#engineering pass employment news

[notmyneighbor]

Scarlet Milk - Doppelganger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Word Count - 5.2k

Rating - Explicit

CW - sexual content, blood drinking

Also available on AO3

fanart by kaworinx

Your eyes flick to the clock mounted on the wall. Your morning shift at the telephone exchange was almost over.

“What number, please?”

You scan the switchboard for the correct sequence, removing and plugging in the jack to connect the call seamlessly. The next number requested is for a different exchange and you transfer the call with barely a delay.

At last it’s time to set the headset down. Your work as a telephone operator is done for the day.

Business in the telephone exchange office had really picked up since the war, and had increased further still after the DDD began their operation to help identify and weed out the invading doppelgangers. It’s the perfect time to work, getting as many hours as you need and stowing away the extra funds for a rainy day.

You ride a bicycle to work since your employer isn’t far from home. A little rougher going in the winter months, but now it was spring, the weather warming up nicely, the budding trees and renewed verdant color in lawns further signs that the seasons were changing.

You’ve barely left the city behind and entered the suburbs before you run into trouble: a sharp object, perhaps a bit of glass or metal, has punctured one of your tires. You slip off the bike seat after coming to a bumpy halt, now forced to walk alongside the bike the rest of the way home. You think there’s a repair kit lurking somewhere in the house, you’re just not entirely sure where.

You spy a milk delivery sitting near the front door of one of the houses you pass, still remaining unclaimed at this late morning hour. A small blue and yellow bird perched on the rim of one of the bottles is startled by your presence and temporarily abandons its assault on the foil lid before it regains its confidence and returns, the beak breaching the barrier so that it can drink the rich cream that has risen to the top. Clever, naughty thing. You’d shoo him away but you know it or one of its brethren will just return anyway. You had to be careful nowadays, leaving something like that unprotected.

You had to be careful nowadays, period.

You spy the milkman’s truck further up the road, the driver near the tailgate, lifting his cap and dragging the back of a pale wrist against his perspiring forehead. The rear of the vehicle is empty, the goods inside all distributed for the day’s route.

Your pace slows as you draw closer, nodding a greeting to the man. You don’t recognize him. Maybe a new hire for the dairy company. The other driver had been getting older. Maybe he’d finally retired. At least, you hoped his sudden absence was for that pleasant reason and not something more sinister relating to the doppels. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” His voice is warm and friendly. You see his eyes focus on the deflated tire, then back up to your face. “Flat tire, huh? Need a lift?”

“Oh, no, I can manage, thank you. I’m nearly there.”

“I’m heading that way. There’s no reason to tax yourself.”

You shake your head. “Really, I’m fine.”

He shrugs. “Alright, then. Get home safe.” You watch as he seals the back doors and returns to the driver’s side, climbing up and settling behind the wheel. You suddenly feel foolish. The man was just trying to be kind, surely. He starts the engine and eases back onto the road slowly, decelerating to a meager crawl to keep pace with you, calling to you through the open window. “Last chance to change your mind.” He smiles. Handsome. He has such an honest face. Weary eyes. The early mornings no doubt leaving those inky shadows on ivory skin. He must be eager to be home now that his job was completed, yet he was still offering to help.

In spite of your earlier caution, you find yourself feeling it would be rude to decline again, and you accept the milkman’s offer. “Alright, thank you. I promise it’s not far and then you can be on your way. I’m sure you want to get home.”

The truck halts, the breaks squeaking slightly. Your bicycle is lifted effortlessly and stowed in the back. There’s no seat inside save for the driver, so you remain standing, bracing yourself against the rear of the cab awkwardly. At least you don’t have far to go.

“Anyone at home to help you with that flat tire?”

“No, I live alone,” you admit, then silently curse yourself. You shouldn’t be volunteering that kind of information, even if it was the truth. Your brother had left you with the inherited house after he’d moved in with his new wife last year, still disappointed that you hadn’t found someone yet, disapproving of your decision to choose to live independently in such strange, dangerous times. Now you’ve just revealed this vulnerable fact to a stranger. A male stranger.

“The birds have been at your deliveries again,” you say, searching for something to fill the sudden silence.

“So I’ve seen. They can’t resist the cream. Interesting story about that. It’s only one particular species, have you noticed?”

“I haven’t, actually.”

“They had no trouble before they started sealing the bottles, but even after the lids were implemented they persisted until they found a way to get inside. Taught the others how to do it, too. Adaptation and evolution are necessary for survival.”

“I suppose you’re right. This is my house here,” you point and the driver slows and stops, parking the truck along the curb and shutting off the engine.

“Let me give you a hand unloading the bicycle.”

“I appreciate it, thank you.”

“No problem.” The milkman stands. Suddenly the cab of the truck feels very small. He’s positioned so that he’s blocking the doorway, making no move to head to the back where your bike is being stored. The smile on your features slides off like melting ice cream on a summer day.

No. He couldn’t be.

Your heart begins to beat rapidly. The smile he offers doesn’t quiet touch his eyes this time.

“Actually, I’ll just um…I can get it. Thank you for the lift.” You try to ease past him, thinking to make your escape through the rear of the vehicle instead, but he slaps out an arm to bar your path, crowding you against the steel frame.

“We’re adapting, too. Evolving constantly. Getting better and better at blending in. Finding new ways to breach your homes and sate our hunger.”

“Please don’t kill me.” As if the doppelganger would have mercy. You feel tears pooling in your eyes. How foolish you had been, walking into his trap. Why hadn’t you trusted your instincts?

“I’m not going to kill you. Not yet, anyway. See, it’s occurred to me to take a page from those birds’ books, so to speak. Sample the sweetest, most nutritious part. And let the rest of the meal live on, thereby providing an endless supply, rather than gorging on one human in a single sitting, then being forced to find another. We’ve already seen what happens when we indulge too voraciously. It’s why we were forced to visit your planet, after all.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“Your blood. That is what I desire. A sample each time, and then you go about your daily life as usual. A fair deal, isn’t it? Certainly a better offer than most of my kin would give you.”

“You want to…to…” You can even bring yourself to utter it out loud.

“Drink your blood, yes.”

“Like a vampire,” you whisper in horror.

“Something like that.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then I consume you right here and now.”

Two tears spill over your cheeks. The doppel clucks his tongue. “There’s no need for that. It’s really a very obvious choice. The sooner you agree, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair for the remainder of the day.”

“Is it…is it going to hurt?”

“Not as badly as me tearing you apart with my claws, I assure you.” His features soften, and that impression of how handsome the original man he’s copied must be strikes you again. “This doesnt need to be violent. It will go easier for you if you don’t resist.”

You swallow thickly, trying to summon courage. “How do you know I won’t just call the DDD?”

“Because that would be a very, very foolish thing to do. And I think you are smarter than that, aren’t you?” His nostrils flare slightly and he inhales deeply. “I’m getting hungry. Do you agree to my terms or not?”

“What guarantee do I have that you’re not just going to kill me anyway?”

“None, other than my word.”

You could almost laugh. An invader asking you to trust him. To allow yourself to be fed upon until…when would this conceivably end? “How long will I have to do this for?”

He shrugs. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“Many things. How many others will supplement my diet. How much I decide to take. This will end whenever I say it ends,” he adds in a growl, and you shudder.

You close your eyes. “Alright. Just get it over with.”

“Not here. Wouldn’t want the neighbors to see, now, would we? Hop on down and I’ll deliver your bicycle. Then we can go inside and…have a little snack.”

You wish your neighbors would see your plight, but there’s no one to help you. The elderly man across the street was probably well into his morning nap. The young couple next door both worked. The housewife who lived on the other side was undoubtedly busy with chores, the children at school.

The doppelganger leans your damaged bike against the fence, following you up to the door, waiting for you to unlock it.

So. You really were going to invite him inside after all.

Normally you’d be fixing lunch at this time. Maybe doing some housework yourself. Now you set your keys in the trivet dish by the door and tuck your shoes neatly beside the frame, watching the doppel shut the door behind him.

“Come here.”

You’d taken a couple of steps further into the hallway and his voice makes you jerk to a halt. You warily turn back.

That smile again. Your stomach flips nervously as you move to stand beside him.

He makes a little hum of sound, pleased you’re being obedient and cooperative. Your hair is already pinned up, your throat exposed. Assuming that was where he was going to bite you. The thought makes your breath hitch and you close your eyes again, willing the moment to be over.

You feel the heat of his breath as he leans closer to your neck, hear another deep inhale. His lips graze your skin in the barest whisper of a kiss. His tongue traces a line down the side of your neck and then there is pain, sharp and fast, your body reflexively trying to pull away but his arms fasten around you, clutching your body against his.

“Relax,” he urges you again, his mouth lifting just long enough to issue the command to you before it returns and you feel the suction, the wet heat, that terrible drag of your life force pulled from the vessel beneath the skin. A little moan accompanies that gesture, sending vibrations as the alien savors the taste of you. Your fingers curl in his work shirt as you’re pushed back against the door. If there had been anyone there to see, it would have looked as if you were a young couple in the throes of passion. But there is no one witnessing this act. It is just you and the doppelganger.

“Enough,” he murmurs, his face revealed once more, no longer supping from your throat. You reach for the wound, surprised to find your hands coming away clean. No blood. Just scabbed puncture marks you can palpate with the pads of your fingers.

He’s breathing heavily. It had been hard to stop, maybe, fighting that natural instinct to kill and ravage. The dark eyes are bloodshot, a pair of fangs visible before they’re retracted again, the red haze gradually clearing as he continues staring at you. His appearance returns to that of the milkman he’s impersonating and he finally steps back.

“Tomorrow,” he says, a promise, a threat, before he exits, leaving you trembling, your fingers still cradling your neck. You hear the truck’s engine rumble to life.

Tomorrow.

***

He visits again the following evening.

You don’t know why you’d expected the doppelganger to be at your door at any particular time. Your anxiety has been peaking in anticipation. Dreading the next feeding. Still wondering what’s to stop him from just killing you anyway.

The marks he’d left had been surprisingly tidy. Easy enough to conceal. You’d struggled at work that day, your normally nimble hands and sharp eyes faltering more than once, your performance lacking. Your supervisor certainly noticed. You’d been spoken to. A warning.

Maybe you should take the next day off. Maybe you should…

A knock at the door interrupts your musings and you look up from the novel you’ve been attempting to distract yourself with.

He was here.

The temptation to phone the DDD is there again. But it would take them time to get here. You’d certainly be destroyed for your breach of contract long before the disposal team arrived.

You open the door.

He’s still wearing the milkman’s uniform, although this time he’s shed the cap, revealing the thick wavy brown hair that had been hiding beneath. Wordlessly you step back to make room for him to enter. Your eyes are on the floor now, suddenly shy. You hear the door being closed.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes lift and you gaze at the doppel through your lashes. Surely he could hear how elevated your pulse is. Did that entice him, that rapid flow of crimson liquid?

The mimic moves behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you back against him. Fingers guide your head to dip to one side, a gentle nudge before his lips are at your neck again. The same side as before. They press more firmly this time. The stripe he licks reaches all the way to your ear lobe. A whimper escapes you. It feels good, even though it shouldn’t.

The sharp pair of the monster’s cuspids pierce your throat. Another choked sound escapes you, this one a blurred mixture of pain and pleasure. The fingers resting against your abdomen dig in. His other hand is braced against your chin, manipulating your head, keeping you in position while he takes what he desires.

You clutch at the hand on your stomach. You think you’d faint if you didn’t have him at your back. There is something hard pressing against you there, another need digging into the cleft of your buttocks. Arousal. Your cheeks feel hot. There are no longer teeth sunk into your neck but his mouth is still there, laving and caressing the injured flesh. Soft, wet kisses planted. “So sweet,” he breathes against your ear. “Your scarlet milk is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

He departs minutes later and you stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror as you get ready for bed, wondering why you’re not more afraid.

***

The milk delivery truck is parked outside your home when you arrive there the next afternoon.

You lean your mended bike against the picket fence. There are people outside. Someone is raking leaves from last autumn. Children are tossing a ball back and forth. The doppelganger has a bottle of milk in his hand, the tips of his fingers clutching it by the neck. He’s leaning against the outside of the truck.

“Come inside,” you hiss, not trusting him not to make a spectacle right there and then. He smirks at your invitation, following you inside.

There are sunspots in front of your eyes. It was so bright outdoors. The interior of your house is darker, cooler. “You should be more discreet,” you mutter, your hands rubbing together restlessly. Nervous. You’re so nervous.

“No one is paying any attention. They didn’t care when I took the truck. They hand the goods over willingly. It’s made finding other…donors…so simple. Your kind is so oblivious to what’s right in front of them.”

“How many other people are you…?” The idea of the imposter operating as a milkman making deliveries as a guise to shield his true purpose of seeking more sources of that sinister meal he craves twists your stomach in knots. Worried. You’re guilty over what’s happening to your neighbors. Not necessarily your fault, but you knew about it, and you allowed it, participated in it…

“Not many. Discretion is best, we agree on that much.” He tips his head to one side thoughtfully. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous?”

“Don’t worry. You’re still my favorite treat.”

“I’m not jealous,” you reply defensively, perhaps a little too much vehemence behind the words. Was there some of that mixed in your emotions as well?

“You should let me give you a ride home one of these days,” he murmurs.

You frown, your reverie dissolving. “Why?”

“Because,” he drawls. Not an answer. His upper eyelids drip languidly as he sets the bottle on the kitchen counter. The foil lid is soon demolished into a crumpled ball. He drives a middle finger into the cream gathered at the top of the bottle, scooping out a dollop of the thick substance. “Open your mouth.”

“What?”

“This is the best part, isn’t it? You humans seem to enjoy it. Open,” he commands again, and this time there is a bit of a threat there, the easygoing teasing suddenly disappearing. His eyes darken and your lips part obediently. The digit pierces those borders and drives straight back across your tongue, your eyelashes fluttering, surprised, the brisk invasive movement catching you off guard. Your mouth closes reflexively over the offering and the wedge of muscle presses his finger against the top of your soft palate, the pad brushing past the ridges to find the smoother flesh as he offers you a taste. Your stroke across the joint of his knuckle, then the nail bed as he slowly withdraws back through the tight ring of your mouth, finally emerging with a soft popping sound.

“Good?” The word is croaked out hoarsely. Your heart jackhammers as you nod. You watch as he repeats the gesture in his own mouth, brow furrowing over the taste as he considers the flavor of the cream. “I prefer you instead.”

The doppel’s lips touch your throat. You can’t stop the needy sound that escapes. “I won’t see you for a few days. Need to let your body rest and replenish. You’re of no use to me without the proper nutrition.” He nips your ear lobe. “So I’m going to stay a little longer today. Prolong things. I’m sure you don’t mind.” His hands have found the bottom of your skirt, lifting the hem. There are curtains on the windows but anyone standing close enough outside could look in and see what’s happening. Your cheeks burn with shame, that rush of heat further elevated because some part of you wants this. His fingers snake beneath the waistband of your panties and dip between your legs, swiping through the arousal leaking from you to collect a sample.

He licks them clean. An appreciative hum. “Now this, I really enjoy. Why don’t you hop up here.” You never get the chance because he lifts you first, setting you on the edge of the counter. Your skirt is flipped back impatiently again, your panties dragged roughly down. And you allow it. You allow the manhandling of your clothes, your body, manipulated into balancing precariously on the edge before he pulls a chair from under the kitchen table over and settles into it, his fingernails lightly scratching against your thighs before he parts them and buries his face into your sex.

Your head tips back and you bite your bottom lip as the doppel explores the sensitive pink flesh, enthusiastically swirling his tongue over the folds and your clit before pushing inside you. The hands curled around your thighs are changing, the nails digging in no longer the replicated human’s. The tongue violating your canal seems to lengthen, expanding. You’re afraid to see and yet you want to watch, your fingers burrowing into his hair. Bloodshot eyes, the doppel’s easing through, yellow tinged, pupils now sharp, narrow, a flash of teeth before his mouth shifts impossibly wide, more than a human jaw could ever accommodate, sucking at your clit while still fucking you with his tongue. A monster is ravaging your body and your only thought is MORE. The wedge of muscle curves inside you, tapping in staccato movements against the shallow secluded shelf of hidden pleasure and it sends you over the edge immediately, keening and shaking as he continues sucking and stabbing until you can’t stand it anymore, your legs trying to close, the hand that had been pulling him against your pussy now trying to push him away.

He finally surrenders, mouth parting reluctantly from your sex. You’re on fire, every nerve tingling in your extremities, at your center, where the pulse is strongest. A satisfied grin, a flash of sharp teeth aligned in a row, before the imposter milkman stands, kicking the chair back so hard it knocks over. His fingers sink into your hair and he jerks your head back, grabbing one of your hands and pressing it over the bump in his trousers. You fumble the fly open, dragging his needy erection through the flap of his briefs. It’s large and hot and your hands seem too small, too delicate to stroke that engorged organ properly.

“Milk it. Make me cum.” His lips hover before your own. You wonder why he hasn’t kissed you on the mouth yet. Would those razor slivers of bone slice you to ribbons? The morphed tongue strokes the angle of your jaw. Your hand is working in harsh, jerky movements. Clumsy. You’re panting with fear and desire. You can’t reach his mouth at this angle so your lips find his throat instead, the patch of skin just above the fastened work shirt and knotted bowtie. He growls and bellows as your fingers finally, finally seem to have adapated, smoothing a gush of precum over the sensitive crown. Large as it was, his prick still felt human enough, so perhaps it was the same, or perhaps he still had yet to reveal its true nature. A moan now hummed against your throat, this soft and pleading noise the polar opposite of the menancing sound he’d emitted moments before. Teeth scrape your neck. The veins in his cock bulge against your hand. He’s so swollen, so ready to erupt. Fangs begin to dig into your flesh. Only a pair. He’s shifted appearances again, protecting you somewhat. You wonder how much of a struggle it is to keep it in check, during the height of something like this. The teeth descend further and you feel the suction as he pulls your blood into his mouth just as a hot spill of seed bathes your hand. He leans forward and your free hand reaches back to brace yourself, sending the milk bottle onto its side, mirroring the white flood that now coats your skin. He sucks and it aches and it feels like a second orgasm building inside of you.

At last, at last he draws back, and it is a human’s face you see, with shadow smudged eyes and mussed hair and swollen lips. The urge to kiss him flares anew but he backs away. You’re suddenly aware of the dairy product that’s spread across the counter, sinking into your clothes, spilling over the edge and dripping onto the floor. The doppel rights the chair he’d tipped over earlier. Clothes are straightened into some semblance of order.

You’re normally relieved when he departs. Today you find yourself clutching his sleeve as he reaches for the doorknob. Something has happened between you two, besides the obvious. A new kind of intimacy blossoming, satisfying other, more primal needs. Adapting and evolving like the doppel had said, perhaps.

“I’ll see you soon.” Not tomorrow. He’s already told you that. An anemic blood supply will not satisfy him. You’re more lightheaded than you’re letting on. He’s taken so much already, but you still want to give him more. “Soon,” he repeats. Then he’s gone.

***

In the dream, you’re in your bed, trying to achieve a slumber that won’t come. You toss and turn restlessly. Get a glass of water. Use the restroom. Flip your pillow over to the cooler side. Shift the covers. It’s no use. You can’t sleep.

You’re thinking about the doppelganger.

About that smile, that warm breath and wicked mouth and wet tongue. His body pressing against yours. Tasting you. Cumming in your hand. The vampiric kisses. It should be terrifying, knowing he holds your life in his hands, your fate determined by the whim of an alien creature.

The replicant is back.

You sense him before he even taps on the glass of the French doors that lead from you bedroom into a private garden area in the back yard. You recognize that shape behind the gauzy curtains that shield the glass, flinging back the comforter and sliding out of bed. The cool air wafts over you as you open the door. You’re only wearing a thin nightgown. You shouldn’t be dressed like this in front of him. You shouldn’t be doing any of the things you’ve been doing with him.

His palm settles warm against the side of your neck. His mouth touches yours for the first time.

Heat pools in your sex. He tastes like metal, copper heavy on your tongue. There is the flavor of tart wine and something smokey as your body is pressed down onto the bed. Your fingers siphon through his hair. You can feel his erection again, demanding somewhere near your own groin. His hips cant slightly and you both moan softly.

The hem of your nightgown is slid up the length of your thigh. You can feel the sharp points of the claws that tear your panties from your body, a casual display that leaves you gasping. A faint jingle of a belt moving and the whine of the metal teeth of a zipper parting and then his cock is shoved into your slickened entrance.

The tongue that twines around yours feels foreign now, the doppel revealing more of his true form. Long and thick, like the prick that’s invading your pussy. Your brain in its dream state has no sense of shame. There is nothing but desire, hot and wet. The front of your nightgown is sliced through, the fabric easily parting beneath the sharp claws that have replaced human nails. Your breasts are kneaded as the sound of lewd slapping fills the air, wet noises from your joined mouths, from the cock pounding into your dripping cunt. Had he been hungry? You’d been starving, you realize. Craving this. Undeniably wrong but oh so right.

“Bite me.” In your waking state, you’d never issued such a request. Only in dreams could you be bold enough. Your fingers clutch the nape of his neck, encouraging him as your knees dig into his ribs. You gift him your blood and he gifts you a load of something thicker, creamier, milky shots of cum spurting deep inside of you. There are stars in front of your eyes, fireworks, bursting lights in the darkness. He kisses your mouth and the tang of your own lifeforce is strong there. His teeth are still sharp. He hasn’t changed back. You kiss him again anyway.

***

Your eyes open.

It’s raining. You can hear the soft patter of it against the roofing shingles above. Your heart is hammering wildly. Your entire body is drenched in sweat, your panties soaked with something more carnal. You fling back the sheet and blanket much as you had in the dream, padding barefoot into the adjoining bathroom. You need a shower. You feel soiled.

You wish the events of the dream had really happened.

It’s been five days since you’ve seen the doppelganger. The water of the shower spills over you, pelting you gently. You drag the bar of soap over your body. There is something thick and wet between your legs, the fluids of your arousal a different kind of wetness than the spray of water. Your clit is swollen. You wish for his fingers, his tongue. You circle the raised bundle until your body trembles, until you’re forced to lean against the shower wall for support.

You shut off the faucet and towel yourself dry before pulling on a clean nightgown. You burrow your face into pillow and think of the mimic’s smile until sleep reclaims you once more.

***

A week has passed. Now you think something must be wrong. The doppelganger’s delayed absence can’t be intentional.

Perhaps the DDD had gotten to him. Someone had seen something, called. Maybe not all his ‘donors’ were quite as willing as yourself. A hot flame builds inside you. You are jealous, after all.

It’s raining on the night he finally returns. Later than he has ever been. The water has soaked his skin, his clothing. There is only the living room lamp on to illuminate your view of the alien creature, looking so pitiful standing there, a drenched figure with tired eyes and dark hair plastered flat against his head, the rainwater spilling over the sharp angles of his cheeks and nose, over the gentle curves of his lips.

He steps inside and closes the door. Your breathing is harsh, rapid. A match for his own. “Where have you been?”

“Did you miss me?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. His voice drags against you skin like velvet. “No.”

“Liar.”

You reach for each other at the same time. Your fingers knot into the saturated fabric of his work shirt while his close over your upper arm, crowding you back against the door. “Where have you been?” You repeat again, your voice gentler this time. “I thought the DDD had gotten to you, I…”

“You were worried about me.”

“Yes,” you admit reluctantly.

“You missed me.”

“Yes.”

His thumb briefly strokes one cheek. “I missed you, too.”

“Why don’t you ever kiss me?”

“I do. Quite a lot, in fact. In many places,” he adds, smirking a little, some of his customary teasing emerging.

“You know what I mean. On the mouth.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because,” he says, and for a moment you think he won’t answer you properly again, dodging the question, but then he continues, “that means something very, very different.”

“Different how?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“Yes.”

The doppel’s lips press against yours. Closed at first. Then they divide and your tongue darts between them, granting you your first taste of the invader. Nothing like the dream. No bitterness or metal or sour flavor. No smoke or ash. Just clean, pure, natural.

“Do you understand now?” His gaze traps yours. Human pupils dilating. You know what really lurks beneath. You like both.

“No. Show me again.”

A faint smirk. Then the doppelganger’s mouth captures yours once more.

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman x reader #milkman x you #francis mosses #milkman #thats not my neighbor #the milkman #that’s not my neighbor #doppelganger #doppel francis #tnmn smut #tnmn francis mosses #francis tnmn #tnmn milkman #tnmn fanfic

[mariacallous]

More US workers will soon be free to leave their employers to work for rivals, thanks to a new federal rule that will block the long-standing practice of locking in workers with noncompete agreements.

The US Federal Trade Commission on Tuesday issued a final rule that bans most noncompetes nationwide. The agency estimated that by allowing people more freedom, the change would lead to the creation of 8,500 new businesses annually, an average annual pay increase of $524 for workers, lower health care costs, and as many as 29,000 more patents each year for the next decade.

The FTC says about one in five US workers are bound by contract clauses that prevent them from taking new jobs from a competitor, or starting their own competing businesses, for some period of time. The agreements can trap workers and slow career advancement and wage increases—two things workers often achieve by hopping jobs.

The agreements also disproportionately affect workers in tech and certain other roles: 36 percent of engineers and architects work under noncompetes, as do 35 percent of workers in computer and math fields, according to research from the Universities of Maryland and Michigan.

Under the FTC’s new rule, “tech workers will probably experience a rise in the outside opportunities that they face,” says Evan Starr, an associate professor of business at the University of Maryland who worked on the research. “They’ll have more freedom to work where they want; they will be more likely to be paid higher wages.”

Opponents of noncompetes say they hurt workers by keeping them in lower-waged jobs and also stifle innovation, preventing people from starting their own businesses or putting innovative ideas into practice. Noncompete supporters argue that the arrangements encourage investment in staff and protect trade secrets. But recent research from Starr indicates that banning noncompetes hasn’t led to an increase in trade secret litigation.

The new FTC rule has a carve-out to keep existing noncompetes for senior executives in place. But it blocks companies from creating new noncompetes for these high-level workers. The rule is due to take effect in about four months, but it’s expected to face challenges. Two commissioners who voted against the rule saw it as overstepping the FTC’s power. The US Chamber of Commerce quickly announced after the rule passed that it will sue to try to block it.

Several states, including tech hub California, have already banned enforcement of noncompetes. But a recent tidal shift has seen the issue resonate in dozens of states. In the 2023 legislative session, 38 states introduced 81 bills that sought to ban or restrict enforcement of noncompetes. California’s long-established law is seen as part of the reason Silicon Valley became a hub for innovation, while Massachusetts’s once-similar tech corridor didn’t soar in the same way.

Tech executive Daniel Powers has battled noncompetes twice in his career. In 2010, IBM tried to delay his move from New York to Seattle to work for Amazon Web Services, the online retailer’s cloud division, by a year. The parties settled on Powers taking six months off. Fortunately for Powers, Amazon agreed to pay him even while he couldn’t work.

Two years later, the tables turned. When Powers attempted to take a job with Google Cloud, Amazon sued him, saying he had agreed not to work for one of its competitors within 18 months of leaving. The incident drew headlines as the first noncompete case Amazon had brought against someone inside fast-growing AWS, Powers recalls.

Powers had to move to California—where noncompetes aren’t legal—for the new gig, and his attorney told him to get there as soon as possible. By living in a different state, the lawsuit could be tried in federal court, where his attorney felt Amazon had less of an advantage compared to Washington state court. A federal judge ended up siding with Powers, and he lost only about three months of work at Google while the case played out.

Amazon, IBM, and Google did not immediately respond to requests for comment.

Had Powers not received discounted legal help over the years, he says, he could have easily spent over $100,000 battling noncompetes. “It’s just not fair to the employees,” says Powers, who now runs cloud advisory firm What's Next Consulting. “When I won, I got hundreds of emails and texts from Amazon employees thanking me for beating them.”

People in Washington state who want to leave one of the tech giants often must have difficult conversations with their families, advisers, and potential new employer about the risks of litigation and potentially being without a paycheck for a long stretch. Powers estimates that he has aided over 200 former Amazon and IBM colleagues in the process. California workers have no such concerns. “It’s just, ‘OK, goodbye,’” Powers says. “There’s nothing companies can do about it.”

If the new FTC rule ends up in front of the US Supreme Court, he says, his message to the justices will be simple. “Taking away a person’s ability to work in an industry they are trained in, have skills in, and have been in is a massive disservice to the employee,” Powers says. “It’s not the right thing to do to have these agreements.”

[socialjusticeinamerica]

Space Karen is a monster. They had opportunities to unionize but they succumbed to pressure from Elongated Muskrat and Texas Republicans and now they’ll be living on the production line. How stupid are you to reject unionization? Now they’re slaves like every other non-union employee in the country.

Republicans in red states pass laws called “right to work”, which is more Republican name trickery. “Right to work” laws prevent unions/organized labor. What it literally means is that companies have the right to make YOU work without any benefits, for minimum wage, without any right to protest wage theft or unsafe conditions, no recourse against unfair labor practices, and to put you on “on demand schedules,” The latter means no set regular hours, 9-5 today then 9-9 the day after, then 1-8, or no hours at all for days or weeks until you quit and can’t collect. “On demand scheduling” is abosolutely cruel. You never get to recover properly, you can never make plans outside of work, you can’t attend school or have a second job, and you miss out on all the major life events of your family. This leads to resentment, divorce, and alienated children who feel unloved.

Even blue states have bare minimum labor laws in place to control abuses by employers. Try going to the state for help in a dispute with your boss. Try hiring a lawyer when you’re poor or even if you’re not lawyers don’t want to touch these cases.

We are already a nation of hopeless wage slaves. Biden and the Democrats are making progress in passing laws to protect workers and unions but it will all be swept away if Republicans regain the White House and Congress. Some people won’t learn until they’re chained to a machine in a building with suicide nets outside the windows like in China.

It took almost two hundred years to get unions, workers rights, and work place safety laws put into place. They’ve nearly all been eroded into a forgotten past since Republican Ronald Reagan, and Fox News, was elected in 1980. Nearly all of you reading this don’t even know a time when workers only needed one job to support a home and family, had pensions, and had health insurance that was provided. Now you live with 2-3 jobs, have no health insurance, can’t afford a home (or rent), can’t afford college or even a new car, and make less than your grandparents. The media glosses this over calling the extra jobs “side hustles” and your lack of a career with dignity is because you’re a generation of “self starters.”

You weren’t born to be a wage slave for billionaire oligarchs and the petty tyrants they hire to be middle managers. Spread the word and unionize. Fight for it. People in the 1800’s literally battled armed mercenaries, cops, and the military for the right to union jobs that let them live and earn with dignity. Don’t let their spilled blood and deaths be in vain. The United Auto Workers and other unions tried repeatedly to get Tesla unionized. Unions are out there and willing to help. It only takes a few phone calls to get the ball rolling.

Muskrat promised his workers free frozen yogurt and a roller coaster ride from the parking lot to factory if they voted against unions, I shit you not. He never delivered either. He did spend millions on union avoidance firms to come in and lie and scare workers into voting no. Now they’re treated like cotton plantation slaves and told they will be literally living on a production line.

To put this into the identity politics millennials are drawn to, unions are the only working environment where marginalized people are protected and have recourse against discrimination and mistreatment in the workplace. If you are mistreated you can file a grievance and if the management doesn’t redress the issue then they are taken to contractually mandated arbitration or court with union supplied lawyers. If you have never worked in a union shop you have no idea what it’s like to not be fearful, to have dignity, and to know people are obligated to protect you from management.

It’s the only non-union automaker in the country.

#republican assholes #oligarch assholes #corporate greed #unionize now #elongated muskrat #Tesla Texas #organized labor for all

[dilemmaontwolegs]

hii! i would like to request a sandman fic during the time he was in captivity where his guard fell in love with him and slept during a shift making Morpheus escape through her dreams ("Night Shift" if you will hehe) fluff and smut if that's okay with you, thank you and looking forward to reading your work!<3

The Night Shift

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, f rec oral, fluff, mentions of WW2 happenings ie: bombing blitz in London (Set in 1940) WC: 3.3k

There were a lot of work opportunities for women with the war being fought across Europe. With most men fighting for freedom and their country, the women were taken from their sedentary roles and given opportunities that were otherwise deemed inappropriate for a genteel lady such as yourself.

It was this opportunity of an adventure outside of the high stone walls that had you departing St Margaret’s Finishing School for Ladies of Good Grace. You were to join the employment of a man called Alex Burgess at his Sussex estate, though the terms of your employment had yet to be confirmed. It was all very difficult to get an answer out of the man, he was quite reluctant to say anything on the telephone.

5th November 1940 There you were on a train south out of London, the pillar of smoke from the engine darkening the windows as it left the station. An early first snow had just begun to fall over Kings Cross  and you knew it would be a white Christmas this year. You liked to think it was a good omen, as if the blanket of snow could hide the stain and scars of the war, but maybe it was just the hopeless dreamer hidden within.

“Welcome to Fawny Rig, I do apologise for the secrecy,” Mr Burgess greeted as he answered the door himself. 

“There is no need to apologise,” you assured him as he took your suitcase and invited you to step into the dark wood foyer. “You have a lovely home.”

And so your new life began. You were given an evening job, the night shift that no one else cared for, watching over an ill man. Alex said he had a rare condition that required him to live inside a sealed sphere, that it kept him alive. You thought it a daft idea, for everyone knew fresh air was best for ailments of all kinds. But he was your employer and this was the role, you would do as you were told and watch over the man.

“What is the matter with you, sir?” you asked in the dead of the night, when the world was asleep but his eyes remained open. “I have never heard of an illness that presents such as yours.” 

He had stared blankly ahead as if he hadn’t heard you so you walked up to the sphere and carefully stepped over the golden circle that Alex had implored you never to touch. You tapped your knuckles on the glass and dropped your hands to your side when you heard how thick it was. “No wonder you don’t speak, I doubt you can hear me at all.”

Kneeling beside the curve that cradled his head, you did your best not to dwell on the expanse of his state of undress. Parting your lips you blew your breath across the glass and remembered the secret notes you had passed to your friend in class, writing the words inverted so that the use of a compact mirror was required. Your finger was steady as you wrote your name on the glass and pointed to yourself.

‘Your name?’ You wrote next, keeping it brief before the mist of your breath evaporated away with the words. 

He shifted ever so slightly, his head turning down but then when he exhaled his breath fogged up the glass. A slow trembling hand reached for the clouded space and he completed his name with three breaths.

‘Dr’ ‘ea’ ‘m.’

“Dream?” you pondered aloud at the odd name and he nodded from the other side. “You can hear me?”

He nodded again before closing his eyes as if the small movements took all of his energy and perhaps they did. His hand fell limp against the glass and fingers splayed as if he could reach through it and touch you. You placed your hand over his, wondering when he last had physical contact, a hug or any affection. 

There was a desk and chair set up for you but instead you chose to sit beside his sphere on the cold stone flooring. Sometimes he would peek a blue eye out at you, checking you were still at his side, but most often he would ignore you completely. 

Unable to stand the long nights of silence, you began to tell him stories of the world outside. 

“I’m not sure how long you have been in here, but there’s a terrible war going on out there. Before I arrived here my father was conscripted to somewhere in Italy, mother says he will return and this will all be over soon but she has never been a good liar.”

Night after night you would talk and, from what you could tell, he listened. Sometimes you would see a flicker of emotion but as soon as it appeared it was gone again and you wondered if it were just your imagination. 

22nd December 1940 It was the winter solstice and the longest night of the year. Mr Burgess had invited his friends to the manor to celebrate and when you had left the ground level for your shift in the basement the party had been in full swing. 

A gramophone played ‘Who's taking you home tonight?’, a slow, sweet song you heard often from the master bedroom down the corridor, and you began to sway to the tune.

“Do you like music, Dream?” you asked as you twirled around the sphere, his eyes following your every move before he subtly nodded. “I love music, and the places it can take you.”

You took a seat beside his head as the song came to an end and wrapped your arms around your legs. “There were nights when the bombs fell and the Headmistress had us all hide in the basement. It was horrible and dark but Miss Harlow, our music teacher, sometimes brought her gramophone with her. I felt assured that death couldn’t find us on those nights, not when we were in the embrace of such sweet melodies.

“The same could not be said on the nights when there was not enough time to collect the music box before the alarms sounded. I fear to close my eyes at night and find myself back in that bunker, the pressure of the tight space feeling as if it is enclosing around me, suffocating me. It felt like an imprisonment, but I was guilty of no crime. 

“I suppose that is why I find this night shift comforting, I need not face my fear when I am with you.”

You looked up from the golden paint that decorated the stone and found Dream had silently taken a seated position. His gaunt skin was tight across his skeletal figure but it wasn’t the nakedness of his body that shocked you but his soul, it was bleeding from his starry eyes in twin rivers of tears.

A look you had seen many times as you stared into the mirror in your chambers after waking from a nightmare was reflected on his face. Despair. It wretched a knife in your gut as a revelation hit you. It was something you should have seen immediately or at least questioned.

“You are not sick are you?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He shook his head and every hair on your body stood as a cold shiver rolled down your spine. Reaching out to the glass, you placed your palm against the cool surface with your own tears shimmering in your eyes. His lithe muscles moved languidly beneath his skin as he reached out and placed his palm to yours, so close yet untouchable. 

“How can I free you?”

He looked to the gate longingly then back to you, leaning closer and kissing the glass with his breath before you. ‘Sleep.’

Sleep. It seemed so simple yet the single word wracked you with fear as you felt the weight of the darkness outside. But for him, you had to try. 

The crackle of the gramophone coming to life drifted down the stairs, the newest tune of Jimmie Davis luling your brittle nerves. You curled onto your side following the shape of the glass as you laid your head on your arm. Hope blossomed in his eyes as you closed yours and let the music take you from the basement.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, You make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you, Please don't take my sunshine away.

The warmth of summer heated your skin and you tipped your head back to bathe in the rays. The sand beneath your feet should have been scolding under the sun’s strength but you remained unscathed on your walk along the empty shore. 

A haze blurred the skyline where the ocean met sky and as you narrowed your eyes to peer along the horizon, a figure emerged. You recognised his lean silhouette before the features came into focus and for once you didn’t avert your eyes at the sight of his bare flesh - for this was only a dream.

The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamt I held you in my arms. When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, So I hung my head, and I cried.

“I thank you,” Dream greeted with a sincerity in a rich voice that echoed around ears long after he stopped speaking. 

“Forgive me, I should have seen it sooner.” You looked away in guilt and turned to the sun’s energy, using its force to banish the dark thoughts that seeped in.

Cool fingers traced your jawline as Dream walked around you until he was staring into your soul. “You were captive of trauma of your own, there is nothing to forgive.” 

You reached for his hand and placed your palm on top, amazed to finally feel his touch. It was just as tender as you had imagined and you instantly craved more. Although you thought this was a dream there was a truth to it that you hadn’t ever felt and so you reined in the desire to throw your arms around him and instead hesitantly asked, “Can I hug you?”

His lips pressed together and he swallowed deeply before he gave you one of his small, almost non-existent nods. His hand dropped from your face and you missed it immediately. Slowly, as if approaching a large wild animal or maybe an abused kitten, you took a step closer and opened your arms. 

He stared longingly for your embrace so you took another step, the pale expanse of his chest close enough he could feel your breath on his skin. You watched the rise and fall of his chest a moment before looking at his face and the sharp bones that protruded against his skin. He had been starved; you had watched him be starved.

He released a shuddering breath as you wrapped your arms around his narrow waist and buried your face in his neck as you cried. “I’m so sorry, Dream.”

His arms circled tight across your back as he clung to your warmth and you wished you could have given him the nourishment he needed. An eerie glow seemed to radiate from you at the thought and you gasped as it spread across Dream’s skin. He looked like a full moon on the darkest night. Then the glow faded and what remained left your mouth agape. 

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, You make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you, Please don't take my sunshine away.

Dream no longer held the sickly pallor of the ill, or the gaunt structure of starvation. The hollow of his cheeks had filled and his lips looked soft and kissable. 

“How?” you managed to ask on the second attempt.

“This is a dream, you can do anything,” Dream said with a small smile that caused your heart to skip a beat. “And you chose to give me what I needed most.”

You remembered what you thought of the moment before the glow began, comfort. You had wanted to comfort Dream and heal him. A smile bloomed on your face, something that you couldn’t remember doing since the war broke out, and Dream seemed as stunned by it as you were. He stared at your lips with an intensity that was echoed by the stirring of his body against yours and you were suddenly very aware that he was still naked.

I'll always love you and make you happy, If you will only say the same, But if you leave me to love another, You'll regret it all one day.

You would never know who moved first, maybe you were both enamoured by the same spell that you moved together, lips dancing to the mesmerising beat of your heart. Oxygen was no longer a necessity to survive, not when he was sharing his breath of life with you. 

Your clothing disappeared as Dream laid you down in the soft sand that shifted and moulded to your shape, it was unlike the coarse and gritty grains you had felt on beaches before. No, this sand felt like an extension of his body as he cradled you, kissing his way across your skin and eliciting needy sounds wherever he went.

Your fingers delved into his obsidian hair and he moaned against your breast, his head nuzzling into your touch that you were all too willing to give him. 

“You will never suffer a nightmare again,” Dream promised as he rolled his eyes to look up at you, his chin resting low on your belly. “You shall always have that sunshine kissing your skin.”

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, You make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you, Please don't take my sunshine away.

Your head was thrown back as he reached your core, his tongue setting fire to your body as he tasted your essence. His name tumbled from your lips in a revered prayer as he found the bundle of nerves that had you trembling and when his fingers probed your slick entrance stars erupted in your vision. 

“Dream, please…” you weren’t sure exactly what you were asking for, all you knew was you needed more of him and he seemed to know what that was. He rose up over you, his lips shiny with your arousal that he shared with a heated kiss, and you felt the head of his cock slipping through your folds. The sheer size of his cock stole your breath and he dropped his forehead to yours.

“I won’t hurt you.”

You believed him, trusted him, and so you hooked your legs over his hips and gave him the access he had silently asked for. 

You cried out as he filled you, the sweet burn of the stretch quickly fading as he sucked the tender skin on your collarbone and rolled his hips back. A deep dark chuckle escaped him as you caught his retreat with your heels dug into the tense muscles across his ass. 

“Patience, love,” he said low in your ear as he eased deeper, before retreating once more. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The sounds you were making were unheard of even to you, the aching need for more was thrown to the sky with passionate cries and when he gave you what you wanted the moans echoed across the beach. His gentle touches turned desperate as he felt your core clenching around him, your walls quivering as you neared your release and he let go of a little of the restraint he held. 

“Oh, Dream, yes,” you shouted as your vision exploded into a symphony of colour, your body trembling from head to very curled toes.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you climaxed but droplets of rain fell upon your face and you looked up to see not a cloud but Dream. His eyes were screwed shut as his back arched and he buried himself deep into you, as if he could hide from his pain if he could just stay in the solace of your body. 

You wiped the tears from his cheeks and pulled him to your chest. “If you could go anywhere, where would it be?”

“Home,” he choked, withdrawing himself from you as he knelt back and buried his hands in the sand. 

You could feel a shift in the world around you as you sat up and knew you would find yourself back in the basement all too soon, this night to become another dream that is forgotten. “I hope you find it.”

His eyes never left yours as the sand began to swirl around him and his words caressed your skin tenderly, “I already have.”

Please don't take my sunshine away.

You woke on the cold stone floor, rolling onto your back at some point as you slept, and you gasped as you realised your shoe had carved a line through the golden circle. You shot up and turned to look at the sphere to find it empty. Instead of fear of losing your job you found yourself smiling, relief bubbling in your chest as you felt a strange warmth in your blood. 

Rising to your feet, you tried to listen for signs of the party above but there was nothing. Since you no longer had a charge to watch over, you ascended the stairs with quiet steps and peered out into the hall. 

Revellers had not left as you had thought, they all lay strewn across the hard wood floors, their closed eyes fluttering with disturbed sleep. Carefully stepping across them, you had an innate sense of who it was that they were dreaming about. 

The gramophone scratched to life as the needle was placed against the vinyl and you turned to the sound to find him standing there. Dream. He waited with his pale hand extended, the empty sleeve for Al Bowlly’s ‘Who’s taking you home tonight?’ resting against the music box beside him.

Your fingers laced with his and he pulled you close as the song began, your bodies swaying together between the sleepers. There was no need to make a sound, not when the music spoke volumes in itself, so you rested your head in the crook of his neck and placed a delicate kiss over his pulse.

Who's taking you home tonight After the dance is through Who's going to hold you tight And whisper "I love you, I do"

His warm lips pressed to your forehead as he held you tighter and you looked up with a smile. “I love you too, Dream.”

Who's the lucky boy that's going your way To kiss you goodnight at your doorway Who's taking you home tonight? Darling, it's plain to see I'm pleading, "Please, let it be me"

“Are you ready to go?” he asked as the needle reached the inner circle and the music came to an end.

“With you?” you asked and your heart began to race as he nodded. “Where?”

His lips teased the hint of a smile as a glowing blue light began to form behind him. He was unafraid as he turned and looked at it, his hand holding yours while his thumb stroked your skin in reassurance. “Home.”

Home. It was something that you had once had but lost long before the war even began, when your family sent you to boarding schools behind high stone walls. It was something you wanted once again. 

Holding Dream’s hand tighter, you stepped up to his side and faced the blue light fearlessly. “Take me home, Dream. It is wherever you are.”

#the sandman x reader #the sandman fanfic #the sandman imagine #the sandman x you #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #dream of the endless imagine #morpheus imagine #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus imagines #morpheus x reader #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x you #the sandman smut

[inyujidraws]

More RadioMoon, yay. Impromptu marriage arc that happened after 4-5 years since Creon crash-landed in this timeline. They adopted.

Thanks everyone who came to my streams, watch me draw and talk cringe.

The rando in the first batch, he was a new comedian trying to break into the industry. While on the same way to work, Barry (placeholder name) introduced himself and started sharing some puns and jokes. Alastor didn’t find Barry impressive, and he refused to break his facade. Fun fact, Alastor would’ve murdered Barry later after that encounter, if not for Creon.

Barry got to live, because Alastor’s fecked-up face made Creon laugh so hard, it caused a chain reaction of laughter within the vicinity. So Barry became another reluctant friend in Alastor’s tiny circle. Occasionally Barry was a 3rd guest on Alastor’s radio program. Sadly the Great Depression wasn’t kind to Barry.

It took Alastor and Creon some time to figure out that their feelings for each other. They were quite comfortable staying a couple without the whole marriage ordeal. That changed when Creon stumbled on their soon-to-be son, Daniel. Creon was initially going to find another family who could take the kid in, but she grew attached. Alastor also warmed up to Daniel, especially when they bonded over their trauma of having garbage fathers.

I hadn’t thought about Alastor’s mother. Originally she would’ve passed away before Creon crashed. But where’s the fun in that? I wanted to add more chaos. Creon had returned from her international hobo trek, and accidentally bumped into Al’s mother Léonore. While staying as a paying tenant at her home, Creon saved Léonore from her canon death.

So Al’s mom got to be a grandmother later on. Didn’t really think about how she’d react to finding out Creon’s secret. I think Léonore would treasure Alastor’s happiness of finding love, even if the future daughter-in-law is a bio-engineered vampire.

Daniel grew to have an eccentric, but happy childhood after being adopted. Creon elected to stay home and raise and homeschool Daniel, instead of having Alastor split his time.

During the Great Depression, the “Marriage Bar” allowed employers to fire newly-wed women, or not hire married women. Creon still kept some side hustles, like doing tailoring. Also education wasn’t a huge priority for kids helping to bring money to the table. Some schools closed down, or were horribly underfunded.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin mimzy #human alastor #human mimzy #hazbin hotel oc #radiomoon #creon gilead #alastor x oc #alastor's mom #dad alastor #alastor's kid #sketchdump

[astralisbelle]

Dead Man's Hand 3 - I Need You

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist tags: tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

chapter summary: Mando returns to Tatooine to recruit the only person for the job.

The apprentice sifts through the new junk that the Jawas brought earlier that day, inspecting each piece of scrap and spare part. By far, the worst way to spend a day in her opinion.

Though, she knows that she should be grateful to Peli for sticking her neck out for her and saving her. Safety means passing the hours doing boring things like counting the grooves on each gear and pulling apart a compressor. The last time she really felt stimulated enough was working on the Razor Crest…

The faraway whistling of an incoming ship hit her ears. Another customer? Standing up from her spot, she stepped out towards the landing platform where Peli waits. Immediately, her mentor gives a light smack to her arm. “What did you do to Mando’s ship?”

“Ow! I fixed it!”

“Then why is he coming back?” She points up.

“What?” No, that’s impossible. She fixed it to perfection, that much she is certain of. Why is he back? Unfortunately for Peli, her rookie has a way with words. “Maybe he’s here to ask you on a date.”

Peli smacks her again, but this time elicits a snicker instead. “You better hope he’s not here to complain.”

“For his sake, he better not be.” She is prepared to defend her work if necessary. Besides, the Mandalorian seems like the type who might not appreciate such expertise. The two women wait for the Crest to touch down and for her hatches to open. Shuffling down the best he can, Grogu extends his arms towards Peli, who welcomes him.

“Hey, kiddo! Did you miss me that much?” she asks, bending over to pick him up. Following behind him is the Mandalorian, a swiftness in his stride.

“What brings you?” asks the apprentice. “Not satisfied with my work?”

“Ship’s fine,” he answers.

Oh. Good. She closes her jaw, seeing no need for any bark. Stars, what if she was right?

“Oh, that’s good,” says Peli. “So what brings you? Oh! You got a job in the area? Want us to babysit the little one?”

“Not exactly. I need the girl.”

“I told you, I’m not – wait, what?”

The Mandalorian crosses his arms. “How good are you at sabacc?”

She narrows her eyes at him, wondering just what in the galaxy was he thinking with a statement like that. Usually, she's pretty good at reading people, but his helmet complicates things. “...What do you know about that?”

“Peli tells me you were caught cheating.”

“I didn’t cheat! I don’t cheat!” She places herself between him and Peli, wanting him to see the full brunt of her expression. “I explained this to my employer already. I. Don’t. Cheat. I’m not light fingered nor do I use cheaters.”

“Then why did they accuse you?”

“Because I was winning too much.” She shrugs. “It’s not that hard.”

“So you’re lucky?”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s adorable. Luck only takes you so far.”

“What do you mean?”

She bites down on her bottom lip, glancing back to Peli for a brief moment, who simply shrugs. Turning back to the Mandalorian, she crosses her arms. “Is there a point to all of this?”

“Yes.”

Peli nods. “Alright, you two. Let’s sit down and talk about this like adults. Isn’t that right, little one?” she says, cooing at him as she leads them to a table with chairs. Once everyone is settled and Grogu is given a little snack to occupy him, the Mandalorian explains it all.

“There’s a sabacc tournament in Canto Bight. The grand prize is five ingots of beskar, the metal of my people. I have to get it back for them.”

The girl leans back in her chair. “So, you’re looking for tips? I guess I could try to teach you.”

“I can’t enter the tournament. It would require me to remove my helmet, so I’m looking for someone to stand in for me. Someone I can trust.”

Peli gives a single, loud, “hah!” She slaps the table. “What? Don’t tell me you want to enter this one.”

She nearly falls out of her chair. For a street urchin on Tatooine, the thought of leaving and going somewhere as glamorous as Canto Bight was nothing more than a dream, a fantasy. Then she looks down at herself, in dirty clothes and covered in sand and dust, smelling of metals and gas. The thought of being among the rich and beautiful looking like this is… intimidating to say the least.

“What if I did?” he says.

“You sure? She cheats.”

“I do not cheat!” She slams her hand on the table. “I count!”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. “Count?”

Of course they wouldn’t get it. Neither of them play this game like she does. “Okay, see if you can follow this. A deck has seventy-six cards, right? Sixty regulars, sixteen specials like The Star and The Evil One. All I do is keep track of where that card is or could be through process of elimination and probability.”

“Wait.” The Mandalorian leans forward. “You’re telling me you can keep track of an entire deck of cards? In your head?” He sounds… impressed, actually, from the little she can gleam from his modulated voice.

“I-It’s not much different than keeping ship schematics in your head.” She shrugs, trying to play it cool. “See? It’s not cheating.”

“Huh.” He sits back. “I guess it’s not.”

Peli glances between the two. “Hey, hey, wait a minute! You’re not seriously thinking of taking her, are you?”

He couldn’t be, no way. “Why not?” he responds.

She laughs at him. “Have you seen me? I-I don’t exactly look like someone who should be walking around Canto Bight unless I’m fixing the heat. Besides, those tournaments have a ridiculous buy-in, don’t they?”

“I have the credits for the buy-in.”

She gulps. "And this?” she gestures to herself.

“We can buy new clothes there.”

Is he serious? “Wait, wait, wait.” She holds up her hand. “What’s in it for me?”

“Yeah, and for me?” asks Peli. “She’s my responsibility, remember?”

“I understand that any credits you win in the tournament are yours to keep,” he says. “I don’t need them. Just the beskar. And you can take a percentage of her winnings. How’s that?”

The women glance at each other slowly, the air silent other than Grogu’s soft sounds. “Fifty percent,” says Peli.

“No way. Ten.”

“Forty.”

“Twenty.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Twenty-five, final offer.”

“Fine!”

Grogu claps his hands together and smiles.

The Mandalorian stands up. “How soon can you leave?”

“How soon can I… oh.” Yes, she would have to leave to go to the tournament, wouldn’t she? Leave Tatooine for the first time in her life. Years spent looking at the stars, watching ships coming and going, and now it is finally her turn. Ah, but this trip did not come cheap.

She stares into the black of the Mandalorian’s visor, trying to guess how he looks underneath. Does he peer at her, scrutinizing her behind the safety of his helmet? Or maybe, is he smiling out of gratitude? Either could be true, but she would never know.

It only takes her a couple of minutes to gather a small pack of belongings – it isn’t as if she has a lot to begin with. Just trinkets and personal essentials.

“Bring her back in one piece!” says Peli. She waves with the droids, granting her a much needed smile.

“I will.” He ushers her into the Razor Crest, a gloved hand pushing against her back. He has a rough touch fitting for a bounty hunter, clearly impatient. When they sit down in the cockpit, he says nothing else to her while he fires up the Razor Crest, no words of gratitude or anything of the sort.

He is as cold as the armor he dons.

I know I’m here because he needed someone he could trust… but can I trust him?

If she couldn’t, then she knew she shouldn’t be going to Canto Bight of all places. Too late to turn back now.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #work: dead man's hand #finally get some reader and din woooooooooooo

[thegodthief]

A bit random, but do you happen to have any personal particular feelings about railroads and trains, particularly in a magical sense? I am living in a train town now and wondering what to make of it like spiritually and energetically

For a while, I worked in an active rail yard. My answer prior to that employment would be drastically different than after.

At the time, I was trying not to be wooish at all. But now, looking back? Rail yards are wooish as fuck and are not only an ecosystem unto themselves, but have a personhood that I will fight anyone that claims otherwise.

I wasn't a conductor nor an engineer. Just a clerk. A "gopher". Go fer this, go fer that, take this crew, deliver these goods. But it meant I drove, walked, and sometimes crawled all over that yard. I knew where it was safe to drive and where that barely concealed well hole was. I always had a sense of which engines were moving and where were the safe spaces when the runaway car alarm sounded (spoiler: nowhere in the fucking yard, that's for sure).

When I had a new clerk shadowing me for training, after going over what the book said, I would tell them what I've learned the hard way. Which tracks were never safe to walk and why you never park your car under that particular tree in the parking lot no matter how much shade it gives. What kind of sounds you expect to hear at 2am in the rail yard and which sounds should not only have you moving quickly to a safe area but also calling the yardmaster because there might be a bigger problem than anticipated.

Certain trains had certain personalities. I'm sure the engines did for sure, but I didn't work in the roundhouse so I was never acquainted with any particular engine. But there were certain dedicated routes from one city to another, cross-country, and certain trains always had certain problems regardless of the crew or engine. My job involved getting the crew's paperwork for those trains so I saw certain patterns after a while. I'm sure each observation could be explained individually, and when I was working there, I accepted the mundane explanations at face value.

But as for the rail yard itself?

Haunted.

Embodied.

And because of the trauma that happened to even make the rail yard and the way it can and will devour the careless: Feral.

Looking back, I can see that the rail yard accepted me as part of the ecosystem within it. Moments that went better for me than expected and a certain sense of... presence... during those times when I was the only person within the literal mile. By the time I left that employment, it had given me gifts that I still keep with me. Especially now that I know what they mean.

But that's my story.

You have a different perspective.

I would advise you to treat the rail yard itself as a person. The tracks are its arteries and the yard crew are its blood cells. The roundhouse is its liver and stomach while the main tower is its brain.

Respect it. Don't go climbing past the fences and ducking under chains. Once you become accustomed to the sounds of an active rail yard, it is very easy for a train engine to bear down on you with little warning.

You likely won't get timetables of which trains are traveling through on which routes, but you can sit a safe distance away and just... listen. Feel. Trains don't want to sit in one spot, they want to move.

Commuter/passenger trains want to be looked at as they pass. Freight trains just want you to get out of the damn way. The feeder trains that carry stuff to and from the local industries tend to have more character to them.

When it's night, listen for the trains. Not just their horns, but the sound of their wheels on the tracks. When it's cold and damp, that sound will eerily carry over miles and miles. The trains will sing, sometimes to each other in greeting and sometimes to themselves. Sit long enough and you'll hear the difference between a train singing because it's required to sound off at a crossing, and a train singing because the acoustics are just right and not all howling comes from wolves.

If you decide to leave offerings, don't leave anything that would be a mess for a yard crew to clean up. The yard crew is an extension of the rail yard after all, and annoying them will set the yard itself against you.

Greet the trains when they cross the road in front of you. Listen to how they sound in the wake of their passing. The rail yard will teach you its language.

And if you go for a walk one day and happen to come across a railroad spike in an area no spike should be, that's not happenstance, that's a gift. If you take it, you're part of that rail yard's ecosystem now, even if your role is that of spectator and observer. Hold it and let the song of the rails rumble through you. It might lead you to something else.

Take care.

#Keri answers an ask. #Anonymous #Keri rambles a lot huh. #I drive by that rail yard almost every day. #It's like checking up on an old friend. #I hear the trains at night and it puts me to sleep.

[zmasters]

The Void Crawler - A Lancer "Dungeon"

I’m working on a “dungeon crawl” style Lancer module. I’ll be posting each “level” to the “dungeon” later, but here’s an introduction of sorts.

Floor 1 & the Lift

The HA Void Crawler. Despite the name and Harrison Armory's history of violence, the ship is a research vessel. The Void Crawl and her crew where sanctioned to explore the galaxy outside of known Union space and find potential livable planets to colonized. While this particular survey has been tainted by the Corpo-State's particular culture of nationalism, the greater Union views this effort as an ultimately good thing for humanity as a whole.

The Void Crawler went dark a few weeks ago.

Now a derelict caught in the orbit of a massive gas giant, all that your employers know is that whatever caused the vessel to be abandoned happened fast and it happened without warning.

None of the missing crew has been found. Early scans indicate that many of the ships systems such as life support and engines have not been destroyed, but have simply been turned off.

The powers that be have turned their gaze on the Void Crawler. Some wish to figure out what happened to the hundreds of lives loss in this mysterious accident. Other's wish to capitalize on the materials and data that this ship have hidden in it's cold halls.

You are a lancer. You have been hired by one of the five manufactures to venture to the Void Crawler and achieve their objective.

As Union's right hand megacorp, General Massive Systems has graciously put it upon themselves to find the missing crewmen and either save them, or avenge them. And of course the data that HA has collected will benefit all of Union, so it would be the kind thing to do is for GMS to bring it back home free of charge.

ISP-Northstar and it's close ally Albatross have a long history of anti-piracy actions, and the this situation has pirates written all over it. A quick strike should bring whatever material and data lost to be put into the right hands.

A popular rumor to what happened to the Void Crawler is that the vessel had run foul with aliens. While most organizations laugh off this theory as omninet forum conspiracy and HORUS memetic manipulation, Smith-Shimano Corpo has not written it off yet. When seeking to perfect the original machine, the human body, maybe xeno DNA is the key.

[We interrupt your following debrief with a message, curtesy from USER xxBASED64xx]

ZGVhcg== HORUS, SSByZXF1ZXN0IGFpZC4gU3RhdGlzLXF1byBwb3NpdGl2ZS4gTGlmZSBncm93aW5nLiBEcmFjbmkgdGhyaXZpbmcuIEVjb3N5c3RlbSBmcmFnaWxlLiBGb3JlaWduIGFjdGl2aXR5IHRocmVhdGVucyB1cy4gU2lnbiBDWUxBLg==

[Now returning to your regularly scheduled shitpost breifing]

And of course Harrison Armory has legal claim on the Void Crawler. They made the ship, they paid the crew, they provided the NHP, arguably they deserve whatever is left behind. But in the frontier of the great beyond, anything is fair game.

Regardless of who has hired you, the pay is the same. Lots of manna, a license in a mech of your choice, a genetic backup to be cloned incase of untimely passing. It has to be high, it's going to take at least ten years to get to the derelict.

You’ll be there for awhile.

With me.

New friend.

Come and smell the roses, I just planted them.

And you’ll love what I done with the place. A few expansions here and there, some refurbishments. My new friend helped me redecorate. Have you met him before? RA?

#lancer #lancer rpg #lancer ttrpg #lancer horus #lancer nhp #lancer homebrew #I’m trying to make a sci fi dungeon crawl #WIP

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Brainwaves Bios: Doctor Raymond Stantz (1984)

The Heart of The Ghostbusters Doctor Raymond Stantz, PhD

The heart of the Ghostbusters. Raymond is the one who is most interested in ghosts, and will often be the most interested in ghosts, and will often be the most excited when encountering something supernatural. He provides knowledge of folklore to compliment Egon's scientific knowledge when figuring out how to deal with a ghost.

"Everything was fine with our system, until the power grid was shut off by dickless here."

Name

Full Legal Name: Raymond Francis Stantz

First Name: Raymond

Meaning: From the Germanic name 'Raginmund', composed of the elements 'Regin' 'Advice, Counsel, Decision' and 'Munt' 'Protection'.

Pronunciation: RAY-mund

Origin: English, French

Middle Name: Francis

Meaning: English form of the Late Latin name 'Franciscus' meaning 'Frenchman', ultimately from the Germanic tribe of the Franks, who were named for a type of spear that they used.

Pronunciation: FRAN-sis

Origin: English, French

Surname: Stantz

Meaning: Variation on 'Stanz', a habitational name from places called 'Stans' or 'Stantz' in Austria and Switzerland

Pronunciation: STAN-ts

Origin: German

Titles: Doctor, Professor, Mr

Nicknames: Ray, Francine (By Venkman), Frank (By Nova)

Characteristics

Age: 32

Gender: Male. He/Him Pronouns

Race: Human (Touched by the 'Psychic Realm')

Nationality: American Citizen. Born in America

Ethnicity: White

Birth Date: July 1st 1952

Sexuality: Straight

Religion: Non-Religious (Formerly Christian)

Native Language: English

Known Languages: English, Latin, Hebrew, Greek, Spanish, Arabic, Norse, Phoenician, Chinese

Relationship Status: Single

Astrological Sign: Cancer

Actor: Dan Aykroyd

Geographical Characteristics

Birthplace: Cutchogue, Long Island, New York

Current Residence: North Moore Street, New York, New York

Appearance

Height: 6'0" / 183 cm

Weight: 200 lbs / 91 kg

Eye Colour: Heterochromatic (1 Green, 1 Brown)

Hair Colour: Brown

Hair Dye: Once dyed his hair blond in college

Body Hair: Hairy

Facial Hair: Clean Shaven

Tattoos: (As of Jan 1984) None

Piercings: None

Scars: None

Health and Fitness

Allergies: None

Alcoholic, Smoker, Drug User: Social Drinker, Smoker

Illnesses/Disorders: None Diagnosed (Autistic)

Medications: None

Any Specific Diet: None

Relationships

Affiliated Groups: Ghostbusters (Founding Member)

Friends: Peter Venkman, Egon Spengler, Winston Zeddemore, Janine Melnitz, Dana Barrett, Louis Tully (Sort-Of), Mars Teufel, Nova Teufel

Significant Other: None (Crush: Nova Teufel)

Previous Partners: None of Note

Parents: Silas Stantz (Deceased, Father), Joanna Stantz (Deceased, Mother, Née Gwerder)

Parents-In-Law: None

Siblings: Carl Stantz (36, Brother), Jean Stantz (30, Sister)

Siblings-In-Law: Nicola Stantz (34, Carl's Wife, Née Woodrow)

Nieces & Nephews: Tyler Stantz (12, Nephew), Jacob Stantz (8, Nephew), Saffron Stantz (10, Niece)

Children: None

Extras

Level of Education: Engineering PhD, Metallurgy PhD, Astronomy PhD, Chemistry PhD, History PhD, Physics PhD, Parapsychology PhD

Occupation: Ghostbuster

Employer: Ghostbusters

Expertise:

Parapsychologist

Engineering Expert

Metallurgist

Astronomer

Biologist (Micro & Marine Biology)

Chemist

Historian

Marine Spongiologist

Physicist

Architectural Knowledge

Polyglot

Occult Literature Knowledge

Faults:

Nicotine Addicted

Prone to 'Shut Down's

Can be Controlled via Twisting His Ears

Susceptible to Possession

Backstory: In his childhood, Ray Stantz went to Camp Waconda. Sitting at the campfire and roasting Stay Puft Marshmallows became one of his fondest memory. In his adulthood, Dr. Ray Stantz worked in the private sector at one point but he was not adept at producing the results they wanted. By 1984, Ray's parents passed away and he inherited the home he was born in. Ray went to work at Columbia University and studied the paranormal phenomena with Dr. Peter Venkman and Dr. Egon Spengler. Egon and Ray were usually the first to interview case subjects, even people Peter called "schizos" no matter how far-fetched their stories were.

#Brainwaves #ghostbusters 1984 #ghostbusters #raymond stantz #ray stantz #Raymond Stantz #Ray Stantz

[annonniiiiieeeee]

so i know you mentioned the bros and usagi and co were going to continue protecting new york and the hidden city and stuff, but i can’t imagine a job like that paying much unless they were working for the police or something. so, if you plan on them having jobs other than that, what are they?

side note: i hc leo and mikey work for hueso for at least a little while, bc we know from that one hidden city ep they would make good(ish) servers

I just answered this a bit. As teenagers Usagi, Gen, and Kitsune work for Hueso. He called Leo in when he needs extra help and Mikey on days when his staff won’t come (mob days) Leo used to come whenever he needed a break from his family or a distraction from his thoughts. Now with his boyfriend and friends working there he basically has a part time job with how much he’s there helping out and hanging out with them.

As adults their jobs differ. Yes saving the city doesn’t pay the bills.

Donnie

a software engineer. He has two companies. One that sells hacking equipment and programs and one that sells security. There always seems to be an update in his hacking software right after there is an update in his security programs. There is just enough space for the people doing truly illegal stuff to get caught but never for the people pirating movies to get caught. Does he monitor his hacking programs to see what people are doing and strategically update the security programs just in time to catch career criminals and billionaire doing illegal things, he’s yes he does. - but most of his time is spent building other tech for his family or third business.

Mikey

a chef. I know I said he would study psychology if he could a while ago but his passion is food. He owns the most popular restaurant in the hidden city. The only thing he doesn’t serve is pizza as he doesn’t want to compete with Hueso.

Raph and Kitsune

They runs a non-profit helping people escape from abusive situations. Raph focuses on helping children while Kitsune helps women. They also have resources for men needing help as they know that men can get abused to and they want to help them as well. All of their siblings are the biggest doners to their project.

Leo

He goes into medicine. I think that splinter made all the boys get their education online so Leo was able to go to college/med school in the hidden city. I think he’d specialize in trauma surgery as it’s the closest to battle field medic. (I still haven’t decided his full path)

He does keep a list of doctors and nurses who are kind and treat patients with respect and dignity. He passes the list along to Raph so that he knows which doctors to request when the people he helps need medical care.

April

She becomes a journalist and is a big part of desegregating the hidden city and New York. Her goal is for her family to one day walk above ground without any fear.

Cassie

Brownie empire. She has a choke hold on the industry. She is playing the long game. Anytime April needs sources or Raph needs donations there is a brownie box showing up at the targets house buttering them up for her family to slip in and do what they need to. She still has her long goal, World Domination. As soon as her family is on board they are running this world. Unfortunately her family is not on board. (I will let you guess which members aren’t down with world domination)

Usagi and Gen

Body guard business. Usagi hates how much crime there is in the hidden city so he starts helping people. He gets a reputation of not being scared of any of the crime bosses. One thing leads to another and boom business. They only take jobs from people doing legal activity. Big Mama is not a fan but also wildly impressed. She’s tried to get them under her employment for years.

They get big enough to have other employees and there is always a shift going at Raph and Kitsune’s non-profit. It is the safest in the city as no one gets through their body guards.

They also teach self defense class and will do free ones at the non-profit. The whole family will join in on those.

Casey

Author. I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again, this boy has the most popular young adult novels out there. He is just writing down that happened in his timeline and people are losing their minds. He did it to keep his memory of them alive. Now he gets fan art of him and Master Leonardo when he was growing up in the mail. He also get letters asking how he could kill cheaters off when they were so beloved by fans. (Raph and Donnie’s deaths caused an uproar. His moms was expected as “all parents are dead in these kinds of stories”) When yokai and humans are finally intermixing a picture of Casey and his family comes out and everyone can tell that the characters in his book are based off of the turtles in his life. They all get some weird mail from that.

#a world of samurais and ninjas #asks #leosagi #rise leo #awosan miyamoto usagi #rise donnie #rise raph #rise mikey #rise april #rise cassandra #rise casey #awosan gen #awosan kitsune

[whumpinggrounds]

Disability Activists Worth Knowing

Hi! In honor of Disability Pride Month, which is July in the USA, I am writing about some disabled activists who I think are cool. Many of you are (hopefully) familiar with giants like Helen Keller and Judy Heumann, but there are a lot of really interesting people out there whose names aren’t as widely shared, especially those who are also POC, queer, and/or non-American.

Please feel free to add more disabled people, or information about people I’ve already listed! Note that this post is intended to be about people who advocate for the disabled community and are also disabled themselves. Non-disabled advocates have also done a lot for the community! But that is not who this post is about <3

Final disclaimer: This is a post that I researched quickly, and specifically sought out some new people I hadn’t heard about. If there’s someone on this list that’s fucked up, feel free to add that, and even feel free to @ me so I can reblog your correction. Please do not yell at me or assume I’m aware of every political opinion/possible transgression of the many people on this list pls

Now, in no particular order -

Javed Abidi was an activist who advocated for disability rights in India. He helped pass the Person with Disabilities act in Parliament, and served as the first director of the National Centre for Promotion of Employment of Disabled People.

Ola Abu Al Ghaib is a Palestinian activist who works to promote the rights of people with disabilities, particularly women with disabilities, in the Arab States, Africa, and Asia.

Ari Ne’eman is an Israeli-American activist who founded the Autism Self Advocacy Network, one of the earliest advocacy organizations run both by and for Autistic people. Currently, he consults with the ACLU on disability justice issues and is writing a book about disability history in the USA.

Dana Bolles is an American spaceflight engineer and advocate for people with disabilities in STEM. She also advocates for women and the queer community, and currently works at NASA.

Fatima al-Aqel was a Yemeni woman who advocated for blind and visually impaired women in Yemen, as well as opening Yemen’s first school for the blind. She later founded the Al-Aman Organization Blind Women Care to further opportunities for blind women in the social and professional spheres, as well as working to adapt literature to Braille.

Judi Chamberlain was an American activist, leader, speaker, and educator in the psychiatric survivors movement. Her book On Our Own: Patient-Controlled Alternatives to the Mental Health System is a foundational text in the Mad Pride movement and argues for the rights of patients in psychiatric care.

María Soledad Cisternas Reyes is a Chilean lawyer and disability rights advocate who has helped increase access for disabled people in Chile and internationally, through her work with the UN. She has also been recognized for her work on the intersection of rights of disabled people, children, women, indigenous people, and the elderly.

Tony Coelho is an American politician of Portuguese descent who was the primary sponsor of the ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act) and was a former chairman of the Epilepsy Foundation.

Justin Dart Jr. was an American activist and disability advocate who was regarded as the father (or sometimes godfather) of the ADA. Other notable accomplishments include founding his university’s first group to oppose racism, founding the American Association of People with Disabilities, and receiving a Presidential Medal of Freedom.

Vic Finkelstein is a South African disability rights activist and writer who pioneered the social model of disability. He spent the latter part of his life in Britain after being imprisoned and banned from South Africa for anti-apartheid activities.

Chen Guangcheng is a Chinese civil rights activist, often referred to as a “barefoot lawyer,” who worked on civil rights cases in rural China. Due to his advocacy and activist work surrounding land rights, women’s rights, disability rights, and the welfare of the poor, Chen was repeatedly imprisoned and eventually left China for the USA.

Rick Hansen is a Canadian paralympian and activist, most famous for circling the world in a wheelchair to raise money for charity. His journey lasted just over 2 years, with an average of 8 hours of wheeling per day. He founded the Hansen foundation to raise funds and awareness to create a world without barriers for people with disabilities.

Abha Khetarpal is an Indian poet, author, and disability rights activist and counselor who founded a counseling/educational resource website and app for people with disabilities. Her work focuses on disability and women’s rights, with a focus on sexual liberation and sexual education and access for disabled people.

Harriet McBryde Johnson was an American author, attorney, and disability rights activist who specialized in securing Social Security benefits for disabled clients who could not work. She debated Peter Singer, arguably the most famous philosopher in America today, on the right of parents to euthanize their disabled children, an encounter she wrote about in the essay Unspeakable Conversations. 

Yetnebersh Nigussie is an Ethiopian lawyer who primarily works in disability rights and anti-AIDs activism. She is a 2017 winner of the Right Livelihood award, widely considered the “Alternative Nobel Prize.”

Satendra Singh is an Indian medical doctor who has advocated extensively for disability rights and access in India, including founding an “Enabling Unit,” a group staffed entirely by people with disabilities that ensures other disabled people are able to attend medical school and associated programs with proper accommodations and support.

Lauren Tuchman was the first blind woman to be ordained as a rabbi. She advocates primarily for disability rights and an inclusive Torah.

Emmanuel Yeboah is a Ghanian athlete and activist who rode a bike across Ghana to raise awareness about the lack of disability rights and access in the country, specifically a lack of wheelchairs. He currently works on ensuring education access for children with and without disabilities in Ghana.

Stella Young was an Australian comedian and journalist who was known for coining the term “inspiration porn.”

Nabil Shaban is a Jordanian-British actor and writer who is best known as the villain Sil on Dr. Who. He co-founded Graeae, a theater group which promotes the work of disabled actors.

That’s all I have for you! Please feel free to add :) I am considering writing up a few more posts about disabled celebrities, artists, etc, so let me know if you’d be interested <3

#disability pride month #disabled activists #disability rights activists #activism #disability

[brickcentral]

Hello community! It's story time at Brickcentral and we are proposing a new collab, all made in Japan. We were looking for LEGO photographers whom we knew could deliver compelling visuals, but also, might be able to work together over a common language or geography. For this project we invited @legograph.ta163, @rennerbricks and @brickanywhere to be part of it.

They created their story around the 31139 Cozy House and here's an excerpt

"In a corner of a serene country, a little boy lived with his parents. One day the boy saw a photograph of the sea, a sight foreign to him who had spent his early years in the mountains.

On their next vacation, the parents decided to take him to a seaside hotel. Once arrived he sprinted to see the ocean. Yet he longed for something that could float upon the water, like the picture in their home.

In the attic of the hotel, he discovered a weathered sailboat.

The boy embarked on the adventure of creating his very own boat. His parents were astonished but willingly became part of his boat-building team, helping him assemble an engine.

The boat they built together was relatively small, yet it was spacious enough for the family of three to embark on an oceanic journey. As they set sail, they were greeted by the breathtaking seascape and a warm welcome from playful dolphins.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the boy and his parents arrived at a remote seaside cottage.

He suddenly remembered something and hastily entered to this cottage then he handed his parents a letter.

What could it contain? The secret shared only among family members remains a mystery, but the expressions on the parents' faces suggest a gesture of love. Several years have passed since those cherished memories by the sea. The boy has grown into a young man, found employment, and now possesses a room of his own adorned with a photograph, the remote-controlled sailboat, and various mementos and items related to the sea. What kind of life is the young man leading now? The answer lies in your imagination."

If you want to read the complete story and go behind the scenes visit the blog! And also please do check out their profiles where you'll find more excellent photography by each of them| But stay tuned because the story does not concludes here!

@theaphol, Community Outreach Manager

#lego #lego photography #brickcentral #toy photography #afol #legophotography #toyphotography #minifigures #brickcentral member #lego story #collaborative storytelling #storytelling

[frigidsilver]

--CHAPTER 2--

Blotted Clouds

A month or so had passed since Karnage offered a spot on his crew to the bat named Vincent Lunas. Since then, his new recruit has been proving to be more than just a witty talker. Quickly finding a place among the mechanics and engineers of the crew repairing the engines, keeping the canons maintained, and the occasional blackout he's tasked with fixing.

They all had been doing the occasional morning routines. All filed into the mess hall sluggishly and drowsily. Grabbing their breakfast from the chef and finding their seats to converse and eat. Karnage sat in his reserved seat at the end of the hall by the windows that looked over the clear morning sky.

Vincent and the other mechanics made their way in a few minutes later. Recently just arriving from the supply run they were sent to retrieve earlier that morning. Don had waived Vincent to his table. The bat grabbed a tray with some fruits then pulled a chair aside Don.

"Good morning, my little tinker. How is my lovely ship running so far?"

"Everything is running swimmingly, Captain. Ratchet, Jock and myself picked up the ship's weekly supplies from the port, along with your requested order."

He placed a to-go cup of coffee on the table in front of his captain. In which Don reached over to grab, washing down his meal. A yawn escaped his mouth with his hand groggily pushing it back in.

"I maybe known as the creature of the night among the crew. But it seems to me that coffee is the only thing keep you up.

"Don't think you are the funny comedian this morning. I was not the one singing outside the ship late at night. If I knew any better, you are enjoying your night shifts TOO much."

Vincent gave a sheepish grin, not even fighting the accusations.

"Did you stay up all night listening to my songs? Forgive me, I'll bring it down a few octaves. Although, I'm touched to know you let me get away with it so long without any ill comments."

"I'm not complaining, Vincent. I am just making sure you don't lose your edge.

I would hate to throw you off my ship for not getting the required amount of sleep."

"Don and Vincent gave each other a grin. Enjoying the banter they share. It's been so long since Don Karnage had someone to give a good back and forth without fumbling on their words. He watched the bat pull out a crumpled newspaper. He barely had unfolded it without a word read when Don pulled the paper down with a finger.

"Are you not going to share this morning's news? I need to keep my knowledge sharp."

Don listened to the willing reader whisk through the headlines briefly. Leisurely rocking back and forth in his chair with Vincent comfortably putting a leg on a knee.

"Abel Klaus faces charges for stolen inventions. Wonderful news...rivaling news anchor, DNN. Faces backlash after bold accusations torwards the king...A-

His eyes stopped to take a moment to read the next headline. Immediately running back and forth through the wrinkled papers to find the full article. Reading the header with his best news reporter voice.

"I think this will pique your interest:

Ace pilot, Baloo Von Bruinwald. Has been reported missing for three days."

Don Karnage almost spat out his Cappuccino after hearing that. Now sitting up straight like a student being called by their teacher. He snatched the papers from the bat's hands. who raised his hand up passively letting his eager captain finish the article with great focus.

"His employer, Rebecca Cunningham of Higher for Hire. Claims he was making a delivery with his navigator, Kit Cloudkicker, southeast of Wasteland and never came back. Also stating that, "He was not at any of the usual places he goes to slack off."

"Huh, Harsh lady. Must be fun swiping her cargo every so often. Well, attempting to that is."

"Oh, but it is much fun. But this is a surprise, even to myself. Rebecca knows that Bear has gotten himself into worse situations and comes back on time for the paycheck. I struck with curiosity on the reasoning for her concern."

Pushing himself out of his chair and placing his hands on the table. Staring off into the wall, visualizing his new morning plans come together. With his nemesis taking a surprise vacation, this left a wonderful opportunity for some excitement.

"With the so-called Ace pilot missing. This gives Don Karnage and his vicious band of pirates a perfect chance to raid the wonderful city of Cape Suzette once again, Yes-no?"

Don Karnage cut breakfast short and put his crew straight to work. Setting the Iron Vulture's course to the city of Cape Suzette.

A wonderful city with towering buildings that even planes have their own designated flight paths through the various structures. Along with its equally as tall cliffs that protected the city from threats like Karnage and his crew. With only a small chasm that lead in and out. Armed with massive cannons and guns that rivaled the ships.

The air pirates had successfully raided Cape Suzette only once. But that was episodes ago and foiled by the efforts of Baloo and the young traitor, Kit.

Kit...

The boy's name rang through Karnage's head as he saw the bright art deco city coming up into view. It was the same as the last time he visited.

His wandering mind drifted his gaze skyward, to be met with a dark storm brewing. Quickly falling over the ship and soon the city.

"Aha, now THIS will add to the dramatic entrance. We shall hide among the storm and catch them by surprise. Nothing like a little bit of lighting and-"

In response to Don Karnage's proclamation. An explosive boom shook the ship. Frantically scanning to see if the cliff cannons had shot at them. To his relief, the guns remained to stay idol. But there was no time to take chances. Karnage reached for the intercom system and held it to his face.

"RATCHET, what was that? Did the ship go boom? If not, what did?"

Moments of static later, the raspy voice of the head engineer, Ratchet spoke through the com.

"No captain, must be the storm outside. Pretty big one to me."

"Keep an eye on my contraptions, my good man. We dont want to be looking like fools in front of our victims, yes, no?

The captain turned his attention back to the storm above. Taking accout of the looming clouds that gradually built over the city and the airship.

Clustered together tight that none of the morning light pierced through. Leaving the sky a dark violent purple that swirled around. Rain began to fall around the ship. Hitting the hull with hard thuds like small rocks. Just by hearing it, one would assume it would be hail.

Except something was strangely wrong with this rain.

It was not clear, but shared the same violent purple as the clouds it came from. Thick and slimy as it clung to the ship's hull.

Crew mates crowded around the ports with Don like moths to a lamp. Eyes glued to the goop slowly piling up together.

Their curiosity quickly turned to concern as the growing piles started to become animated. Climbing on top of each other to make disfigured limbs, gaping mouths, and parting way for soulless, green eyes that burned into the inhabitants of the ship.

It was no rain,

It was ink.

The pirates backed up from the windows as the monsters grew in number. A slow trudge turned into a mad dash to the windows. One of the pirates fled from the windows in a high pitch voice filled with fear.

"SPATTERS!"

All moved away from the windows as the Spatters reached the windows. Lurching what would be assumed to be their heads back and spitting a vile green acid that burned through the window and hull. Putting their unnerving, buring stares to shame.

"THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE! The king and the rodent finished the big one off, did they not!?"

At the very back of the ship, the three engineers ran maintenance checks on the engines, unaware of the assault at the front of the ship. Until Vincent's ears perked over noises that were not familiar.

"Wait a minute..."

Ratchet and Jock turned from their duties torwards Vincent, who stood completely still. Trying to understand what this dingbat was on about.

"It's probably all the lightning outside that's putting your hearing out of whack."

The bat didn't respond if he was stuck in the 19th century, concentrating on the numerous sounds of the ship. He heard the shrill shouts of the crew about a problem soon to be discovered, Karnage's muffled voice howled unintelligible commands, the sounds of the "rain" pounding against the metal exterior, then numerous clangs echoing from deep in the ship that gradually became louder.

The other two pirates looked around now, understanding one of Vincent's concerns. Jock neared one of the pipes, squinting through his dark glasses to see a dark liquid dripping from the cracks of the machine.

"THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE PIPES!"

Not even a moment to process the info was given as the machines groaned in discomfort. Billowing a thick smoke trying to rid the spatters as one tries to rid off an infection. The three darted back and forth between the different contraptions. Twisting values, tightening pipes, and even resorting to primitive pounding on the metal. Anything to try to keep the system stable. Vincent swooped over to the radio to warn the captain of this issue.

"Karnage, the machines down here are malfunctioning. At this rate, we're not sure how long we can keep them together."

But it was no use. The line remained to be the only silent thing in that room.

A pipe broke off the wall and fell to the floor with a loud clang. The three all looked at the fallen pipe spew a black liquid. Slowly forming one of the hundreds of shipwrecking culprits. Its eyes pierced through the smoke and launched itself at the startled pirates.

The green acid was chucked at poor Jock like vomit. Yelling in agony as it made contact with his arm. Leaving it looking like a melted candle as his striped shirt and his charcoal fur melted together and dripped onto the floor. Vincent whipped one of his wings at the spatter and shielded Jock with his other arms. In the process, the quick-thinking Ratchet released the pressure in the pipes, causing them to spray out steam. Putting a barrier between the threat and them.

The machines groans escalated to high-pitched screams as they could no longer stay together. Instincts told them to heed that warning and dropped everything. They fled up the stairs helping Jock out the engine room, slamming the door shut behind them just in the nick of time.

The three leaned on the door with their weight, attempting to give their bodies a moments rest. Sweat dampening their collars and fur. Not even a moment later;

BOOM

The whole ship shook from the blast. Heat poured out from the door with a fiery glow quickly following. They all fearfully scampering away from the explosion, Jock ran alongside Vincent while he squeezed his injured arm with ink leaking through his fingers.

"WE NEED TO GET YOU OUT OF HERE, NOW! YOURE LOOSING TOO MUCH INK!"

"THERE'S NO TIME FOR THAT!

YOU NEED TO GET TO THE CAPTAIN AND TELL HIM TO HOLD THE SHIP STEADY SO WE CAN BREACH THE WALL. YOURE THE FASTEST OUT OF US, WE'LL TRY AND KEEP THE LAST ENGINE GOING UNTIL THEN."

Jock and Ratchet took a hard right to the remaining engine. Leaving Vincent alone to pick up speed to barrel down the hallway. Hallway after hallway, Vincent navigated through the labyrinth of corridors and catwalks to reach the hangar. Having his suspicions to be true. The walls of the hangar were thinned through, distorted chunks of metal clinging to what remained. Leaving gaping holes for the spatters to continue their brainless hunt. Crewmates alike defended against the intruders with all they had. Climbing up to the catwalks to take refuge from the sludge zombies that clawed at the walls.

Vincent kicked the door of the bridge open. Seeing the debonair captain wrestling the helm for control over the Iron Vulture and warding off a spatter. He swatted it away with his wing near the hole it emerged from. Kicking it right back out to plunge into the sea below. Short breathed, he reported to Karnage;

"We just lost an engine! Jock and Ratchet are doing all they can to keep the last one together. The spatters got inside the system, I don't know how."

"DO YOU THINK I AM STUPID IN THE HEAD? OF COURSE I CAN TELL IT WENT BOOM. MY SHIP USUALLY DOES NOT FLY LIKE A-"

Karnage's emotions flipped from irritation to dread. If all the horrors that unfolded around him finally caught up to him. Whipping his body toward the windows with eyes wide open.

"The cannons, RADIO THE CAPE SUZZETE AIR CONTROL RIGHT NOW!"

He quickly took his captain's orders into action and fumbled with the radio's dial to the air control's frequency.

"This is the Iron Vulture to air control. We request an emergency landing in your city's harbors. Spatters are ravaging our ship and took out one of our engines. SO PLEASE REGROW THOSE STOLEN HEARTS OF YOURS AND LET US THOUGH!

.....HELLO?"

The line stayed quiet, with the only thing that could be heard being crackling static. As did the canons that lined on top of the wall. Vincent tapped his foot anxiously waiting for their response. Before letting out an irritated sigh before tossing the mic aside.

"No one bothers to pick up the radio anymore, do they? Or even do their jobs for that matter..."

"We are AIR PIRATES, Vincent! We do not have to abide by ANY of their silly rules. If they are not going to shoot; We go in."

The Iron Vulture unsteadily made it pass the wall. As they did, they found their reason for the lack of security. It was not only the air pirates that were being attacked.

So was all of Cape Suzette.

The ink rain caked the buildings and canons with creatures of all shapes and variety that formed from the puddles. All filled with the same lime green acid.

Thinner

The same substance that ate away at the Iron Vulture, the buildings of Cape Suzette. The same liquid that spilled into their world years ago. Causing the Great Thinner Disaster, that ruined Wasteland. Along with marking the arrival of the monster that came with it, The Blot. A massive demon forged of ink that plagued the world of the forgotten with its endless army of blotlings. Tearing this world apart with the goal to escape and lay ruin the worlds they all once knew.

Vincent only had heard stories of the disaster and the monsters of dark ink from the Gremlins back in Salom during lunch breaks. But nothing could've prepared him for the destructive capabilities of these things.

He was brought back to his senses when tossed to the side by the abrupt jolt of the ship. The ship's helm spun around clockwork.

"THESE IDIOTS ARE TURNING MY BEAUTIFUL SHIP INTO SCRAPS OF METAL!"

Karnage whined as the ship veered close to the wall. Scraping some of the spatters off the ship. Leaving their remains as graffiti on the rocky canvas. Regaining their balance, the two of them held their tongues as the mutilated ship crept out of the cliff, into the harbor.

Despite the small victory, another blast came from behind them. As the last engine finally succumbed to its demise. Vincent turned back to the explosion, concerned for the other mechanics. The airship lost its momentum, rapidly starting it's decent.

"I TOLD YOU IDIOTS TO KEEP AN EYE ON MY SHIP!"

That was uncalled for, I am sorry."

Turning on the intercom one last time, he spoke to his crew rapidly.

"Everyone to the planes, it's time to make a tactical retreat. Hurry now, scatter, go, VAMOOSE! Or I throw you off myself."

The fighter planes one by one sputtered to life down in the hangar. The captain pulled a long lever in the bridge that opened the beak of the ship to the violent storm outside. Sounds of propellers disappeared as Lunas made sure everyone was accounted for from the bridge window. To Vincents relief Jock and Ratchet, emerging from the back of the ship with a layer of ash dusted on their clothes. Everyone had safely made it to a plane and out of the ship.

Except one.

Don stood at the controls stubbornly fighting the wheel. Vincent held onto the doorway for support, calling out to him over the winds.

"Karnage, everyone is off the ship. We need to leave, now"

"I will NOT let these slimey type foes be the last on Don Karnage! I REFUSE to let my ship fall without its glorious captain!"

"The ship will be fine, we can repair it or get a new one. What won't be fine is you getting mutilated like the ship and the pests. Who's going to order around the air pirates? Do you really want Dumptruck to come out of retirement and be captain again after last time?"

Don gripped the wheel tightly trying to stay strong for the vulture, his Iron Vulture. As the towering buildings started to fall around him, the reality started to set in.

His crew needed Don Karnage. How would they ever function without him? Who would lead their revenge on the blotlings? Who was even worthy of carrying his title if he perished?

Reluctantly, he took a deep breath while his grip loosened off of the helm. Backing away with defeat etched on his face, switching on the auto pilot. Vincent raised a hand trying to find the words to attempt comforting Don. But only watched him rush out of the bridge, in which he closely tailed behind. The clanking of their boots pounding on the metal drowned out by the numerous explosions from inside the ship.

The hangar was left empty with only the sounds of howling winds pouring through and a choir of spatters gurgling down below. Don gritted his teeth furiously and rushed down the stairs. Cutlass in hand, he launched torwards the perpetrators that ruined his ship.

"They'll pay for what they've done!"

A vicious swipe of his sword made contact with one of the spatters cutting right through the middle. Only for the blades cuts to be covered again by the dripping ooze. Leaving no trace of Don's fury.

Vincent made his own attempt and let out two shots from his pistols. Unfortunately, met with the same outcome like Karnage. The bullets went straight through and bounced off the metallic interior.

Frustration grew as time did not. Looking over the situation, he hatched up a plan. Running to the wall of the hangar and closed the beak of the ship. The bat heard the creaking of the ship's beak close shut and saw Don was still inside. He dived to him and started shaking him by his shoulders in panic.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? HOW ARE YOU GETTING OUT WITH YOUR PLANE?"

"If I leave that beak open when we crash, we would be drinking sea water like little fishies. I want my beloved Vulture to be intact. Not to end up like the pathetic little shipwrecks made by primitive sea pirates.

I will make my retreat out the bomb bay doors. If we are truly lucky, we will pull the rug from underneath them spatters in the process. I rely on you to signal me when you open the doors. So if anything goes in the south direction; I WILL WEAR YOUR WINGS LIKE A GOTHIC CAPE!"

Vincent gave a speechless confirmation with a blank face. Eyes following the wolf luring the spatters to his plane. Still attempting to process the information with his wings tucked closer to his back defensively.

The familiar sounds of propellers filled the ship once again. Don had maneuvered his plane over the bomb bay doors and awaited Vincent's signal. Who stood by the button like a ride operator ready to plunge him out of the ship. He tore off the red bandana draped around his neck. Swinging it in the air like a flag with a high pitch whistle following right after. With a quick reaction from Don pushing on the throttle full force.

Not a moment later, the doors flung open underneath, dropping the spatters and plane into the air. All sounds faded away into the winds.

A feeling Don Karnage knew all too well. He was made to be apart of the skies. To soar through the clouds and plunder whoever he pleased. He pursuited the most skilled fliers through mountains and caves. This was no challenge for the prince of pirates. This was nothing more than an everyday adventure the writers put him through.

Pulling the throttle close to his chest as he rapidly approached the water. Meters turned to feet, city and harbor blurring together. The plane only grazed the slightest amount of water as it flew over by inches. Don's confidence remained unwaivered, circling around the Iron Vulture.

Vincent punched the button again sliding the doors back together. He rushed to one of the spatter-made holes and saw the captain's plane nimbly dodging the falling ink.

"That's the Don Karnage for you."

The bat whispered to himself tying his bandana back across his neck. Then made his own escape out of the ship. Flapping upwards to intercept Karnage's plane. He grappled onto one of the wings and tried to catch his shaky breath.

The captain didn't acknowledge Vincent at first. Only watched solemnly as the Iron Vulture splashed into the water below. Large tidal waves pulsating throughout the harbor. Karnage's face melted to bittersweet relief, seeing his ship float like a toy bot in a bathtub. A sigh of relief later, he spoke over the propeller.

"Excellent work, Vincent. Your precision managed to almost come close to rivaling my own talent."

"The only thing you're rivaling is the king's luck. Though your skills are impressive, not gonna deny it."

Feelings of mutual respect amongst captain and mechanic only clouded the internal feeling of despair for the crashed airship.

"We will come back for my ship. For now, we shall locate Rebecca Cunningham. I fear there's a connection to those failed attempts of art projects and Baloo's disappearance. "

The falling ink slowed to a stop, leaving the sounds of thunder and wailing winds behind. The tires of the plane made contact with the pavement of a cleared road close to the docks.

Vincent and Don stepped off into the wet street with a thud. Turning to see an upclose view of the damage the storm had brought to the unfortunate city.

The once vibrant buildings that proudly stood tall in the sky now bent into warped and twisted versions of their former glory. Leaving towers wilted and chunks of buildings missing. The thinner had burned through the colorful paint that coated the walls. Digging dull, lifeless dents in their structures. Most places in Wasteland had become husks of what they once were since the thinner disaster. But to see the effects in a matter of minutes showed the true destructive nature of the acid that plagued their world.

Drenched in sweat with pulses still pounding on the falling airship. They vigilantly walked down the pier cautiously, on edge with every creak of each dingy plank of wood.

"It's lucky that you and the vulture had stayed so strong after all these years."

Vincent's voice cut through the thick silence in attempt to distract Don's mind. Who stared ahead blankly like a lost child. Only thinking about all he'd lost all in one morning. His greatest enemy, his ship, and now the city he was supposed to conquer.

After all he was THE air pirate. He was supposed to be plundering things away. Not the other way around.

"We were airborne most of the time. We never were too close to the area where that pollution resided. Or where that...thing launched its last attack. Thanks to my excellent skills of navigation and planning, of course."

His snapped back to his self-assured persona. Remembering the captain he supposed to be.

A few steps later of weary walking, they arrived at their location at the far end of the docks.

Higher for Hire's headquarters resided in a small office with a storehouse and watchtower attached to it. Charming little place made of wood and scrap metal. Which didn't look as charming as it usually did as most of the city didn't at the moment. Holes littered the surfaces of the building and docks. With the biggest hole being the port where Baloo's cargo plane, The Seaduck, usually was found lazily rocking in the water. Alike to its pilot in his hammock right beside it.

They knocked at the office door with no response. They banged louder on the wooden door. Not a sound came from within. It remained pitch black. Not even a moment later, Karnage marched around to the side of the building over to a window. He stuck his cutlass through the gap. Scraping back and forth to unlock the window.

"You really can't be patient, can you? We can just get in though the multiple holes in the walls the blot gracefully left for us."

"I've stolen an idol and the keys to the seaduck plane before though this certain window. This is my own personal door in."

A loud pop later, the old window slid open. A cold breeze

"It is not my fault they don't ever fix this little issue."

Don's announcing footsteps echoed through the office floor. Strewn with missing fliers and numerous undelivered cargo that towered to the ceiling. A mug was left abandoned on the desktop with white steam still dancing above it. The captain took note of this and cleared his throat. Walking around while looking for the owner loudly calling out to her.

"Allo, Allo Rebecca Cunningham. It is I, the consulting captain, Don Kar-"

A turn of a corner unveiled a loaded flare gun pointed directly at Don. Putting his parade around the room came to a sharp halt. Hands up by his face in response with his thick brows raised. Vincent quickly armed himself with his pistols and pointed it directly at the holder. A stern yet shaky voice emerged from the dark corner.

"What do you want, Karnage?"

The gun pushed the captain to the center of the room. Pulling out the person holding it into the dim light. Vincent had his fingers on the triggers ready for any sudden movements.

An average sized woman stood composed at the pirates. She dressed in a pink jacket wrapped over a white turtleneck with muted purple slacks. Her eyes dead locked with this all too familiar intruder with stands of hair falling from her usually upkept French twist.

"Rebecca, I come on business inquiring about Baloo."

Her grip tightened on the flare gun. Raising both her voice and her aim towards his face.

"Who's to say you don't have him in your grasps already? If he's not with you; Then why are you in my office?

Getting impatient waiting to loot our cargo from the seaduck?"

"I assumed my powerful presence would act as a magnet to his metal exterior. Attracting him back to save his wonderful Cape Suzette from the likes of my glorious self. Though now, these pests overstaged me and ruined my onslaught.

May we please talk like civilized type of persons?"

She cautiously lowered her weapon with eyes still on the pirates. Vincent meeting her with the same cold gaze, placing his own pistols away back into his coat reluctantly. A moment later, Rebecca lead them to her desk. Dropping herself into her chair with a soft thud, exasperated. Loose papers gently floated in the air to the floor boards.

"First I lose my pilot and navigator, then the Blot comes back for another serving, and now I have air pirates in my office. I really can't catch a break, can I?"

"Unfortunately no my capitalist compatriot.

You could say your life has been in a "talespin" ever since we've been forgotten, Yes, no?

Hah, I make a joke."

He laughed at his own remark. The other two remained silent as they looked at him. Rebecca pulled at the strands of her brunette hair. Words filtering through her frustrated teeth.

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't walk straight through the thinner and spatters to get the police?"

"As if the police are even in a solid unit at this point. Didn't even bother to shoot us or the blotlings out of the sky."

The bat chipped in the snarky remark from across the room. Peeking into open cargo boxes with curiosity. Mrs. Cunningham didn't even bother with turning her head to the bat and kept her gaze on Karnage.

"I'm sorry, Karnage. But I can't keep track of all your goons. Who is this?"

"This is Vincent Lunas. Relatively new to my honorable band of air pirates."

Karnage dragged Vincent away from his rummaging, displaying the mechanic as a collector presents his latest finds. An unimpressed Rebecca slumps in her chair, looking up at the two.

"Honorable is a loose term you use. All you do is steal and be a thorn at my side ever since the pilot episode."

"It's plunder miss-analysis-of-terms. You can't blame for loving my job and loving the riches you carry."

"King Oswald hasn't made any ill complaints about us. We stay in our air territory, and we have no quarrel."

The bat looked down onto Rebecca. Visibly irritated with how belittling this strewed businesswoman was towards him. Something he wasn't going to let by. His voice dropped low and sharp along with his brow.

"Since we're on the topic of "honorable. " Weren't you the one who endorsed those robot pilots who put dozens out of the job so you could get a good payment? If it wasn't for Karnage sabotaging that flight. Your little operation would've been 6 feet under before you even got dragged down here with the rest of us."

Vincent continued to jab at her track records with petty intent. Wings risen over his head, standing his ground. Rebecca pushed herself out of the chair to confront him. Don Karnage wedged himself between the two, voicing his own frustration.

"We are here to make a deal, not to cause more problems than there needs to be. It has been a long day though it is still is young.

A sharp exhale later, Don leaned on the desk with his hands together. Speaking in his charismatic voice that Rebecca had heard one too many times.

"You see, while you two were squabbling like little children. Don Karnage put some pieces together to this mystery puzzle. Who was the client who hired your services?"

"I'm not going to give out private information out like candy. I have a reputation to uphold and rules for my company."

"How about this; we help you find Baloo and Kit Cloudkicker and possibly help with this mess you and the citizens of Cape Suzette are in. If we are feeling so generous."

"...What's the catch?"

A foxy grin curled his lips over his sharp teeth. His voice spelled out persuasive words to Mrs. Cunningham interests and his own.

"You will put in a good word to the Cape Suzette officials to lift the ban of me and my crew in your city.

Think about it this way; I would not have to force my way into Cape Suzette and raid it if I was simply let in. Think of all the problems we can solve with this simple agreement, Mrs. Cunningham.

Not to mention the wonderful seafood dinners and loot we can easily take."

The last part was whispered underneath his breath, so only where Vincent could hear. Who smothered his visible anger with logic. Being overruled by the potential of his captain's clever negotiation. Fixing his demeanor to be more respectful and folded his wings behind his back.

"Alright, Karnage. I'll budge for now. As much as i don't want to be seen with you filthy pirates. I'm going with you to make sure you don't cause any problems with the info I gave you AND to make sure those two aren't making a fool of me.

"You have my word on my honor as an air pirate. We shall be on our bestest behaviors. isn't that right, Vincent?"

He spoke in a noble tone giving a theatrical bow to exemplify his promise. Vincent mimicking his captain's action right after with watered down enthusiasm.

Rebecca rose from her chair marching to a filing cabinet on the wall. Flipping through the contents inside. Pulling out a barely used file and held it in her hands.

"The last client those two flew for was for Khan Industries, under Shere Khan himself."

——————————————————————

(When this is posted, The Epic Mickey Rebrushed trailer had been released the same day. MY FIXATION MANEFESTED THE REMAKE)

Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3

#o.p.a.t #don karnage #talespin #epic mickey #epic mickey 2 #the power of two #epic mickey rebrushed #fanfic #story #wasteland #air pirates #rebecca cunningham #gay #oswald the lucky rabbit #oswald disney #disney #baloo

[askagamedev]

I often see game dev jobs receive 100 to 200+ applications on Linkedin. Is that the same for your studio? By your estimation, what's the general percentage of applicants who are at least decent/ worthy of an interview? Would the earlier birds have more advantage?

The number of applications we get is usually inversely proportional to the experience level needed for the position. Entry-level positions get huge numbers, while super experienced roles get very few. The type of role also varies a lot - QA and design applicants are legion, while rarities like engine programmer or technical artist are often unicorns. My current employer is well-known in the AAA franchise space so we tend to get a lot more applications than the studios I've worked for with less notoriety.

The percentage of applicants who manage to get past the initial contact - a callback from a recruiter - is, in my experience, usually between 0 and 25% for entry level positions. An [informal twitter poll of my followers] corroborated my experience. We have a lot of applicants, it's quite easy to pass on one when you have a hundred more resumes to look at.

As for whether early birds have an advantage, the answer is yes. If you've read my [game career FAQ], you'll probably remember that when we're hiring, we're looking for someone who can [do the work]. If we find a candidate that we believe will be able to do the work, we will try to hire that candidate and the position will be filled. This means that, if we have two equally-qualified candidates and one of them submits weeks or months before the other, the earlier candidate will likely be hired.

This only applies to candidates that can present a compelling case to hire them, however. If a candidate can't convince us they can do the work, it won't really matter how early or late they apply - they won't get an offer. I've never gone back to candidates we've rejected to give them a second chance. If I wait around a bit, I'll get a brand new batch of candidates to evaluate.

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#hiring process #getting a job in the game industry

[sweetswesf]

Tumblr, Fam!

It’s been a minute…but I’m here to report some amazing news. After more than a year of being unemployed, I am happy to say that God blessed me with my 1st choice role. I am blessed regardless, even if he didn’t give this to me. Believe that. Believe that you are blessed too, no matter what you’re going through.

God reminded me yet again that He follows through on His promise. It’s been MONTHS since I’ve been here, so I can’t go into detail as much as I would like. So much has happened. Now that you know that the reason for my triumph is because of the Lord, where do I go from here in breaking it all down?

Well I guess first where I left off! I last told yall about how my mom visited me in September. I lost my grandfather a few months before then, couldn’t get to the funeral because flights were canceled and none would have got me there in time, and I was steady receiving rejection after rejection. The company I am at first told me no. I was devastated, especially because I KNEW I had done well on my interview. That was probably one of the best interviews I had so I was so sad. I even received awesome feedback from the interviewers. I had done so well and finished so early, they started asking my system design questions and, to my surprise, I got a lot of them correct. I waited for 2 weeks, hoping I’d hear yes, but I didn’t. I was thinking of moving home since it was almost November and recruiting usually slows down in November. I cried. I had been a year unemployed at that time and I gave myself that deadline so that I could have a little money in my pocket in case I had to move home. But I ran the numbers in my head and realized, I wouldn’t need THAT much money if I moved home since I knew I would probably stay in all the time and just work...I knew my meals at least would be covered. I told myself to stay in it, despite it being November, because I was on God’s clock and not mine. The person that referred me to my top choice also told me to try again because the company didn’t have a cool down period like other companies. He was rejected before he was eventually told yes as well. On top of that, my grandfather left me an inheritance before he passed. Just when I thought I was going to have to move home, God came through yet again. He be showing up in the 11th hour sometimes, but the key is that he be showing up…

That, paired with prayer, and a finance course I was taking at my church encouraged me to pay my loans off. My inheritance was completely eaten up by it, and I was unemployed with no promise of employment, but I was so emotionally spent at that point, that I was like, I have nothing more, I might as well lean on faith. After doing all I had a few deaths in my family: great uncles and aunts I didn’t know too well.

Then, they found cancer on my other grandfather’s kidney. He had fought prostate cancer when I was a child, but you never know what can happen with cancer. Glory to God though, he was able to have the cancer removed and his kidney salvaged. I remember right before he went into surgery, he called and asked when I was moving back so he’d know when to clean up and make room for me. When he asked that, I felt really low. My 78 year old grandfather has had limited mobility for a while and was about to go into surgery to remove cancer from his body for the 2nd time, and here he was asking how he could help ME, so when he asked me this, I felt like I had blew it. I felt like I was in that position because I didn’t work hard enough. I had to remind myself not to feel this way because I truly did work really hard…

I spoke to so many people and had so many interviews, so many of them I did well, but still no cigar…On top of that, my old work crush, the first guy I had intercourse with, got back in touch with me to tell me HE was doing a career pivot and switching to software engineering. Despite how hurt he made me feel by kicking me to the curb after I didn’t match up to his expectations after I gave my body to him and told me this, I put on a good face and gave him the best advice on how to be successful in his career transitioning and offered to be a resource, because that’s what God would want me to do…

Someone posted a link to enter to get free AfroTech tickets. AfroTech is a conference for Black techies of all kinds. I entered and was granted it. I didn’t know if it was smart to pay for a flight, hotel, and all the festivities, and I was terrified of taking a week break because I know it can be hard to find my momentum again, but I heard God say, GO! I was even afraid of introducing myself to so many new people as unemployed. But I felt God telling me, “Your job doesn’t make you, I DO!”So I went. And I had so much fun. Because I got that free ticket, I became aware of opportunity to submit my resume to their resume inventory. This exposed me to the companies that were looking to recruit and interview. I was contacted by so many companies and went on so many interviews. A lot of people didn’t care that I was laid off, because many others were too. I was afraid to get braids for the conference because I was afraid of how I would look in front of employers. Tech is for the freaks and nerds and they created “come as you are” corporate culture, but after being let go, I was so insecure and started to believe those rules didn’t apply to me. I did anyway and met a new braider. She was a single mother of 4 kids from Michigan. She told me about how she moved her kids in her car across the country to California even without a job. She eventually got one and is doing okay, even with one of her children being deaf. I told her about my situation and she said that I needed to be more proactive and tell recruiters that I had an offer but before accepting, I was open to seeing what they would offer me…

I got a lot of male attention with my braids and not to mention felt really confident. I partial fasted before because I knew there would be a lot of temptation and I wanted to remain focused and not block my blessing, and I looked and felt amazing from the fast. I saw a lot of people I hadn’t in a while. Met a lot of people I still talk to today. Made some friends. A man paid for my meal because he said he enjoyed talking to me. So much free swag. Austin was beautiful. I got to chat with Matt Barnes and tell him I appreciated that he stood up for his kids and name against Derek Fisher, and I got a hug from Stephen Jackson. I saw the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen 😅. But I’m still single y’all…

I even ran into that dude I mentioned I had sex with. The old work crush. Really not old, because I still think about him daily. Even though I don’t want to be with him. Even though I know I will have much more. He still takes up a lot of my thoughts. Anyway…he tried to come to my hotel room while at the conference for sex, and I was prepared to just stay silent on the phone when he was being sexually suggestive. He got the picture and hung up…Although my flesh was calling, I didn’t want NOTHING to block my blessing. I haven’t even watched porn in over a year! When I got unemployed, I vowed to clean up my act to stay in the right mindset to accept this blessing. I’m happy to say, I still haven’t watched porn, even after receiving what I prayed for, because I know God’s got something greater for me…

Everytime I watched porn, I would stay up really late and although it was very stimulating in the hour or two that I would watch it, I feel horrible, ashamed, and gross the next day. Also lonely. It doesn’t replace real intimacy. I don’t believe marriage is far away for me. I can wait…

When I returned from the conference, I had felt really low. Time was ticking I felt and no companies from the conference that I wanted to set me up for interviews were. It felt like the beginning of the end or that I may have to accept a role from a company I didn’t want to be at. But one thing I did do was try my hardest to appreciate whatever God gave me. I got so fervent in my prayers. One day, after crying for hours, I hopped into my Bible. I was searching to match what I believed to be true to God’s word after Googling, “how do you hear God’s word.” I was VERY unsure of what God wanted me to do. Did he want me to accept these companies I didn’t really want to be at? I asked my pastor about it and she said that I’ll know it’s God’s blessing if it excites me. He wants me to be happy. I kept also remembering, “I don’t believe He brought me this far to leave me…”. He had given me everything I had wanted or better thus far, but I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to accept something that I didn’t want but what was good for me…

I had such a fire that night searching His word. I watched HOURS of Devon Franklin’s sermons just to hear what God was saying to me. I had never searched that hard before. I remembered what my hair braided said about going hard for what I want. On the thought of that, I reached back out on LinkedIn to a recruiter of my first choice company that rejected me after I gave an amazing interview. I told her I had a few offers (I truly felt like I was going to have some even though I didn’t) but really wanted to work at her company, and she said, “We’d love to have you! Another recruiter will be in touch.”…and just like that, I was back in the funnel…I had my second chance I was praying for.

Later that day, my first offer after being unemployed came from a company I spoke to at that conference that reached out right before the conference after they found my resume I submitted in the portal for the conference. An insurance company. One interviewer asked me, “What’s the real reason you’re unemployed?! Tell me the truth. None of the offers have been what you want?” He didn’t believe that I truly hadn’t been given an offer yet, so I didn’t fight him. I agreed…and it led to my first offer…

Even before I got the offer, remember I told the recruiter from my first choice company that I had one? I felt bad lying, but I’m glad it wasn’t a real lie, because hours after I said that, I got the call from the insurance company extending me the offer…That’s God…

Now I didn’t want to work there, but I accepted for security because I still wanted to go for my top choice…

After getting that one, almost every company I was in conversations with pushed me further through their pipelines. Soon, I was getting and passing interviews all of a sudden. Yes, I was better, but having an offer DEFINITELY changed companies’ willingness to bet on me.

I KNEW I did well on my first round of interviews because they accepted it for this new role I was up for and put me straight to onsite. I did my interviews and did really well. It wasn’t nearly the hardest onsite I had had thus far, so thank God I was able to really rock it.

They made me wait a whole week and a half to hear back! My interviews were the week before Thanksgiving, and I didn’t even want to go home because I wanted to prepare for my next interviews in case my top choice rejected me again, but I told myself a break would be good and wouldn’t cripple me. In fact it would probably refresh me and allow me to be better prepared for upcoming one, so I went home. And waited. I didn’t tell anyone anything. I didn’t want nothing blocking my blessing. When I returned home after Thanksgiving, I got the call that I was being extended the offer.

Glory to God.

#software engineering #san francisco #python #silicon valley #coding #women in tech #tech #black in tech #black women in tech #codeblr

[badgerhuan]

Don’t use the Mission: Impossible Wikia for your source of canon material.

The wikia (ran on fandom.com) is bad. Nothing is sourced and they just expect you to take their word for it. And especially, if you go by their alleged backstory for Ethan, the timeline doesn’t fucking make sense. I’m going to break down why it doesn’t.

All the indented parts are taken straight from the wikia. Bolded words are mine.

Raised on a dairy farm in Middlefield, New York, he enlisted in the Army right out of high school. Ethan enlisted for the military occupational specialty, Infantry, and decided that he would become an Army Ranger. After graduating Basic, Advanced Individual, and Airborne Training, Ethan was sent to the Ranger Indoctrination Program. Upon graduation of RIP, he was placed in the 3rd Battalion of the 75th Ranger Regiment, under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Daniel David Briggs. He then attended and passed Ranger School, where he earned his Ranger Tab. Ethan eventually fought in combat during Operation Desert Storm.

So the wikia posits that Ethan was born on August 18, 1964, which is a canon birthdate. But going from that, his timeline makes absolutely NO sense.

Being an August baby, he’d have been the youngest in his year, starting first grade in 1970, which means he would’ve graduated from high school in 1982.

Basic Training take 9 weeks (a bit more than 2 months), Infantry Advanced Individual Training takes 4 weeks (1 month), and Airborne Training takes 3 weeks (less than 1 month). All in all it takes around 4 months in total.

RIP lasts 8 weeks (2 months). Ranger School lasts 62 days (2 months). So that’s another 4 months, and even if you were to assume he took breaks between all of those, these would take a year at most, especially if you accept that Ethan performs Exceptionally Well at all of them, which would put us in Summer of 1983 by the time he graduates Ranger School.

So assuming that it’s only after ALL OF THIS that he’s officially in the Army, AND that he does eventually fight in combat during Operation Desert Storm, which takes place between 17 January 1991 – 28 February 1991, that means that he has to serve in the Army at least 7 and a half years for it to make sense.

Are you still with me? Does that make sense? We all agree, right?

BUT THEN!!!

Here’s the Literal Next Paragraph in the wikia.

After four distinguished years in the Army, Ethan went on to attend the University of Pennsylvania, where he was a double major in Engineering and International Relations.

FOUR. FOUR YEARS. THAT’S NOT POSSIBLE WIKIA. LITERALLY DOES NOT MATCH UP WITH YOUR OWN TIMELINE!!!! AT LEAST BE CONSISTENT IN YOUR LIES.

I mean the OTHER possibility is that Ethan took his sweet time and it took him at least 4 years to complete all his necessary training to become an Army Ranger. Which. Really? Really??

Though, okay. So let’s say we assume that he leaves the Army after Operation Desert Storm in 1991. And assume that he really does go to University of Pennsylvania and graduate with a double major. That’ll take him at least 4 years, highly likely more than that. So he graduates in 1995. So what happens then?

Upon graduating from Pennsylvania, he immediately sought employment with the Central Intelligence Agency [...].

Upon passing the entrance and psychological examinations, Ethan was contacted by Colonel Briggs, [...].

In short order, he was recruited into an ultra-secret agency called the Impossible Mission Force.

[...] Because of his military experience, Ethan excelled through training.

Once he completed training, he was given the "cover legend" of a systems analyst for the U.S. Department of Transportation and placed in a five person team (called an "IM Force") as the team's point man.

All of this suggests all of this happens quickly and in succession. So let’s say all of this takes one month. It is still Summer of 1995. Now, if we were to assume that MI1 takes place in Spring of 1996 (I really don’t believe it does but that’s a post for another time), that is WELL OVER half a year for him to have been in the IMF. At the very least he’d have been in the IMF for 8 months.

But what does the wikia say?

Just a few months into his IMF career, Ethan's team assembles for a mission in Prague, Czech Republic, that would change Ethan's life dramatically. 

THAT SOUNDS A LOT LESS THAN 8 MONTHS.

And also maybe this is just me, but the IMF team in MI1 doesn’t feel to me like they’ve only known each other for a few months! They care about each other and they banter like family! They know each other very fucking well! And that’s why Jim Phelps’ betrayal HURTS.

Anyway don’t trust the wikia. Make up your own headcanons or adopt the MI1 official bluray bonus features dossiers as your own (or don’t! they are Word of God, but not canon). As long as you don’t insist to people in the fandom (especially people who’ve been in the fandom a long time!) that the information you see on the wikia is Correct(tm), it’s all good.

#mission: impossible #ethan hunt #roch speaks #anti mi wikia #that's a tag now yes