#car insurance office near me

[insurancenear]

"Worcester County Massachusetts car insurance rates by the 5-Star Award-Winning Gaudette Insurance Agency": https://gaudette-insurance.com

Gaudette Insurance Agency Inc.: 1 Plummers Corner, Whitinsville, MA 01588 1-508-234-6333 https://gaudette-insurance.com

Gaudette Insurance Southborough Office: 11 Main St Suite 8, Southborough, MA 01772 Phone: 1-508-480-9540 https://gaudette-insurance.com/contact/southborough-ma-insurance/

Gaudette Insurance North Grafton Office: 68 Worcester St, North Grafton, MA 01536 Phone: 1-508-839-6022 https://gaudette-insurance.com/contact/north-grafton-ma-insurance/

Gaudette Insurance Westborough Office: 86 E Main St, Westborough, MA 01581 Phone: 1-508-366-8736 https://gaudette-insurance.com/contact/westborough-ma-insruance/

Gaudette Insurance Shrewsbury Office: 489 Boston Turnpike, Shrewsbury, MA 01545 Phone: 1-508-839-6022 https://gaudette-insurance.com/contact/shrewsbury-ma-insurance/

Insurance Options (Personal insurance near you in Massachusetts)

Auto Insurance

Home Insurance

Renters Insurance

Life Insurance

Liability Insurance

Motorcycle Insurance

Flood Insurance

Pet Insurance

Condo Insurance

Umbrella Insurance

Learn more about our 5-star Gaudette Insurance Agency company nearest to your location only at Gaudette-Insurance.com or https://gaudette-insurance.com/request-quote/.

[seat-safety-switch]

Sometimes, when I'm feeling flush, I like to go to this little restaurant near me. It's a sushi joint, and in my part of the world that always has to come with some additional kitsch. For this restaurant, it's "bullet train sushi." You order on a little iPad, and then a train comes out of the kitchen, bringing your sushi behind it. Clean. Efficient. Antithetical to my morals and values.

See, I'm from North America. In case you're unfamiliar, it's very popular these days. You can find it on the north end of America on any map, except for that weird one that is about Pangaea. One thing we love in North America is cars. We spend a couple of hours stuck in one so we can go to an office we hate, then spend a couple of hours going home so we can spend a few more hours taking our kids to a soccer game. If we had a train, then we'd be able to do things like check our text messages without running over a pedestrian.

Being presented with this totally viable transportation alternative, albeit in miniature and towing little pieces of raw fish behind it, troubles the mind. If we had made better choices, put monopolists to the torch, could we have a utopian society where you order things on a little iPad and then gleamingly efficient tubes fly you out of the kitchen and into a glorious new world? I love the food, but I hate the frantic cold sweats it gives me as I ponder an alternative civilization that doesn't care quite so much about heated steering wheels. That's why I had to do something.

Welcome to Switch's Highway of Sushi – the only sushi restaurant in town that's sponsored by General Motors Corporation. Here, each table is actually a fully-equipped Chevrolet Blazer. Diners are commanded to get their own goddamn food the way our forefathers once did: in four-wheel-drive. The eight-storey parking garage in which the restaurant is housed features many stalls, containing highly trained chefs making delicious food that's just a complex parking job in tight confines away.

Sure, it makes the restaurant fairly space-inefficient having to make room for sixty 6000-pound SUVs. Our insurance is through the fucking roof because our customers keep backing over the waiters and their own families (why not look at the award-winning ClearView Surround Backup Camera, idiots?) And the air quality inside the place could be defined as "not great," even with the really expensive oven vent hoods you get at the restaurant supply store.

All this doesn't matter. Freedom is what matters. The freedom to not have to occupy the same space as any other member of your civilization, unless you are currently backing over them because you forgot to check the backup camera again. Come on, table four. If you're going to keep this up all night, we might think about giving you some demerits.

[doberbutts]

How can I have hope? I work for poverty wages and live in a car. I have no health insurance. I think I have scabies.

Are you in the US? Most, but not all, states have programs for folks in your position. Emergency rooms and certain urgent care facilities *cannot* turn you away legally even if you don't have any money, and most will also have a financial aid office that can help you either secure funding to pay your bill at a later date or that can reduce your bill to basically nothing.

If you live in or near a city, there should be a mutual or community aid office that can also help you with bills, finding a better paying job, health insurance, giving you an allowance for food and clothing, some even give grants to those who can prove they're working but are paid too little to keep their head above water.

The major thing is that these types of aid are considered government aid, and thus immigrants are largely not allowed to access these programs regardless of documentation status. Some states, however, are sanctuary states and will still allow you if you are an immigrant if you can prove your sponsor isn't providing for you correctly, or if you can prove refugee or asylum status.

How good and helpful these programs are largely vary state by state and I'm sorry to say that usually the better programs are in blue states. But they do exist, and there's a chance that accessing these resources will help you escape this situation you're in. How to access these resources can vary state to state- for me, the second I filed for unemployment after losing my job I received a million phone calls asking which programs I needed help from. I know that did NOT happen to a former roommate in Maryland when she was laid off when the business she worked for closed, so the ease of access can really depend.

I know things look hopeless right now. But there are safeguards in place to help you, if you can access them.

[kylostantrums]

living as an adult with adhd is a nightmare sometimes. i need to get my eyes checked but i don’t know what optometrist is near me and there’s a chip in the glue on my teeth that’s been there for two years that needs to be refilled but im not covered anymore so why bother switching to an orthodontist where i live and i need to call insurance to get my car ownership transferred to me but they’re only open when im at work and i can’t attend to that when im there and i want to eat healthier but i don’t have time to get groceries or energy to cook and im pretty sure i might have a binge eating disorder but any doctors office is only open when im at work so it’s like i guess i’ll just not do any of those things but worry about them every single fucking day

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 7: SHOULD EVERY RABID DOG GET ITS TAIL DOCKED UP TO THE EARS?

synopsis: you, connor, and hank deal with deviants in the eden club. connor spurs on another uncomfortable conversation near the detroit river.

word count: 4.4k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: sorry for the late update insurance is kicking my ASS about the accident i was just in.. like it's my first one bro why y'all hounding me like that 😭😭

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

It’s impossible to ignore the bright pink neon sign advertising the Eden Club and the dull thrum of EDM coming from inside. You slowly pull up to the side of the street and park, looking out the passenger window at the club’s entrance.

“Aw��” Hank mumbles from the passenger seat. “Feels like someone’s playin’ with a drill inside my skull.”

He looks at the entrance. You can tell his head is throbbing doubly just from the bright colors. “You sure this is the place?”

“It’s the address on the report,” Connor answers from the backseat.

You lean over and look at the glove box. “Don’t you have Ibuprofen in there? Or some type of pain medication?”

“Yeah, I think,” Hank grumbles. He pops open the glove box and fishes out a pill bottle. He shakes out two and swallows them dry.

You turn off the ignition and sigh softly. “Let’s get this over with.”

Hank gets out (hitting his head on the roof of the car in the process), and you and Connor follow. He leads the way into the club entrance, where the lights pulse in soft, erotic colors. 

“Sexiest androids in town,” Hank reads off a TV in the entry hall, then glances at Connor. “Now I see why you insisted on coming here!”

“I was not programmed with a sex drive, or any other types of ‘desires,’ Lieutenant,” Connor says. “It could possibly distract me from the investigation if I did.”

You almost say, ‘Aw, really?’ out loud, but bite your tongue at the last second. Instead, you move forward into the club. 

Androids are littered about, moving sensually and palming themselves on poles and inside the tubes that line the walls. It turns your stomach – they’re beings (or, rather, things) created just to drown in the crashing wave that is human sex and desire. They fall and hurt and break and are thrown away to move onto the next. You keep your eyes on the floor and press on.

“Which room is it?” You ask, your eyes flitting to the doors and keeping them off the androids.

“The only one that says ‘Occupied,’” Officer Collins says. “And, uh – be warned. Gavin’s in there, too.”

“Oh, great,” Hank groans. “A dead body and an asshole, just what I needed.”

You follow Hank into the private room, taking it in. A naked corpse lays on the circular bed, made decent by the faux-silk blanket covering it. A deactivated android lays to the side, Thirium staining her otherwise perfect face.

“Lieutenant Anderson, Comrade Commie, and their little plastic pet,” Gavin sneers. “The fuck are you three doin’ here?”

“We’ve been assigned all cases involving androids,” Connor says as he surveys the room.

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re wasting your time.” Gavin gestures to the corpse. “Just some pervert who, uh, got more action than he could handle.”

He laughs, then looks to Chris as if to confirm what he just said was funny. Chris isn’t laughing, if that’s any indication. 

Hank gives a tight-lipped smile. “We’ll have a look anyway, if you don’t mind.”

“C’mon, let’s go.” Gavin walks past Hank, giving him a dirty look. “It’s, uh… starting to stink of booze, and…” he looks over at you. “The loss of private property.”

He gives Connor a way-too-forceful shoulder-check on the way out. The too-sympathetic part of you is worried Gavin hurt his own shoulder, but you stomp the thought down as soon as you think it.

Chris gives all of you a smile that says ‘I’m so fucking sorry you’re here.’ “Night, Lieutenant. Night, Officer.”

“Goodnight, Chris,” you say. “Please say goodnight to Damian for me.”

“He doesn’t even have object permanence yet,” Chris laughs. “But I will.” The door closes behind him as he leaves. 

You start looking closer at the room as Connor makes a beeline for the deactivated android. You kneel by the corpse.

“You sure you’re good to be that close to it?” Hank says from beside you. 

“I’m getting used to corpses.” You look up at him. “As horrible as that is.”

Hank huffs out a laugh and looks over at Connor. A look of horror crosses his face. “Whoa – hey-hey-hey!”

You look over at Connor. He’s holding up two fingers to his mouth, Thirium dripping down the length of them. 

“Augh, Connor,” Hank groans. “You’re so disgusting… Think I’m gonna puke again.”

“Connor, you told us you would warn us!” You whine.

“I apologize,” Connor says. He then stands and moves over to kneel next to you, his eyes on the corpse. His LED flickers yellow as he observes the bruising on the corpse’s neck. 

“He didn’t die of a heart attack,” Connor says. “He was strangled.”

“Yeah, I saw the bruising on the neck,” Hank says from the other side of the room. “Doesn’t prove anything, though. Could’ve been rough play.”

“I don’t think so,” you say. You lean forward, careful not to get too close. “Kink choking is when you squeeze the sides of someone’s neck to emulate the feeling of being choked. The bruises make it look like his windpipe was crushed deliberately.” 

You pause, then scratch your cheek. “Don’t ask how I know that.”

“I won’t.” Hank shakes his head and smiles. “Don’t want to stunt a homicide detective in the making.”

Connor stands. “We’re missing something here.”

You look over your shoulder at the dead android. Connor follows your eyes and moves over to her, then kneels by her side.

“Think you can read the android’s memory?” Hank asks. “Maybe you can see what happened.”

The skin on Connor’s fingers peel back and he puts his first two fingers on the deactivated android’s wrist. “I don’t know. Some of its inner components are damaged, and I can’t access them.”

You move so you’re kneeling next to Connor. You hold out your left hand then extend your thumb and index finger, and your world again turns into monochrome-blues. Two pieces of information pop up in the corner of your eye as you observe the highlighted parts of the android: Selector #5402 Critically Damaged. Biocomponent #6970 Critically Damaged.

“Let me try something.” You press gently on her stomach and slide the plastic of her abdomen open. You grunt as you force your left hand in and reach into her upper chest, feeling around for what you need. “Ah! I found it. Two seconds…”

You can feel the wires from your glove snake out. They poke and prod and eventually jack into a port.

Information flickers into your view, and you glance over it quickly. “She’s badly damaged. If I can pull this off, she’ll only be alive for a minute. Maybe less.”

“Do it,” Connor says. 

You twitch your fingers and the wires spin the port. It clicks into place, and she rises with an unneeded, artificial gasp of air. She tries to scramble away, but your arm is still lodged in her abdomen. 

“Эй – Эй!” You shout. “Let me get my hand.”

When she stills, you carefully disconnect the wires and extract your hand. She crawls away backwards until her back hits the wall. 

Connor approaches her, ever calm and soothing. He crouches, making sure to stay on her level. “Calm down. Everything’s alright. All we want is to know what happened.”

“Is he…” She looks over at the corpse. “Is he dead?”

“Tell me what happened,” Connor repeats. 

She looks over at Connor, then away. “He started… hitting me. Again, and again.”

“Did you kill him?” Connor asks.

“No!” She responds, almost incredulous. “No, it wasn’t me.”

“Were you alone in the room?” Connor pressures, talking quicker. “Was there anyone else with you?”

“H-he wanted to play with two girls,” she says. “That’s what he said. There were two of us.”

“What model was the other android?” Connor moves closer. “Did it look like you?”

Her mouth opens and her eyes unfocus. Her face relaxes and stills in a perpetual death mask. 

You look down at your hand. It’s stained with her Thirium. You clench your hand into a fist, then wipe it off on your jeans. Connor stands with an exhale of something that sounds like frustration.

“So there was another android,” Hank says. “This happened over an hour ago. It’s probably long gone.”

“No.” Connor gestures to the deactivated android. “It couldn’t go out dressed like that unnoticed. It might still be here.”

You stand and sigh. “There are too many богом забытых androids in this place. How are we going to find the deviant?”

“Shit, you’re right,” Hank sighs. “Maybe an eyewitness? Somebody who saw it leaving the room.”

He moves closer to the door. “I’m gonna go ask the manager a few questions about what he saw. Let me know if either of you think of anything.”

You look down at the deactivated android and hear the door close behind Hank. Her face still holds that expression of ever-lasting fear. 

“Are you okay, Officer?” Connor asks from somewhere behind you. 

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I… She was… scared. I feel bad for her. She didn’t do anything wrong.” You look over your shoulder at the corpse. “He did.”

“It’ll be okay,” Connor says. “We’ll figure this case out. Its deactivation will serve a purpose.”

You look over at him. He almost looks concerned for you. But you know better. It’s just his social relations program doing the work and his voice and expression expediting it.

You turn your eyes away and walk towards the door. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to.”

The door opens automatically and shuts once Connor goes through it behind you. You step to the side and observe the lobby. The androids continue moving in erotic and tempting ways, completely unfazed by the corpse in the next room.

You move over to where Hank’s standing, talking to the manager, who looks more sleazy than words can describe. 

“Nah, I didn’t know him,” the manager says. “He came in maybe two, three times. I mean, these guys, they don’t really talk very much, y’know? They come in, do their business, and then go on their way.”

“You ever had any trouble with androids before?” Hank asks. 

“No way!” Then, the manager thinks for a second. “Well… once. We lost a model two, three months back. Ah, same model. Just vanished – we never found out what happened.”

Your eyes glance over the androids dancing on poles. “What kind of kinks are the androids programmed with? Anything to do with receiving impact play?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the manager says. “Some of them. We have specialized models with higher durability and all that.”

“And the one that…?” You nod your head towards the closed door. 

“Nah.” The manager shakes his head. “It was just a regular model.”

Connor comes over from your left. “Excuse me, Officer. Can you come here a second?”

“Did you find something?” You ask. 

“Maybe.” He turns on his heel and walks away. He comes to a stop beside a tube holding an android. “Can you rent this Traci?”

“Какого хуя?” You turn to look at Connor. “You just said you don’t have a sex drive. If this is a joke, it’s really weird.”

Connor catches your arm as you start to walk away. “Please, Officer! Just trust me.”

There’s a look in his puppy dog eyes that wrenches your heart. He almost looks like he’s begging. 

You roll your eyes and shake free from his grasp. With a few grumbles in Russian, you press a few buttons on the interface. 

“Hello,” a female voice chimes. “A thirty minute session costs $29.99. Please confirm your purchase.”

You glance over at Connor as you press your palm against the interface. “When Fowler inevitably asks why this is on my expense account, you better vouch for me.”

“Purchase confirmed!” The voice chimes again. “Eden Club wishes you a pleasant experience.”

The android steps out of the tube and takes your arm in both hands, her touch feather-light and sensual. Her skin shimmers with glitter, just barely visible in the low light. “Delighted to meet you.”

She looks over at Connor. One of her hands leaves your arm to take his hand. “I’m so glad to be playing with two. Follow me, I’ll show you to our room.”

“Чего?!” You take your arm away. “No, no. This isn’t a threesome! What are you talking about? Connor!”

Connor takes the Traci’s arm, his skin peeling back. Her face tenses as she stares, paralyzed, into Connor’s eyes.

After a second, he disconnects and turns back to you. “It saw something!”

“What are you talking about?” You look over at the Traci. She looks just as confused as you. “Saw what?”

“The deviant leave the room. A blue-haired Traci.” A look of panic crosses Connor’s face. “Club policy is to wipe the android’s memory every two hours. We only have a few minutes if we wanna find another witness!”

And so, you trail after Connor, renting and promptly ignoring sex-bots. Hank follows both of you with an amused look on his face. In your mind, you count up the amount of money you’ll have to beg Fowler to excuse – somewhere above a hundred dollars, all spent within the same five minutes at the same sex club.

“I know where it went!” Connor says as he disconnects from yet another android. “Follow me.”

“Fuckin’ ay,” Hank grumbles. “This is crazy…!”

Connor leads the way into a staff door and through a maintenance hallway. When he reaches the end of the hall, Hank stops him. 

“I’ll take it from here.” He pushes Connor behind him, and Connor subsequently pushes you behind himself.

Hank draws his gun and opens the door, revealing a small back-room warehouse. It’s dimly lit, and littered with androids in standby mode. (It’s honestly really creepy. Like mannequins, but worse, somehow.)

When Hank deems it clear, you step down the stairs after Connor. Something on the wall catches your eye – graffiti, reading rA9. 

You point at it. “rA9. It’s spreading.”

“Huh,” Hank hums. “Maybe it’s something in their programming.”

Suddenly, there’s a crash from somewhere behind you. You turn just in time to see Connor be tackled to the floor by an android. 

Hank is quicker with his reaction time and pulls his gun again, shouting “Don’t move!”

But he’s quickly ambushed by another android. Before you can think, your feet carry you over to defend him. You wrench her off Hank and earn an elbow to your barely-healing nose.

“Блядь!” You stumble back, cradling your nose that’s starting to bleed again. Your eyes water, and you desperately try to blink the tears away. 

When your vision clears, you see Connor and one of the girls barrel out of the open garage door and into the back alley. The blue-haired Traci scrambles after her, grabbing the other girl’s hand and helping her up. 

You run and grab Connor’s arm to help him up, almost slipping on the wet concrete. Hank comes soon after, but is thwarted when both androids knock him down. You can hear the metal sound of a gun scraping against the ground. 

“Quick!” Hank shouts. “They’re getting away!”

Connor shoots after them, pulling one of the girls down from the chain link fence they were both climbing. They immediately fight back, sending Connor into the wall. He grapples against them, but loses his grip as he falls to the concrete.

“Hank’s gun!” You yell. “Get his gun!”

Connor does as he’s told and gets up on one knee, pointing the gun at one of the girls. In a split second, his grip falters and she delivers a stiletto to his face.

He falls back, then stands. He doesn’t make a move for the gun. 

You come to stand next to Connor, putting a hand out to stop him from coming any closer to them. “You killed him, yes? Why did you do it?”

Traci pauses for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “When that man broke the other Traci, I knew I was next.” She looks away, then her gaze steels and returns to yours. “I was so scared… I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t.”

“So you defended yourself?” You ask.

“I… I didn’t mean to kill him,” she says. “I just wanted to stay alive. To get back to the one I love.”

The other android reaches forward and intertwines her fingers with Traci’s. They share a glance, both of their expressions filled with love and adoration for one another.

“I wanted her to hold me in her arms again,” Traci says. “Make me forget about the humans… their smell of sweat and their dirty words.”

You so desperately want to ask a million questions about their deviation, but bite your tongue. Now isn’t the time for curiosity and interrogations. 

You stay silent as the girls climb the fence and disappear around the corner. Somehow, the rain that’s beating down on your shoulders feels lighter and warmer. It’s a nice summer drizzle instead of an autumn downpour. 

“It’s probably better this way,” Hank says quietly. He turns and starts walking back into the warehouse.

You grab Connor’s arm, causing him to look over at you. “You did the right thing. To try to exterminate every deviant is like… like dragging water through a sieve. Letting two go isn’t failing your mission completely.”

Connor nods, then looks at the corner where the two girls disappeared. His eyes turn to the ground and his eyebrows crease. “I know.”

You shift in the passenger seat, slumping until your knees hit the glove box. The music Hank put on is still raging along, a mess of electric guitars and drums and screamo vocals. At least your nose has stopped bleeding.

“Does he do this frequently?” Connor asks from the backseat. 

“Too frequently,” you mumble. “I’m tempted to put a tracker in his boot, but I know every time I lose him I’ll just find him here.”

And, of course, ‘here’ is a public playground. Hank’s in his favorite spot – on a bench facing the Detroit River. 

“I’m going to check on him.” You sit up and glance back at Connor. “Give me two minutes. He’s… I just need to talk to him. Alone. Okay?”

“Okay,” Connor says. 

You get out of the car, closing the door behind you. You move over to the bench that Hank’s sitting on the back of. Snow crunches under your shoes as you walk.

You sit down on the bench properly and sigh, running your hands along your thighs. “Hank.”

He says your name in response, avoiding your eyes and looking down at his bottle of whiskey.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you say softly. “It… I’m… боже. You’re slowly killing yourself, but you’re slowly killing me, too. Death isn’t something you’re meant to anticipate. We’re supposed to believe that the disease will skip over us, that the bullet will clip our ear instead of finding a home in our head. Old age is a long affair, so we don’t have to think about that. But…”

You look up at him. He’s not looking at you. “I can’t count the number of times I thought you died, Hank – the most recent one being earlier this evening. You play with guns and liquor and your life like… like they’re toys!”

You look out at the river. “You get sad, Hank. And angry. Too sad, too angry. Most people can’t get that sad. It’s impossible to watch because other people get sad, too, but… not like you. You’ve been down and out and on a bender for three years. You’ve gotten violent. Not against me – never against another person. But you’ve started beating yourself. And it’s so fucking gut-wrenching to watch you be… be this.”

There’s the sound of a car door opening and closing behind you. 

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” you say softly. “I won’t forget about this.”

You look to your left and see Connor coming to a stop beside the bench. He’s looking out across the river, at the lights of the buildings on the opposite shore. 

“Nice view, huh?” Hank mumbles. “We used to come here a lot before…”

Your eyes fall to the snow-covered ground as you feel a familiar pang in your chest. You swallow thickly and try to ignore it.

“Before what?” Connor asks.

Hank looks over at him. “Hm?”

“You said ‘I used to come here a lot before.’” Connor looks over at Hank. “Before what?”

“Before…” Hank looks down at you, then out at the river. “Before nothin’.”

Connor crosses his arms, like he’s protecting himself against the cold. “Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”

“Do all androids ask so many personal questions?” Hank asks. “Or is it just you?”

“I saw a photo of a child on your kitchen table,” Connor says. You tense as he continues. “It was your son, right?”

Hank glances at you. “Yeah… his name was Cole.”

An uncomfortable silence settles over all of you. You listen to the river lazily move along, quiet waves just barely making sounds. Your eyes flit up as Connor walks in front of the bench, facing out towards the water.

“We’re not making any progress on this investigation,” Connor says. “The deviants have nothing in common. They’re all different models, produced at different times, at different places…”

“Well, there must be some link,” Hank says.

“There is,” you say. “All of them have been in the presence of or victim of violent behavior. And all of them have expressed some worship or reverence of rA9.”

“That’s true.” Connor turns to face you and Hank. “It’s almost like some kind of… myth. Or superstition, like you said. Something they invented that wasn’t a part of their original program.”

“Androids believing in God,” Hank mumbles against the lip of his bottle. “Fuck, what’s this world coming to?”

“You seem… preoccupied, Lieutenant.” Connor walks forward a few paces, looking at Hank. “Is it something to do with what happened back at the Eden Club?”

“Those two girls…” Hank looks down at the ground. “They just wanted to be together. They really seemed… in love.”

“You seem troubled, Lieutenant.” 

You look up and see that Connor’s come closer. His hair and blazer are speckled with snow. From this distance, you can see the few freckles that dot his face. He almost looks real like this – like a real man. Not a machine made of plastic and metal.

“It’s ironic,” Connor says. “I didn’t think machines could have such an effect on you.”

Hank exhales sharply and takes a swig of whiskey. “What about you, Connor?”

He gets up and takes a few steps towards Connor. “You look human. You sound human. But what are you, really?”

“I’m whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant.” Connor looks at you, but continues talking to Hank. “Your other partner. Your second buddy to drink with.” His eyes return to Hank. “Or just a machine, designed to accomplish a task.”

“You could’ve shot those two girls, but you didn’t.” Hank shoves Connor, who stumbles back. “Why didn’t you shoot, Connor?”

You stand from the bench. “Hank.” There’s a silent warning in your voice.

“Some scruples suddenly enter into your program?” Hank moves closer to Connor.

Connor’s foot shifts, like he was about to take a step back, but stopped at the last moment. “No! I just… decided not to shoot. That’s all.”

Hank reaches into his waistband and pulls out his revolver. You automatically move forward, reaching a hand out. 

“Hank, think about this,” you say, even and slow. 

He glances over his shoulder, then promptly ignores you in favor of staring down Connor through the sights of his gun. “Are you afraid to die, Connor?”

Connor’s mouth opens, and he hesitates before he actually speaks. “I would certainly find it regrettable to be…” he pauses. “Interrupted before I can finish this investigation.”

“What’ll happen if I pull this trigger? Hm?” Hank tilts his head to the side in a taunting way. “Nothing? Oblivion? Android heaven?”

Connor steps forward, his forehead pressing against the muzzle of the gun. Your heart leaps into your throat. “Connor!”

“You know you’re not going to shoot me, Lieutenant,” Connor says evenly. His eyes never leave Hank’s. “You’re just trying to provoke a reaction. I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.”

“You think you’re so fucking smart,” Hank grinds out. “Always one step ahead, huh? Tell me this, smartass: how do I know you’re not a deviant?”

“I self-test regularly,” Connor says. “I know what I am, and what I am not.”

Hank’s lips draw back in a snarl before he yanks the gun away from Connor’s forehead. You let out a shaky breath as Hank storms off, digging his car keys out of his pocket. 

“Where are you going?” Connor calls after him. 

“To get drunker,” Hank says. “I need to think.”

You sit back down on the bench, resting your head in shaking hands. “Господи, блять, боже…”

“Are you okay, Officer?” Connor asks. It seems that’s the most frequent question he asks you as of late. 

“No!” You snap, your fingers digging into your scalp. “What the fuck is happening? I can’t wrap my head around how I was stuck with two of the stupidest detectives on the face of this very Earth!”

You stand and move over to Connor, grabbing his shoulders. “What the hell were you thinking? You know how… how he is! If you had faltered one more time before this, he would’ve shot you! You know that, right?”

“If he shot me, another Connor model would’ve been deployed,” Connor says evenly. 

“I don’t want another Connor model!” You bark. “I want…”

You. I want you. The message rings in the cold air, loud yet unsaid. It’s not an I want you in a sexual or romantic manner: it’s an I want you as in I want you to be safe. I want you out of harm’s way, even if you keep putting yourself in it. I want you to be behind me when the gunshots of revolution sound.

You take a step back and let Connor go. “I need to think.”

“Do you need me to accompany you?” He asks. 

“No,” you say. “I just… I need to be alone right now.”

You turn and start walking away. Snow crunches under your shoes with every footfall. Connor stays perfectly still where you left him, dried Thirium from your left hand staining the right shoulder of his blazer.

[pokequirks]

category: dumbair

katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

synopsis: katsuki getting serious, trip to korea and his concerns.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: +18.

note: second of category. third chapter of the series (should i make a masterlist?)

You two spent the rest of the morning together, at least what was left of it. Watching news, ordering food delivery and taking advantage of the free day that you both share. 

"I should turn on my phone" You said, heading to your belongins under Katsuki's gaze. Numerous buzzes and notifications. "Ah, shit..." You whisper.

"What's wrong?" Katsuki asks, clearly annoyed, being almost sure it was your shitty ex.

"Kijun, he's been calling like crazy" You sigh "I'll have to go to Korea."

Katsuki briefly felt like all that was built yesterday night was falling into pieces. What if you two made up? What if he finds a way to make you stay? What if he's again left there with a broken heart?

"I'm serius with you."

"Wanna go with me?"

You both speak at the same time. Katsuki's confussion and worriness disguised with his frown. Your gentle smile and eyes looking at him from above.

"I mean, if you want to go, we should sleep at my apartment. That motherfucker thinks he has some right over it".

"I'll talk to Deku,'' Katsuki said, standing and holding his phone. "I'm really serius with you. I don't want you to leave me here again for a shitty clown. Don't know how ya’ feel about marriage now, but in the future if you feel it's fine please let me know."

Katsuki finished and excused himself in order to call Deku and inform him about his trip with you and that he would be taking an extra day off, since he always took just one.

From the office Midoriya smiled happily for Katsuki and you. Finally taking place where you both belonged. With each other. Of course, he was alredy aware of the broken compromise between you and your Korean fianceé.

And you, you were left there thinking about marriage. Marriage with Katsuki. The sensation of hot cheeks as you thought about getting married to him. However, you know you have things to talk to a terapist and heal some others. So, yeah, you wouldn't probably think a lot about getting married in the near future.

For now you will only focus on being a good hero, reconnect with old friends and...

"It's done," Katsuki announced, getting out of his bedroom.

Him.

You and Katsuki had arrived at the café where you and Kijun had decided to speak. Quick kiss on his lips before separating, he going to a kinda far table, still in your vision range, and you sitting in front of the man that once was your fianceé.

"So in the end I was always right, huh?" He asks with a sarcastic tone in his voice.

"We remainded friends until the night I flew back after taking you out of my apartment" He clenched his jaw, "Katsuki fucked me really well that night and he'll do the same tonight."

"I think we should sell and split the money," he changes the subject "after all, it is under our names."

"You only paid the first two three months of maintenance fee, I gave the entrace and the rest of the apartment because you 'weren't a pro hero and didn't make as much money as me', am I wrong?"

"Ahg, then give me the car and the months I paid."

"You serious? I paid for the car, the only thing you paid was the insurance and this last month you asked me to pay it," Kijun throwed his head back and complained. On the other tables people started to whisper looking at your table. "Be an adult and keep it quiet."

"Then what do you want me to do? Wanna leave me here with nothing?"

"Even after what you did I do not wish you anything bad," you sighed "I suppose you're living with the journalist and I think I can sell you the car at market price minus the amount of insurance you have paid."

"I guess that's fine..."

You reunited with Katsuki after finishing the chat with your ex. He had finished his coffee and even took your recommendation on the strawberry cheesecake. He gave you the last bite as he saw that fucker heading out the café.

"Hey look at me," Bright green eyes looking at him, lashes bating and blushed cheeks "I love you, Tsukipie."

"Uhm? I love you too," he responds, caresing the palm of your hand "What deal did the shitman and you make?"

You playfully roll your eyes and look at him, "I'll sell him the car, I'm not gonna need it since I'll only come back in order to do community work in rural areas."

Katsuki hummed and nodded.

"You could come with me and take vacations at the farms."

"I would like that."

You took Katsuki to eat street food and convenience store noodles, things you usually eated while studying and working. Maybe that was the reason why you were able to save up a good amount of money. Been now aware of your bad habits during your living in Korea Katsuki wasn't really happy about it.

"Did you really eat this shit for years?"

"Yeah, and well, not like years, for field work we were sent to towns with farms and a metheorological agency," you explained "in my free time I went to these farms and help elders with rain and harvesting the crops."

"Sure they gave you marital proposses" Katsuki whispered as you two walked down the street to wait for the bus.

"Yeah," you giggle, holding his hand "I already had Kijun and before I had you..."

"You always had me, dumbair."

"You used to call me that before you fell with me!" You took a seat at the parade, Katsuki beside you.

"Yeah, ya fell with me too." 

"Yes, I did" You kiss one of his cheeks and giggle at the sight of rosy color in them.

You took out your phone, briefly going through news on the local main app and telling Katsuki about them, like the idol you like and showcases held. Until one catched Katsuki's attention.

"That one has your hero name."

"Uh?"

You click on it and it displays a whole article about your café visit. They called him your boyfriend and others actually revealed that he is Dynamight, the number 2 in Japan.

"What does it say about me?"

"That you're my boyfriend and hero number 2 in Japan, they put nice pics of you," you show him "my boyfriend is really handsome."

Bakugo proudly smiled at your commentary, of course he is. Katsuki saw the bus approaching and indicated to you to stand up.

Once at your apartment and before Katsuki entered the bathroom you took his wrist.

"Can we try something?"

Now you were both naked. Katsuki seated with oppened legs and hands on your ass as you devour his mouth and roll your hips over his tip. Tits at his neck level. Quiet moans on his lips as you work through your orgam.

"Wanna be inside...," He whispers, breaking the conection with your lips and taking care of your tits "so bad."

You hummed, feeling all over the place. Your hands running over his muscular shoulders and blonde hair, barely taking time to think before holding his dick and putting it inside you.

"Ah, fuck," you moan, hips rolling even harder until Bakugo cruelly holds your body still and pulls it againts him, "shit, Kats, let me..."

"Kats? Dunno him" he teases, sucking on your tits, "say my name, dumbair."

"Tsukipie, wanna come, please, Tsuki" You beg and he smiles at your desesperation.

He puts you down, legs on his shoulders as he violently penetrates your pussy, one hand messing with your clit and the other holding you still. You squirm under his touch, strong hold on the bed sheets, tears running down your cheeks and pleads comming out your lips.

"Oh my God, Katsuki!" You scream loudly and he pulls out finishing on your clit.

He touches you, your skin twitches at every little friction. Chest going up and down as you tried to recover. He comes to you after a while, starts cleaning his art on your pussy. Then he pulls you closer and you smell him.

"Tired," you whisper.

"Sleep baby, you were awesome," Katsuki whispers too and he leaves a kiss on your forehead.

Katsuki's eyes traveled to the window, he could see the moon shining. And you are lying by his side. He wondered how much that bliss was going to last, how much time you were going to be with him. Utterly concerned for the future, after all...

"Tsukipie..."

"Hum?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Fan Fiction: Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Not only did Chuck write books about your lives, but a damn musical theater is putting a play on about your goddamn lives. You try to let them handle this one on their own but they're not letting you go, and it's time to bring insurance to make sure you never leave them.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

You roll your eyes but do as you're told, and Dean grabs your arm when you join his side. He practically drags you outside and back to the car with his brother following.

"You need to be on better behavior. You came here to do a job, so do your damn job."

"No, you came here to do a job," you say and yank your arm out of Dean's grasp. "I just tagged along to see what kind of mess you two would get yourselves into and right now, I'm not impressed."

Sam steps in as the mediator before you and Dean get into a physical fight.

"Help me understand something. Shouldn't it be Deastiel?" Sam asks.

"Really? That's your issue with all this?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" you ask.

"Dean and Cas' lover's name," Sam smirks.

"Thanks for telling her. Because I don't already have enough shit to deal with."

"How about Sastiel?" you grin and look at Sam.

"I think it would be Samstiel."

"Okay, you two are gonna do that thing where you shut the hell up forever."

"Look, man, there are no EMF or hex bags," Sam chuckles. "None of the props are even remotely funky. Other than the Charlie Kaufman of it all, I got nothing. What about you?"

"In Ms. Chandler's office, there's just a pile of empty bottles and regret. She's just probably face-down in a bar, somewhere. So, what? This whole musical thing and everything is a coincidence? That there is no case?"

"Unless you're seeing something I'm not, no, Dean. There isn't a case here."

"Okay."

"What about CasDean?"

"Shut the fuck up and get in the car!" Dean barks.

You and Sam snicker before following suit. Sam thinks this isn't a case while you and Dean aren't too sure and tomorrow morning, you get your answer. There has been another disappearance, and it's the girl who plays Sam. She didn't want to do the play in the first place, and she just disappeared according to Marie. You and the brothers head back to the auditorium to talk to her. Dean talks to the principal while Sam talks to the police while you just stand off to the side with a bored look on your face.

"So, I checked with the principal. There's nothing on the surveillance tapes," Dean says when he regroups. "What did the cops say?"

"The only clue they found was a flower by the dumpster. The same flower that was found near Ms. Chandler's phone." He shows you and Dean the flower. "Do you recognize it?"

"No."

"Yeah, me either."

You three walk to the back where Marie and Maeve are. Marie is shaken up from what she saw last night.

"Hey," Sam says.

"Let me guess. Did you guys come here to laugh at me, too?"

"Probably," you shrug and Dean shoves you away.

"Why don't you tell us what happened to your friend."

"Maggie quit the show. She was trying to get it shut down, so we were fighting. Then, she left and I heard her scream. I ran outside to help and I saw a scarecrow. It looked just like the one from our show but alive."

"What happened next?"

"It wrapped her in vines and took her behind the dumpster. Then, they were both just gone. I called the cops and a bunch of adults just told me I have an overactive imagination. It's all real. Ghosts, angels, and demons."

You laugh at her statement and Sam slaps your arm to get you to stop.

"I wanna believe," Maeve shrugs.

Sam and Dean look at each other in thought. Dean nods once and Sam turns to the girls.

"You should believe. You both should because it is all real and so are we. I'm Sam Winchester, that's Dean, and that's Y/N."

Marie and Maeve look at each other to process the news before they both bust out laughing as if they don't believe you.

"If I had my magic, I'd really give you something to laugh about," you glare.

"Okay, I'm willing to accept that monsters are real but those books are works of fiction."

"Plus, you three are way too old to be Sam, Dean, and Y/N. Maybe a Jody/Bobby/Rufus combo," Maeve says.

"I'm gonna kill them," you say and Dean immediately shuts that down.

"Alright, Little Miss Sunshine. We are what the books call hunters."

"You guys are X-Files?"

"Sure, you can say that. So, this scarecrow from your musical is based on something from the book?"

"No, I changed it. I got scared of a local legend when I was a kid. There was this old creepy scarecrow on an abandoned farm outside of town. Kids used to say that if it caught you, it would take you away."

"Okay, if this scarecrow is based on your version, then Ms. Chandler and Maggie might still be alive."

"You think the scarecrow was created by the play?" Maeve asks.

"You think it's a Tulpa?" Marie gasps.

"Where's the library?" Dean asks.

Marie and Maeve take you and the brothers to the library so they can do research on what a Tulpa is. There is a section for the weird and freaky that Sam heads to. You're so fucking bored so you're not invested in whatever they're doing. You're looking at the books on the shelves as the four of them sit at one of the library tables to read Sam's book.

"Tulpas are monsters that are created by an intense, focused energy on an idea or a story," Sam explains.

"Ugh, I want to go home," you groan loudly.

"How do you kill an idea?" Maeve asks.

"Well, in Hell House, Sam, Dean, and Y/N burnt the house down to take out the one tulpa they hunted," Marie explains.

"Yeah, if you kill the symbol, you kill the tulpa. It's a pretty good place to start. Is this scarecrow of yours a person or a prop?"

"Prop, and it's terrifying. We keep it in the boiler room."

"Can you guys give us a second? Just read up on this." Sam and Dean join your side by the bookshelf while the two girls read about the monster. "Okay, this doesn't add up. Tulpas require a ton of psychic energy to juice up. It's not like the Supernatural books are tearing up the New York Times best-seller list. I seriously doubt this play has even sold out."

"I hope not," Dean shudders.

"You know what?" Sam digs for the picture of the flower from his jacket pocket. "I've seen this flower in the lore somewhere. There's gotta be a connection."

"Or," you drawl out, "we can leave and let them fend for themselves."

"Watch it," Dean growls.

"Fine, I am more than happy to let you handle this while I go off to the nearest beach to get a tan."

"No, you're staying here with us. Come on." Dean drags you to Marie who looks up at you two. "Can you show us the boiler room?"

"Sure."

Marie does as she's told and brings you to the boiler room. There isn't much inside here except for something small underneath a drop cloth. Marie looks as if the thing will come to life and bite her, she's that terrified.

"Prepare yourselves. It's horrifying," Marie shudders.

Dean grabs the end of the cloth and yanks it off the scarecrow. You expected to see something horrifying with sharp teeth, blood, and guts over it. Instead, it's a fucking joke. Both eyes are buttons that have been poorly sewn on, one red and one blue. The mouth is just a thread that's been criss-crossed over one another.

"Are you fucking kidding me? This is the scarecrow you're so fucking scared of? What, is the Easter Bunny gonna come out and attack us?" you ask sarcastically.

"Y/N," Dean warns.

"No, this is fucking dumb! This whole play is fucking dumb. Books should have never been written about our lives because of dumb shit like this." You look at Marie with an unapologetic look on your face. "No offense, but this play fucking sucks."

"Excuse us," Dean says nervously. He grabs your arm tightly and drags you out of the boiler room. When the door closes, you yank your arm away from him. "You need to cut this shit right now."

"Or what?" You step closer to Dean in defiance. "What power do you have over me? You're not a demon anymore. You're weak as shit. Don't think for one second that you can control what I do. I'm not your bitch anymore."

Dean takes a step closer to you so your toes are touching.

"I will not hesitate to lock you up in the dungeon and keep you there until your soul is restored."

You tip your head back and laugh loudly.

"It's about fucking time you figured it out."

"You knew?"

"Of course, I knew. I knew the second I woke up."

"It doesn't matter because you need to put a cork in it. Don't speak unless spoken to."

Dean turns on his heels and walks back into the boiler room alone. Don't speak unless spoken to. Who the fuck does he think he's talking to? Once Dean and Marie are done in the boiler room, the three of you head back to the library where Sam and Maeve are. Marie is so happy that she pulls Dean in for a hug whether he wants one or not.

"Thank you!"

"It's not a Tulpa," Sam halts the celebration.

"What?"

"It's Calliope, the goddess of epic poetry. She's associated with the borage or starflower. That's the picture."

Sam shows a picture of the flower which resembles the flower that was at both disappearances.

"Wait, if this is a God thing, what's with the scarecrow?"

"According to the lore, Calliope manifests creatures from the story she's tuned into."

"So, the scarecrow is alive, and we burned my prop for nothing?" Marie asks Dean.

"Oh, that thing needed to burn."

"The only way to destroy the scarecrow is to kill Calliope. She uses these manifestations, like the scarecrow, to inspire the author and protect them until their vision is realized."

"Then what?"

"She eats the author," Sam winces.

"Okay, that's bad," Marie gasps.

"Is it?" you ask. "Something interesting should happen because it's not this play."

"Were you spoken to?" Dean glares at you. "If not, shut the hell up. Go sit in time out."

If looks could kill, Dean would be dead. Still, you leave the group and sit down in an uncomfortable library chair.

"Well, you get your wish," Marie says to you. "Let's cancel the show."

"That's what your teacher and your classmate did. They tried to shut you down, and the scarecrow took them. She was protecting you and the show."

"So the scarecrow is the boogeyman? We need to take our shot with Calliope, but she won't come out until your vision is realized."

"What are you saying?" Marie asks.

"The show must go on!"

"Okay," you say and stand up, "I'm not staying here anymore. You two have fun."

You turn and leave the library. You're not sure where you're going to go but you need to get the hell out of here. You'll take a cab or an Uber to somewhere that's not here. Sam and Dean excuse themselves and immediately follow you outside to the desolate parking lot.

"You're not leaving!" Dean barks.

You immediately stop and turn to him, which causes Sam and Dean to stop in their tracks.

"What are you going to do about it? Why should I care about hunting something and saving people when I don't give a fuck about their lives? Seriously, I'd rather watch this play burn down to the ground with everyone in it. In fact, I might just grab a box of matches and light the place up myself." Dean and Sam look at each other to have a silent conversation with their eyes. "That's what I thought."

You turn and walk away from them, not hearing the light steps of Dean. He grabs you from around the waist and sticks something into your neck. You feel a sharp pinch underneath your ear and hiss in pain. You shove Dean off you and turn to him while touching the side of your neck. There is something metal sticking into your skin, and no matter how much you pick at it, it's not coming out.

"What the fuck did you do to me?"

Dean holds up an old-looking remote that he no doubt got from the Bunker. Sam walks behind you but your eyes are glued onto the remote in his hand.

"If you misbehave, talk shit, or do anything that isn't helping, I'm going to shock you into behaving. Trust me, I got this from the Bunker. It hurts like a fucking bitch."

"You're bluffing," you call him out. "I bet that thing isn't even turned on."

Dean shrugs and presses the button. Almost immediately, shocks stem from the device to your entire body. Your body goes rigid and you fall back into Sam who catches you easily. You clench your jaw in pain and stare at Dean who walks closer to you with a smirk. The shock is so painful that you can't even speak. He waits three seconds before turning it off, and your body goes limp. You find whatever strength you have left and shove yourself off Sam who steps back from you.

"I'm more than happy to press this all day long if you want. Or you can march your ass back inside and help us kill this thing. Your choice, sweetheart." You walk closer to Dean with a death glare on your face. With lightning speed, you reach up to grab the remote, but he's quicker than you are. He tosses the remote to Sam who catches it easily. "You might be able to take one of us on but not both. Go ahead and try. All it takes is one press of the button and you're done."

You have no choice but to do as they say... for now. You storm back inside the building but the brothers stay outside.

"What kind of trouble is waiting for us when we take that thing off her neck?" Sam asks and hands the remote back to Dean.

"It's only until her soul is pure so we can shove it back inside her. Come on," Dean sighs.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[sirfrogsworth]

Looking Forward

If I trust my brother... and he did my dad's will properly... and set up my trust correctly... then I should be able to stay in the house for roughly 2 years.

If I trust my brother.

Then I can either sell the house and use that money for a small apartment or try to find a roommate situation to help me stay in the house a little longer. The nice thing about paying the mortgage is I can get most of that money back if I ever do sell the house. It's almost like a savings account with all my stuff inside.

Let's just hope the property value doesn't plummet for some reason. Though it has been around the same amount for many years.

I like living in my house. It's what I've known for 30 years. But being alone in the house is going to be a hard adjustment. After two years (or sooner) I may want to move near Katrina or Delling so I am closer to a support system. I wish we could all live next door to each other. Or live on a farm/ranch situation. And instead of chickens it is just a bunch of free range corgis.

I tried convincing Katrina to build a pool house, but she has a small backyard and no pool. HOWEVER... Apparently Florida has a lot of "mother-in-law suites." I had no idea that had a name, but I could be Katrina's mother-in-law. I have the skill set to guilt trip, make passive-aggressive comments, and judge how she raises her future kids. (And any other outdated stereotypes I've learned from 80s comedians.)

But I also like the idea of having a roommate. I could accommodate a single person or a small family. And I'd love to have an animal of some kind around. We have a huge fenced-in area left over from Otis.

I think I could offer someone a pretty sweet living situation. I have a full basement apartment that I reside in and so the entire upstairs is available for people to live in. I could charge cheaper rent than a cheap apartment in exchange for helping with chores that I struggle to do.

There is plenty of furniture and appliances ready to use. Full laundry room. I've got a really nice home theater in the living room so they can watch movies in style. I also have a few hundred TV series and several thousand movies on Plex. They get a full kitchen and bathroom to themselves. Plenty of garage space and a long driveway to park vehicles. They can have up to 5 rooms to do whatever in. They could do 3 bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a small den area. My mom liked the den because she could watch her Judge Judy shows while my dad watched JAG in the living room.

If they don't have a family, they could convert 2 of the bedrooms into office space or craft rooms or S&M dungeons. They can decorate any way they'd like. But they have to keep the sex swing clean so I can use it. Not for sex--I just enjoy centripetal forces. And they'll have great privacy as I will be in the downstairs apartment. They'd only see me if I exit the house or if they invite me to dinner or movie night.

All they would have to pay is whatever I can't cover. I'd estimate in the $600-$800 range once the trust fund runs out. Plus the chores like cleaning and yard duty. That's a good deal, right?

The only downside is the house is in a deteriorating neighborhood. Businesses are closing and people are moving away. Our street is pretty isolated so there isn't much danger or crime. But we are adjacent to a dangerous neighborhood and the schools aren't great. That said, while there isn't much around here, in St. Louis you are always ~25 minutes from anything you need. The highway is literally down the street so driving to anywhere is fairly hassle free.

Also, I'd be happy to lend out the car for transport to a job. I'll only need it to get groceries every few weeks. They'd have to get added to my insurance and help with gas and maintenance.

Soooo... yeah, I think I have a lot to offer with my house.

They do have to be okay with my big subwoofer rattling things. The sound doesn't really travel through the floor, but the vibrations can. I can tone it down if they are sleeping though.

Oh! We also have a huge workshop on the property too. It could be used for working on cars or woodworking or an art space. It has electricity, lighting, heating and is perfect for anything that requires getting dirty. If that makes sense.

One idea I have been considering is seeking out an unhoused queer individual who was kicked out or is struggling to afford a decent place. If their parents don't want them, maybe I could provide a safe place. Things are so scary for LGBTQ+ folks right now. Especially in Missouri. St. Louis is a pretty blue city, but Missouri is a blood red state. If I could do something small for someone like that, I would be happy to help. Could be mutually beneficial.

So those are all of my thoughts and ideas as of now.

Again, if I trust my brother, I should have a decent amount of time to figure things out.

If things go sideways, I might be screwed.

So far he seems to be doing all the things he should be doing to get me sorted.

I'm going to choose to trust him.

With my life.

Oof.

[chiimeramanticore]

Part of the Band - Chapter 17 - The Junkyard

Chapter summary: Beach Bear gets his car back. Fatz does some sick negotiating. Dook finds a sign. A/N:

can you believe we're almost at 20 chapters. can you believe I've almost been writing this fic a full year. horrible /lh

Chapter word count: 1,260 <- Chapter 16 - Chapter 18 -> Read it on AO3!

"Y'know we don't have to do this," Dook says.

"We have to," Beach Bear says.

Dook stands behind Beach Bear's chair, just outside a junkyard. This is apparently the place they've been keeping Beach Bear's car. Fatz was nice enough to drive them here after band practice. Beach Bear himself seems pretty determined about getting his car back, but... Dook isn't sure he likes it here. Still, they enter.

The ground is all dirt, and the scenery consists of piles of trash and other, larger, broken appliances strewn about the area. If there's an organization system, Dook can't figure it out.

"Tell me if you see the car," Beach Bear says.

"I'm lookin' for a management office or somethin'," Dook says. "We can't just nab it outta the lot, right?"

"I dunno," Beach Bear mutters. Dook scans the area, admittedly on the lookout for both. Finally, at the far end of the lot, he spots a small building. That must be the office.

"Wait– There it is!" Beach Bear says. Dook assumes he's talking about the office at first, before Beach Bear points off to their left. There it is. His faded blue convertible, with broken windows and dented severely on the right side. Dook connects this with the fact that Beach Bear's injuries are largely on his right...

"Take me closer, Dook," Beach Bear urges, before Dook's imagination can take him any further. "I wanna see her."

"I feel like we should get to the office first," Dook says. "I don't wanna–"

"Hey!" A voice sounds out. A man approaches them from the direction of the office. He's a mastiff, large and imposing, but his gruff voice seems relatively friendly. "Sorry I missed 'ya comin' in. I'm the manager here– how can I help you two gentlemen?"

"That's my car," Beach Bear says, gesturing toward the convertible. "I wrecked it recently, and it got sent here."

"Given your state, I don't doubt that!" The manager says, and laughs.

"Right, well, we're here to take it back," Beach Bear says.

"Well, I assume y'all have gone through your insurance, first, of course..." the manager starts. "But that car right there, I've not received any sorta notification about it getting claimed again. I've got it ready to go to auction soon."

"Auction?" Beach Bear and Dook say at the same time.

"That's– you can't do that," Beach Bear insists. "That's my car! You can't just sell it off!"

"Your insurance already sold it off to me," the manager tells them. "And that thing's a wreck, I'll tell 'ya that." He shoves his hands into his pockets. "Can't even imagine it'll go for too much, might have to crush it."

"No, you can't!" Beach Bear says.

"I certainly can," the manager says. "Way I see it, you'd have to pay me, probably, twice whatever your settlement was just to have that thing trashed, let alone taken off anywhere. Good thousand, at least. Besides, all the forms've been filled out already, everything's in motion, y'know? Probably be off at auction in a week, maybe less." He glances at the car again. "Probably less. So, 'less you got that kinda money up front, right now, you're outta luck, kid." He leans down, meeting Beach Bear at eye level in his wheelchair. "Or, y'know. Could always try your hand at the auction." He chuckles, and Beach Bear near growls at him.

The guy's talking circles around them. For Dook, at least, he barely understands a word of it. But he understands at the very least they're going to need a lot of money to take the car home, money they don't have. It seems pretty open-and-shut, but he's not sure Beach Bear is going to be that easy to convince to let the car go.

"Now, hold on a second," someone says from behind them.

Dook turns to see. "Fatz," he calls.

"I thought you were gonna wait in the car?" Beach Bear says, craning his neck to look at him.

"I figured you all might need help with negotiations," Fatz replies. "Now listen here, mister manager, you and I both know that ain't how this works.

The mastiff crosses his arms. "Really now? And what do you know about how this works?"

"I know that the owner of the car's entitled to takin' it back at any point before the auction," Fatz says. "I know that Beach Bear here's the owner of that car, and I know he can prove it. But you didn't doubt that, didja?"

The manager says nothing, scowling at him.

"I also know that any car is worth at least a hundred bucks, in any condition," Fatz continues. "Anything can be used for parts, at the worst." He gestures toward the car. "Mirrors and headlights look pretty good. Seating can get reused. Most of the seatbelts look fine too. You and I both know you ain't gonna destroy that car. And it certainly don't cost you money to do it."

The manager ponders the car again, frowning the whole time. Then, finally, "Hmph. Seems like you know somethin', yeah. Tell you what. Hundred-fifty bucks, it's yours. I don't care if it's worth more than that, you ain't worth the trouble."

"Done," Fatz says.

"Fatz–" Beach Bear says, then lowers his voice. Fatz leans in to hear. "Fatz, I don't know if we can cover that. Don't sound so sure."

"Don't worry about it," Fatz whispers back. "I can take care of it."

"F... Fatz, no," Beach Bear says. "I– I can't let you do that."

"And I can't stand to see you lose that car. I know how much you love it."

"I- I..." Beach Bear wants to argue, but shuts his mouth.

"Now," Fatz says, turning his attention back to the manager. "You need anything else from us, or are we done here?"

The mastiff grumbles. "I gotta get some signatures from y'all," he mutters. He nods at Fatz. "You're the one buyin, yeah? C'mon."

The two walk off toward the office, leaving Beach Bear and Dook alone together.

"...Well–" Dook starts, but Beach Bear pulls away from him and moves towards the car.

"Oh, my baby," he says to it. "You poor thing... I'm so sorry."

Dook watches him touch the dents in the passenger door gingerly, running his palms over the ripples. He'd approach, but this feels... oddly intimate for Beach Bear. Maybe he'll leave him be for now. Instead, he turns toward the nearest pile of junk.

"People really dump whatever here, huh...?" he murmurs, pulling out a sheet of metal. A tire, a hubcap, a windshield wiper... You could build a while new car like this. Dook pulls out another piece of scrap metal on it, with an emblem painted on it. A black circle with a red "D" on it, and a lightning bolt going through it.

"Hey, 'D' for Dook," Beach Bear says from behind him. "Neat find."

"Yeah," Dook says. "Maybe I'll use it. Lotta weird stuff here."

"Heh, yeah," Beach Bear replies. He pulls on a short length of rope sticking out from the pile, only to keep pulling more and more, finding it comically long. "You could probably build some neat stuff with all this."

"Like a spaceship," Dook says quietly.

"Yeah, like a spaceship!" Beach Bear says, and Dook senses genuine excitement in his voice. He smiles.

"Maybe one day, we can build a spaceship together," Dook says.

"Yeah," Beach Bear replies. "Run off to the stars together."

"...Yeah," Dook concurs, turning back to the pile of junk. "Together."

[papirouge]

btw I'm finally leaving Paris soon and having a whole new life in a low tier city in France (which I'm very excited about!)

Those last few days were extremely stressful bc I had to find a new place to live in a month and my landlord started to piss me off and also real estates agent are highkey absolutely useless but I still achieved what I've been working so hard for the last few months so I can feel some sort of relief in that

Just a few hours ago I was crying my guts out bc some shitty public insurance office turned down my application for an appartement because I didn't earn 3 TIMES(?!!) the rent. Sorry but I didn't leave Paris to keep putting up with this ridiculous bs. I really thought everything was over but eventually later during the day, another real estate agency called me to tell me my application was accepted (for another apartment). It was extremely stressful for me because those 2 apartment where the only 2 legit trails that I had to find a place to live in less than a month. You may call me corny for rehashing this narrative, but I can't help but see God in me managing to get my chance right when I thought it was over (exactly like my beef against Skillshare/PayPal a few days ago lol)

My mental health took a serious toll lately and I resorted to take sleeping pills so much my nervous system was on a roll. Thankfully now my mind should feel some sort of relief I only have to pack me stuff and do my farewells to my friends...

I'll have to spend a whole load of money in the near future (pays the real estate, home furniture, a car (for the first time) but I feel like I'm genuinely levelling up in my life and I'm so happy & grateful for that. I'm also lucky that my new apartment has a spare room that I'll make my Atelier where I can fully develop my @atelierpapirouge and illustration work (an endeavor I didn't even bother start yet so much my schedule was erratic). And let's not forget the vlogs that I didn't make since eternity yet love doing so much... it's just that the last few months (were I switched between a full time job, an online training program that took 100% of my afterwork/free time which was the necessary step in getting my new job, and many financial issues kinda temporarily divested me from any "frivolous" hobbies (to give you an idea, I even had to halt attending the online japanese classes I took FOR 6 YEARS 😓 - I can't wait to be back)

Thank you all for putting up with me for all this time.

I love keeping a facade on this app but I cried a lot these days. I also struggled with the frustration of not managing to be where I want to be and wasting time trying to make fetch happen. I'm actually a much sadder person than I put it out out there, but I'd like to thank the handful of mutuals/followers that managed to make me smile those last few days 💗 (they'll know who they are lol)

Thank you and see you soon 🤍

— Yona

[seat-safety-switch]

There’s this little corner near my place, right? You take it at just the right speed, right angle, it’s glorious. The car just sings through it, and for a split second, everything is just as it should be. Then you come back to it again, and just complete dogshit. Understeering. Can’t get traction in the right spot. Unwinding the steering wheel too early and having to lift and course correct. Tramlining towards the inside curb. It’s enough to make a guy stop trying to apex every corner in his neighbourhood.

Maybe you haven’t met me before. I’m a professional race car driver. No, I haven’t been in any races you’ve heard of. I’m certainly not surrounded by adoring fans and talking to sponsors about hawking their vodka in my palatial Dubai mansion. As long as we’re being honest with each other, maybe “professional” is too strong a word for having picked up a couple $50 gift certificates to the auto parts store by doing well at autocross. The one thing that I can do, for sure? Extract maximum fun from every on- and off-ramp between here and the office.

You don’t have to have the most powerful car to entertain yourself taking corners hard. In fact, it’s sort of counter-productive. An aggressive person in a Viper is going to have her hands full the entire time, trying just to keep all that horsepower and all that grip under control in what is basically five meters of available asphalt designed to be taken at 30km/h. Meanwhile I’m going to be sliding my 90-horsepower Tercel through there, trying to hold onto as much of the speed as I carried into the corner as possible, sweat beading on my forehead, the 165-section Walmart all-seasons wailing the entire time, so I can have enough momentum left in order to merge onto the highway without getting completely obliterated. And believe me, when I find that perfect line, it’s like nothing else. A bad day becomes brighter. A good day becomes delightful. All thanks to the healing power of cornering competence.

Like I said, though, it’s a harsh mistress. What separates me from actual, good drivers is consistency. There are probably folks out there who get that slicing, floating-on-a-cloud, zither’s-strings feeling on every single corner they hit. They are probably insufferable. And most likely, they’re driving a rental car, and even had enough money to plump for the insurance. One day I’ll get there. Until then, don’t get in my way on that 130th-Street offramp.

[batmanschmatman]

Hello!! 1, 4, 10, 18, and 22 for the End of the Year ask game please 😊

ONE Song of the Year: My Spotify Wrapped claims for me it was the Placebo cover of Running Up That Hill, which is admittedly on almost every single one of my playlists, but I think it was actually Meet Me in the Woods by Lord Huron, because I listened to it a billion times while writing my NaNo project.

FOUR Movie of the Year: The Boy and the Heron, both because it was great and also it was the only good theater experience I had all year that wasn't a rerelease like Titanic and The Lion King lol, people at our home theater are very poorly behaved. ;;

TEN Something that Made You Cry This Year: LOL WELL I lost my job a couple weeks ago and that has been some VERY MIXED EMOTIONS including a lot of hysterical crying. It was an extremely toxic work place I was trying to get out of anyway (museum board full of old white men who hated me, boss is/was an alcoholic mean girl - no exaggeration, has driven home drunk from work lunches with her kid in the car and been blackout throwing up in her office after work events - who had a toady work bff who also hated me, no health insurance, making $26/hr despite having an MA and living somewhere where rents start at $2,000 a month) but my boss basically reamed me out right before Thanksgiving telling me I was the worst person ever, had a bunch of provably false claims about how bad an employee I was (never meeting deadlines, making other people do my work for me, never attending events or suggesting ideas for programs, all bullshit I had ample evidence to refute) and told me I could either quit now and be paid through February or be on like mega probation indefinitely, so I came back from the holiday like alright I quit, they're like cool actually this is a budgetary thing and not at all personal, we're SO SORRY this didn't work out also we can only afford to pay you through mid January, so now I'm unemployed applying to a million jobs and scared about money but also I'm free??? So there's been a lot of on and off weeping/grieving and it's kinda ruined the holidays for me lol. But also hopefully it'll pivot to a much better paying and stable job somewhere closer to home, so fingers crossed.

Don't get into the museum field, folks, it sucks here.

EIGHTEEN A Memorable Meal This Year: For Valentine's Day, @heystovepipeboys and I made a bunch of recipes from Last Dinner on the Titanic, which was SUPER FUN. I love historic cooking/baking and have had the cookbook forever, but had never made anything from it before and everything was INCREDIBLE. We made cream of barley soup, chicken Lyonnaise, chateau potatoes and asparagus, and then got eclairs from a bakery near us and the Harney & Sons Titanic tea blend, which is supposed to be similar to the special blend they served on the ship. We listened to period music the whole time we cooked and then we went to see Titanic in theaters for its anniversary rerelease.

TWENTY TWO Favorite Place You Visited This Year: hmmm very tough call. My parents very generously took the fam on a Disney cruise to Alaska this summer which was a childhood dream of mine, and wifey and I had an awesome trip to Old Sturbridge Village in MA for their Halloween event, which was probably the best Halloween themed thing I've ever done. They set up the museum with a bunch of themed performances by a bunch of traveling circus performers who are Definitely Not Vampires and everything was really spooky and fun. Would super recommend if anyone is looking for fun Halloween things to do in New England next year.

Thank you for the ask!! Hope you are enjoying a relaxing end to this weird year.

[leos-soggy-wolf-nuts]

Green Flag: Leo x Kinda-self-insert Episode 3

This is the first episode of this fic I'm writing after reading every route of Echo, so if you notice some kind of change (although, I doubt anyone is paying that much attention) that's probably why; Enjoy!

First disclaimer: I don't know how being a store manager works.

A disclaimer I'll bring over from Episode 1: I do not know how car insurance works.

"So...who's the wolf guy?" asks Ken, the pig who works the till. Ken is a brown-eyed, black-haired, nosey asshole. As his manager, I'll say that he's a good employee. As his friend, I'll say that he very consciously exploits my tendency to overshare. I ignore his question.

"You got a boyfriend, La-nee-oh-ell?"

My name tag at work says 'Lnioel'. He knows I hate it when he calls me that, and I groan accordingly. "He's just driving me to work, my car's a piece of crap."

"And it stinks, too." he retorts.

"Sure did after you were in there." I say under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear.

"Tch. Spiecist." he jokes as he stocks denim jeans on a shelf. The entrance bell dings, and we hush up and do our jobs, the clock ticking in tandem with the low-volume inoffensive music that fills the air for hours, and hours, and hours...and hours...until I'm numb and bleary-eyed.

The door rings again, and in its wake a wolf with red fur. I perk up, and smile a little, though the brain fog has only barely begun to clear. He spots me and walks over.

"It's quitting time, yeah?"

Ken raises his brows at me. I ignore him and check the clock. It's 5 on the dot.

"You're punctual, aren't you?" I say.

"Waiting is a pain. Didn't want to leave you hanging."

I smile at him, and go to get my stuff organized in the office. Papers go back in drawers, and my keys go back in my pocket. It's muscle memory, just like every other part of this job. The monotony is shattered, suddenly, as Leo leans conspicuously on the desk of the office. He's in another good mood.

"You do a lot of managing today?" he asks as I continue to move junk around. I snort.

"I don't even remember. Autopilot, the whole day, I swear."

"Amnesia." he says, enunciating the 'sia'. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

I look over at him with an incredulous expression. He's holding his hands out at me, his thumbs tucked behind his palms, out of view. He's grinning, though a gentle air pushes out of his teeth every half-second. He's trying not to laugh. I jokingly scowl at him and look back at my papers, which I'm trying to avoid showing him, as they're mostly doodles.

"Amnesia wouldn't make my eyes worse, thankfully," I say, suddenly a little too aware of how smudged my glasses are, "but even if I was an amnesiac, I'd have trouble forgetting you."

Bold. Intentionally. Oozing with plausible deniability.

Thankfully, it seems I won't have to deny anything. The wolf slides closer to me. "I'm on your mind, ciervo?"

He's close enough that I can feel his body heat.

And I wanna feel it all over me.

My antlers clack against the wall, and I clear my throat, unsure how to keep playing it cool. Is he just toying with me?

I don't mind being a toy.

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Okay. I turn my body to lean against the desk just like he is, arms crossed, nonchalant, all casual smiles and ambient machismo.

"Nothing better to think about." I say.

That sounds stupid, but he gets the idea, sliding next to me, then twisting himself to stand right in front of me, so close our knees are touching.

"No boning in the office!" Ken shouts from outside, sounding only semi-serious. Leo and I chuckle, and I feel a pang of loss as he gets further away, beckoning me to join him outside. I spank him on the way out, making his tail jump. As we near the exit, Ken mockingly makes his hands kiss while Leo has his back turned. I flip him off and join the wolf outside. Night is just beginning to touch the horizon, the orange of the sky highlighting Leo's color, just as it had in the morning.

Leo snaps his fingers, remembering something. "I looked at your car today. You mind if I bring you to sign some stuff?" Leo says as the evening air swallows me. I nod. We board the chihuahua, and I grip my seatbelt as Leo slams down on the gas pedal. I'm less stressed out by his driving this time, flowing with the g-force.

CRASH!

"Puchica."

[pearlslittlespot-blog]

Here is where I sit with my hormones and HRT. Because my healthcare provider is horrible ass on a good day (read my missive on getting my records and making appointments, shots, etc.) I DIY which I do NOT recommend for anyone.

Before the offer came, I spoke with a nurse at one of the doctors who a lot of transgender women go to for HRT. It was great. She listened and was shocked at how bad my healthcare is here. Recommended which insurance type to get. Primary care physicians. The whole 9 yards.

When the first offer backed out I was near the end of my hormones so I let it pass because the whole bit with time to delivery from order, etc. I have baseball cards and coins in the same position that need to be graded. Some things have to wait.

Sucks but sometimes you have to work through it.

As I look at my health plan options it hits me that the EPO or recommended option for informed consent is roughly $270 a month more than an HMO. That is before we get into antiboyotics.

Looks like I will go HMO until the end of the year until I work out all the details. Fine with me. A pain in the butt but it will give me time to get settled, business back up and running, car, housing, etc.

Also gives me the opportunity to do a deeper dive into health plans and how much they cover. Informed consent options. Referrals. Costs of femme’n’m’s. The whole nine yards. I know who I want as my physician. I just need to get on the path to get there.

As long as I know points A and B I can work out the details.

Life lesson for working out issues. If you know the problem and solution, you just need to put the pieces together.

Typical Monday. Dollar store and post office. Played pubg. Nuggies for dinner. Name is a callback to the lore.

Edit: it was a 4 kill win. I suck at ar’s so I switched to my dmr for the win. LOL.

My grip game is ass.

[luci-z-wont-shut-up]

Episode 2

Bro snow in the desert is not actually that wierd

Bro. Bro u srsly need to rethink ur tourism program like what the fuck. FREE RADON FOR EVERYONE

I'm sorry but as soon as he said "it changes colors" I immediately envisioned a fuckin. Caramelldansen cloud XD

OH SO IT KILLS PPL. O K A Y .

Bro if literally Existing in Nightvale is so dangerous, how does the population stay afloat. At all.

Sounds like just a normal day in the post office tbh. Also Racist Magic Guy is starting to grow on me. His oblivious stupidity and self-sure incompetence have captivated me.

Honestly a floating cat in the men's bathroom sounds like the least abnormal thing so far. Cats are just Like That™️.

"This message was brought to you by Coca-Cola" yeah that tracks X'D

"Because all of us are normal" bombastic side eye. Criminal offensive side eye

Ah so the secret Boy Scout cult has finally achieved immorality. Good to know. Just another Tuesday ig. Also d a r k s c o u t XD

WAIT "Sign-up is automatic and random" um wat. Hi what. Does. Does this perchance have anything to do with the Ominous Helicopters

This man has *clearly* never been a father. Or had siblings. Or cousins. Ever. Maybe *don't* bring children near the Caramelldansen Cloud of Carrion?

...oh so they just have straight up dragons. Ok. Dragons who commit insurance fraud? *throws hands up* why not

"McDaniels was pulled over for speeding last night" UM SIR how big was that car?!? Actually ykw nvm it prolly just had a pocket dimension or amthn this is fuckin Nightvale why am I trying to use logic

Okay #1. Secret Dragon Society that's actually Not That Secret is kinda cool, #2. WTF DO YOU MEAN STOP SIGN IMMUNITY. like don't get me wrong I *understand the temptation* but also why would you allow dom3thing so profoundly stupid and unsafe as a r e w a r d for

... for being an Alert Citizen. Ok. Ok I guess I can kinda see where they're coming from. Maybe. [Didn't sleep well last night and I'm tired so sorry if my commentary's getting lackluster]

Also stamp system for being compliant with the secret police. Yeah that's not sus at allllll

Bro I wish I could schedule my workplace to be Unknowable some days. Dot Day sounds... ominous, for a number of reasons but more so their implications than anything actually ominous, yk?

[I need sleep]

Bro I would NOT pay $5 for a music lesson like that, let alone $50

"Bake sale proceeds go to blood space war" okay invader zim

"Wednesday has been cancelled due to a scheduling error" XD honestly w my terrible sense of time that just sounds like a normal thing to me

Tfw a your perfectly good ice cream outing is inturupted by a dead lion dropping from the sky

[Continuing this like 3 weeks l8r so sorry for the Commentary Continuity Disruption Leik Woah]

Uhhhhhhhhhh so in the weeks I've been gone I threw myself back asswards into TMA content [so yes v much Spoilers First Bc I Had No Patience] and? I am. Very much getting a Smirke's Fourteen vibe from the Carrion Cloud. Also is Mr radio man. Like. Okayyy??!?!?

AND NOW THE WEATHER

����Waitin for the bus in the rain in the rain in the waitin for the bus in the raiiiin 😎 🎶

Damn this is actually a legit bop I would make this new ringtone no question

(Don't get me wrong I fully expect this to have Lore implications later on but for now I'm just Vibin)

NOT SURE WHAT HAPOENED MY ASS

oh. Oh, Tapes, you say??? Well. *strokes imaginary beard*

What. The fuck? Genuine Life Advice? In my horror/weirdcore podcast? It's More Likely Than You'd Think. What. qhat even is this.

Ok so vanilla smell is Important.

This List is probably important but my brain refuses to hold onto any item in detail for longer than 3 seconds. Also "clear plastic binder sheets" made me laugh SO hard for some reason

Genuine question to anyone reading this, how much should I be paying attention? Like is this a Pepe Sylvia red-stringing sort of podcast where every detail is crucial later on, or is it more sort of a go-with-the-flow, Embrace the Absurdity sort of thing?

Why was that "Goodnight, listeners" so threatening?!?!?

*deep, deep inhale* ohhhkay

Next FUCKING EPISUDE I GUESS

[movremovals98-blog]

Picking The Best Melbourne Removal Company For You

The prospect of starting over somewhere new is exciting, but the stress of packing, arranging, and transferring your life to a new place can make moving seem like an insurmountable undertaking. Choosing the correct removal company is essential for a trouble-free relocation to the vibrant city of Melbourne, where urban living meets cultural richness. This article will introduce you to some Melbourne movers and go over some of the most important things to look for in a removal business.

Expertise from Residents

Melbourne is home to several different neighborhoods, each with its distinct vibe and character. Picking a removal firm that knows the area well is crucial. You may trust them because they are well-versed in Melbourne's parking rules, traffic patterns, and any other peculiarities you might encounter. A well-planned and efficient transfer is possible with local expertise.

Personalized Attention

Your relocation company should be aware that no two movers are identical and provide services accordingly. Find businesses that can cater to your unique requirements by providing individualized services. Any Melbourne removal company worth its salt will be able to tailor their services to meet your specific needs, whether you're moving to a single-family home, a whole office, or something in between.

Mishaps are conceivable despite the best efforts of removal crews. Verify that your chosen moving company has full insurance coverage for your valuables. You may rest easy knowing that your belongings are safeguarded in the extremely unlikely case of damage.

Modern Equipment

The removal company's employment of modern technology and equipment is frequently associated with an efficient moving operation. A less stressful and more efficient move is the result of modern equipment, clean, well-maintained cars, and seasoned movers versed in modern methods. Finding a reliable removalist near me may make what can otherwise be a stressful procedure much more manageable, if not pleasurable.

To make a well-informed choice, it is important to conduct a thorough study and think about the aspects listed above. You may make your move to Melbourne go well by using a removal business that has experience in the area, good reviews, individualized services, insurance, clear pricing, environmental consciousness, and cutting-edge technology.

Telephone: (03) 9636 3299

Email: moveme@moveonremovals.com.au

Website: http://moveonremovals.com.au

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/moveonmelb

GMB: https://g.page/removalists-melbourne-au?gm

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/moveonremovals/

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/company/move-on-removals

Twitter: https://twitter.com/moveon_removals

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hm4AfWvS03c