#crane operator classes

[cranetraining7]

But How much Does Enrolling in a Crane Certification Cost?

In case you are interested in becoming a crane operator and don't have any formal education, what would be the best way to get started? Maybe you're thinking of seeking admission into a crane operator program. This is definitely the right step.

[lau219]

Summaries for Current Kinktober Lineup

🎃🤍🔥🎃🤍🔥🎃🤍🔥🎃🤍🔥🎃🤍🔥🎃🤍

🔥🤍🎃🔥🤍🎃🔥🤍🎃🔥🤍🎃🔥🤍🎃🔥🤍

🔥 Completion of Every Inch of You — Tommy finally acts on his long-time desire for Y/N, completely surprising her and showing her that not only can the right man make sex amazing, but that a real man not only admires a woman’s curves, but thoroughly enjoys them.

🎃 Cillian Murphy x Reader — Cillian is all for charity, but not for the pointless soirées that go with it. But when the charity he’s most tied to throws a gala, he’s expected to be there. Ordinarily, he finds any theme or gimmick incredibly stupid, but this particular event’s masquerade theme means at least he can disappear among the other attendees and not be hounded. When he meets an elegant, beautiful stranger with an adventurous side, he seizes the opportunity to finally enjoy one of these events.

🤍 Jonathan Crane x Reader — Y/N has been Jonathan Crane’s research assistant for a year now, and despite his extremely stoic and clinical demeanor, she has a hopeless crush on him. But she also wants badly to impress him, and she’s constantly striving to be the ideal assistant. Little does she know that Jonathan has spent the last year carefully assessing and analyzing her, not only because he’s secretly wanted her all along, but also to learn her desires and the ins and outs of exactly how to make her fall apart for him.

🔥 Jackson Rippner x Reader — Even the bad guys have to eat, right? And the local diner is where Jackson goes for a bite at least twice a week. Of course, the beautiful yet feisty waitress who always ends up being stuck serving him has nothing to do with his frequenting there, right? Fed up with Jackson’s sexist, arrogant attitude and asshole remarks, Y/N always tries to get him out of her diner as fast as possible, despite the fact that he’s the sexiest man she’s ever laid eyes on. This toxic back and forth comes to a head when Y/N finally pushes Jackson a little too far, and he has to teach her a lesson and show her just how much of a mistake it is to test him.

🎃 Tom Buckley x Reader — How can such an insanely hot man seem to have no personality and no interests in anything other than his work? That’s the question Y/N wonders on a daily basis about Tom Buckley, her professor’s TA and colleague. But when Dr. Matheson recruits Y/N to help with a new project due to her incredibly impressive performance in class, she and Tom are suddenly spending a lot of time together outside of class. Is there more to Tom than Y/N thought? Maybe there’s a personality behind those gorgeous blue eyes after all, and perhaps Tom’s prior behavior was simply how he’s kept himself in check, and not because he hasn’t noticed this star student.

🤍 Cillian Murphy x Reader — The theater has a different energy all its own, which is why Cillian is so passionate about it, always returning when the opportunity presents itself. With the latest invitation to perform as the lead actor in a new show filled with heavy drama and romance, the actor is surprised to learn that his female co-star is very fresh, not expecting a new actress to be able to take on such weight. But besides being unbelievably impressed with her sophistication and acting abilities, Cillian also can’t stop wishing that every romantic scene between them was happening in real life. But since Y/N has followed and admired Cillian for years as she made her own way in the acting world, the fondness is definitely mutual. Not to mention the fact that she nearly melts every time he touches her. Upon the wrap of closing night, will restraint and professionalism finally give way to desire and passion?

🔥 Modern Tommy Shelby x Reader — Tommy always calls the shots; it’s the only way he knows how to operate, and that includes in the bedroom. But outside the bedroom, Y/N needs to remember that Tommy still controls her. After several busy weeks with no sex between them due to crazy schedules and commitments, Tommy decides that tonight, the foreplay is going to begin before they even make it back home. Due to her recent slip in attitude and getting sassy with Tommy, Y/N is going to quickly be reminded that she’s completely at Tommy’s mercy (or lack thereof), and he has an intimate little gift for her to remind her of just that fact.

@nyxxie-pooh @xsweetcatastrophe @allie131313 @betty21rose @febris-amatoria

@hannibellector @fairytale07 @meister95 @alltoowellbeneaththemangotree @beastofburdenxo

@runnning-outof-time @aphroditeslover11 @galactict3a @natalie--rushman @wild-rose-35

@judig92 @cillmurphyslover @ladyvenera @karah-bear @k1ng-l3on

@ceirinen @peskybinders @fuseburner @shaddixlife @neonpurplestars89-blog

@garrison-girl-08 @devotedlyshadowytheorist @emotionalcadaver @muhahaha303 @mostly-marvel-musings

@darklydeliciousdesires @mamawiggers1980 @honeymoon8 @novashelby @wonderlanddreamer

@cardan-official @fmo166 @vastcapacity @mspookington-blog @teawonderfultea-blog1

@shopgirl6us @fkmarrycill @mrs-bond @sl-newsie @lyarr24

@cillianbabe @vervainandspritz @pkmonka @myers-meadow @bouquet-and-pearls

[kleefkruid]

Something interesting that I've noticed now that the majority of the people in my life know I'm learning to tattoo, is that my smalltalk treatment kinda has switched from 'artist' to 'tradesman?'

Everyone knows the kind of small talk questions you get as artists, people have low expectations of your financial prospects (and to be fair generally they're right lmao) and generally they don't really know what to say even if they're supportive.

But with tattooing, I realise I'm becoming 'a guy'. When someone you know goes into plumbing you'll generally say something like "Oh, good to know, next time I have an issue I know who to call!" He becomes your 'guy' for that specific thing. And when I tell people I'm getting into tattooing, I also get the "Oh good, when I want my next tattoo I'll know where to find you!"

I come from a very working class family where a lot of them worked their way up to become a one-man buissiness in their trade, and we had a family gathering yesterday and it's never been so easy to catch up with everyone, I got to 'talk shop' with uncles. It's all very interchangeable as a concept. "I'm doing an apprenticeship." "I've invested in some (insert tools of the trade)." "Did you hear Danny became co-owner of the shop he works out of?"

I had an entire conversation with my cousin who is a crane operator about how I'm learning to work with coil machines bc they give more feedback and are easier to repair yourself while new machines are less bulky and cheaper and easier to set-up but when they break they break etc etc and he was with me the entire time because every job has machines that fall into both categories.

idk for me it is lovely because I love art and don't mind getting really deep into art philosophy and the high brow shit for time to time but I'm also really solidly with my boots on the ground. I got a printmaking degree instead of a more conceptual art degree for a reason, I do have a love for machinery and daily application of art. And it feels really nice to be able to finally bring what I've learned back home. It's not even about approval but just wanting to connect and now I finally found a way to make it click and I love it.

Also it's just really great to finally be relieved of the "and what kind of job can you get with that" art school kid curse lmaooo

[lonestarflight]

A pair of "Vought OS2U Kingfisher floatplanes, of Observation Squadron One (VO-1), taxiis alongside USS ARIZONA (BB-39), after a flight in the Hawaiian Operating area. Pilot is Lieutenant-Commander Welton D. Rowley, Commanding Officer of VO-1. Rear-seat man, Radioman 2nd Class E.L. Higley, is preparing to go out on the plane's wing to hook up the aircraft to the battleship's crane for recovery. The plane is numbered 1-O-1."

This "plane flown by Ensign Lawrence A. Williams. Rear-seat man was Radioman 3rd Class G.H. Lane, who is preparing to hook up the aircraft to the ship's crane for recovery.

Note: the plane's side number 1-O-3, with the ship's name below it."

Date: September 6, 1941

U.S. Naval History and Heritage Command: 80-G-66111, 80-G-66109, 80-G-66108

[oh-goddess-of-chaos]

⠀ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 – 𝐣. 𝐝. 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ (navi. & masterlist. & tag. )

「 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 」 yandere!jason dean 𝒙 female!reader

「 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 」 being the new girl at a school can be difficult, especially during the middle of the year and in a place with a rigid social structure such as westerburg high, but things can only seem to worsen when you start feeling as though you're being watched.

「 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 」 general themes from heathers the movie such as bullying, mentions of suicide, murder (c'mon, it's a heathers fic, what did u expect?), usage of guns, kissing, stalking, attempted rape (kurt n' ram), swearing , usage of drugs such as cigarettes, unconsensual kissing (doesn't get further than that in this), very slight insinuations to sex (spoken), the whole shebang.

「 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 」 4.5k

「 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 .⁺ ˖ ⌒ (slight spoilers) i wanted to make the reader decently perceptive and sarcastic this one, but nearing the end i definitely made her rationality kinda disappear since that's what fear can do to a person. jd is more based off movie jd, and so is veronica.

Joining a new school midway through the school year was, to say the least, unideal.

You and your parents had just gotten the wonderful opportunity to move to the quaint town of Sherwood, Ohio, somewhere you all were essentially forced to go since your father had been promoted by his job and your family was strapped for cash. And, sure, your house was bigger and nicer than your last, but you'd had to leave all your friends you'd been with since your childhood, which was difficult.

To add to all of that, the people were unfriendly and rude, and the weather was tolerable at best. Though your old home wasn't perfect by any means, it was most certainly better than where you were living now.

And now, here you were, standing before your new high school, knowing perfectly nothing about it or what to expect yet still expecting it to be one of the worst schools you've gone to. The odd stares your fellow students were shooting you seemed to be indicative of that.

Oh, good grief.

You sighed as you entered, only to immediately crinkle your nose in disgust as you were hit with the pleasant aroma of sweaty jocks and what you could only guess were something akin to rotting bodies. Speak of the devil, you thought to yourself as you were almost hit by what you guessed were two football players dashing down the hallways.

This was going to be a long rest of the year.

You were quick to shove past the students to get to the front office, keen on getting your class schedule and getting to your class as early as you could. You'd only just gotten here and yet already you wanted to go home, though you supposed that that was how high school normally operated. It was never something anyone particularly enjoyed. Most people just managed to tolerate it enough to attend the next day.

"Hello, I'm looking to get my schedule?" You said once you'd reached your destination, crossing your arms as you stared at the woman at the front desk. Focused upon her own work, she offered you no response. You pursed your lips.

"Excuse me?" You spoke, louder this time, a hint of annoyance in your voice.

Apparently you weren't the only one unhappy to be at Westerburg high today, as the woman, seemingly irked, slowly craned her head to face you. "Yes?"

She seemed an unpleasant sort of woman, a frown etched permanently upon her wrinkled face. You wondered what the other teachers must look like, and if they resembled her by any means.

"This is my first day here. I need my class schedule."

"Name?"

"Y/n L/n."

The woman nodded and typed something into her computer. She then pointed to the printer. "Wait over there. Your class schedule is printing right now. Once it's finished, just go to your first class. The class numbers are listed on the right side."

"Well, is anyone going the help me find my way around?"

Your question was only met with silence. "Fine, I'll find it on my own. After all, why would I ever need the help of a teacher, anyway? It's not like I'm new to this school or anything." You grumbled before grabbing your schedule and exiting.

Luckily, navigating the school was a relatively simple task. The numbers on every door and the maps plastered on the walls definitely helped, and you were able to find your history class before the bell rang.

"Here's your textbook, Ms. L/n." The teacher said to you the moment you told her your name. Silently, you nodded, deciding to take a seat somewhere in the middle of the classroom as you waited for class to begin.

Something seemed off, though, as the lecture began and you jotted down nearly everything you heard. You could sense eyes boring into the back of your skull, like daggers piercing through your mind, and it inhibited your focus. You could hardly pay any attention to the teacher as she went on and on about some war you didn't even know the name of. And so, discreetly enough, you 'grabbed' something from you bag, staring over your shoulder briefly in an attempt to see if anyone really was watching you.

And, as it seemed, someone was. You managed to spot them - or him, to be more specific. Uncannily dark eyes stared back at you, blank and hollow. It made your stomach sink. Quickly, then, you retrieved an object from your school bag and continued with your notes to the best of your abilities. Unfortunately, though, you couldn't get that kid's sharp gaze out of your mind. Something about it - something about him - was off, though you couldn't quite place what it was. And, sure, from what you could see he dressed somewhat oddly - a dark trench coat adorning his shoulders, covering his already black pants and shirt - but it was more than just the way he was dressed. You knew it.

You gave up on the matter minutes after you were done with US History. As much as you were curious at the time, you could care less if some creep was watching you. It wasn't like you didn't have your fair share of those back at your old school - you just supposed that they didn't seem so outward about it. After all, you'd stared at that kid - caught him right in the act, but he didn't look away, didn't flinch, just kept staring. Looking back on it, you were convinced that you'd caught the glimpse of some sort of smile. But, as you'd mentioned, what was done was done. You'd only have to deal with him for 45 minutes every day for the rest for the year, at worst.

Sighing, you dropped your bag beside you as you sat down on one of the sticky cafeteria benches, secluded from everyone else. Although you knew you could've tried to make friends during your classes, you were aware of the truth about social politics in high school: halfway through the year, friendships were already sealed airtight and people were much less open to saying 'hi' to a new face, so you didn't even bother. And, sure, the seating was horrible, but you weren't about to make a fool of yourself, especially on your first day.

The food at Westerburg High was - albeit surprisingly - quite alright, and you found yourself somewhat enjoying it. Disregarding the horrible smell and the violently loud chatter, you supposed the cafeteria and lunch as a whole was okay.

That was, at least, until you caught sight of that kid who'd been staring at you in history. You hadn't even noticed he was there at first, but there he was, halfway across the cafeteria, staring blatantly right at you. This time, though, he was just smiling - smirking, even, and it unnerved you.

What is wrong with this guy?

The rest of the week went by like this. On your way to class, you'd always see him in the halls, eyes locking with yours as you passed him. Or getting your books from your locker - he'd always be there, eyes glued to your form. He wasn't even doing anything, was simply fixated on you. It made you shiver, the looks he gave you at first.

Now, however, it was almost expected. You'd anticipate dark eyes boring into your skull and the fumes of cigars to follow you in class, or truly just anywhere around school, just as you would expect your shadow to follow you in the sunlight. And, as annoying as it was the every first day, now it was eerie. You didn't have to look over your shoulder to know you were being watched, but when you did, you'd surely freeze out of both paranoia and fear. While, yes, you'd expected this year of high school to be your worst yet, never had you expected for it to be to such an extent.

Your fear later festered when he pulled a blank on two jocks in the cafeteria. Although you knew blanks couldn't truly hurt them, you shuddered to think what he'd do if he really wanted to cause some damage.

Things got worse still when the kid started dating the infamous Veronica Sawyer, not quite a Heather but not quite anything else either. Gossip around the school grew mad about the unconventional couple, and you soon learned the name of the kid who never did seem to leave you alone: Jason Dean, or 'J. D.' as everyone knew him.

Now, whenever you'd see J. D., he'd always be accompanied by his girlfriend, Veronica. He never did stop staring, though, resulting in numerous glares coming from Veronica's way.

So much for being tolerated by the popular crowd.

School had then became a living hell for you, because if one Heather didn't like you, none of them did, making life going unnoticed near impossible. Now, no matter where you were, someone was either glaring or gazing at you, their intentions vague and unclear.

Things then got particularly bad when Heather Chandler became a sort of enemy of yours. You weren't sure what you did to irk specifically her, but, whatever it was that you did, she most certainly hated you, more so than Veronica, even. Not a day went by without a rude confrontation by her, and you could name several instances when she'd embarrassed you in front of the school.

But then, one day, she was gone.

Suicide. At least, that's what they said it was, but you knew too many people hated that bitch for it to be so. All it would take was a teenager driven insane enough by her to be driven to such a point, and considering the state of Westerburg high, you didn't doubt for a moment that the queen bee of the school essentially prompted her own death.

So, yeah. You knew her suicide was faked. Not that you were going to report it to the cops - you weren't planning on stirring up more drama - but you weren't stupid enough to be fooled by such a thing. And, besides, though you'd never admit it aloud, you were glad she was dead, in an odd way. Now you had at least one less person to make your life at this sorry school miserable.

So, life was okay for a while. People got too busy about mourning Heather's death to notice a nobody like you. Other than that creep J. D. and his jealous girlfriend stalking the halls, life was tolerable.

But when you're at the top, the only way you can go is down. And that's where you went. Down. All the way to rock bottom.

You didn't know how to put it in lighter terms, so here it was: You were almost raped. By Kurt and Ram, to be more exact.

Apparently, J. D. wasn't the only one who had an eye on you, and with all your attention focused on him (since you were so damn paranoid) you'd failed to notice the two jocks that also seemed to have been interested by you.

It was late at night. You were walking home from some house you'd babysat at as a favor, and two guys started following you. You didn't think much of it at first - just tried to forget about it and cool your nerves, but then they started to get faster, and faster, and you did too, until suddenly you were running, and then, almost abruptly, the two jocks had grabbed your arms and startled forcing you elsewhere. You screamed and fought, but no one was around to hear you.

You could only imagine the other 'nobodies' they must have done this to.

You remembered vividly your horror as the two piled themselves on top of you, eager to rip your clothes off. But, just as they were about to do so, a gun shot rang out, and then another. Frozen in terror, you didn't even move as you felt the boys' bodies go limp over you. You were only able to move when you felt a hand grab onto your own and force you up and get you back on your feet.

"Thank you," you barely managed to sputter out once the initial shock wore off.

"Go," is all the figure replied. A man, you presumed. You couldn't see his face, though, covered by the dark lighting. And so, dazed and confused, you obliged, not thinking twice about the words spoken to you.

The next day, though, was when things truly got out of hand.

Kurt and Ram, supposedly, had died in some gay love pact, wherein they killed each other. Hearing the news over the TV your parents played, you felt sick to your stomach. But, there they lied on the screen, a bag of supposed 'homosexual artifacts' and a suicide note to tie it all together.

And the whole town ate the story up.

You didn't go to school for about the next week or so. You told your parents that you were sick, and even though they knew you weren't, they still called in sick for you, able to detect that you weren't exactly feeling well mentally.

The week of repose was good, too. You were able to gather yourself up, not to the point where you didn't fear what could have happen had your savior not came to the rescue, but to the point where you could suppose that you were grateful that you wouldn't have to answer any questions from the police.

But now, at least for now, you knew you'd be safe.

* * *

You let out a soft sigh as you landed on your bed, curling into your warm sheets as a way of seeking comfort. At least you were safe and secure at home, you supposed, your parents only a relatively quiet yell away and your windows locked for good measure. If school was your hell, then you would consider home your heaven, away from the Heathers, away from J. D., away from everyone.

Turning off your light, you sank into your pillow in a desperate sort of way, clinging to it as if it were your lifeline. You'd hardly been getting sufficient sleep within the past weeks, so it didn't take long for you to fall into oblivion, the abyss of sleep consuming you whole in minutes.

So deeply unaware of your surrounding now, you didn't even hear quiet footsteps entering your bedroom.

J. D. was, to say the least, unsure what made him drawn to you in the first place. Maybe it was your calm and uncaring demeanor, or maybe it was the way you seemed to pick up on things through simple observation so easily, similarly to him. Whatever it was, he most certainly found you interesting. And, somehow, he could simply tell that there was something different about you - something like him that he saw in you, and it intrigued him to no end.

No matter how paranoid you were, you were never completely aware of J. D.'s reach in your life. When he'd watch you when you were at home, he'd remain particularly clever, knowing that if he was caught there was a high chance that he'd get into some really deep shit. Staring at a girl in school every day was one thing, but following her home? That was much more serious, and required a much less conspicuous plan.

But, alas, his plan paid off, and J. D. smiled knowingly as he stared at your vulnerable figure, taken over by a much needed sleep. You simply looked so perfectly innocent like that, something he couldn't wait to ruin once he had the chance.

J. D. laughed euphorically as he continued to just stare at you, unsure if he still had his wits about him but uncaring at the very same time. Perhaps all the cigars he had been smoking really were getting to him. But he knew what he needed to do before he brought you with him. So, quietly, resisting the urge to kiss your pristine lips, J. D. raced out of your bedroom, your door that was previously shut left open behind him.

Unfortunately for him, however, he'd forgotten that you were often a light sleeper that woke up at different intervals in the night, so when a particularly cool gust of wind came in through your open window, you were startled awake.

"What the fuck?" You muttered under your breath as you drowsily peeled your eyes open, squinting them as you stood up to close the window, before pausing and wondering how on earth your window had opened. After all, your parents never came into your room late at night as far as you were concerned, and you had locked your window when you'd fallen asleep, so how could it have opened?

It was at that very moment, too, that the faint smell of smoke wafted through the room, and you froze.

Sure, you knew you were paranoid, and that maybe fear had gotten the better of you, but you also knew that a potentially dangerous kid had been staring at you ever since you got to school and that it would be idiotic for you to assume that he had no malicious intentions.

Your stomach then tightened up once you noticed your open bedroom door. So, yes. It was possible that maybe your assumptions were idiotic, but you'd be a fool to not go with your gut when the most it'd cost you was some short-lived embarrassment, especially considering what could have happened with Kurt and Ram. So, quietly, you exited your bedroom, looking down the hallways of the upstairs floor as to reassure that the coast was clear.

It was.

More silently than you've ever done so before, then, you tip-toed to your parents bedroom, hoping to either alert them of an intruder or ask them what the were doing. But, just as you were about to open their door, footsteps were heard on the other side - not your mother's quiet, considerate ones, nor your father's loud, heavy ones, but a different kind.

Fuck.

As fast as you could, you dashed into the nearest room, leaving the door only just barely open as to not allow it to make any sound. From your parent's room exited a dark silhouette, wearing what you guessed was a trench coat and with only the burning edge of a cigarette as a light source plucked between two fingers.

You were right. You were fucking right. No other than Jason Dean was in your house, and right now, he was heading right for your bedroom, most likely intending to kill.

You needed to think fast.

My parents - right, my parents. They keep a gun in their bedroom.

You were shaking. Yes, your parents showed you were they kept the gun in the case of an emergency, but you'd never been taught how to use it.

As quietly as you could, you dashed over to your parents bedroom, closing the door behind you. And, even though you knew you didn't have the time, you took a moment to catch your breath. God, you couldn't breathe. And neither could your parents, as it seemed, when you looked over at their limp corpses sprawled in the bed. Slowly, you retracted the covers from their bodies, only to find a wet pool of blood that lay beneath them and their slit throats.

They were dead. J. D. had fucking killed your parents. You felt your knees buckle underneath you as you caressed your mother's lifeless face, her eyes never to once again open.

"Mom..." You whimpered, not caring if her blood stained your fingers. But then, you paused, realizing that, if you didn't speed up, you could be next.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I really need to find a weapon or a way out of here. I only have so much time before he finds me.

You suppressed a scream as you then scoured their bedroom in search of the gun safe, not keen on wasting any more time, but to your dismay, you couldn't find it.

They must have moved it from last year - fuck! - what else could they have?

Your eyes then landed on your father's esteemed baseball bat. You'd remember him talking about it, the pride radiating from him as he explained how it was the first bat he used to hit a home run with in high school.

Well, sorry dad.

Picking up what was now a weapon and placing it in such a way that would allow you to swing at a moment's notice, you slowly sauntered out of your parent's bedroom and into the hallway.

Your blood ran colder and colder as you approached your bedroom door, until, finally, you did, and raised the baseball bat even higher as to deliver the hardest blow on the boy that stood before you.

"You know, it would have probably been better if you'd stayed hiding," you then heard J. D. speak, turning around and raising an eyebrow at the bat in you hands. "You know, that isn't going to do much against a gun."

Time seemed to stop, and all you could stare at was the gun that sat loosely in J. D.'s hand. He was going to fucking kill you.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to use it on you," he then reassured coyly, as if reading your mind. "It's just a necessary... precaution. Now, why don't place the bat down so we can talk."

"I could scream."

J. D. seemed to smile at this and clicked his tongue, as if scolding you. "Now, would you really like to have someone else's blood on your hands like that? Just because I'm not going to shoot you doesn't mean I won't shoot anyone else. It'd be a shame if anyone had to die because of you."

Silence.

"Good, now... place the bat down."

Nodding, you complied, slowly placing your only means of defence on the ground.

"Okay, okay," you mumbled, trying to calm your racing heart down. Though you doubted it, you supposed that there was a chance that, if you could calm down enough, you could convince J. D. to leave you alive.

J. D. grinned. "Now, darling, why don't you come right here."

If you could've moved, you most certainly would've. After all, you'd seen that gun in J. D.'s hand. You knew what it could do. But you were frozen by fear, and no amount of rationality was going to move you.

"Now, this would all be, uh, a lot easier if you'd just come with me, because I'd hate to have to man-handle - " J. D.'s words cut short as he watched you, nearly stunned, as you bolted past him and towards the window. But he was quick to recoup his bearings, cocking the gun (for good measure) and grab onto your leg, successfully dragging you towards the ground. You grunted in pain upon your head slamming against the hardwood floor, the beginnings of a bruise already starting to appear.

Now only partially unconscious, it took you a long while to notice the tongue now prying apart your mouth and the chapped lips pressed against your own. You'd only really noticed when you realized that you couldn't breathe, and you let out a strangled groan as you tried to detach yourself from the figure above you, but to no avail. J. D. merely slid his tongue deeper down your throat, inhibiting you from screaming or making any other noise as he kissed you roughly.

You thrashed and flailed under his touch, but nothing was enough to free yourself from him. He was faster, stronger, and had the firearm in this situation. You stood no chance. So, with a heavy heart, you moved pliantly underneath J. D.'s touch, hoping he'd at least go a little easier on you at the very least.

And then, with bated breath, you observed as he stopped, and, hovering above you, took something out of his pocket. At first, fearing it was a gun, you began to once again fight against him, but then paused upon not recognizing the silhouette of the object in his hand.

"You know, as much as I'd like to continue this, I did come here for a reason." J. D. stared at you, no ounce of sympathy as he spoke his next words. "You know, it'd have been a hell of a lot easier if you'd just fucking stayed asleep."

Without so much as a moment to respond, a wet rag was forced upon your face. Confused at first, you lied still, before realizing what it must have been drenched it. You were now even more urgent in your fighting of J. D. (if that was even possible), punching and kicking him wherever you could. But he didn't budge, simply kept a firm grip on the rag.

"Shhh, it's fine, I won't hurt ya," he reassured, "Not unless I need to, of course."

But you didn't hear him, your consciousness already slipping as you'd only been half conscious before. You were trying to kick free, but already you were so exhausted, your adrenaline already beginning to ware off. Worse still, J. D.'s words of reassurance that you'd be fine and that everything will be alright were starting to mess with you.

You could hear him talking, but the words were muffled and blurred, and your body seemed to take everything in as if it were truth, because it was already relaxing under his cool touch. And it seemed that, the more fearful your mind grew, the more numb your body became, until, finally, you gave up your thrashing and your fighting, and sunk into J. D. harsh embrace willingly.

Upon your figure going limp, a devilish grin spread across J. D.'s face. Though he knew this was not how things were meant to occur, he was simply so happy - for he finally had you in his arms, where you belonged. And then, unable to help himself, he pressed a hungry kiss on your mouth, pleased to hear a muffled moan escape it as your tongue moved submissively under his own.

This was it! Finally - finally, after waiting for so long, you belonged to him. No more were the days when he'd have to watch you through your bedroom window, or the days where all he'd see of you were your paranoid eyes in the hallways, because, finally, here you were, in his arms, where you belonged!

Here you were at last, finally.

Finally, you were his and only his.

© do not translate, steal, or repost any of my works elsewhere without consulting me and gaining my consent.

[ddejavvu]

For multiverse Monday

Doctor bradley Bradshaw dating single mom teacher reader andits being rooster first time meet her daughter being super shy and when she meets him " i wike your moustache " while hiding between readers legs maybe

sorry honey i couldn't really think of a good scenario where he would be a doctor and she would be a teacher and they'd connect while also meeting her daughter so i took out the doctor part! this isn't an au anymore, it's reader being an instructor at top gun and having a young daughter. i hope you're not too disappointed! also i know rooster would not have been in a class with the dagger squad during his time at top gun and that most of them only met for the uranium mission but fuck canon actually they're all school friends in a little group <3

--

"For the most part, I thought your simulations were done well. Many of you made rational decisions while considering both your safety and your plane's, and it showed. Some of you-" You try not to look at Hangman even though everyone else already is, "Were more... daring in your hypothetical plans. But that's something we'll discuss privately, when I come around to work through them with you."

Jake's smirk doesn't fall despite the relentless jabs he gets from everyone sitting within his range. You avoid speaking to him first, choosing to target Fanboy instead, who performed fantastically in his work.

There isn't much to go over with him, a play-by-play of his simulation that you agree with wholeheartedly. You only give him one pointer, and it's that he could be a little less cautious if he wanted to be. But you're moving onto his seatmate next, your back turned towards Rooster as you crouch over Payback's desk.

There's similarly minimal work to be done on Payback's simulation. He'd clearly done the assignment thoughtfully, and you're sure to give him a glowing review. When you step up to the side of Rooster's desk there's a lingering smile on your face, that he glances up at and returns with one of his own.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw," You nod, your voice kind, "Your work was done well. I do have a few pointers, though, if you'd let me nitpick?"

"'Thought you would," He admits, chuckling sheepishly, "It's hard to simulate something so unpredictable."

"I know what you mean," You nod vigorously, missing the sound of the door creaking open, as well as the silence that falls around the classroom from your other students, "There weren't any major problems, I just wanted to offer you some advice. I think you could change the way that you operate here," You tap your pen against the printed frame of his simulation, showcasing a maneuver he could have taken, but didn't. The second time your pen hits the page you feel something thud against your legs, and your hands brace themselves urgently on Bradley's desk to stop yourself from falling forwards into him.

"Oh!" You crane your neck backwards to see what had rammed into you, seeing the wispy-haired, pigtailed-head of your daughter.

"Oh, Lizzie," You breathe, laughing bashfully as a few coos are heard around the room. You sneak your hands beneath her arms, hauling her up off of the ground and onto your hip, "You are not supposed to be here, you know that. What happened to your group?"

"We walked by your door." Elizabeth mumbles into your neck, her tiny voice muffled nearly silent, "And I heard you talking. And I heard Phoenix, and I wanted to say hi."

Natasha gives her a sneaky wave from her seat beside the door.

"Lizzie, you're supposed to stay with the group," You try not to chide her, keeping your voice sweet as she flops herself lifeless over your shoulder, "They're going to be worried when they can't find you."

"I'll catch 'em and let 'em know," Bob offers, rising from his seat cautiously, "Probably on their way to the rec room?"

You pinch Elizabeth's side to get her to answer; she nods once into your shoulder.

You flash Bob a thankful thumbs-up as he rushes to catch Liz's daycare group, and you make a silent promise to yourself to get her a backpack with a leash on it.

When you turn back to Rooster, he's staring at your little girl. He's got a sweet smile on his face, something that no one seems to be able to withhold when looking at her tiny face. She's peeking right back at him, and you can feel her smile against your neck when he waves.

"Lizzie," He tests her name on his tongue, then glances at you, "Short for Elizabeth?"

"No," Your little girl pipes up, ready with the joke she's been waiting on (courtesy of her wisecracking grandfather) for two years now, "Lizard."

Bradley blinks.

"Lizard?"

You can't help but laugh, stifling the sound by biting your lip. He looks bewilderedly between the two of you, two giggly girls, wondering if he's crazy for mishearing something, or if you're crazy for naming your daughter after a reptile.

"It's Elizabeth," You confirm, "Her grandpa has a flair for bad jokes."

"Oh," Rooster breathes, face crumpling into half mortification and half relief, "I see."

"She steals all of his favorite ones," You lament, setting her on the floor only for her to smush herself between your legs and keep her face hidden behind your left thigh, "I think one day she's going to tell me she's 'trying to quit' when I offer her a juice box."

He snorts, "That's a good one."

A moment of silence passes between you, but it's not awkward, it's fond. You're almost ready to get back to your review of his performance, but Lizzie ducks beneath the desk to crouch by Bradley's feet. He cranes his head down to look at her, eyes questioning but kind.

"You have a plane in your pocket," She observes, poking at his F-14 keychain, "I sawed those at the gift shop once."

His face quirks into a smile at her grammar, and he tugs the keys out of his pocket so that she can fiddle with the plane.

"My dad gave it to me when I was your age," He tells her, "That's what he flew in."

"Your dad was a pilot, too?" Lizzie squints up at him, face scrunched.

"No, he sat behind the pilot. He didn't feel like driving."

Bradley's jokes seem to go over well with Lizzie, something that makes your heart flutter. She giggles at, her toothy grin on display, "You don't drive a plane, you fly it."

He chuckles, but he doesn't have time to offer her a proper response before she speaks again, still squinting up at him.

"I like your mustache," She blurts, and you're just glad she doesn't reach up to poke it, "It looks like my grandpa's."

"Less grey, though," You reach down to ruffle her hair, giving Rooster an amused smile when he bites his tongue to stop from laughing.

"Wanna know something?" He raises his brows, leaning in like he's telling Lizzie the nuclear codes.

She leans forwards, just as eager.

"My dad gave that to me, too. He just-" Rooster reaches up to tug at one end of his mustache, "-ripped it off of his face and-" He slaps a hand over his mouth, "-put it on me."

Elizabeth roars with giggles, squealing at the image. Bradley digs in his pocket, the one that hadn't held his keys, and comes out with a creased, yellowed picture from his wallet.

"See?" He holds it out to Liz, showing off a man that's undeniably his father, and a bleach blonde child you can't believe is him, "There he is, that's before he took it off and gave it to me. Can you tell it's the same one?"

"No!" She shakes her head, wobbling to her feet and reaching out. He doesn't back away, but your stomach churns awkwardly at her naive forwardness when she pokes at his lip, "Yours is more higher."

"Lizzie," You rush to grab her arm, but Rooster shoots you a soft smile.

"It's okay," He assures you, voice calm, smooth, and adoring, something that only worsens your pounding heart, "She's fine. I think she's right," He sighs, looking back at the photo, "Maybe he shaved it down before he gave it to me."

Lizzie doesn't have time to ponder the possibilities of The Bradshaw Mustache Transfer before the door creaks open again, Bob's hand bracing it open as a caregiver peers inside cautiously.

Her shoulders slump when she sees Elizabeth and she looks equal parts horrified and delighted at the sight of the unscathed little girl, "Miss Y/L/N, I am so sorry, I didn't-"

"She's an escape artist." You wave away the woman's apologies, "Don't worry about it. Even I can't keep track of her. Go on, Lizzie," You steer her away from Rooster, and you only sigh a little bit when she skips over to hug Natasha first, "And no more running off!"

She's not the one that promises you, her caregiver is. It's not reassuring.

"Anyways, I'm sorry about that," You're not sure if you mean for the general disruption, or for your daughter sticking her fingers around Bradley's mouth, but it's curved into a grin when you turn back to him, so you're sure he doesn't mind.

"It's alright," He promises, "She's cute."

"You're good with kids," You muse offhandedly, ducking down once more to peer at his papers.

"I want a few someday," He admits, righting himself in his chair and tucking the photo of his father away, "I guess this is practice."

"You'll be a fantastic father," You gleam, trying to ignore the familiar heart-flutter when his hand brushes against yours reaching for his pen, "And I'm sure your son will love to carry on the tradition of the Mustache Transfer."

[twopoppies]

This...is craaaazy. 35 weeks behind schedule and they still tried to open 😳

https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-68954947

What a fucking disaster.

People working behind the scenes at the troubled Co-op Live arena in Manchester have spoken of what they say were "chaotic" events leading up to the bungled opening of the venue.

Workers involved with the project spoke on condition of anonymity as they did not have permission to speak out. They told the BBC:

Parts of the £365m venue were in a state of disarray less than 24 hours before the arena was supposed to open earlier this week

Staff were left in tears after they were forced to call off American rapper A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie's gig at the last minute due to safety fears

Naming rights partner Co-op Group has flagged a "critical" risk of reputational damage to the wider Co-op brand

Construction staff at the venue warned others back in February that works were as much as 35 weeks behind schedule

Co-op Live was heralded as a "world-class arena" that "Manchester deserves" by Tim Leiweke, the American businessman leading the project, in an interview with the BBC last month.

But "the perfect building" Mr Leiweke promised soon suffered fundamental setbacks, with a series of high-profile acts - including Take That and Olivia Rodrigo - having their shows cancelled or postponed at the last minute to the bewilderment and frustration of performers, ticket-holders and staff.

Mr Leiweke has since apologised, and a Co-op Live spokesperson told the BBC events had been paused "to ensure the safety and security of fans and artists visiting the venue".

One staff member, hired as a "premium host" in the venue's VIP rooms, told the BBC she was in the building on Tuesday evening - fewer than 24 hours before the venue's debut performance by A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie was due to begin.

She said: "I think we were very sceptical: that was my first time in the arena and it did not look ready at all... They're doing everything with crossed fingers: it's a bit chaotic."

'Wires hanging down'

The VIP rooms were still "full of cardboard boxes", the woman said.

"They weren't done - there's loads of final bits [unfinished]. It was filled with workmen who were all still so busy doing random checks here and there, average safety checks... there were loads of wires hanging down."

She said some stairways also seemed incomplete. "There were wires everywhere and exposed lighting on the floor. It looked very messy. There were gaps in the stairs... it looked like a work in progress."

The woman, who has been employed on a casual contract, said staff members are still paid part of their wage if their shift is cancelled at short notice. Staff who are on site when a shift is cancelled are paid in full, a spokesperson for the venue said.

Meanwhile, another member of staff, this time working in an operations role at the venue, said: "The root cause of all the problems is coming from the building, not the operations. From an outside perspective, people presume it's being run badly."

"In reality we have a building that isn't ready, and we're being told it is ready - then things happen out of the blue that cause cancellations", they said.

[…]

The staff member said most public-facing areas of the building are complete - although the offices on the top floor and some premium areas of the building remain "unfinished".

As of Thursday evening, the dining area in the exclusive Amp Club has "no fixtures, no fittings, no tables there - it's just a shell," they said.

[…]

"People don't know that OVG [the Oak View Group] own the venue - they just see the Co-op brand," a staff member at the Co-op Group said.

On a site visit in February, the Co-op Group employee said they were told by construction workers the project was running 35 weeks behind schedule, in part due to delays with crane equipment.

"The Co-op's really disappointed with OVG's constant delays," the employee said.

Full article here

[bumblesimagines]

you were a waste of my time.

how long have you known?

Ivan Carvalho

you were a waste of my time.

how long have you known?

pronouns: they/them, gender neutral

i am a patrick hater first and human second

It'd been silly to think Patrick Blanco would ever keep a promise. He'd assured you time and time again that he and Ivan were over, that the spark there had died and he no longer viewed Ivan as anything other than a friend. In retrospect, you should've seen it coming. Patrick had happily pursued Ander despite knowing Ander was in a happy relationship and he'd blissfully pursued Ivan even after repeatedly being rejected. So, when you stumbled across him kissing Ivan and your boyfriend leaning into it, the surprise had been momentary and easily replaced with numbness and indifference.

Scribbling down some notes from class, you hardly noticed the footsteps approaching you from behind until someone swooped down and planted a kiss on your cheek. Cologne invaded your nostrils and you recognized it quickly, a prickle of annoyance flooding your veins as you craned your neck up to look at Ivan. Taking it as an invitation, Ivan leaned down to kiss you again but when you turned away, his lips met the top of your head. A quiet huff left him and he hooked a ringed finger under your chin to tilt your head again.

"How's Patrick? Did you have fun at his place?" Your words made him pause, doe eyes blinking rapidly and puckered lips contorting.

"What?" He nervously laughed and pressed his thumb into your chin, affectionately rubbing your skin. "Love, I was with Isa. She needed some help choosing what outfit to wear to the party tonight, remember?" 

"The more you lie, the stupider you look, Ivan." Your words made him reel back, a look of hurt flashing over his pretty features. If only he'd taken time to check his social media, he would've seen the countless posts Isadora had made with Cayetana throughout the day. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, turning your attention back onto the notes. "Aunt Sandra was right. You were a waste of my time."

"How... How long have you known?" He asked quietly, slumping down on the seat beside you with downcast eyes. 

"Since my birthday party when you snuck off to make out with your ex." He winced and you nearly rolled your eyes again when his own eyes suddenly flooded with tears. Ivan reached out to carefully take your hands into his, pulling them toward his face and kissing your knuckles. Anyone else might've melted right then and there, but Sandra had raised you and Rebeka right. If only she could see it now, she'd have a laugh. 

"Sinto muito, meu amor." Ivan murmured, voice soft and gentle. You snatched your hands out of his grasp and he released a shakey breath. "It- It was a mistake. That night Patrick said he wanted to talk and I thought nothing of it-"

"Sounds like he's been wanting to talk a lot recently. You've been blind to Patrick's behavior since you met him. You don't see how he operates, how works toward making everyone around him miserable just because he is. He messed with Ander and Omar until the two couldn't be together and he's doing it again now. Patrick doesn't care about what you want. He only cares about himself." You flipped the notebook shut and rose from the chair, listening to it scrape against the tile. You shoved the notebook into your bag and slung it over your shoulder, taking one last look at him.

"Patrick will only let you go once he's taken every ounce of happiness from you. Have fun with that."

[deeptrashwitch]

Marcus "Poison" Lombardi

Name: Marcus Lombardi

Nacionality: American🇺🇲/Italian🇮🇹

Age: 25

Date of birth: 8th march 1997 - New York City (U.S.A)

Residence: Killeen, Texas, USA

Afilliation: U.S Marine Corps / 75th Ranger Regiment Specters

Rank: Private

Callsign: Poison (Current)/ Charlie 3-6

Occupation: Infantry operator

Height: 1.86 m/ 6'1" ft

Weight: 80 kg

Blood type: AB-

Pronouns: He/him

Sexuality: Straight

Languages: English (Native), Italian, Portuguese, Indonesian

AFILLIATIONS

Specters members:

-Captain Alicia Marchant (alive)

-Lieutenant Luke Michaelis (alive)

-Sergeant Jackson Blackwell (alive)

-Sergeant Edward Jackson (alive)

-Corporal Noah García (alive)

-Corporal Elijah Wilson (alive)

-Airman First Class Nicholas Fowlett (alive)

-Private Elliot Stevens (alive)

-Private Alexander Christensen (alive)

-Private Francis Scott (alive)

CIA:

-Chief Station Dominique Wright (alive)

Underworld:

-Liù Xiao Chen (alive)

FAMILY

-Kenneth Lombardi (Father) (alive)

-Janice Lombardi nee Crane (Mother) (deceased)

-Nick Lombardi (Uncle) (alive)

-Keyra Lombardi (spouse) (alive)

PERSONALITY

-He is energetic and joyful with his teammates, but when he's on mission his personality becomes a mix of cautious, ferocious and analytic.

-During the conjoined missions he stays near the other soldiers as his Captain commanded, but he always is alert and is always trying to get the most information he can of them only by their looks.

-He always stays deep in his thoughts when he thinks about his parents, and sometimes is difficult to bring him back. Every time he came back, he shake his head and then sighs, and when he does that...everyone knows he has zoned out.

BIOGRAPHY

Born in New York City, New York. His family during many years were his father, his mother, his uncle and him, but now there's only the men. As a kid, he was an absolute mom's boy, although he keeps an amazing relationship with his father.

When he was younger they all lived on Little Italy, and he passed part of his time inside his father's store, helping with the register while he was on high school. During that time he met Keyra when she went to buy groceries, it was a daily thing, but that time was somehow different and they ended up dating after many funny situations. He took a year and half before enlisting, again to help with the family bussiness, and once he enlisted to the Marine Corps, he departed to Camp Pendelton.

When he finished basic training, he was assigned to one team, his first and last team before the Specters. After his first deployment, and even against some people advices, he proposed and married Keyra, and has never regreted it. But during that first years, he learned about his mom's diagnosis, she had stomach cancer.

It was difficult to hear, and mostly to see his father so drained when he accompained her to chemotherapy. He talked with Keyra about and both decided to help with the costs of the treatments, so a big part of his salary went to it. Even his uncle flew from Florence to help them with the bussiness, to gave his own brother a break, also Keyra helped her mother-in-law everytime she could.

Marcus had a hard time to go and see his mom, but when he was able to do it, he went even if it hurted like hell to see her that way. Right now he prefers not to evoke the image of his mother, how tired, sick and sad she looked, and how she tried to smile to him. That lasted during a couple more years before his mother passed away, and it hurted during the next two years and still hurts until today.

It was difficult to keep going, but he did, helping his father and with Keyra's help. After it, he continued inside the Marine Corps, and soon Wraith went to talk with him to offer him a place inside the Specters. Soon he arrived to Black Tomb, and there he has stayed from then on.

SKILLS

-Specialized on many fire weapons, his favorites during missions are a Galil 556. and a Carabin M4.

-Main and static part of the infantry squad, but he goes better during infiltration missions. They are the second squad to get inside the objective, always behind the recon squad.

COMBAT

His combat style is specialized on ofenssive, not as variated as the Captain's, but it make him almost an expert on MCMAP. His first choice weapon is also a Bowie knife. He's teaching their combat style to some of the team, and he practices usually with Alexander and the Captain.

TRIVIA

-Marcus loves to learn how to play every instrument he can get his hands on. So far he knows how to play guitar, drums, flaute, tamborine, bass and piano.

-He's madly in love with Keyra. Every time he's off deployment he arrives at the house with a flower bouquet, his wife favorite dinner and some beautiful jewels. He always feels guilty for leaving her during missions, but every time she reassures him that she'll be fine and that she's proud of him.

-He has no car but Keyra does. She got a blue Chevrolet Spark, it's nothing luxurious and a bit old but she uses it almost everyday.

-Marcus doesn't have a favorite music genre, but enjoys specially the music in spanish. Noah has played jokes on him many time because of it.

-Everytime he has the opportunity to talk about his wedding, HE WILL! It amuses the team, but they are happy to hear how their friend has a happy marriage. Everyone gave him ideas for some dates, and Marcus helped Luke with everything related to his own wedding.

-His callsign was an accident, to be honest. During a call with his now deceased mother, he heard her talking about a documentary she was watching, about true crime. His mother muttered something related a random fact mentioned, and he recognized it instantly a way of how killing with poison. They started calling him Poison, and it stayed!

-He always goes to get himself checked looking for any kind of cancer. He refuses to take a risk about it.

-His favorite drink is soda, he doesn't have a determined brand, just takes anything in stock. And his favorite food is pancakes, specifically the ones with banana and chocolate sirup! Everytime they go to a dinner or a cafe, Marcus will order pancakes and if it has also powdered suger on top...he can die happy.

Song

Moodboard

[meanscarletdeceiver]

Fic Snippet: In Buccleuch Docks

I have a snippet from a Nobby WIP that actually touches upon the topics of my last two asks, so... for anyone interested!...

This was a fic toying with inventing a Nobby visit to Barrow (specifically to be displayed in the docks for a week) in the early '60s, mostly as an excuse for me to have him see the steelworks engines and Edward again, for the first time since 1941. Not sure if this is going to be "canon" or not, but it was fun to draft.

1964, maybe

There was a pause, as both watched the great yellow-and-black hammerhead crane slowly swing a piece of container freight. Coppernob was impassive as ever, but Edward was smiling.

It was the blue engine who next spoke. "Town has never been the same without you… I expect you’re getting a good many visitors here?"

"By the train-load," said Coppernob, matter-of-factly. "They really ought to have put me at the new station. Me being here is a disruption to dock operations."

"They may move you, yet. Have you seen the new station?"

"No. But you needn't wrack your smokebox thinking how to break the news gently. I know very well how ugly it is."

Edward smiled again, tamping down a nostalgic sadness that he knew Coppernob wouldn't appreciate. (Or that he would appreciate, but would take aim at anyway, by reflex.) "Gordon complained about the new station every night for two years."

"He left off complaining too soon." Coppernob eyed the younger engine, committing several mechanical alterations to memory. "Are those new frames?"

"No?"

"Don't take that tone with me. Well, if they're the same old, then that paint is doing wonders. New boiler?"

"No."

"Then why did they raise it?"

"They did swap out for a new one, while mine was in repairs, and that one required these braces. It seems they liked the look. I'm still not so sure."

"No one cares what you think, son," said Coppernob dryly. "If you please your directors, it's all that matters."

"Thanks, Nobby. Can always count on you."

"Always. You're still taking main line trains, then?"

"Not often." Edward grew quite animated. "My friend BoCo usually takes this train. He offered it to me for a day so that I could come see you. He's a class 28 — you've seen them, haven't you? The main line diesel-electrics that are stabled here. Do you know, they were built by the company that merged with Vickers?"

"All right, son." Coppernob eyed him askance. Not exactly reproving, but bemused. "I didn't need your friend's life story." A faint blush began to grow on the Seagull's smokebox. "So what do you do these days, when you're not swapping jobs with dodgy diesels?"

"He's not dodgy..."

[cranetraining7]

But How much Does Enrolling in a Crane Certification Cost?

In case you are taking into consideration getting a job as a crane operator and you don’t have prior education, what do you understand the best way to take to get into this profession? You could be thinking of going for an admission into a crane operator school. And you would be absolutely correct and you’re taking the right path.

Strong recommendations are stated for everyone to get professional training from a school that is NCCCO-accredited, where formal training is not required by NCCCO. However, for you to have an edge getting the crane certification, it is mainly recommended to take such training by admitting in a course provided by the school.

PRACTICAL EXAMS

Know all the instructions on how to apply for and take CCO certification practical test. The details below are specific to the Mobile Crane Operator training.

PRACTICAL EXAMINATION FEES

The Practical test fee for exam on each crane type is $60. The exact fees must be paid when completing the online practical exam form. The same fees will be applied for retest exams. Lattice Boom Crane: $60 Telescopic Boom—Swing Cab: $60 Telescopic Boom—Fixed Cab: $60 An extra $20 fee will be demanded in case if: An application form is unfulfilled Complete payment is not received or credit card is not working for any reason An applicant requests changes to the application

How much does admitting for a crane certification cost?

There is no appropriate answer to this question since the market is regularly changing. The tuition also differs on the basis of comprehensiveness of the training program. Although to give you an approximate estimation of crane certification cost, many schools deliver complete courses for the cost ranging from $1,000 to $2000, relying on the type of crane you want to get certified in. The institute you’ve chosen may provide an additional cost for practical training with their trainer on standby at an hourly rate of $60 to $100.

NCCCO Certification Testing Cost

If you aim to become a certified operator, you have to clear the two-part series of the NCCCO test – the written test and practical part of it as well. The region where you are residing in may have different rules, yet most of the US states need the operator to be NCCCO certified. The NCCCO certification cost is an additional amount you have to pull from your pocket. In case you have taken together the other exams of NCCCO, is $50 for 1 articulating boom crane type, and $60 for 2 type’s exam.

The quantity will also differ on the basis of what method you want to take the test. You can take the exam either via paper-and-pencil test (PPT) or computer-based testing (CBT). In the domain of Mobile Crane Operator Program, the PPT written test cost is $150 whereas its equivalent CBT is $200. The practical exam cost for the mobile crane on 1 type is $50, in 2 mobile crane types is $60 and in 3 mobile crane types is $70.

If you are paying for Tower Crane Training Exam and you are a new candidate, the PPT written testing fee is $175 whereas the CBT method is $210. The practical coaching exam fee for tower crane is $50. When you are taking both the Mobile Crane and the Tower Crane Training Program at the same time, the written PPT is $40 and the CBT is $75 and the practical training is $50.

When you want to enroll for Overhead Crane Operator Training Program as a new candidate, the PPT written test fee is $155 and the CBT is $190 and the practical test is $50 and you will be taking both the mobile crane and overhead crane operator training programs altogether, you will only be charged $50 for the PPT written test and $85 for CBT exam. The NCCCO certification cost is $50. While the practical exam charges for both of these crane training programs is $60.

In Joint Boom Crane Operator Program for a new candidate, PPT written test charge is $165 and the CBT is $200, On the other hand, the practical exam fee for this type of crane is $70, if you are taking 2 joint crane types, the practical exam fee is $80. If you are having the Mobile Crane Training and the Joint Boom Crane Programs altogether at the same time, the PPT written fee is only $60 and CBT is $80.

Why is it essential to get enrolled in a Crane Training Course?

The training course is intended to prepare you for the NCCCO written and practical exams needed for the certification. It is just through having these courses under your belt that you can be ready to work safely in a risky workplace. The better aspect a crane operator gets in taking the training is the understanding one can implement in operating the tools and the second important thing is generating his confidence operating the crane. It is a valid conformity with the law for you as an operator. However not all states need the operator to have such program, would you know in the future that having the training could be a federal necessity?

The course will train about load limitations, reading rated capacity, uplifting & handling processes, proper tool scrutinizing, proper crane maintenance and many other different important subjects. Such topics are crucial in the functioning of your job in the worksite. The most risky place to work in is where surrounded by heavy machineries. When such equipments are in operation and in connection with the heavy loads being lifted, the risk upgrades rapidly for the operators and for other workers near. It is hence very important for you to have the training course to decrease the danger and be quick and active while performing the job with ease and safety.

For more details on crane certification cost, explore https://cranetrainingacademy.com/ 

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[axenyan]

🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Just a very random and self-indulgent headcanon of Tokyo Debunker bois if they were Arknights operators. This is purely my personal opinion, but I'm also open for discussion 👁️👁️👌

I'm putting the references here in case you want to see what class does what.

Race: link

Class: link

Frostheim

🐻‍❄️ Jin (ursus), liberator guard. Bro will afk together with uncle Mlynar.

🐟 Tohma (ægir), dreadnought guard. Orca and dreadnought guard, this is just Skadi 🤣

🐧 Kaito (liberi), deadeye sniper bc bro is strong but has long atk interval.

🐶 Luca (perro), lord guard. I was thinking of giving him dualstrike (swordmaster) guard, but IIRC his stigma creates a shield? Lord guard is known for their ranged dmg, but there is also a lord guard who can kind of "protect" himself (Thorns).

Vagastrom

🐶 Alan (perro), dreadnought guard.

🦝 Sho (anaty), this is tough bc there is no motorcycle as a weapon in AK (yet)... I guess he can go as arts protector defender.

🐈 Leo (feline), geek specialist because I want to see his HP depletes over time that class is just... very Leo. I'm also thinking of ambusher specialist, but I prefer geek specialist.

Jabberwock

🦊 Haru (vulpo), tactician vanguard. He can deploy Peekaboo(s) on the ground.

🐐 Towa (caprinae), splash caster. Bro and Passenger will make thunderstorms.

🦈 Ren (ægir), executor specialist because I know he doesn't like being in the battlefield for too long. Good luck taking all the damages tho 😁 //smacked.

Sinostra

🐯 Taiga (feline), marksman sniper.

🦚 Romeo (liberi), artilleryman sniper. Bro does AoE dmg with his explosion.

🐶 Ritsu (perro), phalanx caster. Was thinking of juggernaut defender (like Penance!), but he looks more like a ranged unit than melee unit. His stigma does make him a defender of some sort, though. Fortunately, there is a ranged class that can also absorb dmg because of how tanky they are when their skill is not active, and that is phalanx caster 😋

Also....lawyer...defend....defende(

Hotarubi

🐓 Subaru (liberi... I use chicken emoji but hes supposed to be a crane jdjdjdjd), charger vanguard.

🦊 Haku (vulpo), decel binder supporter.

🐟 Zenji (ægir), dollkeeper specialist. Bro doesn't retreat when receiving lethal damage, and will be replaced by a "clone." I think he can also be a bard supporter.

Obscuary

🦇 Edward (sarkaz), hm... Thinking of ritualist supporter or primal caster. When I see him, I can only think of elemental damage for some reason 😭

🐶 Rui (perro), reaper guard.

🐺 Lyca (lupo), arts fighter guard.

Mortkranken. This dorm feels arknightsy already 😭

🐹 Yuri (zalak), harmacist-- I mean incantantion medic 😇

🦕 Jiro (vouivre), centurion guard bc bro is swinging a chainsaw around.

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

some (read: a lot of) assorted phoenix & handler headcanons but ones that specifically center around their relationship and also communication 4 some reason. mild cog spoilers as per usual yk the drill

phoenix and their handler initially started off on absolutely terrible terms.

phoenix flip-flopped between a good handful of handlers really early on, all of who became too quickly fed up with their lax and occasionally blatantly disobedient behavior. it was only once they officially classified phoenix as mute that they got assigned to crane

pretty much the only reason they did get assigned to crane is because he was one of the only ones on the team fluent enough in sign language to take on a mute agent. he was not at all excited to take on an ex-convict operative, let alone an insubordinate one. his usual agents had a little class, at least...

as one can imagine, pairing up the already frustrated phoenix (out of their element, probed to communicate in a manner they weren't comfortable with, and already seen as nothing but a future fatality to most of the agency) with the jaded and distant handler (needing to replace one of their older, 'better' late operatives with this pyromanic, disobedient little freak) didn't exactly go over so well at first.

despite the fact that crane could translate and communicate back in sign, he rarely ever did. or at least, phoenix never felt as if anything they signed ever actually got through to him. most of it was brushed aside with a non-committal "yes, well, anyways-". inevitably, phoenix stopped signing entirely, unless communication was absolutely necessary. it was the start of their 'stoic silence' era, as their handler put it.

(they also stopped acting like anything that left their handler's mouth made it to their ears. they wouldn't nod when he spoke or anything, really. their version of the 'silent treatment'.)

the most crane would get was an occasional "psst." into the earpiece when phoenix needed some help with something. the handler didn't really mind that, though. even if phoenix did speak, it would probably be something impertinent anyways.

... but deep dive was where phoenix finally hit their boiling point. their handler's snippy little "i told you so" nearly sent them flying off the handle. and while it certainly didn't help crane's impression of them by any means, it… planted a little seed in his mind all the same

neither of them could consider their relationship a close one until some time after Death Engine. but post deep dive, crane made an effort to… lay off of phoenix a little bit (… and it actually surprised him how quickly that made a difference in their synergy)

as much as phoenix could get on his nerves, he couldn't deny that they were a pretty good agent, for the circumstances. by all accounts they should have been dead twelve times over by now. he gave them little snippets of praise every now and again- no different than the unthinking commentary he'd give any other agent… but phoenix seemed to value it like gold.

(he… didn't really know how to think about that. how quickly his agent took to his praise, as hollow as it felt for him to say it. in some regard, it felt almost sad- the pathetic kind of sad. he wasn't ever gonna say that to his agent's face though)

as their handler started getting a little looser with phoenix, they opened up a bit more in turn. admittedly, that mostly boiled down to nodding when spoken to and obeying when their handler asked them to stop propping their feet on their desk. but it was as good a start as any.

post Death Engine and onward, phoenix got way more 'chatty' as their relationship with their handler developed. they still would "psst". into the earpiece when they need help, but they'd also hum, click, snap, and even whistle on rare occasion. (actually 'translating' those noises is a completely situational affair, mind you. but crane's grown to admire the little language he and his agent have developed over time.)

assorted thoughts that i can't fit up there but that are important to me anyways so. youre still getting them:

the handler is… bad at apologizing. thankfully, he knows this full well, but unfortunately for him, that only makes it harder for him to swallow his pride and actually do it. so when he first apologized to phoenix- right after he pushed the agent to their boiling point, right after deep dive... he did it in sign.

really, his thought process was that it'd be easier to sign the words than to say them… but phoenix took it a little differently. it was the first time he'd signed to them at all (honestly, they were starting to think the Agency was lying to them when they said their handler knew anything about sign).

they didn't really believe crane was all that sorry, mind you. but the act... touched them- and their handler was the last person they ever thought would affect them like that... so instead of outright saying that they didn't believe him, they just shrugged, and signed 'ok'. and the rest of the flight home was in complete silence.

it... was the first time either of them had a proper 'conversation' since they'd met.

to this day, whenever they're occupying the same space and the handler needs to apologize about something, they tend to do it in sign. phoenix chooses to read it as his way of trying to appear more genuine towards the agent specifically (even though they do think he should learn to actually force the words out of his mouth every now and again) ~~~~

hearing crane's little "i couldn't get rid of you if i wanted to! ... and believe me, i don't" just about snapped phoenix right in half. it touched a spot that they didn't even know they had.

in hindsight, they feel really bad for the fact that they couldn't even conjure something to 'say' in response. a warm hum, or a glissando whistle, or something to convey the fact that they reciprocated. but they were too stunned to think about that at the time...

they hope that their handler knows that anyways, though, even without them actually 'saying' it. ~~~~

crane was always fond of cracking the occasional joke or witty comment on the job. usually, phoenix would roll their eyes, or simply snort sarcastically, but nothing ever seemed to tickle them the same way it tickled him.

but then one day, the handler said... something. if he was honest, it slipped off his tongue so mindlessly he doesn't even remember what it was anymore. but phoenix absolutely barked when they heard it. they broke into an absolutely ecstatic cackle- the kind that trails off into giggle fits for up to a minute afterward.

it was the longest stretch of time he'd ever heard his agent's voice... even if it wasn't in the typical sense of them using it to speak.

the rate of his playful commentary increased since that particular day. he's never gotten a reaction quite like that out of phoenix again, but a part of him always hopes he can, bless his heart

[vital-information]

“William J. Mann has argued that, contrary to the widespread impression of Hollywood as a place in which the closet was rigorously enforced by the studio system, the movie industry was often more accommodating to its homosexual workers at all levels. One of Mann’s interviewees said to him, in answer to an obvious question, ‘Who didn’t have to lie? Who didn’t have to pretend? We had a whole community, for God’s sake. We had—dare I say it?—power. Where else in America did gays have such a thing?’ The passionate tone offers its own evidence. Mann correctly points out what his interviewee seems not to have known, that there were other such protective communities and subcultures across the States at the time; but the point is well made, all the same. From the start, there were more than enough homosexual men and women in Hollywood for the operation of informal supportive systems. The disappointment is in the failure of that power to translate into a corresponding visibility in the cultural product: the movies.

Mann found that his interviewees did not use such expressions as ‘in’ and ‘out’ (of the closet). Instead, they independently kept coming back to the words ‘overt’ and ‘circumspect,’ and to degrees of both. Individuals, couples and groups tended to locate themselves where they felt most comfortable across a spectrum of degrees of openness. There was no general pressure to work towards a point at which it would become possible to come out; but, perhaps more surprisingly, there was no general imperative not to come out. The determining factors were many. There was a class difference, as elsewhere. ‘The most overt gays tended to come from working-class backgrounds, while those from the middle classes invariably were more circumspect.’ In certain professional areas, such as costume design and set design, it was possible to exploit the popular connection of male effeteness with aesthetic sophistication; yet that connection does not appear to have been applicable in relation to men who sought to direct movies. On the other hand, the few women who made it in major behind-camera creative roles had to shake off the stigma of whimsical femininity and demonstrate a willingness to get their hands dirty, metaphorically or not. One of Mann’s interviewees summed up his own experience of being gay in Hollywood’s early days as follows: ‘My being gay and knowing all these people—the doors were always open. It was all this “understood” business. They knew I knew, I knew they knew. It was kind of a brotherhood.’

Referring to Hollywood in the 1920s, Hart Crane said: ‘O André Gide! No Paris ever yielded such as this!’ In the heyday of what Kenneth Anger would call ‘Hollywood Babylon,’ one might argue that an artistic ethos combined with a pleasant climate to produce an attitude of sexual celebration, within limits that would soon be tightened up. The extent to which the ethos of the mode of production ever influenced the product—the movies themselves—has been a matter for much debate. In this context, William Mann asks a series of pertinent, rhetorical questions:

is it possible to see the gay influence in The Wizard of Oz, for example, because [the costume designer] Adrian created the Munchkins and Jack Moore the Yellow Brick Road? Can we reflect upon the gayness of the narrative of Cat People, written by DeWitt Bodeen? Might we consider the queerness of the very look of Casablanca, whose fantastic sets were designed by George James Hopkins? Or detect the gay soul of Meet Me in St. Louis, because its direction was staged by Vincent Minnelli, its score orchestrated by Conrad Salinger, and its production arranged by Roger Edens? Might we consider the entire body of work of such directors as George Cukor or Dorothy Arzner or Edmund Goulding or James Whale, seeing their films as the creations of artists who were gay?

The answer is probably affirmative in every case, if more convincingly so in some than in others; and acknowledging ‘the creations of artists who were gay’ is, of course, a long way from finding specifically ‘gay art,’ especially since all of the named figures were working in collaboration with other artists who were not gay. However, Mann’s list of questions gives a vivid sense of the creative possibilities of a specifically gay spectatorship.

Although the atmosphere in the film industry itself was quite relaxed, outside observers of that industry came to be less so. Ever since the late 1920s, varying degrees of pressure exerted from outside have had an effect on the atmosphere within the studios themselves and on the extent to which professionals in the industry—especially actors—have been able to reconcile their sexual orientations and their working lives.”

Gregory Woods, Homintern: How Gay Culture Linerated the Modern World

[houseboatisland]

Operation Nestled Dragon

Even before the passage of its iconic Transport Act 1947, the first Attlee ministry had been laying the groundwork for what we would today call a strategic steam reserve. Operation Nestled Dragon, which went into effect as early as December 1945, called for “at least 4,000” steam locomotives to be stored and kept in constant readiness in the event of “any cataclysm which could strain supply.” This was a somewhat arbitrary number; the LMS alone had 8,000 locomotives on the eve of Nationalization. It was believed that a majority of the country’s engines would survive attack during a wartime scenario, the most likely reason to activate the reserve at the time. 4,000 engines kept as a backup to unscathed stock was deemed sufficient. (It has to be said there were no strategic reserves of coaches or trucks, whether planned or even merely discussed!)

These engines and the necessary facilities would be dispersed as needed throughout the country. Bigger towns would have more engines and more MPDs (motive power depots) allocated to them, London having the most. The number of engines kept in a single “strategic MPD” was always limited to 20. In this way, an attack such as an aerial bombardment would be less likely to take out a population center’s entire locomotive stud at once.

To “activate” the reserve, the Minister of Transport was required to approach the Prime Minister and his Cabinet, and a vote be held on the matter.

Strategic MPDs could be crude or elaborate. By design they were severed from the nearest railway, so that no tracks were visible for any overcurious trespasser, potential spies or reconnaissance aircraft to follow. Every MPD had to be able to have these missing rails laid back in “within or under three hours” if called upon. Often, abandoned mines and tunnels were used and their insides fitted out. These ‘naturally-occurring’ locations were codenamed “dragon’s lairs.” Other times a location had to be built from scratch; these artificial MPDs were codenamed “rabbitholes.” Always was there emphasis on keeping the MPDs dry, ventilated and fireproof. Each MPD needed a turntable, a reliable water supply, coal bunkers, storage space for rails, sleepers, a small number of spare parts, adequate headroom and an overhead crane for heavy repairs like boiler swaps, and of course bunks for crews should the reserve be activated and they be based there. Otherwise bunkrooms were vacant, although men on duty for maintenance of stock and depots did find use for them during their shifts.

There was little methodology in place for which engine classes were preferred for the reserve. Great Western engines were less favored as they were built to run on high-quality South Welsh coal, and it was assumed the quality of coal sourced during a crisis would be poor. In any event however, some still “found their way in.” In general however, Eastern, Midland and ex-WD locos formed the majority of the workforce. Every engine belonging to the various military railways such as that at Longmoor were considered part of the reserve too, so it could be said that several pieces of the reserve’s stock were out in the open all along. Also joining their ranks as they came about were BR Standard classes, some built specifically for the reserve. These had neither BR nor serial numbers, being built “off the books.”

At first, engines reserved were simply stored and maintained in the livery they wore at the time of their “reassignment.” As time went on, (and their maintainers became bored,) a semi-official livery of black with white and navy blue stripes was settled upon and applied, one engine at a time. Quickly a crest for the Strategic Reserve was designed by one anonymous artistic crewman, and the reserve’s motto agreed: “Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit,” a superstitious British phrase.

Attlee and Churchill were both said to have toured a strategic MPD at least once. “Here we are in the belly of the beast. You lot have done some splendid work; Britain thanks you,” Attlee had said on his visit. “Men will do anything to play trains away from the wife without interrogation,” Churchill remarked on his, perhaps half in jest.

Thus was the system. As steam on the public or “civilian” British Railways was phased out, further freshly withdrawn engines were added to the reserve stocklist. Much speculation was made as to why coal bunkers and hoppers and water towers continued to be maintained even as the steam engines finally vanished from the national network in August 1968. This was explained away as infrastructure left in place for railtours by preserved engines, and in hindsight must have sounded ridiculous.

As generations of enginemen retired, they had to pass on their skills to the fresh blood. The years then went by without significant cause for alarm. The closest the reserve came to being activated was at the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis in late October 1962; declassified materials confirm that as many as half of the reserve was in full steam awaiting the call, and track gangs were ready and waiting to lay in rails. The crisis ebbed of course, and by the second week of November, the number of engines idle was back to “Normal.”

Margaret Thatcher’s Government planned to shut the program down, but this was averted… just. John Major however couldn’t be dissuaded. Privatization was in full swing, and the Soviet Union had dissolved itself. The reserve suddenly seemed very redundant, (but per its own 1945 definition, not completely,) and the winding down of it all began. On the 1st of December 1998, some 53 years after the beginning of Operation Nestled Dragon, all 4,855 locomotives and their associated depots and crews were demobilized by the Blair ministry and most of the reserve’s documentation declassified. Everything became public knowledge, including the engines themselves, quite literally overnight.

At once, the locos and their facilities were up for auction. Dozens of Strategic MPDs were made into living museums demonstrating how the reserve worked. Many of the engines belonged to classes otherwise thought extinct, such as the LNER Thompson L1s and the LMS Garratts, and here were surviving specimens being pulled out of the metaphorical wardrobe like nothing. The British preservation scene was in a matter of hours awash in perfectly functional engines no one expected to still exist, which coupled together in a line were longer than most if not all of the railways themselves! Several also were sold abroad to the United States and Canada.

The public couldn’t be blamed for this all being such a shock. They hadn’t been prepared.

Their predecessors however certainly were.

[tripurantaka]

The Magnificent Life of Humorist Bombeck Erma

The charm of 3rd house 

Vedic Chart Analysis 1

Hi Everyone.. I was thinking about choosing a character for Vedic chart analysis. I was going through different achievers in Astrodatabank. Then I discovered the humorist, Bombeck Erma. I felt her life was impressive. Her life is a great example to demonstrate what a strong third house is capable of. 

Her chart:

Early life:

Erma Fiste was born in Bellbrook, Ohio, to a working-class family and was raised in Dayton. Her parents were Erma and Cassius Edwin Fiste, who was the city crane operator. You can see that her 6th house has the influence of Saturn and Mars. And the 6th house represents the career of the father (because it is 10th from 9th). So it is clearly indicated that father was involved in a hard mechanical job. But her father passed away early. Because it's the 9th house affliction of Saturn and Mars with 10th and 4th aspects, respectively. Sun is also present in Rahu nakshatra shatabhisha in the detrimental sign Aquarius. It is not a good condition for a father's wellbeing. She particularly enjoyed the popular humor writers of the time. You can see that her planets in the 3rd house were influencing from childhood itself. Her bond with the mother was very strong. Her mother was her lifelong friend. Exalted Venus in the 4th house, taking the role of 11th ruler, was destined to give her such a mother. The Saturn 10th aspect on the 9th house made her grieve on the account of her father. Her father passed away in 1936, and she was going through a Saturn subperiod. The functional malefic Saturn for her Sagittarius ascendant played its role perfectly. 

Her love life, marriage, and kids: 

Erma started a school paper and worked after school as a copy clerk at the local paper. It was there she met and fell in love with a fellow copy clerk, Bill Bombeck, from the minute they met. Bill was drafted and left for Korea, but they exchanged letters. 10th ruler and 7th ruler conjunction is a combination for meeting spouse in workplace. It is most possible for Sagittarius ascendant because Mercury acts as both 7th and 10th rulers. They had to exchange letters and live apart for a while. This kind of separation and unconventionality was possible because of Rahu Ketu in the 1-7 axis. Her 7th ruler, conjunct with the 4th and 9th rulers, says that her husband had a great personality and was supportive. 4th ruler is capable of giving nourishment, and 9th ruler gives guidance. She got both from her husband. He mustered out in 1947 and entered the university. They married in 1949, and he taught high school history while she polished her writing skills on obits and features at the paper. In 1953, she quit to stay home with Betsy, whom they adopted when she failed to get pregnant. Her 4th ruler, Jupiter, is conjunct with 10th ruler Mercury. It's a combination for someone who would work from home itself. She failed to get pregnant initially because of her 5th ruler Mars presence in the 6th house, which is called Dushtana. Additionally, there is an aspect of Saturn on Mars that causes delay and obstruction. She has a 5th ruler in the 6th house, which is a combination for adoption.

Her Skyrocketing Career as Humorist:

Her sense of humor, irrepressible, spilled out in her daily life with tossing off wry domestic quips, such as "Housework, if you do it right, will kill you," and "Why clean the oven? If you can still get a cupcake in there without touching the sides, you're in good shape." There is no need to mention that it was possible from her 3rd house planets. Her popularity skyrocketed with her books, and the family moved to Paradise Valley, California, in 1971, a rural, mountainous community. Her celebrity increased with the years. She did humor segments on "Good Morning America" from 1975 to 1986, and 11 of her books became bestsellers. She became famous in Saturn Dasha. Saturn is acting as the 3rd Lord of Writing in her chart. It is aspected by 5th Lord Mars from Venusian sign Taurus, which shows her creativity in writing. Saturn position is excellent in dashamsha(d10). It is present in the 5th house of creativity, with Venus in D10 creating a great rajyoga as the 7th ruler. Her Amatyakara Jupiter is present in D1 in 3rd house and exalted in Ascendant of D10, supporting her success in career. Jupiter, Sun, and Mercury are forming one of the greatest rajyogas for Sagittarius rising in her 3rd house of humor as the 4th ruler, 9th ruler, and 10th ruler, respectively. There is no blemish on her third house, and it worked excellently in her writings. 

 

Her Death:

The life-saving kidney transplant came through on 3 April 1996. She died less than a month after the operation, on 22 April 1996 at 3:27 AM in San Francisco. Her ascendant is occupied by Ketu and aspected by Mars. So, she had to suffer some physical ailments. 

Final thoughts on her:

I feel her chart is a perfect example of someone who can make you smile with their excellent sense of humor through writings. Her Atmakaraka was Mercury, and it is posited in the 3rd house in an air sign Aquarius. So, she was born with a mission of making people smile. Her air sign planets and her Malavya yoga (Exalted Venus in kendra) made her a charming personality. She was loved by all.