoted to the food it was being neutered with. Its only method of interacting with the city was reduced to its slowly-swelling flab, encroaching outwards like a glacial flow that consumed buildings and cars beneath it as greedily as its permanently-gaping mouth consumed its feed. Already it would never stand under its own power again, but the incident chief had been unyielding in the demand for absolute control – Sol was never again to do anything under its own power, never again to twitch a flabby finger or sway its tanker-sized tail. It would sit where it was and eat where it was given, until its exact nature could be understood and brought to the benefit of society.

Where previously people had gasped or flinched at the sight of it on television, with free reign over a whole city and seemingly nothing to stop it, a new image took over the airwaves in the coming days: the creature’s face, buried in a divot of its own immeasurable back, shoulder and chest fat. Cheeks the size of small apartment buildings weighing down on its face, forcing its incomparable mouth permanently open to let drool spill out across its chins. Eyes that had once flared with intent and power could now barely open, their unearthly glow reduced to a candle’s flicker. And its whole face, from its brow to well down its chest, was splattered with the messy leftovers of the formula used to turn a force of nature into a docile, if spreading, landmass.

“-Crocker again confirming for international speculators that the creature colloquially referred to as Sol now poses no threat to the American people or any other power. Examination of its potential abilities as well as the responsibility of its inhibition has been given over to the Crockercorp international conglomerate, which has stated its first priority as determining a final target weight for the being. For continual updates on this story and a live feed of the current situation, viewers can switch to-.”

[dohnabdi24]

What Is Hex Machine Nuts? Makes Use Of, Dimensions And Properties

The hexagon form is among the most popular shapes in nature, from honeycomb patterns to hexagon tiles for mirrors – its makes use of are virtually infinite. Here we explain not only why the 6-sided polygon is so popular but in addition how to attract hexagon sides accurately. We additionally answer the question "what is a hexagon?" utilizing the hexagon definition. When putting in and removing hex machine nuts, they can be done by hand or with instruments such as wrenches and sockets, depending on their measurement and utility requirements. For instance, small-sized hex machine nuts might require solely your fingers for set up, but bigger ones may require a wrench or socket set for proper installation and removal. The thread is the usual right-hand sequence unified and imperial coarse (UNC, unified national coarse) or unified imperial fine (UNF, unified national fine). Just as a reminder, the apothem is the gap between the midpoint of any facet and the center. You can view it as the peak of the equilateral triangle shaped by taking one facet and two radii of the hexagon (each of the colored areas in the picture above). Alternatively, one can also think about the apothem as the space between the center, and any aspect of the hexagon because the Euclidean distance is outlined utilizing a perpendicular line. Our research spans a massive number of industries together with Energy, Technology, Manufacturing and Construction, Chemicals and Materials, Food and Beverages, etc. Having serviced many Fortune 2000 organizations, we deliver a wealthy and reliable expertise that covers all types of research wants. We additionally offer insights into strategic and progress analyses and knowledge essential to achieve company goals and critical income selections. machine screw nuts The hexagonal outer surfaces are burnished to resist abrasion and corrosion. Open-ended lug nuts are threaded the size of the nut and wouldn't have a closed finish. This allows you to run the lug nut on longer wheel studs the place you could be running a wheel spacer, without worrying about working out of thread on the wheel studs. Although less widespread today than the spline drive, the tuner with hex nut can be used in aftermarket wheel functions and for added safety. Hex Cap Nuts are six sided hexagon blind nuts, used for covering the threaded end. Hex cap nuts are used for enclosing the threaded end of the bolt or screw thus enhancing the aesthetics of the bolting joint. Hexagon cap nuts, blind nuts, hex blind nuts are other alias of hex cap nuts. Simply, choose the product you are interested in and click on ‘Add to purchasing cart’ below the product preview image and ‘Request quote’. You might need to create a free account when you haven’t accomplished so already. These have a hex formed head and a round/dome formed finish for the a half of the lug that makes contact with the wheel. This makes changing the brake rotor straightforward however an added trouble of lining up the wheel and brake rotor when mounting wheels/tires. A tuner fashion lug nut contains a conical seat with a 60 degree taper however a major differentiating function is the requirement of a special key/tool to put in and take away the nut. Tuner nuts are sometimes much smaller in diameter than other kinds of lug nuts. The mag kind with flat seat washer may be discovered on many OEM wheel functions with a chrome plated end. A wide variety of nuts exists, from family hardware versions to specialized industry-specific designs which are engineered to satisfy various technical standards. All different ASME digital PDFs sorts only require Adobe Reader/Acrobat to view after download. ASME Digital Standards - Digital PDFs are a single-user product with a license granted by ASME for private use only. The digital PDFs are encrypted and require both the Acrobat plug-in and the FileOpen Acrobat plug-in. Entice prospects to join for your mailing list with discounts or exclusive offers. The STAUFF web shop allows industrial customers and users to buy and order the products displayed on this class on-line – rapidly, simply, safely and economically priced. You have a regular demand for pipework gear and hydraulic parts and you would possibly be looking for particular person pricing for our product range, please contact STAUFF.

[ricemokeru]

Cat quick coupler handboek

 CAT QUICK COUPLER HANDBOEK >>Download vk.cc/c7jKeU

  CAT QUICK COUPLER HANDBOEK >> Online Lezen bit.do/fSmfG

            In the 'models' table below you can see which lifting hook belongs to which quick coupler. All technical details can also be found here. Material quick coupler CW Our standard quick coupler up to CW55s have a cast body. The heavier quick coupler, such as the CW70 and CW100, are constructed entirely of Hardox®. Male Flat Face Hydraulic Coupler, 1/2" BODY, 3/4" SAE/ORB THREAD, 7246791. $31.32. Add to Cart. 7246799. Male Flat Face Hydraulic Quick Coupler Block Cartridge, 7246799. $90.04. Add to Cart. 7246802. Female Flat Face Hydraulic Coupler Replacement Cartridge,7246802. Used Cat® Quick Couplers for Drilling and Utility Applications. Cat Used displays dozens of quick connectors from reputable heavy equipment brands such as Caterpillar, Verachtert, Central Fabricators, Fleco and more. Cat® equipment is well known for its durability and strength, and our dealers service all their machines and attachments to Hey everyone! I'm today's video I will be showing you my broken quick coupler that quit working. Hope you enjoy!#skidsteer#cat259D#catapillar#heavyequipment# Female Flat Faced Coupler, 1/2" body, 1-1/16"UNF thread, 7246776. $54.31. Notify Me. Find a Dealership. page 1 of 3. 70 Results. Genuine Bobcat flat faced hydraulic couplers, hose fittings, and replacement cartridges for blocks are made of stainless steel. They support the quick connection and disconnection of attachments with no fluid spillage Zoek voor gebruikte m 3580. Find CIMS, Caterpillar, Demag, Dongfeng en Fanuc te koop op Machinio. 2020 Caterpillar QUICK COUPLER For Sale - 750 USD | Cat Used Caterpillar QUICK COUPLER $750 2020 1 h MILTON CAT Clifton Park, NY +1 508 482 1697 Show phone number About dealer Visit website Expert articles Basic information Details Conditions Buying Cat used equipment means investing in a high-quality machine that you can rely on. This cookie statement describes the use of cookies when you visit CWS Login (Site). When you visit this Site, it automatically collects your Internet Protocol ("IP") address and other technical information provided by your browser (e.g., your browser, what site referred you to this Site, etc.).

https://www.tumblr.com/ricemokeru/698591610291781632/bydureon-pen-handleiding, https://www.tumblr.com/ricemokeru/698590829037682688/2014-yamaha-bolt-service-pdf-handleiding, https://www.tumblr.com/ricemokeru/698592015786573824/panasonic-air-con-controller-handboek, https://www.tumblr.com/ricemokeru/698592015786573824/panasonic-air-con-controller-handboek, https://www.tumblr.com/ricemokeru/698591090802032640/vtech-go-go-smart-wheels-train-handboek.

[quixotic10]

Incorrect Quotes Generator

WEBSITE: https://incorrect-quotes-generator.neocities.org/

Website that allows you to put names and give you a prompt. Here are my favorites so far:

DONT READ IF YOU DONT WANT THE WEBSITE TO BE SPOILED AS IT CAN SOMETIMES REPEAT PROMPTS.

________________________

Ranboo: What do you think Tubbo will do for a distraction? Tommy: They’ll probably, like, make a noise or throw a rock. That’s what I would do. *Building explodes and several car alarms go off* Tommy: ... or they could do that.

_________________________

Ranboo, in a high voice, holding barbie: hey ken! I was thinking about going back to school and starting a career! Tubbo, in a deep voice, holding ken: nonsense, barbie. you’re staying home and having my kids Tommy: what the fuck are you guys doing? Ranboo: playing systemic oppression

__________________________

Ranboo: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity? Philza: *turning to Technoblade* How tall are you?

___________________________

Ranboo: Let me show you a picture from last night that really upset me Philza: Okay, but in my defense, Technoblade bet me 50 cents I couldn’t drink all that shampoo. Ranboo: That’s not what I wanted to- you drank SHAMPOO?!

___________________________

Ranboo, to Philza: My life is in the hands of an idiot! Philza, motioning to themself and Technoblade: No no no no no, TWO idiots!

___________________________

Dream, negotiating with Sapnap: We have George. Give us ten thousand dollars and they will be returned to you unharmed George: Whoa, whoa, wait, you think I’m only worth ten thousand dollars? Dream: George: MAKE IT ONE MILLION– Sapnap: GEORGE STOP

____________________________

Dream: Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night. Sapnap: You were flirting with George. Dream: So what? They're my partner. Sapnap: You asked them if they were single. Dream: Sapnap: And then you cried when they said they weren't.

_____________________________

Dream: Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Sapnap? Sapnap: … No. George: I do! Dream: I know, George. George: I’m sad! Dream: I know, George.

______________________________

Dream: You have to apologize to Sapnap George: Fine. George: 'Unf*** you' or whatever.

_______________________________

Store Worker: Would a Mx. Dream please come to the front desk? Dream, arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem? Store Worker: points to Sapnap and George Store Worker: I believe they belong to you? Sapnap and George, simultaneously: We got lost :( Dream: I didn’t even bring you guys here with me-

________________________________

Philza: Rules are made to be broken. Tubbo: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Tommy: Uh, piñatas. Wilbur: Glow sticks. Technoblade: Karate boards. Ranboo: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Philza: Rules. Tubbo:

_________________________________

*Everyone is standing around the broken coffee maker* Philza: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know. Everyone: Tubbo: ...I did. I broke it. Philza: No. No you didn't. Tommy? Tommy: Don't look at me. Look at Wilbur. Wilbur: What?! I didn't break it. Tommy: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken? Wilbur: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken. Tommy: Suspicious. Wilbur: No, it's not! Technoblade: If it matters, probably not, but Ranboo was the last one to use it. Ranboo: Liar! I don't even drink that crap! Technoblade: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier? Ranboo: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Technoblade! Tubbo: Okay let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Philza. Philza: No! Who broke it!? Everyone: Technoblade: Philza... Tommy's been awfully quiet. Tommy: rEALLY?! *Everyone starts arguing* Philza, being interviewed: I broke it. I burned my hand so I punched it. Philza: I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Philza: Philza: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

__________________________________

Philza: Nothing in life is free. Tubbo: Love is free! Tommy: Adventure is free. Wilbur: Knowledge is free. Technoblade: Everything is free if you take it without paying.

_______________________________________________

                                              END

[lihikainanea]

Tiger being in little space and doing something nice for Bill. Wether it’s getting him a gift or cooking him dinner for no reason. Maybe when he gets home and sees the gift he gently pushed her on the couch and maybe in return, he fingers her and makes her feel good. Whispering things like, “thank you, sweet girl. I love the gift and I absolutely adore you, thank you” while never breaking eye contact. Whispering sweet thank you’s until she’s shaking from pleasure. Just being all gentle and shit

Anonymous said: I’m so sorry for this but Bill finger fucking Tiger while wearing that nice ass watch because he KNOWS how crazy it makes her. He was confused by her attraction to it at first, but he’d be damned if he doesn’t use it to his advantage.

Oh god please I need just a moment to calm down all the delicious, insane thoughts running through my head right now.

INHALE. EXXXXXHHHHHAAAAAALE.

We talk a lot about the magic of Bill’s mouth, don’t we? We do. But that boy’s hands--oh my fuck, that boy’s hands.

Alright, so that watch Bill wears a lot? I’m pretty sure it’s IWC. IWC men’s watches, in general, retail for a cool $30,000-$40,000 USD for a base model, and that’s just....unf, that’s a lot of understated bling on that thick wrist. But maybe it’s an automatic which can be a little tricky sometimes, and when he was travelling he reset it to match the timezone he was in, but he reset it between 4AM and 7AM that day which actually kind of fucks up the mechanics on automatics (what? I love watches.) And since he’s been home, he’s been meaning to get it fixed but just really hasn’t had the time to find a licensed repair shop and his favourite watch has just been sitting there for like, a month.

And my girl tiger--listen, tiger loves his hands, his thick wrists. Loves the look of a real expensive watch on it. It’s a kink she hasn’t really told him about so maybe this is all a little selfish on her part.

But she nabs it one day, takes a day off work, and goes to get it fixed. And she hovers, stays at the repair shop and stares at the guy like a fucking hawk, because this is Bill’s favourite watch and it’s worth like, more money than tiger makes in a fucking year. But the dude is legit, he’s skilled, and in no time at all Bill’s favourite accessory is ticking like new. She brings it home, mildly paranoid to carry it in public for the 45 seconds it takes her to walk to her car.

Once she’s home she puts it back in its box, sets it up real nice on his pillow, and she doesn’t say a thing. And because she’s super soft for her big dude, a little extra sappy for him lately and she has the whole day off anyway, she goes shopping and gets all the fixings for his favourite dinner. He has some afternoon meetings that run a bit late so she has plenty of time, and she sets up in his kitchen to cook his favourite.

By the time he walks in she’s already a little tipsy, she’s in his shirt and just looks adorable, smiling big at him from the couch. His entire apartment smells delicious, and as he makes his way to her tiger’s heart skips a few beats. God he’s beautiful. In fitted jeans that accentuate just how long his legs are, a beautifully tailored cognac leather jacket around him, a t-shirt that dips into a bit of a V so she can see his collarbones...Bill is a masterpiece. Her best friend is so goddamn beautiful, and now he’s smiling his small lopsided grin at her as he toes his shoes off and makes his way to the couch.

“Hey kid,” he murmurs, and he crouches to put his hands on her legs, lean in and give her a sweet kiss, “It smells incredible in here.”

He smells incredible. Like soap and clean and comfort, and tiger reaches for his hand to thread her fingers with his--his hand is warm, just like she knew it would be.

“I made you dinner,” she mumbles, “Your favourite.”

And something about the way he’s looking at her makes her blush. Bill has that knack, that talent of focusing on you so that you feel like you’re the only person in the universe who matters. He smiles gently at her, and her cheeks heat up even more.

“I’m so spoiled,” he scratches lightly at her thighs, “Thank you.”

Another soft kiss, one that tigers pulls him back into for more.

“I’ll make you a drink,” she says. She doesn’t ask what. After a full day of meetings, Bill always likes something strong--a boulevardier, a negroni, something hard hitting. He always insists that tiger makes the best drinks, ones that could knock a man dead, and he never refuses whatever she mixes up.

He stands, stealing a kiss from her when she does too, then retreats to the bedroom. She smiles to herself, walking to the bar cart as she waits for him to see what’s on the bed.

She busies herself with mixing his drink, even when she hears his footsteps approaching. She doesn’t jump when she feels his arms loop around her, his hands held out in front of her, holding the watch. He tilts his head, nuzzling her ear as she shivers.

“It’s working again,” he purrs, turning the watch over in his hands.

“I um,” she can’t stop the shudder running through her as she feels his hot breath on her ear, “I got it fixed for you.

She muddles a sugar cube in the glass, adding a dash of bitters. She grabs a bottle of rye, pouring a hefty glug--measuring is for idiots--into the glass.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he murmurs. She bites her lip, adds some Campari to the drink and grabs a stirrer. His hands still in front of her, she has to stop the whimper from escaping when he rests the watch on his wrist, turning it over to latch it. Those fingers, long and slender and beautiful working deftly around the small clasp. She holds the drink up to him when he’s done, and he brushes his fingers with hers as he grabs the glass, turning her gently to face him.

“Thank you,” he says, taking a sip, “And thank you.”

She blushes, just under the intensity of his stare. He leans down to kiss her again--slow and languid and passionate--and she can taste the whisky on him.

He pulls away and grabs her hand, leading her to the couch and coaxing her to sit. She does, but he kneels in front of her. He reaches for the waistband of her pants, hooking his fingers in and dragging them down slowly. She wants to ask what he’s doing, but she’s already pretty fucking small for him and she just wants him to call all the shots. Every last one. It doesn’t even matter what he’s doing, because she wants it done to her regardless.

“You spoil me, sweet girl,” he purrs, and you know, the thing with Bill is the attention to detail. He knows tiger really likes it when he takes her panties off--loves the feeling of it, the visual of it, so he doesn’t drag them off with her pants. He leaves it separate, because why rush things?

He moves her legs further apart, gazing up at her as he places a kiss on her mound. Hooking his thumbs into the sides, he slowly drags her panties down her legs and off. He pauses, takes another slow swig of his drink as he stares at her.

“This was so nice of you, tiger,” he says, and he uses his left hand to slide up her thigh--the cool metal clasp a contrast to his warm fingers, as he trails them to her core. She gasps as he runs two fingers gently up and down her slit, enjoying the wetness on his fingers. He lifts his glass to his lips again, before leaning over and licking the soft part of her belly under her navel. His other hand wraps around her ankle, bending one of her knees and putting her foot on the cushion.

“Better view, this way,” he winks, and she can feel the heat start to creep up her cheeks--but it’s gone a second later, her focus switching back to the gentle circles his thumb is pressing into her clit.

“I love this watch,” he continues, another slow sip of his drink, “I think it looks pretty good on my wrist, don’t you?”

Tiger can’t speak, letting out just a small squeak as he slowly pushes two fingers inside. She sighs, quivering, as he crooks them and drags against that spot deep inside her.

He leans forward, nipping at her lips and capturing them in a searing kiss.

“Look at it, kid,” he coaxes, pressing on her chin with his thumb so she’s looking down. She watches his fingers, glistening with her slick, as then pump slowly in and out of her--the watch on his wrist, the thick leather band and the shiny metal of the clasp. If she listens real close, if she can hear beyond the filthy sounds his fingers are making as they push back into her--she can almost hear it tick.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” he whispers against her lips. She’s beyond the point where she can talk--so instead he reaches back, sucks back some of his drink into his mouth, and then forcefully crushes her lips to his. He fists the back of her hair in his hand and tiger is suddenly so tuned in to everything--the taste of rye and cigarettes on his tongue, every knuckle and groove of his fingers as they keep up their slow torture, the ticking mechanics of his beautiful timepiece. She can hear and smell and feel it all, as her lower stomach clenches.

He leans back, enjoying the show of his fingers coated with her wetness. He drives them in deep, speeding up his pace as his thumb reaches for her clit. He rubs it in circles, softer at first but building the pressure as he can feel her clench around his fingers. She whimpers, reaching for something to hold on to and he gently pushes two fingers into her mouth. She moans, grabbing at his forearm between her legs to make sure he doesn’t stop--and with a loud whimper, a big heaving shudder, she comes. He feels her clenching around his hand, squeezing his fingers as she bites down on the ones in her mouth, before she eventually just goes limp against the couch. He grins softly at her, kissing her stomach before downing the rest of his drink in one shot. he pulls his fingers from her slowly, leaving the ones in her mouth and kissing her lips gently.

fuCK we have a watch kink.

[washi-undertale]

Zero Redeeming Qualities

A couple years ago the Undertale, Underfell, Underswap, and Swapfell (Red) universes collided, merging into a single - peaceful - universe.

The skelebros have become friends in this universe, often hanging out and spending time together,

Except for Sans, who is distant with everyone and has a tense relationship with Papyrus.

After losing a drinking challenge, Red asked Sans on a date, where he found himself with more questions than answers. After a second date to the museum, Red and Sans exchanged numbers.

Inspired by: Lov Ya by sunblind_seabird

MASTER POST

FIRST CHAPTER

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

NEXT CHAPTER

CW/TW: Verbal Abuse, Emotional and Mental Abuse, Physical Abuse, Manipulation, Depictions of Depression, Depictions of Self Hate

Rot13 Summary of Chapter (to read summary, copy and paste this into the Rot13 link): 

Svefg Fprar: Trareny nohfr (nyy glcrf yvfgrq nobir), znavchyngvba, fbzr ivbyrapr yrnqvat gb oehvfrf:

Nsgre orvat sbeprq gb jnxr hc rneyl naq ybpxrq bhg bs gur ubhfr, Fnaf trgf ubzr gra zvahgrf yngr. Cnclehf vf haunccl nobhg guvf, naq jura ur yrneaf Fnaf qvqa'g gnxr uvf cubar jvgu uvz (fb ur pbhyqa'g pnyy) ur tenof Fnaf' nez naq fynzf uvz vagb gur jnyy. Fnaf rkcynvaf ur sbetbg uvf cubar va gur ehfu. Cnclehf znavchyngrf gur fvghngvba, erirefvat vg fb gung ur vf gur ivpgvz naq Fnaf vf gur bssraqre. Fnaf yrnirf gur pbairefngvba tynq gung Cnclehf sbetvirf uvz.

Frpbaq Fprar: Rzbgvbany Nohfr, Znavchyngvba, Qrcerffvba naq Frys Ungr

Fnaf jbexf uvzfrys vagb n qrcerffvir fcveny. Jvgu fbzr cebqqvat sebz Cnclehf, ur pbaivaprf uvzfrys gung ur zrffrq hc qhevat gur zhfrhz gevc onqyl rabhtu gung Erq arire jnagf gb frr uvz ntnva. Guvf vf uvf rkcynangvba sbe Erq abg grkgvat be pnyyvat uvz fvapr rkpunatvat ahzoref. Cnclehf unf fnvq fbzr cerggl ubeevoyr guvatf gb uvz bssfperra, juvpu ur erpnyyf urer. Fnaf qrpvqrf gung ur'yy pbagvahr jnvgvat sbe Erq gb grkg, xabjvat vg zvtug arire unccra (naq oryvrivat vg jba'g).

Chapter Six: Patient

—Sans—

He hadn’t meant to come home late.

Sans had been forced to stop working his hot dog cart by the arrival of winter. As the first snows melted to slush people stopped going outdoors during the day, and it wasn’t profitable enough for the company to continue running his stand.

He’d secretly been grateful. He could use the extra time to catch up on sleep.

He was selfish.

Less than a week later Papyrus was in a panic about the decrease in household income. Sans had tried to tell him it was okay, they’d figure it out, but that had only drawn his brother’s ire.

Lazy.

They had talked about it a few times, and Sans had been looking around for another job as he could, but he hadn’t found anything yet. It was after the holidays, all of the seasonal work had dried up.

Papyrus had finally lost his patience.

He had dragged Sans out of bed early, barely giving him enough time to get dressed before locking him out.

“COME BACK WHEN YOU’VE FOUND A NEW JOB.”

Sans had been all over the city, filling out applications and hoping to hear back from someone.

Anyone.

He’d been busy.

He lost track of time.

Excuses.

He hadn’t meant to come home late.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!”

Sans kicked off his shoes in the entryway.

“i was lookin’ - looking for a new job, pap,” he explained softly.

Papyrus huffed, stepping in front of Sans to prevent him from getting further into the apartment.

Frustrated and tired, Sans glared up at his brother, only to see the orange tears in the corners of his eye sockets.

Guilt strangled his Soul.

He was such a shitty brother.

He was supposed to be back ten minutes ago. Papyrus must have been worried sick.

After all, with his low hp …

It wouldn’t take much.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL?”

Sans flinched as Papyrus’ voice broke on the last word, looking away.

There was a small pile of dust in the corner.

Strange, for how fastidious Pap was with the cleaning.

Sans closed his eye sockets with a soft sigh.

He didn’t have a good excuse. There was nothing he could say to explain this away. There was only the truth.

Papyrus would not like the truth.

“didn’t have my phone.”

Papyrus had always been fast. Agile. Even as a babybones he had been able to match Sans.

The only reason Sans could beat him was because he had better reaction time.

But between a couple hours of sleep and a day walking the city, he was slow.

Bright stars bloomed in his vision as his head hit the wall with a loud crack.

Far too slow.

Sans would have fallen as his senses came back, had Papyrus not been holding him up by one arm.

“BROTHER.”

His voice was calm, gentle, almost sweet, at odds with the way his hand tightened around Sans’ humerus.

“YOU KNOW YOU’RE TO HAVE YOUR PHONE WITH YOU AT ALL TIMES.”

Sans shrank away from Papyrus’ stern glare, wincing as his grip became painful.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU HAVE IT?”

“i-i-“ Papyrus’ grip tightened at Sans’ stuttering, cutting him off. He clenched his teeth, trying to breathe through the pain.

He couldn’t think of a way to deescalate the situation, and anything he said could set Papyrus off.

He closed his eyes, praying for a miracle. 

“i … ” his voice broke, and he swallowed hard. The dry click was deafening to his ears.

He took a deep breath, trying again.

“… i left it.”

Papyrus’ eyesockets darkened, and his grip on Sans’ arm tightened enough that Sans worried he’d crack the bone.

He fought the whimper that threatened, a lump in his throat.

“WHY.”

Sans struggled with himself. His instincts telling him to fight back, to run, warring with the knowledge that he needed to not struggle.

Struggling would make it worse.

Papyrus’ had flexed.

“i forgot it,” Sans yelped. He looked frantically down the hallway, toward his room. “I was in a rush this morning!”

Orange flushed across Papyrus’ cheekbones as he realized what Sans meant.

As he remembered rushing his brother out of the apartment, not giving him enough time to get everything.

“OH!” He dropped Sans, covering his mouth with both hands. “OH DEAR.”

Sans shuffled back a step, inching his way down the hall.

“WELL!” Papyrus said after a moment. “I SUPPOSE THAT WAS PARTIALLY MY FAULT. … WELL … NO MATTER! THE PAST IS IN THE PAST AND TO BE GREAT WE MUST LOOK FORWARD TO THE FUTURE!” Papyrus flashed a bright smile down at Sans, the entire incident forgiven and forgotten. Sans returned the smile, smaller and with caution.

“WITH THE FUTURE IN MIND … WERE YOU ABLE TO FIND WORK, SANS?”

Sans shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away from Papyrus, unable to meet his brother’s eyelights.

“not yet,” he was ashamed to admit. “i applied everywhere i could. even talked to the company that owns the hot dog stand. they sell hot cocoa for the holidays.”

Papyrus sighed, rubbing at his nasal bone in frustration.

“THAT’S ALRIGHT, BROTEHR. MY EXPECTATIONS WERE OBVIOUSLY TOO HIGH! I WAS HOLDING YOU TO MY OWN GREAT STANDARDS!” he laughed loudly, hands on his hips. “I NEVER SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED A LAZYBONES LIKE YOU TO FIND GAINFUL EMPLOYMENT IN A SINGLE DAY!”

Sans forced his smile wider, winking and pointing finger guns at Papyrus.

“got me there, bro. i’ll never be as cool as you.”

“EXACTLY! WE CANNOT ALL ACHIEVE THE SAME GREATNESS OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS! NYEH HEH HEH HEH!”

Sans grinned at his brother, glad Papyrus had forgiven him so easily. For forgetting his phone, for coming home late, for not finding a job …

Paps was so cool.

“GO WASH UP FOR DINNER, SANS,” Papyrus said before heading into the kitchen. He opened the oven door and Sans was assaulted by the acrid smell of something burning. “IT’S NEARLY READY!”

“you got it, pap.”

It had been nearly two weeks since he and Red had exchanged numbers.

He had told Papyrus when he got home.

“WAIT FOR HIM TO TEXT FIRST,” Papyrus had suggested. “YOU DON’T WANT TO SEEM PATHETIC AND EAGER, AND I DON’T WANT YOU BOTHERING MY FRIENDS.”

Sans had waited.

And waited.

And  w a  i   t    e     d .

He had held onto his fraying hope, patiently waiting for a call or a text. For something, some communication from Red.

Sans stared at his phone, lying on the mattress next to him.

By the end of the first week, Sans would’ve accepted a carrier pigeon.

But Red didn’t call. He didn’t text.

He didn’t send any pigeons.

Then, over their dinner of burnt mystery casserole, Papyrus had made a gentle suggestion.

“MAYBE RED WAS JUST BEING … NICE?”

And Sans felt the hope in his Soul fade under the weight of doubt and anxiety. He had explained his concern to Papyrus, but the other hadn’t had many words of comfort to share.

He flipped his phone open, saw no new messages, and closed it again.

He must have annoyed Red at the museum somehow.

But there were too many things to apologize for. He had done so many things wrong.

He’d talked too much, too obsessed with astronomy.

He’d focused on his own interests, not even asking Red what he wanted to do. 

He had taken advantage, letting Red get him a ticket to the planetarium.

He was an idiot.

Sans frowned, as he opened his phone again, navigating to the text Red had sent him.

Red had traded numbers after all of that. 

Why would he do that if he hadn’t meant it?

“text if ya wanna hang out.”

Why would he have said that if he hadn’t meant it.

“HE WAS PROBABLY AFRAID OF MAKING YOU ANGRY.”

Sans sighed, rolling onto his back and staring at his dark ceiling.

He wished he was brave enough to demand answers from Red.

The first outing could have been a prank, something Sans had accepted. Papyrus had warned him that Red’s sense of humor could be mean.

But …

There was no reason for him to ask again.

No reason to invite Sans to the museum.

If that had been part of the same prank …

… Red wasn’t that cruel.

Right?

Was Sans really so horrible that Red had decided to torment him?

“HE DOES JOKE ABOUT HIS STANDARDS BEING LOW, BUT … “

Sans sat up, playing with his phone idly as he thought.

Whether it was a prank or not didn’t matter. Maybe Red had been interested in getting to know him better after the coffee thing went well.

Well … he got what he asked for.

It was obvious when Sans thought about it. Red had just been too … nice to tell Sans that he wasn’t interested anymore.

Too nice to tell Sans the truth.

(To tell him that he was a  stupid, worthless, lazy trash bag)

“… NOBODY HAS STANDARDS THAT LOW.”

Red had been trying to have a good time. Sans had ruined it by being ungrateful and selfish.

Once he’d gotten home, after giving Sans his number, Red would have had time to think out the day. He would have realized how shitty Sans had been. Maybe he had talked to Edge.

Maybe he’d talked to Papyrus. It would explain why he’d brought it up at dinner.

Maybe he didn’t tell anyone, ashamed to have even given Sans a chance.

Sans had been self-interested, self-centered, only caring about his own enjoyment.

He hadn’t even asked Red if he wanted to see anything else in the museum.

Sans resisted the urge to hurl his phone into the trash tornado, instead shoving it into his pocket. He didn’t need to break it further, it was already near-unusable.

It didn’t really matter. Nothing did.

The outcome had been decided and nothing could change it.

Red didn’t want to talk to him anymore.

He sighed, slumping against the wall.

Red probably regretted his decision to exchange numbers as soon as he sent a text to himself. Too late to take back.

He probably hoped Sans wouldn’t contact him.

Sans didn’t want to be annoying.

With a groan he rubbed at his eye sockets with the heels of his hands and focused on his breathing. Trying to calm down.

He didn’t want Papyrus to see he was upset. Didn’t want to bring his brother’s mood down like he always did.

If Papyrus was right - and he rarely wasn’t - then Red would text. If (when) he didn’t it was because he had more important things to do than entertain someone like Sans.

In all likelihood, he did have better things to do than talk to Sans.

In the end, Sans’ best option was to do … nothing.

Fortunately, that was the one thing he was good at.

NEXT CHAPTER

[bakmasenonlara]

İnstadam takip mesaj atıyor biri cok samimisin cart curt falan sonra 2 gün sonra unf ediyo ya o zaman niye takip ediyosun aq

[fanfiction-9ano]

As Mollie

What if the story “Animal Farm” was in Mollie’s perspective and her own experience, as if Mollie was the principal character.

Written by: Ana Laura Armada, Giovana Mazzer and Sofia Fonseca.

As Mollie – chapter 2

Three nights later, I was sad to know that old Major had die. He was buried at the foot of the orchard and I cried a lot. I didn´t want to see him go.

This was in early March, my favorite time of the year. Winter is coming to an end and flowers are starting to bloom up. During the next three months there was much secret activity. I didn’t understand much of those, but Napoleon told me that everything was fine, and that I wasn’t supposed to care about it.

Old major's speech had given to the more intelligent animals on the farm a completely new outlook on life. They did not know when the Rebellion predicted by Major would take place, they had no reason for thinking that it would be within their own lifetime, but they saw clearly that it was their duty to prepare for it. The work of teaching and organizing the others fell naturally upon the pigs, who were generally recognized as being the cleverest of the animals.

We have three pigs in the farm. They are nice, but kind of show-of, I don't really know how I feel about them, because they are against my ribbons, which I truly love... Well, these three pigs had elaborated old Major's teachings into a complete system of thought, which they gave the name of Animalism. Several nights a week, after that monster called Mr. Jones – the owner of our farm - was asleep, they held secret meetings in the barn and expounded the principles of Animalism to the others, I wasn't paying much attention, but I knew that Animalism was the great chance of us getting the freedom we deserved.

At the beginning we met with much stupidity and apathy. Some of us talked of the duty of loyalty to Mr. Jones - witch I thought it was completely stupid, he gave us nothing but ribbons and food - , whom they referred to as "Master," or made elementary remarks such as "Mr. Jones feeds us. If he were gone, we should starve to death." Others asked such questions as "Why should we care what happens after we are dead?" or "If this Rebellion is to happen anyway, what difference does it make whether we work for it or not?", and the pigs had great difficulty in making them see that this was contrary to the spirit of Animalism. The stupidest questions of all were asked by Mollie, the white mare. The very first question she asked Snowball was: "Will there still be sugar after the Rebellion? "

"No," said one of the pigs, being a complete jerk. "We have no means of making sugar on this farm. Besides, you do not need sugar. You will have all the oats and hay you want."

That was absurd. Who do they think they are?

"And shall I still be allowed to wear ribbons in my mane?" I asked almost crying.

"Comrade," said the pig, "those ribbons that you are so devoted to are the badge of slavery. Can you not understand that liberty is worth more than ribbons?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. They wanted to get over with my ribbons! I wonder what my life would be like for now on...

Now, as it turned out, the Rebellion was achieved much earlier and more easily than we had expected. In past years Mr. Jones, although a hard master, had been a good farmer, but after some years he had fallen on evil days. He had become much disheartened after losing money in a lawsuit and had taken to drinking more than was good for him. For whole days at a time he would lounge in his Windsor chair in the kitchen, reading the newspapers, drinking, and occasionally feeding Moses on crusts of bread soaked in beer. His men were idle and dishonest, the fields were full of weeds, the buildings wanted roofing, the hedges were neglected, and the animals were underfed.

When Mr. Jones got back, he immediately went to sleep on the drawing−room sofa with the News of the World over his face, so that when evening came, we were still unfed. At last we could stand it no longer. One of the cows broke the door of the store−shed with her horn and we began to help ourselves from the bins. It was just then that Mr. Jones woke up. The next moment he and his four men were in the store−shed with whips in their hands, lashing out in all directions. They had never seen us behave like this before, and this sudden our uprising was used to thrash and maltreat us, I don’t know why, but my friends and I were frightened. After only a moment or two they gave up trying to defend themselves and took to their heels. A minute later all five of them were in full flight down the cart−track that led to the main road, with us pursuing them in triumph.

Mrs. Jones looked out of the bedroom window, saw what was happening, hurriedly flung a few possessions into a carpet bag, and ran away from the farm by another way. Moses sprang off his perch and flapped after her, croaking loudly. Meanwhile we had chased Jones and his men out on to the road and hit the five−barred gate behind them. And so, almost before they knew what was happening, the Rebellion had been successfully carried through: Jones was expelled, and the Manor Farm was theirs. It was a moment of an unforgettable victory.

For the first few minutes my comrades and I could hardly believe in their good fortune. Our first act was to gallop in a body right round the farm’s limits, to make quite sure that no human was there hiding themselves there; then we ran back to the farm buildings to wipe out the last traces of Jones's hated reign. The harness−room at the end of the stables was broken open; the bits, the nose−rings, the dog−chains, the cruel knives with which Mr. Jones had been used to castrate some of us, were all flung down the well. All his torture objects were thrown into the rubbish fire which was burning in the yard. So were the whips. We capered with joy when they saw the whips going up in flames. Snowball also threw on to the fire the ribbons with which the horses' manes and tails had usually been decorated on market days.

"Ribbons," someone said, "should be considered as clothes, which are the mark of a human being. All animals should go naked."

After a very little while we had destroyed everything that reminded us of Mr. Jones. Napoleon then led us back to the store−shed and served out a double ration of corn to everybody, with two biscuits for each dog. Then we sang our hymn, Beasts of England, from the beginning to end seven times running, as an act of happiness and freedom! No human was taking care of us in anymore!! After that we settled down for the night and slept as we had never slept before.

After some time, all the comrades woke up, with no worries. We ran around the farm, filled back to the farm buildings and halted in silence outside the door of the farmhouse. That was theirs too, but they were frightened to go inside. After a moment, however, Snowball and Napoleon butted the door open with their shoulders and we entered in single file, walking with the utmost care for fear of disturbing anything. We went room to room kind of quietly, afraid to speak above a whisper and gazing with a kind of awe at the unbelievable luxury, at the beds with their feather mattresses, the looking−glasses, the horsehair sofa, the Brussels carpet, the lithograph of Queen Victoria over the drawing−room mantelpiece. We were lust coming down the stairs when I was discovered to be missing. Going back, the others found that she had remained behind in the best bedroom. I had taken a piece of blue ribbon from Mrs. Jones's dressing−table and was holding it against my shoulder and admiring myself and my beauty in the glass in a very foolish manner. The others reproached my sharply, and we went outside. Some hams hanging in the kitchen were taken out for burial, and the barrel of beer in the scullery was stove in with a kick from Boxer's hoof, −otherwise nothing in the house was touched. A unanimous resolution was passed on the spot that the farmhouse should be preserved as a museum. All were agreed that none of us must ever live there.

We had our breakfast, and then Snowball and Napoleon called them together again.

"Comrades," said Snowball, "it is half−past six and we have a long day before us. Today we begin the hay harvest. But there is another matter that must be attended to first."

After this we went back to the farm buildings, where Snowball the pigs sent for a ladder which they caused to be set against the end wall of the big barn. They explained that by their studies of the past three months the pigs had succeeded in reducing the principles of Animalism to Seven Commandments, that was unfair, because they did it all by their own, without consulting the rest of the animals. These Seven Commandments would now be inscribed on the wall; they would form an unalterable law by which all of us on Animal Farm must live for ever after. With some difficulty (for it is not easy for a pig to balance himself on a ladder) Snowball climbed up and set to work, with Squealer a few rungs below him holding the paint−pot. The Commandments were written on the tarred wall in great white letters that could be read thirty yards away. They ran thus:

THE SEVEN COMMANDMENTS

1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy.

2. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.

3. No animal shall wear clothes.

4. No animal shall sleep in a bed.

5. No animal shall drink alcohol.

6. No animal shall kill any other animal.

7. All animals are equal.

"Now, comrades," cried Snowball, throwing down the paint − brush, "to the hayfield! Let us make it a point of honor to get in the harvest more quickly than Jones and his men could do."

[forfaitmobile]

Téléphonie mobile : 73,5 millions de cartes SIM en circulation - MonPetitForfait

[aletrisfarinosa]

önceden gayet güzel bir blogdun. şimdi habire sevgili cart curt şeylerini paylaşıp duruyosun. sevdiğim bir blogdun ama artık unf ediyorum

o kadarrr üzüldüm ki aglayabilirim su an

[universallyladybear]

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[virginiamurrayblog]

A Comprehensive Guide to Cambridge, Ont. (a.k.a. Justin & Hailey’s New Home)

(Photos: Splash, iStock)

I grew up (and currently live) in Cambridge, Ont. As a child it was fine, as a teenager it was boring, and for a few unfortunate years in my early-to-mid twenties, it was the bane of my temperamental existence. It is surburban, it is quaint, it is strip malls, it is history. And while I’m allowed to make fun of it whenever I want, if I hear any of you talking shit about my hometown, I will fight you in the same parking lot the boys I loved once skateboarded in.

Which is why I’m the only person qualified to map it out for our newest additions, Justin Bieber and Hailey Baldwin. Having just purchased property outside the city limits—and with Justin reportedly wanting to make Canada his homebase—my precious son and his soon-to-be bride are in need of a guide to Cambridge that’s honest, accurate and will ensure that we run into each other frequently. And while I guess the rest of you can follow it too, I also couldn’t care less. This is for J-Biebs, Ms. Baldwin, and a future in which I hang out with them regularly. See you soon, precious fam.

Langdon Hall

Finished in 1902, the restaurant/spa/hotel was formerly a country home but is currently the closest I will ever get to living in Downton Abbey. Naturally, the food is unparalleled, the high tea is tremendous, and the photo ops are spectacular. But most importantly, Drake shot album art for Views on the driveway a few years ago, which brings us all nearer to the dream of Aubrey, Justin and myself bonding over scones and clotted cream. That, or seeing ghosts of the former owners.

I’ll take either.

Downtown Galt

A fact I like to scream into the faces of strangers is that The Handmaid’s Tale films in a part of Cambridge called downtown Galt. (Specifically, the scenes in which Offred and friends walk by the river.) This typically earns a half-hearted, “Wow, really?” while I nod smugly, as if I scouted the location myself. I did not. But should Justin and Hailey want to look at old buildings and churches that back onto the Grand River, this is where they can do so. Provided they invite me.

LA Frank’s

And since we’re in Galt, we might as well take advantage of LA Frank’s—the seasonal hotdog/hamburger/ice cream stand that I personally can’t order anything from (I have the digestive system of a small infant), but will happily stand awkwardly near as my friends consume food like normal adults. A right of passage. A fast way to make me feel sad and jealous.

iBowl.ca

Years ago, Cambridge was a city brimming with bowling alleys. (There were three. Maybe four.) Today—and until the construction of the bowling alley/arcade/restaurant in the mall is finished—there is one. And while I don’t know the origin story of this Galt-based mecca’s name, I do know that when I was 21, I wasn’t paying attention on my way out and fell down the stairs, spraining my wrist as my friends stifled laughter. I also learned that black lighting makes one’s tears glow. Biebs and Baldwin deserve to see this for themselves.

The Cambridge Centre

Behold! The mall I worked at from 2005-2009. Is it worth going without being able to see me fold jeans at American Eagle? No. But maybe Hailey likes Marshall’s. Perhaps Baby Biebs adores Bootlegger. And if all else fails, there’s still a movie theatre inside. So let’s just meet up after the 7:10 screening of Little Italy, and take it from there.

Value Village

Thrifting in Cambridge (and the Waterloo region) is better than in any other region and in any other city. Last week, I paid $49 for seven pieces that will make me look exactly like Sandra Bullock in Practical Magic. (Exactly. I will look exactly like her.) And why wouldn’t two kids saving for a big wedding want to wade into the waters of previously owned and loved clothing? Why wouldn’t Justin want to pick up a few new Hawaiian shirts? Why wouldn’t he want me to push him around in a cart like the caring mother I am? Why wouldn’t he look up at me from between ’90s-era sweaters and tell me how proud he was to be my son?

Rising Dough Bakery

Of course, after burning through calories trying on pleated pants, we could and would descend on the Scottish bakery in Preston (another area of Cambridge—please don’t worry about it, unless you grew up here, you won’t care and it doesn’t matter) where the pasties and pastries are equal parts prevalent and delicious. Once, I bought a week’s worth of cookies and and ate them in about two days. I felt deathly ill, but it was worth it. And guess what: I’ll probably do it again.

Fashion History Museum

And then there’s Hespeler. (Okay, fine. Here’s the history: Cambridge consists of three parts that used to be former towns. They amalgamated in the 1970s, but some of us grew up in families who do not acknowledge said amalgamation. Thus, Hespeler, to me and my family, is superior in every way.) Located in the old post office, the Fashion History Museum is, in a word, the fucking bomb. The two owners have a collection that spans centuries, continents and historical narratives, and the exhibits are well thought-out and interesting. It’s also not-for-profit, so only good things can come from visiting. Which is why Hailey and Justin should go. Also, because I’m specifically ordering them too.

Ernie’s Roadhouse

This is the restaurant I grew up eating chicken wings at. It’s also older than time. I’d be ashamed to find out Biebs and Balds didn’t go. I’d also be ashamed if they didn’t order me chicken wings.

The Hespeler Arena

No, not the actual arena. (I mean, sure: hockey and figure skating happens there, but also welcome to southern Ontario where there are no less than 46 arenas per person per city.) Instead, let’s focus on the parking lot. And, since we’re talking about paved spaces ideal for parking, standing, and talking shit, let us also branch out to include the McDonald’s and Food Basics plaza parking lot, where much of my young life was shaped by standing, by sitting, by drinking Mike’s Hard Lemonade, by smoking Players cigarettes, by watching skateboarders.

Frankly, you will never “experience” Cambridge until you experience it in a parking lot. Which morphs this guide into a straight-up challenge: when Justin and Hailey find their own lot to loiter in, Cambridge will finally be home.

Anne T. Donahue is a writer, podcaster and person on the internet. Her memoir, Nobody Cares, comes out on September 18.

More from Anne T. Donahue: What Buck-a-Beer Feels Like to an Alcoholic How I Get Shit Done Working from Home How to Use Professional Jealousy to Figure Out What You *Really* Want #HowIMadeIt: How Anne T. Donahue Became a Writer Even Unf-ckwithable Women Need Help Sometimes

  The post A Comprehensive Guide to Cambridge, Ont. (a.k.a. Justin & Hailey’s New Home) appeared first on Flare.

A Comprehensive Guide to Cambridge, Ont. (a.k.a. Justin & Hailey’s New Home) published first on https://wholesalescarvescity.tumblr.com/

[lihikainanea]

what if bill has been away doing a shoot for longer than usual and tiger doesn't wait even a second longer than she has to to see him again so she goes to meet him at the airport and they end up doing a cheesy but cute airport reunion

YES as someone who basically lives in airports I still love a good, sappy, emotional airport reunion.

Unless you’re in the fucking way of me or my luggage cart, in which case, step the fuck aside you codependent assholes.

It can really go either way.

Also, may I present you: Bills contract probably negotiated a private driver at airports, including when he’s back home. And tiger’s cool with that because she’s thinking she’d rather be pasted to his side in the backseat anyway, instead of having to worry about either one of them driving and her trying to get as close as humanly–safely–possible. So the driver swings by, picks her up, drives to the airport. And she scurries into the terminal except low and behold, photographers and fans are there. So there goes her initial plans to fucking pounce him on the spot.

Instead they must have a very civilized public greeting–if any, at all, maybe she has to leave him to make his way through the crowd while she stands at the door for him–and she just wants to cry and tackle him because he’s all sun kissed and bronzed and has a bit of stubble growing and it’s been two solid months since she’s had those beautiful lips planted on hers and she’s dying. And Bill is a resident in Suffering City too, because of course tiger came to pick him up in a goddamn yellow sundress, shorter than it oughta be, looking incredibly excited to see him and bouncing and Bill just….unf, Bill’s ready to take her on the spot.

But it goes without a hitch, he makes it to the car, and tiger promptly presses the button to lift the little separator between the driver and the backseat for some privacy. They both collide in near mid-air, because as soon as the divider was up, they both dove for the other. Tiger slams his head back into the headrest to kiss the hell out of him and he drags her by the hips onto his lap. When she doesn’t stop, he doesn’t stop either and flat out rips her panties off.

They totally bang in the backseat, Bill keeping a gigantic hand over her mouth to stifle her moans, and she’s holding him by the scruff of his neck, forcing his face into her shoulder where he’s biting her to stop his own groans from being too loud.

[thedoctoraway1]

Unfu*k Yourself: Get Out of Your Head and into Your Life

Unfu*k Yourself: Get Out of Your Head and Into Your Life – Gary John Bishop

Gary John Bishop: Unf*ck Yourself! Get Out of Your Head and Into Your Life

Unfu*k Yourself: Get Out Of Your Head And Into Your Life

Book Review: “Unf*ck Yourself: Getting Out of Your Head and Into Your Life!” – Gary John Bishop

Episode 134: Unfu*k Yourself with Gary John Bishop

Unfu*k Yourself – 7 Assertions to Seize the Life You Want

“Get Out of Your Head” | Kendra Shimmell | TEDxSausalito

Eventually You Are Burdened By What You Tolerate

Getting out of your head!

Meet Gary John Bishop and Discover The UnFu*k Nation

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Amazon Price: $19.99 $11.54 You save: $8.45 (42%). (as of June 4, 2018 3:35 pm – Details). Product prices and availability are accurate as of the date/time indicated and are subject to change. Any price and availability information displayed on the Amazon site at the time of purchase will apply to the purchase of this product.

Joining the ranks of The Life-Changing Magic of Not Giving a F*ck, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, You Are a Badas*, and F*ck Feelings comes this refreshing, BS-free, self-empowerment guide that offers an honest, no-nonsense, tough-love approach to help you move past self-imposed limitations.

Are you tired of feeling fu*ked up? If you are, Gary John Bishop has the answer. In this straightforward handbook, he gives you the tools and advice you need to demolish the slag weighing you down and become the truly unfu*ked version of yourself. ''Wake up to the miracle you are,'' he directs. ''Here's what you've forgotten: You're a fu*king miracle of being.'' It isn't other people that are standing in your way, it isn't even your circumstances that are blocking your ability to thrive, it's yourself and the negative self-talk you keep telling yourself. In Unfu*k Yourself, Bishop leads you through a series of seven assertions:

I am willing. I am wired to win. I got this. I embrace the uncertainty. I am not my thoughts; I am what I do. I am relentless. I expect nothing and accept everything.

Lead the life you were meant to have—Unfu*k Yourself.

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[ricardosousalemos]

Feist: Pleasure

In a bizarro universe, Leslie Feist is a fool’s idea of a one-hit wonder—a distinctly aughts success story about the power of digital music providers, ad syncs, and viral videos in breaking quirky Top 10 hits like “1234.” Feist had her chance to take the iPod money and run, but instead of succumbing to her poppier sensibilities—which always felt more like a mask she put on when she wasn’t soothing her melancholy—she dug in deeper on her salt-of-the-earth soulfulness and relaxed-fit rock-guitar chops with 2011’s Metals. Her break out masterpiece The Reminder made Feist a platinum-selling star in her native Canada, but Metals showed she was not terribly interested in the part. Instead, the one-time Broken Social Scene member was focused on the thoughtful long game, one she continues to play with no particular rush or agenda here on her fifth LP.

Pleasure features a number of songs that stretch towards the five-minute mark, making more sense as part of the whole rather than individually. The title track and “Century” position the album as Feist’s most overtly rock’n’roll record—the former resembling PJ Harvey in her prime, the latter upping the unf before Jarvis Cocker swaggers in, both with one of those triumphantly noisy choirs Feist grew fond of on Metals. The playful French pop, electronic flourishes, and jazzier inclinations that set apart her early work from the indie-pop pack are downplayed across the record, but a number of her signatures remain.

More than half the songs employ nature-related wordplay as a means of gauging relationships and changing mindsets, though the put-a-bird-on-it-ness is not as pronounced as on other Feist albums (she’s trying to cut down). The most striking example arrives with “The Wind,” which begins a little like an Arthur Russell tune, all lo-fi beats and ragged chords. Occasionally her poetry about gaining perspective over time lands on straightforward realizations, as Russell’s often did; “I’m shaped by my storming like they’re shaped by their storming,” she sings, the sound swelling with a lovely horn undercurrent from Colin Stetson. Like many songs on Pleasure, the melody takes time to unfurl before loosely fading out.

These quieter moments are the ones that work best. “Baby Be Simple” is as tender as Feist gets—just an acoustic guitar and a humble plea to take it easy on her, the woman who once declared her ability to feel it all. Pleasure reminds you that Feist’s simmering introspection is the ideal vehicle for the more delicate facets of her voice. She can still surprise with a quick shift from cocked-hip talk-singing to yelps of fury, but her high range breaking through a dark sky like the sun remains the most stunning view.

Continuing to work with fellow Canadian ex-pat Mocky, Feist’s musical arrangements have grown slipperier and more subtle. “Any Party,” with its acoustic riff straight out of a Kinks song, slows way down and drops out almost entirely, eventually building up to a whimsical, barroom singalong. These songs don’t move how you expect them to, and that’s part of their appeal—or the frustration if you’re looking for the pared-down immediacy of The Reminder. Occasionally her “just trust me” approach makes way for a big risk that doesn’t always pay off. She sets up “A Man Is Not His Song,” a folksy ode to the fallacy of songs as diary entries, with field audio of crickets and a passing car radio playing “Pleasure,” then ends it with a snippet of Mastodon’s “High Road” as a comment on the femininity/masculinity at work. It’s a playful idea (and perhaps an inside joke with former collaborators), but it’s jarring and doesn’t fit the album’s easy flow.

On Pleasure, Feist faces middle age with a slow-burning ruckus. She accepts that getting older is growing comfortable with knowing you'll never have all the answers. And she savors the ride nonetheless—like she says, pleasure is what we’re here for—because this is it, this is life. When she finally wonders, on the swirling torch song that closes the record, “When they cart me away, will I say that I died already years ago?” we already know the answer. Feist may have hidden away for a while and thought about giving up music before making this album, but a decade since she broke through, she’s settling in like a long-distance runner staring down the horizon she knows will outlast her. She will quietly make her mark in the meantime.