#essential workers.

[setaflow]

Keyleth and Vax: Communication breakdown

Pike and Scanlan: Communication breakdown

Percy and Vex: Communication fuck-down

Grog:

[immediatebreakfast]

"I can't make her out," he said; "she's a Russian, by the look of her; but she's knocking about in the queerest way. She doesn't know her mind a bit; she seems to see the storm coming, but can't decide whether to run up north in the open, or to put in here. Look there again! She is steered mighty strangely, for she doesn't mind the hand on the wheel; changes about with every puff of wind. We'll hear more of her before this time tomorrow."

Let's pause the grieving atmosphere between Mina, and Mr. Swales' words about to see the funniest dark comedy tone of the situation.

Dracula, a wealthy nobleman who has been landlocked for god knows how long, decided that the sailors who were just doing their job were expendable enough for him to kill and torture. Why would he care about the fate of simple humans when they are there to serve him as both food, and entertaiment at the expense of their lives; the Count only needs them to steer the ship near enough to Whitby right?

Well, after Dracula pushed the captain towards absolute terror after this trip from hell, which in return strengthen his indomitable human spirit, which made him tie himself to the wheel with the holy object that symbolically makes the ship herself untouchable to Dracula's hands... There he is.

The mighty conqueror of romania, the terrifying shadow that lurks the night, a living myth defying time as he feeds on the life of his victims... trapped in a ship where he cannot touch anything that matters thanks to his over indulgence, lack of actual care for his own plans, and once again underestimation of humans.

A shovel was not enough to make Dracula truly understand.

[thoughtportal]

UPS Strike

[liberalsarecool]

The market-based value of activities/labor is wrong and unjust.

Workers who are labeled essential during a pandemic are underpaid. If the economy can not function without them, we must re-evaluate their wages and their importance.

#HaJoonChang

[rovermcfly]

nobody should have to go to work while it's snowing, everyone should get to stay at home under a blanket and get one free cocoa

[llamagoddessofficial]

What if servant!MC worked herself too hard? Impaired with at least tiredness and sore muscles, and at worst a broken or sprained limb? How would the kind lords react?

Sans: Depends on the severity of it. If she's just sore, or seems more tired than usual, he'll lure her into resting by pretending he needs her to do something for him. It's notoriously hard to pry Mc from her work. But Sans is sly- he convinces her she's still working, still doing something for him, he talks her into sitting down with a book she needs to 'check for errors'. Eventually she snaps back to her senses an hour later and realises she's just been tricked into sitting by the fire in his room and reading a novel.

If it's a bit more serious, he gets more hands-on. Sans is deceptively strong and he will gladly combine his aptitude at manipulation with a bit of manhandling. Mc has the 'just shut up and get it done' mindset so deeply ingrained after so long that she'll work herself into slightly feverish stupors... he distracts her with pretty words while he physically leads her away somewhere he can keep a better eye on her.

Red: Unlike a lot of men his rank, Red isn't afraid of getting his hands dirty. He knows that it's incredibly difficult to talk her out of work, so if she is visibly struggling, he'll just help out with whatever she's doing. She always appreciates the extra hands and strength. Red's presence is also just good for the Soul; he's witty, he's a big flirt, he halves the load while making it twice as fun. Whatever limb she's injured barely hurts by the time the jobs are done, she's too distracted giggling.

He's not quite as subtle or graceful as Sans, in his methods. But when it comes down to it, Red is probably the only one out of the three who could genuinely talk her into taking a break. Mc often feels like Red is the one who best understands the reality of being a servant- Sans is nice but he's kinda uptight, Skull is far too rich to ever get it. Red's as down-to-Earth as a nobleman could be. And if Red is expressing genuine concern, dropping his persona for a second...

... Maybe she does need to just rest for a while.

Skull: He doesn't have time for subtlety. When it's clear she's pushing herself, he gives her a 'gentle' warning.

He looms over her, covering her entire body with his shadow, with a face like he's about to eat her. He softly murmurs that if she doesn't stop working so hard... there will be consequences.

... It's a pretty clear message. But if she still refuses to stop? He literally just steals her.

He doesn't care what she's doing, what task she's in the middle of, who's in the room or how important what she's doing is. He gave her a warning. He'll grab her right in the middle of a task, throw her over his shoulder, and (ignoring her protests) carry her off to his chambers. There's a big comfy chair covered in blankets with her name on it... and if there's one thing you can say about Skull, it's that when he's determined, he's like a machine. She won't be going anywhere. Her protests don't matter.

Wife will stay and wife will rest. He warned her. She doesn't get a choice anymore.

[gotham-response]

[naffeclipse]

Have you seen anything about Lethal Company? The idea of your cryptid lads watching over and protecting y/n while y/n looks for scrap in their territory makes me smile. They always make sure Y/n meets their quota to avoid any repercussions with The Company

I have seen so much about Lethal Company and this ask makes me go crazy because AUGH I've been chewing on a sort of AU with the DCA in a Bracken-esque role but, perhaps, a bit more interested in Y/N than a monster otherwise would be.

You're just a measly intern. That's all too clear with how the company sends you the utmost dangerous moons searching for loot and scrap. The hauntingly empty facilities and lifeless manors hold the keys to fulfilling your quota for the week, but you're not alone.

On the occasions when you get separated from your crew or find yourself left behind, you feel the hair on the back of your neck rise, aware of something—someone watching you. You carry a piece of scrap that most likely isn't worth the effort (but how could you return empty-handed?) The sinking feeling that, as much as you dread isolation, it would be safer than the near-silent footsteps following just behind you.

Your mouth grows dry. The pulse in your ears begins drowning the metallic echo of your picked-up pace, and then panic takes hold. You burst into a run, racing for the door, and when you frantically grab the handle, a cold, long-fingered touch seizes the cloth at the back of your neck before you throw yourself outside.

In the dusty air of the moon, you turn back to the door, now slammed shut. You drop the scrap to touch the back of your neck—the orange jumpsuit is torn into ribbons just below your helmet. Claws, you think. Claws so close to grabbing your neck and never letting go.

The next day, with only your flashlight and a walkie-talkie, one of your fellow interns abruptly cuts off mid-sentence (was that a scream or just the static crackling?) Left without even a voice for the company, your skin prickles with full-body goosebumps under the eerie weight of eyes watching you.

You turn slowly to look up the stairway you had just descended. The air in your lungs freezes. You clutch the flashlight tighter. Your helmet system blinks across your vision.

New creature data sent to terminal!

In the darkness engulfing the upper platform stands a dark figure with two piercing, white eyes. You whip up your flashlight and beam it on the terrifying being, catching strange frond-like petals of yellow surrounding a flat, disk-like face. Rooted to the floor in terror, you stare. It tilts its head, petals ruffled, in a snap of agitation. It grumbles low in warning.

You drop the walkie-walkie and run deeper into the darkness, your flashlight beam swinging over the walls with the pounding of your steps echoing horrendously through the deep belly of the facility. The primal instincts of your mind take hold, impulses firing to stay alive.

You come to a dead end. A lone light flickers along the ceiling. Cornered, your palms slamming against the bricked wall as if you could push it down, you start to tremble. You turn back, back pressed against the wall, your helmet softly clanking against the stone.

The beam of your flashlight cuts off. You drop that, too. A whimper of fear escapes you when a shadow moves at the end of the long hallway. Though darkly swathed, pale eyes pinning you in place, the figure crouches, creeping forward on hands and knees. The petals about its face have shifted, dropping to the back of the head and swinging down like a tapered tail. You can't look away. The creature tips its head to one side, the appendage trailing over its shoulder like a nightcap. It grumbles low, displeased.

You turn your head away, pressing deeper against the wall. Your every heartbeat is a swing of a sledgehammer chipping away at your ribcage. Bile rises in the back of your throat.

Then silence.

You clench your hands. Slowly, you carefully lift your eyes and gaze at the end of the hallway.

It's gone. The sunflower face and now nightcap head creature vanish like a bad dream in the morning.

You don't move for several seconds, and when you finally straighten and hug your shaking self, you carefully make your way through the darkness. The sinister awareness of being watched doesn't leave. It never does. You find an emergency exit. A chance to live yet. You feel something cold and heavy standing at your back.

You reach for the door when a large hand grabs the back of your neck. A scream jams itself in your throat. Breathless, frozen, you stand very still. It squeezes lightly as if testing the bones of your spine. Its shadow falls over you. Its other hand enters the corner of your vision, reaching for your face as if to smother you through the helmet. It begins tugging on your throat, pulling you away from the door.

"Stay... friend..." it rasps near-silently.

The flashlight in your grip is heavy. Before the creature captures your head, you throw it back at the beast. Light flares when the plastic hits, sparking with one drop of juice still left, and then you rip yourself free. A quiet grunt of pain echoed under the flash. You throw yourself outside, only turning back to slam the door and unwittingly catch a glimpse of the creature clutching its face. Petals twist and writhe around and behind its head in a clash of its early appearances. Between its long fingers, a face, half yellow and half dark with a static grin peeking out at the corners, twists in shock.

The resounding shut of the door reverberates in your head. You escaped. You gasp and clutch your chest. Somehow, your heart is still within you, fluttering like an injured bird in front of a cat. Your system sent new information to the bestiary catalog.

You keep breathing and unsteadily make your way back to the ship, carrying the searing imprint of the monster's hand on the back of your neck.

[aznisure]

“whats with the robe?” “i find its easier to get people to accept what i am when im shaped like their idea of it, ive also grown fond of this form over the recent centuries”

or, the twins meet Death

[lifeinpoetry]

The Essential American Worker

— Saeed Jones, from Alive at the End of the World

[text id:

America kills me, then says “now get back to work.”

[It’s 7 p.m. again; it’s time to clap.]

[It’s 7 p.m. again; it’s time to clap.]

[It’s 7 p.m. again; it’s time to clap.]

I know

a ghost like mine don’t come cheap.]

[ragingbullmode]

using my mixed kid powers to disgust ppl who consider themselves more ethnically “authentic” then me when i tell them about how most of the food we eat is fusion bc my baba didnt have access to a lot of mexican ingredients in japan & learned how to maneuver around it anyway to make my mexican grandpa feel more at home before they moved to the states raaaahhhhhhhh

[thoughtportal]

Solidarity with Waffle House Workers

[bogkeep]

idk it's just nice to know i'm surrounded by people who want things to change for the better too

[neomedievalist]

after calling this the dds2 video for years ive finally edited the credits theme onto it and it fits so well im gonnna cry.

[grimesapologist]

the thing is tumblr didn't used to be the site full of sober celibate white agoraphobes that polls on here regularly suggest it is, I remember Tumblr being a much more diverse place in terms of lived experience and it makes me sad to see it flattened into what often feels like a masturbatory exercise in affected disenfranchisement and willful ignorance towards the world and even sometimes knowledge itself.

[vimbry]

not to be a parasocial sap but creative partnerships that have lasted longer than some romantic marriages make me ill