#Seattle Talent

[lyrikalluremedia]

It is only when you succumb to the darkness that you will find the light you seek ✨

🪶 Lyrik Allure

📸 Kelvin Watkins Photography

[jarofalicesgrunge]

Chris Cornell - Soundgarden

[oceanstorms]

No words

link

[adamshallperish]

i really hate posthumous statements that try to evaluate what kurt cobain would feel about what people do with his art, but i also can't fucking imagine anything kurt would hate more than ai. nothing is more of a bastardization of all he stood for than a machine taking his voice to try to replicate his art. he literally called pearl jam, an actual band made of real people, "fake music" (a statement i don't agree with, kurt could be a bitch at times) so imagine how he would feel about this shit. no ai will ever replicate kurt's voice, musical style, or lyricism in a way that matters. he's dead. grow up.

[euphorics-stuff]

Great, now let her play in the next game.

[novelistparty]

sometimes while I'm people-watching while eating at Pike Place Market I'll see performers from the Can Can out and about on break getting coffee. Their hair and makeup is excellent and they always have interesting clothing. I feel lucky every time I see one of them

[alaythia]

Eric David Wallace signs with ZT Agency in Seattle April 28th 2023.

[nachrosas]

A CUP OF JEALOUSY, PLEASE | s.reid x reader

summary: in which a rookie agent tries to hard to get your attention, much of spencer dismay. pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: none, just pure fluff! word count: 558 a/n: night, night! this is not my best work (still have doubts about posting it, but i kinda like it!) and it's the first time i write something about jealousy! a little late than usual, but that's it! also, my inbox is always open to chat (i love to talk and meet new people)! till the next one!

The cafeteria was particularly busy that morning, the aroma of freshly ground beans mingling with the faint buzz of conversations and orders being called out bit by bit. The team was scattered around one of the larger tables, enjoying a rare moment of respite. Spencer, sitting at the opposite end of the table, was leafing through an article on criminal psychology that he had printed out earlier, but his eyes didn't stay on the paper for long.

Every few seconds, he cast a discreet glance in your direction, mentally assessing the interaction between you and the rookie agent, who seemed to be much more interested in you than in the conversation.

“Really! You're the main reason I got interested in the FBI.” the rookie said with a broad smile on his face — too broad if Spencer could be honest. He was leaning forward as if he wanted to absorb his every word. “I heard reports about how you dealt with that killer in Seattle. It was brilliant.”

You laughed, trying to disguise your embarrassment. “It was teamwork, as always.”

The rookie shook his head, clearly not convinced. “No, really. You have an amazing way of dealing with things. It must be fascinating to work alongside you every day.”

Spencer, on the other side of the table, turned another page of the article with more force than necessary, the sound echoing through the room. No one seemed to notice, except for you, who cast a quick, puzzled glance in his direction.

“Ah, you need to hear this,” said the rookie, leaning even closer. “Once, in training, I was told that an agent like you only comes along once a generation. I bet the criminals don't even know what hit them.”

The exaggerated laugh he let out soon after echoed through the café, attracting stares - including from Spencer, who couldn't hold back any longer. He put the article aside and stood up calmly, but his movements were jerky.

“Sorry to interrupt.” said Spencer, his voice firm but polite, as he approached. ”We need to go over some of the variables in the profile before the meeting later. Do you have a moment now, Love?”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised and relieved by the sudden intervention. “Of course. We can talk now.”

“Great.” he replied, glancing briefly at the newcomer, who gave him a slightly disconcerted smile. “Oh, and maybe afterward you can share your 'inspiration' with the rest of the team, agent. I'm sure we'd all love to hear about the unique generation of talent we'll have here.”

The newcomer looked confused for a moment, but you didn't care, as Spencer was guiding you away, gently holding your arm.

“That was… subtle.” you commented quietly, holding back a laugh as you walked off to the side.

“He was being annoying.” Spencer replied, his eyes still a little dark. “And exaggerated laughter has no place in criminal analysis.”

“Oh, I see,” you said, smiling at him. “Does jealousy have anything to do with it?”

Spencer paused for a moment, the blush creeping up his cheeks. “I just thought the conversation had strayed from its… professional focus.”

You laughed softly. “Thank you, Spencer. That was lovely.”

He opened his mouth to protest but ended up sighing, muttering something about variables while concentrating on something other than the amused smile on your face.

[emeraldcitymodelandtalent]

Emerald City Model and Talent Agency Commercial for Muckleshoot Casino Big Cash Must Go 2023. We are a Seattle based model & talent agency representing a wide diversification of models, actors and talent of all ages. Specializing in real people, we provide talent for feature films, corporate videos, commercials, magazine and catalog work. https://emeraldcitymodelandtalent.com

John Harb established Emerald City Model and Talent over 25 years ago. With over 30 years in the industry, he is the driving force behind the Seattle Agency. Representing a wide diversification of models, actors and talent of all ages, John's keen ability to choose the right talent for clients has earned him and Emerald City Model & Talent respect in the entertainment and advertising industry. Specializing in real people, Emerald City provides talent for feature films, corporate videos, commercials, magazine and catalog work.

With a good infant and kids division, as well as strong fashion and ethnic division Emerald City is able to meet casting requests covering a broad spectrum. Composite cards are available for fashion and trade shows, promotional, modeling, print, TV, commercials, film projects and voiceovers. Talent books and casting services available upon request.

[radiantcircle-if]

The Radiant Circle

The Radiant Circle is a work-in-progress contemporary fantasy interactive novel with elemental magic, a heavy hand of romance, and a salt-sprinkle of mystery. The story is rated 18+ and may contain triggering content for some.

��� introduction (updated 7/22/24) ⟢ demo (upcoming fall/winter)

You were born without any magic into a long lineage of sorcerers who serve the Night Circle—a division of the Radiant Circle, the central governing body that maintains order among sorcerers. Even now when you live outside of the magical community, you’re still required to report to the local leadership about the magic you still don’t have.

Of course, only after having accepted a life without magic, you awaken a latent magical power too great to be yours. Myths speak of such a sorcerer, a Resonant Soul capable of mastering all four elements, reincarnated throughout history to bring balance to the magic community. So little is truly known, but that can’t be you.

But what if it is?

Thankfully, as an investigative journalist, what you do best is hunt for the truth. To unravel the secrets of your soul, you’re forced back into the world of sorcery to navigate ancient rivalries and contend with those who may fear your newfound power and seek to bury it for good. 

Because while most didn't believe the myths to be true, others have been preparing for your return. Most of all? You four souls bonded to yours for eternity.

Play as the main character ⟢

Choose your name, appearance, gender, and sexuality.

Develop your personality as a harmonizer or disruptor—will you bring unity or will you bring destruction?

Gain mastery over elemental magic as the Resonant Soul—how much mastery in each element is up to you.

Travel the world while earning or losing influence through your decisions—will your reputation precede you or will you remain unknown?

Five romance options ⟢

Two pansexual men, one lesbian, and two gender-selectable romance options... and a hidden sixth romance option... with the potential for more to unlock later.

Four soulmates who will be revealed over the course of the story—your bonds, whether platonic or romantic, are yours to develop.

And if you don’t like romance, you can improve your friendships instead.

Or if you’re a misanthrope, deteriorate all your relationships to your liking.

Good endings? Check. Bad endings? Also check.

You ✦ 26-year-old journalist from Seattle, USA (ℹ) Rejected by the magical community because your magic never awakened, you once sought to understand why before later turning to a career of journalism to attempt to uncover truths that don’t have to do with magic. Your dissertation was titled “Unveiling the Hidden: A Comparative Study of Secret Societies and Their Influence on Modern Media." After landing your dream job as an investigative journalist, you're returning home to Seattle for your assignment.

⟡ tropes include main character (surprise! you're the main character), insider/outsider, the most wanted (because you are a…), person of mass destruction, (possible) living legend, (possible) lust object, (seemingly) cosmic plaything…

Arseau Nassiet ⟡ High Justicar 31-year-old water sorcerer (he/him) from Seattle, USA (ℹ) A talented water sorcerer, your older brother Arseau is well loved within the Night Circle's upper echelons, but he'd never brag about it. He has been away from home for over a decade, raising ranks within the circle alongside his best friend. He coordinates his visit home with yours during the holidays so he can see his favorite younger sibling (never mind that he has only one sibling—you).

⟡ tropes include protective older brother, brainless beauty (yeah, he's a himbo), the caregiver/caretaker, the confidant (if you want), the informant, nice guy (someone has to keep the peace between the Pico brothers), the reliable one...

César Pico (RO) ⟡ Archumbricar 31-year-old earth sorcerer (he/him) from Tijuana, MX (ℹ) One of the highest ranking earth sorcerers in the world, César is seen as the unofficial heir of the current Night Luminary—and he takes the role seriously. As your brother's best friend, he has been a permanent fixture in your life as far as you remember—another persistent reminder of the magic that has remained inaccessible to you and the community that left you behind. He's at least an attractive reminder, even if it's unfortunate that his rare smirk proves that he knows it.

⟡ tropes include the hero, the cold & brooding heir, older brother's best friend/forbidden love, age gap, opposites attract, danger deadpan, glory hound, tall dark & handsome (obviously) ⟡ solo-route (with a possible rivalry with his brother), borderline enemies to lovers, (possible first love), forced proximity, maybe the slowest burn

Rafa Pico (RO) ⟡ High Justicar 27-year-old fire sorcerer (he/him) from Tijuana, MX (ℹ) The younger brother of César....and also his left hand man even though he doesn't take his position within the Night Circle very seriously. He doesn't take anything very seriously except his freedom. Especially his freedom to flirt his way into anyone's good graces.

⟡ tropes include the explorer, the charming playboy, childhood/long time friend, (his) unrequited crush (on you), the (horny) bard, speed demon, hell seeker, elegant classical musician... ⟡ solo-route (with a possible rivalry with his brother), friends to lovers but he never really saw you as a friend, forced proximity, slow burn

Gazi Gharib (RO) ⟡ Photojournalist 28-year-old (she/her or he/him) from New York City, USA (ℹ) Your roommate and best friend ever since you moved to NYC, they're always ready to help you investigate something new and dangerous.

⟡ tropes include the innocent, the best friend, the encouraging charmer, the serial romeo, the casanova, agent mulder (the believer), empathetic communicator, spirited competitor, the klutz ⟡ solo-route or poly-route with Deniz, besties to lovers (and you can start at the lover bit if you'd like cause this one is a...), faaaaaast burn

Deniz Yılmaz (RO) ⟡ Private Investigator 26-year-old (he/him or she/her) from Istanbul, TR (ℹ) Your next-door-neighbor and childhood best friend. You haven't kept in close contact, but they're the first person you think of seeing when you visit home.

⟡ tropes include the jester, agent scully (the skeptic), street-smart investigator, hardboiled detective, erudite stoner, literal-minded/snark knight combo, childhood friends, loyal supporter, gadgeteer genius ⟡ solo-route or poly-route with Gazi, childhood friends (or was it more?) to lovers, (possible second chance romance...), somewhere between slow and fast burn

Dr. Noel Sung (RO) ⟡ Journalist 41-year-old (she/her) from London, UK (ℹ) Your graduate school mentor who you credit for preparing you to land a job at The New York Times as prestigious as it is. She's now your direct supervisor, and she has quite the assignment for you.

⟡ tropes include the magician, high-powered career woman, absent-minded professor(/former forbidden love?), age gap, charismatic intellectual, intuitive leader, pragmatic idealist, deadpan snarker, determinator, shrinking violet, (your possible unrequited crush on her goes here)… ⟡ solo-route, workplace romance (technically; she's your boss now), slow burn

An ancient, hidden society of sorcerers ⟢

The Radiant Circle is the central governing body that maintains harmony and order among sorcerers, as well as keep their community secret. It was originally formed and led by the Resonant Soul (called the High Guardian—this is you) and the most powerful elemental sorcerers of the time (called the Founding Guardians—these are the four souls bonded to you) as an alliance of sorcerers from across the New Kingdom of Egypt.

After its formation, the magical community grew, and eventually, the Radiant Circle was divided into four smaller regional circles called the Ephemeral Circles: the Night Circle (you know the most about this one), the Dawn Circle, the Day Circle, and the Dusk Circle. These four circles, also called luminariates, are the main governing bodies of the current world of sorcery. Every known family of sorcerers lives under the eye of the Radiant Circle and one of the four Ephemeral Circles.

Only the Resonant Soul can be the High Guardian of the Radiant Circle. Only the four souls bonded with Resonant Soul can be the Founding Guardians. During periods where the Resonant Soul or the Guardians aren’t alive, these positions are left vacant and the Ephemeral Circles meet as the Radiant Council annually instead. Unfortunately, it's been so long since there has been a Resonant Soul that there aren't many people left who remember who sits at the top of the hierarchy.

You live as a Threshold—an uninitiated sorcerer, typically a child who can't use magic yet—within the luminariate called the Night Circle. You sit at the bottom of the hierarchy, but every other sorcerer you know? César is an Archumbricar, the right hand of the Night Luminary and leader of the Night Circle. Arseau and Rafa are César's High Justicars, his right and left hands. Your dads even play a role, advising the Luminary from their position in the Night Weave.

A single soul that can control all four elements, reincarnated once again—you ⟢

Before you became the Resonant Soul, you were a child born without magic to two prominent sorcerers sometime before recorded human history begins. Back then, it was common to put the child of every sorcerer through a resonance ritual, even children of sorcerers born without magic who always died in the process. But where there's a will, there's a way, and someone really wanted you to live and created circumstances that bound your souls together—one into endless reincarnation and the other into endless immortality.

You meet the four original Guardians over the course of hundreds of years. Your bonds are unique and have chained the fate of their souls with yours so that they are reincarnated in an endless cycle by your side. Even so, you've lived more lives without them than with them, lived more lives without magic than with it. Almost as if you're fighting a losing battle against knowing your true soul.

Only the Resonant Soul can resonate with all four types of elemental magic, but your magic remains locked away until you regain your memories (how're you supposed to regain memories you don't remember you need to regain? then again, how safe would it be to give you all that power and no recollection of all the mistakes you've made?). The Guardians are known for their extraordinary abilities in one element; their magic isn't sealed away, only their memories (which still isn't convenient—how are you supposed to know who they are if they don't know who they are?).

⟢ retweets & asks are welcome! there is no better writing motivation ♡

〉 Sections: Profiles, Editorials, Articles, Ask Me, Answers, Quotes

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Boeing’s deliberately defective fleet of flying sky-wreckage

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW (May 2) in WINNIPEG, then Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), Tartu, Estonia, and beyond!

Boeing's 787 "Dreamliner" is manufactured far from the company's Seattle facility, in a non-union shop in Charleston, South Carolina. At that shop, there is a cage full of defective parts that have been pulled from production because they are not airworthy.

Hundreds of parts from that Material Review Segregation Area (MRSA) were secretly pulled from that cage and installed on aircraft that are currently plying the world's skies. Among them, sections 47/48 of a 787 – the last four rows of the plane, along with its galley and rear toilets. As Moe Tkacik writes in her excellent piece on Boeing's lethally corrupt culture of financialization and whistleblower intimidation, this is a big ass chunk of an airplane, and there's no way it could go missing from the MRSA cage without a lot of people knowing about it:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-04-30-whistleblower-laws-protect-lawbreakers/

More: MRSA parts are prominently emblazoned with red marks denoting them as defective and unsafe. For a plane to escape Boeing's production line and find its way to a civilian airport near you with these defective parts installed, many people will have to see and ignore this literal red flag.

The MRSA cage was a special concern of John "Swampy" Barnett, the Boeing whistleblower who is alleged to have killed himself in March. Tkacik's earlier profile of Swampy paints a picture of a fearless, stubborn engineer who refused to go along to get along, refused to allow himself to become inured to Boeing's growing culture of profits over safety:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-03-28-suicide-mission-boeing/

Boeing is America's last aviation company and its single largest exporter. After the company was allowed to merge with its rival McDonnell-Douglas in 1997, the combined company came under MDD's notoriously financially oriented management culture. MDD CEO Harry Stonecipher became Boeing's CEO in the early 2000s. Stonecipher was a protege of Jack Welch, the man who destroyed General Electric with cuts to quality and workforce and aggressive union-busting, a classic Mafia-style "bust-out" that devoured the company's seed corn and left it a barren wasteland:

https://qz.com/1776080/how-the-mcdonnell-douglas-boeing-merger-led-to-the-737-max-crisis

Post-merger, Boeing became increasingly infected with MDD's culture. The company chased cheap, less-skilled labor to other countries and to America's great onshore-offshore sacrifice zone, the "right-to-work" American south, where bosses can fire uppity workers who balked at criminal orders, without the hassle of a union grievance.

Stonecipher was succeeded by Jim "Prince Jim" McNerney, ex-3M CEO, another Jack Welch protege (Welch spawned a botnet of sociopath looters who seized control of the country's largest, most successful firms, and drove them into the ground). McNerney had a cute name for the company's senior engineers: "phenomenally talented assholes." He created a program to help his managers force these skilled workers – everyone a Boeing who knew how to build a plane – out of the company.

McNerney's big idea was to get rid of "phenomenally talented assholes" and outsource the Dreamliner's design to Boeing's suppliers, who were utterly dependent on the company and could easily be pushed around (McNerney didn't care that most of these companies lacked engineering departments). This resulted in a $80b cost overrun, and a last-minute scramble to save the 787 by shipping a "cleanup crew" from Seattle to South Carolina, in the hopes that those "phenomenally talented assholes" could save McNerney's ass.

Swampy was part of the cleanup crew. He was terrified by what he saw there. Boeing had convinced the FAA to let them company perform its own inspections, replacing independent government inspectors with Boeing employees. The company would mark its own homework, and it swore that it wouldn't cheat.

Boeing cheated. Swampy dutifully reported the legion of safety violations he witnessed and was banished to babysit the MRSA, an assignment his managers viewed as a punishment that would isolate Swampy from the criminality he refused to stop reporting. Instead, Swampy audited the MRSA, and discovered that at least 420 defective aviation components had gone missing from the cage, presumably to be installed in planes that were behind schedule. Swampy then audited the keys to the MRSA and learned that hundreds of keys were "floating around" the Charleston facility. Virtually anyone could liberate a defective part and install it into an airplane without any paper trail.

Swampy's bosses had a plan for dealing with this. They ordered Swampy to "pencil whip" the investigations of 420 missing defective components and close the cases without actually figuring out what happened to them. Swampy refused.

Instead, Swampy took his concerns to a departmental meeting where 12 managers were present and announced that "if we can’t find them, any that we can’t find, we need to report it to the FAA." The only response came from a supervisor, who said, "We’re not going to report anything to the FAA."

The thing is, Swampy wasn't just protecting the lives of the passengers in those defective aircraft – he was also protecting Boeing employees. Under Sec 38 of the US Criminal Code, it's a 15-year felony to make any "materially false writing, entry, certification, document, record, data plate, label, or electronic communication concerning any aircraft or space vehicle part."

(When Swampy told a meeting that he took this seriously because "the paperwork is just as important as the aircraft" the room erupted in laughter.)

Swampy sent his own inspectors to the factory floor, and they discovered "dozens of red-painted defective parts installed on planes."

Swampy blew the whistle. How did the 787 – and the rest of Boeing's defective flying turkeys – escape the hangar and find their way into commercial airlines' fleets? Tkacik blames a 2000 whistleblower law called AIR21 that:

creates such byzantine procedures, locates adjudication power in such an outgunned federal agency, and gives whistleblowers such a narrow chance of success that it effectively immunizes airplane manufacturers, of which there is one in the United States, from suffering any legal repercussions from the testimony of their own workers.

By his own estimation, Swampy was ordered to commit two felonies per week for six years. Tkacik explains that this kind of operation relies on a culture of ignorance – managers must not document their orders, and workers must not be made aware of the law. Whistleblowers like Swampy, who spoke the unspeakable, were sidelined (an assessment by one of Swampy's managers called him "one of the best" and finished that "leadership would give hugs and high fives all around at his departure").

Multiple whistleblowers were singled out for retaliation and forced departure. William Hobek, a quality manager who refused to "pencil whip" the missing, massive 47-48 assembly that had wandered away from the MRSA cage, was given a "weak" performance review and fired despite an HR manager admitting that it was bogus.

Another quality manager, Cynthia Kitchens, filed an ethics complaint against manager Elton Wright who responded to her persistent reporting of defects on the line by shoving her against a wall and shouting that Boeing was "a good ol’ boys’ club and you need to get on board." Kitchens was fired in 2016. She had cancer at the time.

John Woods, yet another quality engineer, was fired after he refused to sign off on a corner-cutting process to repair a fuselage – the FAA later backed up his judgment.

Then there's Sam Salehpour, the 787 quality engineer whose tearful Congressional testimony described more corner-cutting on fuselage repairs:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PP0xhIe1LFE

Salehpour's boss followed the Boeing playbook to the letter: Salehpour was constantly harangued and bullied, and he was isolated from colleagues who might concur with his assessment. When Salehpour announced that he would give Congressional testimony, his car was sabotaged under mysterious circumstances.

It's a playbook. Salehpour's experience isn't unusual at Boeing. Two other engineers, working on the 787 Organization Designation Authorization, held up production by insisting that the company fix the planes' onboard navigation computers. Their boss gave them a terrible performance review, admitting that top management was furious at the delays and had ordered him to punish the engineers. The engineers' union grievance failed, with Boeing concluding that this conduct – which they admitted to – didn't rise to the level of retaliation.

As Tkacik points out, these engineers and managers that Boeing targeted for intimidation and retaliation are the very same staff who are supposed to be performing inspections of behalf of the FAA. In other words, Boeing has spent years attacking its own regulator, with total impunity.

But it's not just the FAA who've failed to take action – it's also the DOJ, who have consistently declined to bring prosecutions in most cases, and who settled the rare case they did bring with "deferred prosecution agreements." This pattern was true under Trump's DOJ and continued under Biden's tenure. Biden's prosecutors have been so lackluster that a federal judge "publicly rebuked the DOJ for failing to take seriously the reputational damage its conduct throughout the Boeing case was inflicting on the agency."

Meanwhile, there's the AIR21 rule, a "whistleblower" rule that actually protects Boeing from whistleblowers. Under AIR21, an aviation whistleblower who is retaliated against by their employer must first try to resolve their problem internally. If that fails, the whistleblower has only one course of action: file an OSHA complaint within 90 days (if HR takes more than 90 days to resolve your internal complaint, you can no have no further recourse). If you manage to raise a complaint with OSHA, it is heard by a secret tribunal that has no subpoena power and routinely takes five years to rule on cases, and rules against whistleblowers 97% of the time.

Boeing whistleblowers who missed the 90-day cutoff have filled the South Carolina courts with last-ditch attempts to hold the company to account. When they lose these cases – as is routine, given Boeing's enormous legal muscle and AIR21's legal handcuffs – they are often ordered to pay Boeing's legal costs.

Tkacik cites Swampy's lawyer, Rob Turkewitz, who says Swampy was the only one of Boeing's whistleblowers who was "savvy, meticulous, and fast-moving enough to bring an AIR 21 case capable of jumping through all the hoops" to file an AIR21 case, which then took seven years. Turkewitz calls Boeing South Carolina "a criminal enterprise."

That's a conclusion that's hard to argue with. Take Boeing's excuse for not producing the documentation of its slapdash reinstallation of the Alaska Air door plug that fell off its plane in flight: the company says it's not criminally liable for failing to provide the paperwork, because it never documented the repair. Not documenting the repair is also a crime.

You might have heard that there's some accountability coming to the Boeing boardroom, with the ouster of CEO David Calhoun. Calhoun's likely successor is Patrick Shanahan, whom Tkacik describes as "the architect of the ethos that governed the 787 program" and whom her source called "a classic schoolyard bully."

If Shanahan's name rings a bell, it might be because he was almost Trump's Secretary of Defense, but that was derailed by the news that he had "emphatically defended" his 17 year old son after the boy nearly beat his mother to death with a baseball bat. Shanahan is presently CEO of Spirit Aerospace, who made the door-plug that fell out of the Alaska Airlines 737 Max.

Boeing is a company where senior managers only fail up and where whistleblowers are terrorized in and out of the workplace. One of Tkacik's sources noticed his car shimmying. The source, an ex-787 worker who'd been fired after raising safety complaints, had tried to bring an AIR21 complaint, but withdrew it out of fear of being bankrupted if he was ordered to pay Boeing's legal costs. When the whistleblower pulled over, he discovered that two of the lug-nuts had been removed from one of his wheels.

The whistleblower texted Tkcacik to say (not for the first time): "If anything happens, I'm not suicidal."

Boeing is a primary aerospace contractor to the US government. It's clear that its management – and investors – consider it too big to jail. It's also clear that they know it's too big to fail – after all, the company did a $43b stock buyback, then got billions in a publicly funded buyback.

Boeing is, effectively, a government agency that is run for the benefit of its investors. It performs its own safety inspections. It investigates its own criminal violations of safety rules. It loots its own coffers and then refills them at public expense.

Meanwhile, the company has filled our skies with at least 420 airplanes with defective, red-painted parts that were locked up in the MRSA cage, then snuck out and fitted to an airplane that you or someone you love could fly on the next time you take your family on vacation or fly somewhere for work.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/01/boeing-boeing/#mrsa

Image: Tom Axford 1 (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Blue_sky_with_wisps_of_cloud_on_a_clear_summer_morning.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

--

Clemens Vasters (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:N7379E_-_Boeing_737_MAX_9.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[jarofalicesgrunge]

Layne Staley

𝘗𝘪𝘤 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺📸©️𝘑𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳

[hiiikiko]

𝕓𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕤𝕥!𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

ellie williams x reader | mini fic for casual

casual m.list | tlou m.list

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

୨୧ ellie is very musically talented, sometimes she’ll hear a few notes in her head and within half an hour, she’ll have a pretty decent tune

୨୧ she’s the founder of ‘the infected’ she came up with the name when she accidentally cut herself and the cut looked really gnarly n infected and then she was like.. woah that’s a pretty sick name

୨୧ jesse and dina teased her about the same bc it sounds like she’s go a uti

୨୧ it took her awhile to convince jesse and dina to join her band because 1. too much drama and 2. jesse didn’t care for being on stage

୨୧ she coaxed him into it by telling him that dina’s gonna get a lot of fanboys/girls n she’ll leave him in the dust for good

୨୧ she carries her journal everywhere with her in case inspiration strikes when she’s grocery shopping

୨୧ she also carries around a guitar pic because she likes to have something between her teeth and since she’s trying to quit smoking.. this is the next best thing

୨୧ she will NEVER EVER admit this to anyone but the reason why she moved to Seattle to start a band was because of Kurt Cobain (also why she has short hair and wears flannels)

୨୧ everyone should thank joel for him showing ellie nirvana bc without it, she may have never started a band

୨୧ ellie sometimes deprives herself of music because she doesn’t want to make anything that’ll make ppl say “that sounds like <insert band name>” it’s torture but it works

୨୧ ellie would’ve totally been the lead singer but she prefers to write and compose rather than be in the spotlight

୨୧ she wasn’t surprised when the band was starting to get traction (she in fact was and had to take a lap around the room)

୨୧ her fans paint her as this ‘player’ which she kinda revels in bc it gets her more pussy (she actually kinda hates it bc it makes her feel like a bad person but hey GAME IS GAME)

୨୧ she LOVES pop punk shows, one time she saw a bigger band and their show was so crazy, like crowd surfing, people pushing against the barrier, guards having to keep them in the pit, and everyone screaming the lyrics… she hopes her band will be that big one day

୨୧ she loves attending concerts but she can’t help but compare herself to the other bands

୨୧ she’s an audiophile, she goes to best buy just to compare headphones and their sound quality then leaves with nothing (ofc)

୨୧ every ellie in the ellieverse is a nerd, it’s a canon event, this ellie is not only a comic book nerd and a space nerd.. she’s also a GUITAR NERD !! (new ellie unlocked) she knows every type of guitar, yes, even the one that was made a minute ago in new guinea!

୨୧ ellie got her job at the guitar shop she works at bc during the interview, she completely nerded all over the place about the guitars on the walls, the old manager didn’t even need to go further in the interview, he slapped a name tag on her (he messed up and her name is elsie now) and booked it outta there

୨୧ she takes her job very seriously, it’s cute to see her working, it’s like watching a young bill gates talk about his apple products except this bill gates is wearing a raggedy flannel (she says it makes the customers trust her more bc it makes her looks like kurt), messy hair, and glitter from the concert last night

୨୧ she stays up to date on the latest guitars

୨୧ fun fact: she only gets her guitars from joel, her loving dad who runs a guitar/woodwork shop back in jackson :)

୨୧ speaking of joel, he supports ellie’s dream of being in a band because he wanted to be a singer when he was younger and he sees that younger self in ellie, it makes him happy when she talks about the concert she had last night.. it’s almost like he’s talking to his 20 year old self

୨୧ even though joel supports it, it still scares him, he doesn’t want ellie to end up like him

[a/n]: okay that’s all for now!! hope you guys like this mini thingy :3 i’ll write the next part tmrw!!

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Ready to roll?

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 9

Prompt: No Upside Down AU

Rated: T

CW: one mention of masturbation bc Eddie is a horny little shit

Tags: Future fic; Flirting; Record label owner!Eddie; Waiter!Steve; Steve in rollerblades

Notes: Another collab with the amazingly talented and creative @house-of-the-moving-image - check out their art!

"What?" Eddie says eloquently, tearing his eyes from the laminated menu. 

The waiter is hovering next to his booth, pen tapping against the notepad in his hand. He looks annoyed. Probably pissed at Eddie for interrupting his quiet night shift. Well, tough luck, pretty boy. 

"I said …" the waiter pauses, heaves a brief but heartfelt sigh. "Are you ready to roll?" 

Eddie blinks. 

"Listen, dude!" The waiter says flatly, but there's a blush blossoming on his neck. "I'd ask if I may take your order, but I'm, like, contractually obfuscated to say … this instead. Goes with the theme, y’know?" 

He gestures at the entirety of himself. The cheerfully colored shirt and tiny shorts. The little apron around his waist. The knee-high socks disappearing into a pair of chunky, red-and-white rollerblades, and … oh, right. 

"Well?" 

Eddie snaps his eyes back up and shit, for how long has he been staring at those legs like a creep?

The waiter is scowling at him. He really is pretty. Exactly Eddie’s type. Gold-flecked eyes, stupidly voluminous hair, pink lips twisted into a bitchy little scowl. Eddie imagines pushing him up against the wall on those stupid wheels of his, sucking and biting that scowl right off. 

"Hm," he makes instead. "The guys at the label said I'd enjoy the cake, but I'm starting to think they weren't talking about the menu." 

The scowl deepens. 

"Cheeseburger and fries," Eddie says. "And a strawberry milkshake." 

One elegant eyebrow arches. 

"... Please?" 

Waiter boy smirks at him, a brief flash of perfectly white teeth. Eddie wants to lick them. 

"Coming right up." He jots the order down, shoves pen and notepad into his apron pocket. As he does, Eddie catches a glimpse of the name tag attached to his uniform shirt. (Which has nothing to do with him ogling the way the fabric stretches over that toned chest, because he wasn't doing that, thank you.)

It says "Hi, I'm Steve. :-)"

Wait, what? 

The whirr of rollerblades on the floor tiles jerks him out of his stupor. He's glad he didn't take off his sunglasses, because holy fuck, he must be gawking like an idiot right now. 

Because he knows a guy named Steve. Or knew. 

A guy named Steve with perfect, caramel hair, tan skin littered in moles and an irritatingly pretty, aloof smile. Not that Eddie was ever at the receiving end of that smile. The closest Eddie ever got to him was back in eighty-six, when he was dealing drugs out of his van. In the driveway of that palace in Loch Nora, while the King and his court partied inside. 

Eddie watches how waiter boy comes gliding out of the kitchen, wipes down tables and refills napkin holders. 

It can't be. 

Steve Harrington is back in the hellhole that is Hawkins, Indiana - or maybe at some college halfway across the country, preparing to take over daddy's business. He's most certainly not wearing rollerblades and a pair of stupidly short shorts, waiting tables in a cheap twenty-four hour diner in Seattle. 

Then again, back in eighty-six, who would've thought that Eddie Munson would be owning his own record label one day? 

When waiter boy arrives with his order and leans in to put it down on the table, Eddie peers over his sunglasses to cast an inconspicuous look at his profile. 

There's a pair of moles on his neck, near identical in size, spaced apart like a perfect little vampire bite. 

Well, slap his ass and call him Sally. 

Eddie knows these moles, has spent entire nights jerking off to the thought of sinking his teeth into them. 

"Staring costs extra," Steve mutters at the milkshake. 

Before Eddie can say anything, the phone on the counter rings and Steve rolls over to answer it. Eddie chews on his too-salty fries and can't help the grin that tugs at his lips as he watches the boy twirl the cord around his fingers while taking the order. 

The night just officially got interesting.

Steve looks over, catches him staring and gives him the flattest, most unimpressed look Eddie has ever seen on a person who just realized they were being checked out. The blush has reached his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. Eddie winks and Steve rolls his eyes before he turns his back on him. Eddie doesn’t complain. That ass does look fantastic in the shorts.

He takes his time with the meal. The burger is nothing to write home about, but the view more than makes up for it.

When he is done, he saunters over to the counter, pulling out his wallet. Steve is busy counting mayonnaise packages and muttering under his breath. He blinks in confusion when Eddie slaps down a fifty, starts digging for change in his apron. 

"Nah," Eddie says. "Just keep it." 

Steve frowns at him. "That's way too much." 

"Don't sell yourself short. I thought staring was extra?"

Steve opens his mouth. Hesitates. Closes it. Pockets the money. 

"Thanks," he murmurs, eyes trained at some point behind Eddie's shoulder. "Roll by again."

Eddie just barely manages to turn the incoming snort into a grin.  

"Sure will,” he mutters, leaning across the counter and into the boy’s space. “Maybe I'll try that cake next time." 

"Oh, please," Steve huffs. "As if you could afford me, Munson." 

Eddie feels his jaw drop. "Wait, you knew who-" 

The doorbell chimes. 

"Hi there!" Steve chirps at the guy in the door. "You called, right? I'll check if your order is ready." 

And then he's gone and Eddie is staring at the still swinging kitchen door like an idiot. 

It isn't until he's back out in the dark street that his confusion morphs into something else. His majesty wants to play coy? Well, Eddie can indulge him, can't he? 

He makes his way home with a new spring in his step. Looks like he's found his new favorite dinner spot.

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

[city-of-ladies]

"In the mid-1700s, a seawoman in Iceland named Björg Einarsdóttir composed a poem teasing men on her boat for their weak rowing:

Do row better my dear man, Fear not to hurt the ocean. Set your shoulders if you can Into harder motion.

Einarsdóttir was not only a talented poet but an excellent fisher. She often caught more fish than other crew members, and people believed that her ability to lure the animals was supernatural. When she was dying, she reportedly passed on this uncanny skill to a farmer by writing a poem about him catching trout.

Her work at sea may seem unusual. After all, fishing is generally considered a man’s job. But recent work by an American researcher, Margaret Willson, suggests that Einarsdóttir was one of hundreds of Icelandic women in the 18th and 19th centuries who braved towering waves and icy waters to catch fish. Willson’s team combed through historical archives and publications to gather examples ranging from a female captain who led crews made up entirely of women, to expectant mothers who rowed late into pregnancy.

The sea “wasn’t a male space,” says Willson, a cultural anthropologist at the University of Washington in Seattle and a former seawoman. “It was not a feminist act in any way for them to go to sea.” It was just part of everyday life."

[morbidology]

Born on August 25, 1965, in Louisville, Kentucky, Mia Zapata grew up in a family that nurtured her artistic inclinations. From a young age, she displayed a deep passion for music, influenced by artists such as Billie Holiday and Bessie Smith. Zapata learned to play the guitar and piano and by her teenage years, she was already honing her vocal talents.

In 1984, Zapata moved to Ohio to attend Antioch College, where she studied liberal arts. It was here that she co-founded the punk band The Gits in 1986. The band, which was known for its raw energy and Zapata's soulful, powerful voice, quickly gained a following.

In 1989, Zapata and her bandmates relocated to Seattle, a city that was emerging as a hotbed for alternative music, soon to be internationally recognised as the birthplace of grunge. The Gits became a fixture in the Seattle music scene, earning respect for their intense live performances and Zapata's emotionally charged lyrics.

Seattle, during this time, was teeming with creativity, with bands like Nirvana, Soundgarden, and Pearl Jam redefining the sound of rock music. The Gits, though not as commercially successful, were deeply respected by their peers and had a dedicated following.

On the night of July 7, 1993, Mia Zapata left the Comet Tavern, a popular hangout in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood, after spending the evening with friends. She never made it home. Her body was discovered early the next morning in the Central District of Seattle. She had been brutally beaten, sexually assaulted, and strangled to death.

The news of Zapata’s murder sent shockwaves through the Seattle community and beyond. In the wake of her death, local musicians and community members came together to form Home Alive, a nonprofit organization dedicated to providing self-defense classes and raising awareness about violence against women.

For nearly a decade, Mia Zapata’s murder remained unsolved. The Seattle Police Department, despite extensive investigations, was unable to identify a suspect.

But then in 2001, a routine search through the FBI’s Combined DNA Index System yielded a match between DNA found on Zapata’s body and that of Jesus Mezquia, a Florida fisherman with a criminal record. Mezquia was arrested in 2002 and extradited to Seattle to stand trial for Zapata’s murder.

In 2004, Jesus Mezquia was convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to 36 years in prison.