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writers-potion · 15 days

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I'm writing a sci-fi story about a space freight hauler with a heavy focus on the economy. Any tips for writing a complex fictional economy and all of it's intricacies and inner-workings?

Constructing a Fictional Economy

The economy is all about: How is the limited financial/natural/human resources distributed between various parties?

So, the most important question you should be able to answer are:

Who are the "have"s and "have-not"s?

What's "expensive" and what's "commonplace"?

What are the rules(laws, taxes, trade) of this game?

Building Blocks of the Economic System

Type of economic system. Even if your fictional economy is made up, it will need to be based on the existing systems: capitalism, socialism, mixed economies, feudalism, barter, etc.

Currency and monetary systems: the currency can be in various forms like gols, silver, digital, fiat, other commodity, etc. Estalish a central bank (or equivalent) responsible for monetary policy

Exchange rates

Inflation

Domestic and International trade: Trade policies and treaties. Transportation, communication infrastructure

Labour and employment: labor force trends, employment opportunities, workers rights. Consider the role of education, training and skill development in the labour market

The government's role: Fiscal policy(tax rate?), market regulation, social welfare, pension plans, etc.

Impact of Technology: Examine the role of tech in productivity, automation and job displacement. How does the digital economy and e-commerce shape the world?

Economic history: what are some historical events (like The Great Depresion and the 2008 Housing Crisis) that left lasting impacts on the psychologial workings of your economy?

For a comprehensive economic system, you'll need to consider ideally all of the above. However, depending on the characteristics of your country, you will need to concentrate on some more than others. i.e. a country heavily dependent on exports will care a lot more about the exchange rate and how to keep it stable.

For Fantasy Economies:

Social status: The haves and have-nots in fantasy world will be much more clear-cut, often with little room for movement up and down the socioeconoic ladder.

Scaricity. What is a resource that is hard to come by?

Geographical Characteristics: The setting will play a huge role in deciding what your country has and doesn't. Mountains and seas will determine time and cost of trade. Climatic conditions will determine shelf life of food items.

Impact of Magic: Magic can determine the cost of obtaining certain commodities. How does teleportation magic impact trade?

For Sci-Fi Economies Related to Space Exploration

Thankfully, space exploitation is slowly becoming a reality, we can now identify the factors we'll need to consider:

Economics of space waste: How large is the space waste problem? Is it recycled or resold? Any regulations about disposing of space wste?

New Energy: Is there any new clean energy? Is energy scarce?

Investors: Who/which country are the giants of space travel?

Ownership: Who "owns" space? How do you draw the borders between territories in space?

New class of workers: How are people working in space treated? Skilled or unskilled?

Relationship between space and Earth: Are resources mined in space and brought back to Earth, or is there a plan to live in space permanently?

What are some new professional niches?

What's the military implication of space exploitation? What new weapons, networks and spying techniques?

Also, consider:

Impact of space travel on food security, gender equality, racial equality

Impact of space travel on education.

Impact of space travel on the entertainment industry. Perhaps shooting monters in space isn't just a virtual thing anymore?

What are some indsutries that decline due to space travel?

I suggest reading up the Economic Impact Report from NASA, and futuristic reports from business consultants like McKinsey.

If space exploitation is a relatiely new technology that not everyone has access to, the workings of the economy will be skewed to benefit large investors and tech giants. As more regulations appear and prices go down, it will be further be integrated into the various industries, eventually becoming a new style of living.

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digitalsymbiote · 2 months

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The Solar Sprint

You ever heard of the Cannonball Run? It was a thing back on earth, back before corpo wars. It was an unsanctioned race across a continent. Folks would trick out cars with extra fuel tanks, police scanners, the works, and just burn their way from one ocean to the other. Driving for something like a day straight, avoiding cops all the way, and only stopping to refuel. Kinda wild, don’t you think? A test of speed and stamina, seeing how hard you could really push your vehicle.

That’s what the Solar Sprint started out as, you know. First time someone ran it, the Jovian blockade was still up. They blew right past the military lines, their mech too fast for any of those combat frames to catch. It was big news at the time, everyone thought it was some secret R.O.M. tech built to break the blockade. Turned out it was just some wrench-head who wanted to see how fast they could get from Mercury to Neptune. The crazy fucker actually did it too, straight shot from the solar collection station on Mercury, all the way to the NDS Research outpost. The scientists there nearly shit themselves when the Runner went blasting past their observatory like that. Can’t imagine they saw any frames out there that weren’t clunky research models before then, especially with the blockade still up.

There’s still footage of the first sprint up on the Net if you look. Some cargo hauler caught footage of the Runner nearly side-swipping his freight ship between Earth and Venus. There was a leaked clip of them breaking the Jovian blockade too, but you might be hard pressed to find that one these days. runners sometimes carry hard copies though, so if you run into the right people you might be able to see it.

It became a whole thing, y’know? Kind of a fuck you to the corps, the wars, all of it. Building frames in a different way, not just for blowing each other up. Was a kind of creative revolution, an expression of freedom. Corps can’t keep us down, yeah? Something like a thousand runners tried it over the next couple years. Not all of em made it; some of em got caught by the blockade, some of em their frames couldn’t handle the trek. But enough of em made it that it started to become a real competition. Who could make the sprint in the fastest time? Folks posted on forums about crazy ideas they were coming up with for propellants, aerodynamics, you name it. Gearheads across the net had a brand new obsession to pour over.

Soon enough though, the corps caught on, realized it was easier to sanction the thing than to try and stop people from doing it. Enough cargo freighters crashed, enough blockades ran, it became more profitable to make an event out of the thing. The Sprint lost some of it’s luster after that. Speed frames plastered with sponsorships and built with corpo parts didn’t really capture the energy of the original run. The yearly Sprint is technically open to public teams, but any self respecting Runner isn’t gonna attempt it during sanctioned times. Kinda defeats the purpose of it all if they clear the shipping lanes and wait for optimal conditions, right?

Every once in a while though, you might spot somebodies custom frame sitting in orbit around the solar collection station. And who knows? They might be the next crazy wrench-head to break that record.

#cybernetic dreams #mechposting #mecha #mechs #mech pilots #writing #microfiction #short story

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inbabylontheywept · 3 months

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The first time you realized there was something strange about the new hire was when you learned his age.

In your defense, it’s never been easy to guess the age of an alien. The wrinkles on a trylian might smooth out over time, while for a human, they arrive piecemeal. Apparently, they don’t get their full set until well past their first century, and it’s rare for one to make it past their second.

So they were a young species, and this one in particular was basically a child. Smooth as flimsy, younger than your own youngest. It was rare for someone in engineering to be below seventy, but from what you’d heard, this one was in his thirties.

It stood out to you. Not so much that you spent long moments thinking about it, but enough that it caught your attention.

Enough that you kept looking.

---

The second time you realized there was something strange about the new hire was when you mentioned the latest ship to get lost mid voyage. He’d looked up at you with those disturbing, forward facing eyes - predator's eyes - and you saw something like dread shine out. A strange dread though, not one you recognized. Not a self-preservation but something deeper and harder and far more desparate.

Then he’d rambled off more details about it than you knew yourself. The ship number, the crew, the last maintenance it had. The most likely cause of failure - improper upkeep of the cooling fins.

Afterwards, he did this every time there was an accident. It was like he’d been waiting for you to bring it up, and now that you had he could finally share this secret obsession with you. It worried you sometimes: There was clearly something lost in the abyss that he couldn’t help gazing after.

(But even then, you knew better than to ask.)

---

You didn’t mean to find the third realization.

You’d stopped by his workstation to ask him a question about the b-dot in the ship’s klystron messenger. He’d left his computer open, and more importantly, his browsing data. You didn’t have to search it to see the ship he’d been looking up. It was a standard freight hauler, carrying ice back and forth between stations back in the Sol system.

You saw the repair history for the ship at that moment, and it still didn’t click. Improvements to the hull. Upgrades on the b-dot sensor. A full rework of the cooling fins.

It wasn’t until a few days later, when you found yourself looking up the same ship again, scratching at that mild curiosity, that you connected the dots.

The service history, the repairs, the destinations - those were all red herrings. It was the face of that ship’s captain that you recognized. The same face as your coworkers, but somehow even younger. Lighter. Shining and joyful and weightless.

Family.

You kept it secret because it felt secret but you never forgot. Long after that job, long after that ship was slag waiting to get recycled, you still remembered that final epiphany. And perhaps more important, you remembered that desparate, dreadful look back when you mentioned the first lost ship.

#hfy #flash fiction #this is like 500 words tops #very short #this is my second 60 hour week in a row #and im starting to get why people do meth #i am so tired #but i still wanted to do this

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sreegs · 6 months

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i'm currently at about 650km out of 5000km into The Long Drive. I gotta find the folder of screenshots to get some third person shots but here's a few of my progress.

For a while I was swapping cars/engines until I found a Wartburg body and put in a diesel golf. That was my hauler until I found this flatbed and transferred all I could. Alas, the bed itself is too buggy to actually tow cars but it's good for freight.

while the truck hauled a ton, it was slow and shit on hills. bad uphill, and very bad downhill as the acceleration and shit braking meant frequent meetings with telephone poles

I later stumbled on a Plymouth Fury engine which I installed in the truck, maxing it out at like 160kph, and clipping through the floor

Now i was in business regarding hills, but the truck still handled and braked like shit.

Finally, I found a VW Golf Caddie pickup and the perfect car for what I need. Cargo space and a top speed of 220kph! Hell yeah babey!!! (note the Plymouth engine still clipping through the hood)

This thing is great! This thing is also cursed.

I said it before: the most deadly NPC in this game is the Plymouth engine. Oh well, at least I found a can of hot pink spraypaint

It's hard to see in this video since it's dark, also I intentionally clipped it to be funny, but here's me reaching nearly 220 before smacking into a rock just before dawn.

The resulting crash flung car parts everywhere. I nearly lost my radiator until I found it here, this far away from the impact. The tiny pink dot on the horizon is my car parked near the rock.

#the long drive

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portraitoftheoddity · 1 year

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“I have a lead on Vash.”

It’s the first thing Meryl says as she slides into the booth at the back of the small diner where she arranged for them to meet by radiogram, not bothering with any of the niceties of small talk or helloes after over a year of not seeing each other. Wolfwood can appreciate that about her -- she knows he knows perfectly well that she wouldn’t call him here just to shoot the shit. They have one topic of shared business, and she’s getting right down to it instead of wasting his time.

“Where?” he asks, schooling his expression and keeping his voice flat. He’s trying not to get his hopes up, but feels his chest tighten nonetheless.

“Small town about ten iles north-by-northeast of Lost July,” she answers, pulling off the reflective sunglasses she’s taken to wearing and folding them on the table. “One of my sources was talking with a freight hauler who does deliveries there, and he mentioned a blond man with one arm, so I put out feelers--”

“Lotta amputees in the world,” Wolfwood mutters, that flicker of hope sputtering with the growing sense that this is likely to be yet another wild thomas chase. “Doesn’t mean it’s him.”

“So I put out feelers,” Meryl repeats, a touch louder, purposely ignoring him, “and it turns out the guy in question goes by Eriks, and he turned up looking beat to hell just a few weeks after the July incident and got taken in by a local family.” She meets his eyes, and he can tell she’s almost buzzing with excitement. “All the physical details line up, the location lines up, and so does the timeline.”

Wolfwood exhales raggedly, reaching into his suit pocket for his cigarettes. “So, what-- you want me to go check it out? See if it’s really him?” Deal with the disappointment if it isn’t? He doesn’t say, as he pulls a smoke from the pack. The idea that Vash would just sit on his ass in a small town for two years instead of traveling Noman’s Land in search of self-flagellation following what happened in July just doesn’t track with what he knows of the guy. And despite how little time they spent together in the grand scheme of things, Wolfwood thinks he had a pretty good read on Vash the Stampede.

“I think we should both go,” Meryl declares, then presses her lips together into a line in the way Wolfwood’s learned she does when she isn’t being fully honest.

His eyes narrow, the cigarette hanging, unlit, from his lips. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She squirms slightly in her seat, and for a moment Wolfwood is looking at the fresh-faced rookie that hit him with her truck once more instead of the self-possessed reporter he’s watched Meryl grow into. But then she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, and the rookie is gone. “Word is that ‘Eriks’ is an amnesiac with no memory of his life prior to two years ago. Could be a cover, to escape his past, or he might have had head trauma from July and genuinely not remember, which would explain why he hasn’t turned up--”

The whining drone of the diner’s overhead fan is suddenly impossibly loud in Wolfwood’s ears. His hands ball into fists at his sides, nails digging deeply into his palms as he struggles to focus on what Meryl is saying. But he’s only half listening, mind iles away over half a sand ocean--

“--So I think if both of us go, we have a better shot of helping him remember,” she concludes, looking determined. “If we leave now and take the truck, we can make it in just under--”

“No.”

He cuts her off, unlit cigarette falling from his mouth and rolling across the tabletop. Meryl stops and blinks a few times.

“Oookaaay, I know you’re not a fan of the truck,” she begins, but he cuts her off once more before she can continue: “We’re not going.” He pulls his sunglasses down so he can look her dead in the eyes and impress on her that he’s not fucking around.

For a moment, she looks gobsmacked. Then, her brow furrows in anger. “What the hell do you mean we’re not going?” she hisses, “it’s Vash! And if he doesn’t remember anything--”

“If he doesn’t remember anything, there’s a damn good reason,” he argues.

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, a traumatic brain injury! Which makes sense given what he survived, but--”

Wolfwood slams a hand down on the table, hard enough that several other patrons glance disapprovingly their way. Meryl jolts in her seat, finally shocked into silence. “Shortstack,” he growls, “you told me how messed up Spikey was after Jeneora Rock. About how long he wasn’t eating before we crossed paths, all because he blamed himself for what wasn’t even his fault, when he saved a lot of those ungrateful shits, right?”

“...yes?” she responds, cautiously now.

“And how exactly do you think Needle-noggin’s gonna react when he finds out that his crash landing wiped an entire city and its population off the map?” he hisses, keeping his voice low, but no less full of venom. “That his shithead brother probably got vaporized in the process? You think he’s gonna thank us for that knowledge? You think he’s gonna be happy we filled in that blank and told him the entire planet wants his head on a damn platter?”

Meryl is frowning still, though it’s more thoughtful than angry. “He deserves to know who he is,” she insists quietly.

“He deserves better,” Wolfwood snarls. “After all the shit this world’s put that spikey-headed idiot through, he deserves better than to be reminded of who he is in the worst damn way, and I’m not gonna be the one to tell him just so I can watch him blow his damn brains out to escape the truth that he got made into a weapon, into a monster--”

His voice cracks, throat closing painfully. He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until Meryl takes his trembling hands in hers, eyes wide. “Nicholas,” she says, “breathe.”

He struggles to inhale through a windpipe that’s suddenly narrow as a straw, equal parts mortified and feeling like he’s going to be sick. “I’m not gonna... be the one to tell him,” he mumbles wheezily as Meryl shifts her chair over, resting a small hand on his back. “Not again.”

“Okay,” Meryl agrees quietly, rubbing circles on his back like he’s a damn little kid again (he can’t find the breath to tell her to stop). “You don’t have to. I promise.”

He does his best to get a hold of himself, squeezing his eyes shut and banishing the image of Vash’s eyes widening like Livio’s had, right before--

He draws in a shuddering breath. “You’re still going to, though,” he says, shoulders slumping in resignation.

Meryl makes an uncertain sound. “I... maybe. You do make a point, that it would be a lot to handle.”

Her hands slip back into her lap, and she chews her lip thoughtfully while Wolfwood recovers his abandoned cigarette and fumbles for his lighter, hoping the nicotine will help settle him.

“Maybe we can just... observe,” she offers after a few long moments where he’s finally succeeded in lighting up and pulling familiarly acrid air into his lungs. “Check and see if it’s him, if he really doesn’t remember, and... if he’s okay.” She looks down. “If he’s happy.”

“If he’s happy,” Wolfwood repeats gruffly, exhaling smoke, wondering what that would even look like -- Vash with a smile that wasn’t forced or tinted with sadness.

“And if we decide we’d do more harm than good by telling him,” she continues, “we can walk away. Deal?”

He considers it. It wouldn’t be the first deal he’s entered into involving the Humanoid Typhoon; but it might be the one whose outcome he’ll be able to live with.

He shakes on it, and tries to bury his dread.

#trigun: stampede #fanfiction #post-series #tristamp #trigun stampede spoilers #angst #nicholas d wolfwood #meryl stryfe #minific #lena writes #lena's trigun nonsense #got a worm in my brain about how Wolfwood might react to Vash not remembering himself after the Livio thing and then this happened

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golden-spike · 24 days

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You, "sir yardmaster"! Does your yard have an infrastructure for supporting electric trains? I hope I can visit you all someday, but I need to know if my Pantographs will have glamorous energy lines around there!

Unfortunately no. That is why when you read about Union Pacific having 'electric' trains they are either. Diesel-battery electric plug ins or simply battery electric plug ins. It isn't even many plug ins. We will have about 20 and they will be switchers or local freight runners. There is no chance for them to be main line haulers. There are no lines above.

There used to be plans for it before I was even manufactured and some were built but the market proved diesels were better for the US and so we had the lines torn down.

However the diesels do generate multiple megawatts of power. I myself could generate around 5.2 megawatts of power if I needed to. 'Diesel engines' are rolling electric generators. So if you can plug into us somehow with a power cable, then you could work in tandem with one of our diesels

#🪙 asks #starlight express #stex

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 9 months

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Catching Out: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Summary: Spencer has his suspicions about your parents but you refuse to even listen to him. There is nothing going on with your parents... right? No, they’re normal parents that are just overprotective of you. Spencer is just being paranoid.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: So, I know in previous episodes I had mentioned the reader's birthday is in February, but I forgot that when I wrote this episode. I have decided to change it to April since I've also based some other episodes around her birthday being in April. So, from now on, the reader's birthday is now in April.

I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

The nearest train tracks around the Modesto home are only a mile away, given it's close enough for the unsub to get off the train and watch the couple he killed for a few nights. There are freight haulers at the train station, and they are willing to talk to you, Derek, Emily, and Rossi when you arrive.

"The guy we're looking for is using freight trains to get around. He targets homes within a mile of the tracks," Derek says after he explained what's going on.

"Bulls and 'bos don't usually cross paths."

"Bulls and 'bos?"

"They call rail cops bulls. We call them 'bos, as in hobos."

"You're saying you rarely see hobos around here?" Rossi asks.

"I see them plenty. To tell you the truth, I'm nothing more than an armed scarecrow. When they see me coming, they get the hell away. Their biggest problem is with each other. If you get two of them in one boxcar, it usually gets ugly."

"So, if a 'bo jumps off one of these trains in a new town, is there someplace he goes first?"

"The jungle. That's what they call the camps. A local one's a couple of hundred yards that way," the man points to where it is.

"Do you happen to have a vending machine in here?"

"Yeah."

Rossi thinks if he has food for them, then they might be willing to tell them what they want to know. Your phone rings, and you step off to the side and answer your boyfriend.

"Where are you?" he asks.

"We're just off Highway 99. We just got done talking to the freight haulers. I think I'm going to drive back up to you and leave them down here. Though, I can tell this area is nothing but crops. There are neighborhoods on one side, and the other are all crops."

"They are farmlands. You can't see that from standard road maps."

"The railway track runs parallel to Highway 99 most of the way. I think I'm seeing a lot of what the unsub saw."

"Most of central California is one big valley. It's a flat basin surrounded by mountain ranges on all sides, supported by rivers, lakes, and aqueducts. It's ideal for farming."

"Well, I don't know what it gets us, but I think we should at least factor it into the conversation."

"I agree."

"I'll see you in about an hour." You hang up on him and approach Rossi who has a couple of candy bars in his hand. "I think I'm going to drive up to Sacramento. You two can handle it down here, right?"

"Yeah. We got it."

"I'm going to come with you," Emily says.

By the time you two get to the headquarters in Sacramento, they are ready to give the profile. Spencer told Hotch and JJ about the farmlands, so they have a better-sculpted profile to give.

"Let's get started," Hotch announces. "I'd just like to reiterate that this unsub is not getting around on Highway 99. His travels are linked near railway lines."

"He's targeted five homes and killed eight people in six weeks. We're looking for a male, indigent transient between the ages of twenty-five and forty-five. He's fit enough for the physical demands of train hopping, or 'catching out' as they call it," you inform.

"He'll be bruised from jumping on and off trains, and he might also be beaten up from just defending himself in any kind of turf war. He may look homeless, but he's taking clothing from his victims' homes. So, he'll be the only transient on the tracks in clean clothing."

"The trains and the rail yards are his home. When he gets tired of these, he chooses a house to make his own," Hotch says.

"He'll have a pronounced red, dry rash around his mouth and nose. It's what's commonly referred to as a 'sniffer's rash'."

"How do you know that?"

"He takes household cleaners and sniffs them," you explain. "We believe he's abusing them as psychoactive inhalants. He'll use nail polish remover, glue, paint thinner, lighter fluid, or whatever is the cheapest high available. They're referred to as 'tollyheads' because they derive a high from sniffing toluene, a chemical solvent. Once inhaled, the effects are felt instantaneously."

"We believe he's living out a fantasy in these homes. The fantasy is that it is his house for the night. He spends hours enjoying the comforts of his victims' homes. Upon leaving, he takes clothing, money, jewelry, and small electronics. If you get close to him, you won't miss him. He will smell like a combination of human filth and paint thinner."

"Please spread this around to the other departments in neighboring cities. Thank you."

The profile is disbanded, and you look at JJ who takes a seat tiredly. She places a hand on her stomach, and both you and Spencer walk over to her.

"Are you okay?" you ask and sit next to her.

"He's kicking a lot today," she chuckles.

"In the third trimester, there's an average of thirty fetal movements per hour. Babies kick to explore movement and strengthen muscle," Spencer explains.

"Have you ever actually felt a baby kick?" When he shakes his head, she grabs his hand and places it over the area where her son is moving. "Do you feel that?"

"Doesn't that freak you out?"

"No, not at all. Why? Does it freak you out?"

"Very much so."

"Okay, I see how it is," you nod.

Spencer looks at you with a weird expression, but you don't say anything more about it. You and JJ lock eyes, and she knows exactly what you're thinking. JJ's phone rings, and she answers it when she sees it's Penelope.

"Hey, Garica."

"Bad news alert."

"Hold on a second," you tell her. "Guys!" Hotch, the detective in charge, and Emily walk in when you call them. "Go ahead."

"Earlier, I had Garcia look into all unsolved burglary homicides in central California while paying particular attention to small farm towns."

"I found his DNA in three more cities."

"How did I miss this?" the detective sighs.

"Small towns don't always link their evidence up to state or national DNA databases. It can happen when unsubs cross jurisdictional lines."

"What are the cities, Pen?" you ask.

"Tehachapi, Vacaville, and Orange Cove. They're all farm towns, and all super far away from Highway 99."

"Thanks, Garcia. Could you look into the farm life surrounding those areas? The sales of the crops, maybe?"

"I'll hit you back when I have more."

JJ gets up and waddles over to the fan that is blasting. The air conditioner must either be out or not working well. Being pregnant is hard enough, so you want to make this as easy as possible for her. You grab some cold water and a damp cloth and approach her with a smile.

"Here. It looks like you need it."

"Thank you."

She takes the water and gulps half of it down before placing the cloth on her forehead. You kneel next to her chair and look at her stomach with a smile.

"May I?"

"Of course."

You place your hand on her stomach, and she moves it to the spot where her son is kicking. Your eyes light up at the feeling.

"I'm not going to lie. I kind of miss this. It was different before, of course, but when I felt my daughter kick for the first time... It didn't matter how old I was or what happened. At that moment, I felt pure joy."

"How is she doing?"

"She calls and texts me, but she has her own life. She knows I'm here if she ever needs me though. With your baby, though, I am going to be the best aunt ever. I'm going to spoil the shit out of him." You realize your mistake and smile shyly. "Sorry. I don't mean to cuss around him."

"Would you consider having babies with Spencer?"

You look behind you at Spencer and Emily, and you can't help the smile from forming on your face.

"In a heartbeat," you say truthfully. "I'd be very lucky to have his kids, and they'd be lucky to have Spencer as a dad. I can picture it now. He'd play chess with them, but our baby girl would want to play with her dolls instead. He'd read them bedtime stories and dance with them to the music on an old radio. He'd perform magic for them because they'd laugh and he'd never want to stop making them laugh."

"You're happy."

"I am. He makes me feel like I'm the only woman in the world. It's why this is so hard with my parents. My dad doesn't like him, and it hurts me. I know he'll come around eventually, but I just wish he'd get there sooner."

"It'll be alright. I know it."

Spencer looks behind him at you and JJ in thought. Emily sees the look he's giving you, so she nudges him.

"Are you considering it?"

"Considering what?"

"Having baby geniuses one day?" she smiles.

"With Y/N? In a heartbeat," he says truthfully. You two have been together for over two and a half years. He's not ready to be a dad, but he knows that one day, he'd love to have some with you. "I'd be very lucky to have kids with her one day."

Penelope calls Spencer back, and he calls in you, JJ, Hotch, and the detective.

"I've noticed in the cities, including the new ones we've discovered that there's a spike in the sales of certain crops during the time the unsub is there. In the last week of August, the apples in Tehachapi spiked. In the first week of September, the tomatoes in Bakersfield rose. In the second week of September, the fall squashes in Fresno were high."

"He's in town whenever there is a big harvest. If this unsub is riding trains from town to town during big harvests who doesn't have a car or permanent residence, then we're looking at a migrant farm worker."

There is news of another murder close to where you are, so you quickly head over there. The murder is still fresh, so the victims are still lying on the ground in their bedroom. You can't look at the victims without seeing the unsub beating them over and over again.

"He left a shirt on his male victim again," Hotch says.

"That's not all he left." Spencer holds up the newspaper that was printed a couple of days ago. The headline reads 'Modesto Couple Victims of Highway 99 Killer'. "This was printed before we released to the press he's using trains to get around."

"He's taunting us, telling us he's smarter than we are because we got his mode of transportation wrong. The more confident he gets, the more he's experimenting with his ritual."

"The first few murders were five to eight days apart. This one was just one day since Modesto. If we don't find him soon, he's killing another couple tonight."

"Okay, this couple is Hispanic. The previous couples were Caucasian. He switched his victim profile," you say.

"I don't think he knows or cares what race they were. I think this house was just an easy target."

Spencer's phone rings, and he places them on speakerphone.

"Yeah?"

"So, we got something," JJ says from the office. "The jewelry stolen from the home in Sacramento turned up at a pawn shop in Modesto. Garcia just sent you a picture from the security cam. The employee said he was about 5'8", slight build, late thirties, and has dark skin with a red rash around his mouth."

"Circulate the picture, JJ," Hotch says.

"I'm already on it."

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

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds series rewrite #series rewrite #cm season 4

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zedecksiew · 1 year

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THE DREADWHALE UWL KINI-QIKANA

The flesh of a mighty cetacean---slain and stolen, twisted by bad magics, made to serve more ignoble aims.

27/3 - 2/4 #dungeon23

Not a dungeon, but a cross section of a whale, reanimated by carcinostic necromancy.

The idea for this drawing bubbled up as soon as I sketched the whales in Koto Meet, last week. "Wonder what's inside those whales?" So I found out.

A whale seems like it would make for a good adventure location---but I wanted these whales to be about an actual humpback's size. And I guess a freight truck isn't quite a dungeon?

So this is more a monster manual entry, really:

What? (An undead whale.)

Why? (Glorified cargo haulers.)

Defenses? (Giant predatory barnacles, solidified balleen, shark-mouth butt.)

Weaknesses? (A magic pearl makes them go; take it out and the whale rots. Or take out the crab pilot.)

Adventure hooks? (Carrying important human captives; the whale's ghost wants her body back; the shark butt wants revenge.)

#dungeon23 thing I loved this week: Market of Wonders, by A B Funings. I can't read their blog, but their toots are bilingual! And I love that their dungeon maps are in colour.

#writing #fantasies #art #drawing #dungeon23 #whales #crabs #octopi #barnacles #necromancy

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nvyoung · 1 month

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Its a car hauler freight train! #railroad #trains #train

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big-rigs-of-yesterday2 · 10 months

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turnerheavyhaulage · 1 year

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Turner heavy haulage company is different from other

Turner heavy haulage company is different from other heavy haulage company because we are family-owned and operated truck transport service delivering your freight on time, consistently, and at a competitive price. We have a wide range of heavy haulage vehicles to meet the different needs of clients. We have GPS technology so that we can track your load from pick-up to delivery.

#heavy haulage in new south wales #heavy haulage transport in new south wales #heavy haulers in new south wales #heavy machinery transport in new south wales #mining transport in new south wales #freight transport in new south wales #transport freight services in new south wales #freight truck in new south wales #mining equipment transport in new south wales #heavy equipment transport in new south wales

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guerrerense · 3 months

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White Pass: US-Canada Border (MP 20) por Kevin Madore Por Flickr: The White Pass Rotary Fleet arrives at the place for which the line is named: the famed White Pass. Appropriately enough, a light snow is falling. Behind the Rotary Fleet, you can see the distinctive green and yellow colors of the GE 90-Class Diesels leading our photographer's chase train. The particular location you see here is called US-Canada Boundary Shed because this is the US-Canada Border, and the location used to be sheltered by a large snowshed back when the line was a year-round freight hauler. There's a good reason this place is called "White Pass". Although there was no snow at all just a few miles behind these trains, the snow depths here averaged roughly 10 feet, with drifts that were about double that depth. This scene is a bit deceiving. The snow pack on which the photographer and the railroaders are standing covers a railroad siding. The snow cover on top of this track has already been cut down substantially by "Cats" (large, Caterpillar Bulldozers). You get a better indication of the real snow depth by looking at the left side of the image, near the rotary's intake. During the next two days, the "Cats" will be running out ahead of the rotary, shaving off the top layers of snow so that the depth does not exceed the height of the plow's intake scoop. Still, even with the help of the "Cats", it will take a day and a half of hard struggle to go through the roughly one mile stretch of the heaviest drifts and reach MP 21, where the snow depths will decrease to a more manageable 2-3 feet.

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cdlhunter · 2 years

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Shout out to all our cattle haulers and farm truckers! We love and appreciate you all. Keep hauling! 📸 @ilovecattletrucks #truckinglife #trucklife #logistics #transport #trucking #trucks #truck #trucker #truckdriver #trucksofinstagram #truckporn #truckers #transportation #truckerlife #truckerslife #freight #diesel #bigrig #wheeler #truckinglifestyle #truckdrivers #semitruck #truckin #trucknation #truckdaily #cdljob #cdljobs #cdlhunter 🚛 Follow @cdlhunter 📲 Call or text us at (347) 878-2591 for a driving job https://www.instagram.com/p/Cd1KRFppWJ3/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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misterbartender · 2 years

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Lady of the Factory [III]

Karl Heisenberg x F Reader

Chapter list here

The radio hummed a staticky tune which Y/N could pick up a woman's melodic voice amongst the broken sound waves. It had been hours since Heisenberg's departure and she had tried her best to keep herself busy. The deeper levels of the factory were off-limits without his presence. She knew of his plans to bring Mother Miranda down, she had signed herself up for battle the second she took his hand.. but he just couldn't risk losing his companion to a malfunction. And so, Y/N would spend her time in his quarters or in the upper level to draft ideas, prepare meals, or read before greeting him at the door. All this open time led to better management of their shared living space and made the Lord's factory more of a home than it was before her settlement.

Y/N began jotting things down on a stray sheet of parchment and pen she found lying on the kitchen counter of all the things she would need to last until his next visit. The freight elevator was safely accessible, the Lord's companion would just have to be mindful of the other rooms nearby with stray haulers roaming loose every once in a while —especially the operating room next to his quarters. After years of staying with the man, the majority of the factory had been ingrained in her mind well enough to avoid getting lost in the underground belly. The groans and deep howls of the factory grew louder as Y/N made her way through the labyrinth with the list in hand. The view in front of the elevator was monstrous. It was almost like an underground city built around the waters coming from the reservoir (most likely). The population was unknown to her but, as for the living? Two. One would be an experimented mutant who was once a normal man, the other is still a human being. Occasionally three when the Duke opens his shop in the factory.

To the button's command, the lift ascended from the lower floors and came to an abrupt halt once it reached the desired floor. The lattice gates opened and she was welcomed by the Duke, whose facial expression brightened up at her presence. "Ah, what can I do for you, Lady Heisenberg?" Immediately, her face flushed a deep scarlet at the title, and awkwardly fidgeted with her coin purse. "Please, just call me Y/N. He has already given me a place to stay..taking his name would be too much." To this, the jovial man laughed and bowed apologetically. "Do forgive me. It seemed appropriate to address you as such, seeing you have found a place in the Lord's home." With a smile, he accepted the parchment, eyes squinted as he scanned the list.

Fortunately, Heisenberg had deemed him trustworthy enough for her to go and seek him out for necessities. It was the only other lively face she could interact with here without the concern of being found. He was a man full of mystery which scared her quite frankly. Even a little more than the 'All-Seeing Mother Miranda', the Duke seemed to know everything and he would appear anywhere and everywhere. In his words: 'Where there's” coin to be made!'

"He speaks very fondly of you my dear. He's been in a better mood ever since your stay." She smiled to herself, distracted by the Duke’s words replaying in her mind. Fondness was a way to describe it but not in a way one would think. However, the lord’s subtlety did not escape his notice. She wondered, what could they have talked about? It was her curiosity that made her giddy. Does he talk about me? What did Karl say? What goes through his mind? He doesn’t talk about these things a lot. He’s always teasing but-

“Miss Y/N?”

Her head snapped up, blinking her widened eyes. “I have your order ready!”

“O-Oh!” Her hands trembled while going through her coin purse for the lei. She could feel her cheeks warming and her ears turning beet red. The coins cascaded down from her hands and into the Duke’s large palms with soft clinks from his rings. He smiled down at her. “Thank you for your patronage, I’ve added the Lord’s cigars and a gift for you my dear. Free of charge.”

“I.. T-Thank you sir!” she returned a smile, carefully taking the stock in her arms for her to take back. The lattice gates closed when Y/N stepped back out into the dark factory. It was like another world, so different from the elevator lit by a warm glow. Now she found herself missing the sun. To taste June’s sweet, fresh Summer air, to feel the wind cooling her skin while the warm rays pooled down. She knew better than to go out alone where she could be seen, but it was tempting. Sighing, she let the thought disappear for now and continued making her way back to the quarters she shared with the Lord, eager to see what the Duke had gifted her. One foot kept the door from closing, carefully entering the living space with her hands full. A light layer of sweat coated her face from the heat trapped in the factory below. Her arms relaxed as she placed the crate down. There was a white rectangular box buried under the pile of produce with a cream-coloured bow neatly tied. “This must be it…” she muttered to herself, gently undoing the ribbon. Taking a look at its contents, she furrowed her brows in confusion. “Wh..What?”

It was a white sundress, long but perfect for this Summer weather. She pressed it close to her body, letting it align with her shape. It was tailored, and the material felt pleasant to the skin. A card fell out from the dress, it was most likely nestled in the white fabric when he had it boxed.

To Miss Y/N L/N,

I hope this is to your liking. It may serve you well for a future occasion.

-The Duke.

It had been a long time since she's worn a dress, especially since Heisenberg deemed it a hazard to be walking around in one only for it to get caught in a machine. It was an accident waiting to happen. Maybe when they’re freed she would wear it. It would flow as they’d run away from the village, hand in hand, laughing and shouting WE’RE FREE!

One day, she would appear alongside him in this dress.

#karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you #heisenberg x reader #resident evil fanfic #karl heisenberg fanfic #re village #resident evil village

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