#Coal Mines Act

[ulysses-posts]

A reality check for the Edwardian Era

[chicago-geniza]

visas got revoked from students at U of I Urbana-Champaign and UChicago too; weirdly haven't heard about UIC. Urbana said they had no authority to intervene and their advice to students was "leave the country as soon as possible" and "contact their advisors about alternative ways to continue their studies, e.g. online courses" and it's so fucking evil and craven I want to spit and scream and snarl

[tickleinvaforums]

Did Ashley Judd star in the Big Stone Gap Virginia movie?

Adriana Trigiani is one of Virginia's most cherished authors. She grew up in Big Stone Gap, Virginia, as part of a large Italian family and went on to become a well-known novelist and television writer. Big Stone Gap is a coal mining town in the mountains of Virginia. Ave Maria Mulligan (Ashley Judd) is the 40-year-old spinster who runs her late mean-spirited father's pharmacy. After her mother's death, she gets a letter from her revealing her real Italian biological father. She is known for her role in the movie High Crimes a 2002 American legal thriller film directed by Carl Franklin and starring Ashley Judd and Morgan Freeman, reunited from the 1997 film Kiss the Women. As of 2024, Ashley Judd's net worth is $14 million. This impressive figure comes from her successful acting career and her activism. Just giving you some info. To answer your question. Yes, she did!

[sweet7simple]

rodimus obtains a beautiful rare crystal from a dangerous cave as a present for drift, and gets himself all banged up in the process. ratchet is torn between scolding roddy's recklessness and appreciating his devotion to their mate.

This is a fun one because Rodimus would absolutely do something like this.

It starts with an away mission to a planet which has organic life, but no one responds to the Lost Light's polite comm pings. There are signs of advanced technology, not a single satellite in the sky or sign of a spacecraft or energy readings that confirm any high output of electrical energy on the planet's surface. Whatever is down there probably isn't going to have an issue with them meandering around and having a look-see, right?

So Rodimus is on the away team with Brainstorm, Perceptor, Swerve and Velocity plus some others (Cyclonus, Whirl, and Tailgate are somewhere around here. Rodimus is sure they're safe. He's pretty sure they're safe. They better be safe). Rodimus has a comm line to Megatron, Minimus, and Drift on the bridge and he's feeding them video data so they can see what he's seeing.

Well, Brainstorm gets to this cave they want to explore, but the methane readings are off the charts.

"Let me put it this way," he says as he holds an analyzer in one servo and gestures with the other, "if you so much as snap your digits down there, this whole mountain region will stop existing and us probably with it."

And then he follows it up with, "So everyone be careful and stay with your buddy!" right before he tries to march jovially into the mouth of the cave.

Perceptor snags him back and holds him by one of his wings. "What he means is, this is a dangerous endeavor, moreso because of the probably of causing a chemical reaction that can destabilize this mountain region as well as trap us underground if we are not already destroyed by the heat and shock wave of the air blast. However, Brainstorm and I would like permission to take that risk upon ourselves. Our detectors are picking up readings of a highly conductive metal within this cave, which may be highly resourceful to us."

Rodimus gives Brainstorm a look.

Brainstorm points down into the cave. "There's copper down there. Copper is good for us. We want more copper. The medibay will be very happy with you if we bring back copper. Ratchet might even reward you if you let us bring back copper." He manages to pulse the lights of his optics in a suggestive manner.

Rodimus is suddenly very much onboard with this. "Yeah, sure, I'll go down into the cave. The rest of you can wait here."

Perceptor and Brainstorm and Swerve and Velocity all stare at him.

"Um," Velocity begins politely, and then stops.

Brainstorm takes Rodimus by the pauldrons. "How do I put this the nice way.... Out of everyone here, you're the one most likely to make the mountain go boom. I say that with Swerve standing right next to you."

"Hey! I'm the most qualified to go into that cave!" Swerve shakes his servo at the jet.

"Yeah, which is why Rodimus is the one most likely to make the whole place crash down for once," Brainstorm says.

"I'm also the one most likely to survive if the whole place crashes down," Rodimus points out. "The heat and air blast won't destroy me because of my outlier ability and I can just recharge if I get stuck and wait for all of you to dig me out."

"Uh, Roddy, sweetie, if a whole mountain drops down on top of you, it's going to take a really long time for us to dig you out," Brainstorm explains.

"He does have a point, however," Perceptor says, pinching his chin thoughtfully with his other arm folded over his chest plate.

This goes back and forth for awhile. Perceptor is actually on Rodimus's side that he should go down into the cave by himself, see if the readings they are getting are actually for copper, and bring back some samples. If it turns out to be copper, and a sizeable amount of it, they can send Rodimus back down for bigger samples.

Brainstorm is saying, "I can't believe I'm the one trying to do the smart thing, but Rodimus will absolutely walk in there, snap his fingers to see if the mountain really collapses on top of himself, and then be surprised when we turn out to be right."

"I will not do that," Rodimus promises. He had thought about it, but he's not that stupid. If scientists are telling him that the mountain will go boom, he's going to trust them. This time. Only because the last planet they were on, they told him to not walk so close to the edge of a cliff because the slope of it suggested it wasn't stable and he'd gone, blah blah blah, how can you know just from the slope? And then Cyclonus, Brainstorm, and Whirl had had to airlift him out of the river at the bottom of the cliff and no one, I repeat, no one will let him live it down.

He's not going to be the captain who blew up an entire mountain on top of that. He refuses. He's going to be careful. As careful as he can be. He is, at least, not going to snap his fingers to see if it ignites the methane and blows the whole place up.

Swerve is on Rodimus's side because, "Just in case you die down there, can you state now in front of these witnesses that I'll be co-captain in your place? Please? And, you know, don't die down there. But, if you do - "

Velocity isn't necessarily against him going, but she is against him going alone. "Just in case of injuries, I think I should go with you," she reasons.

"But what if we're injured if the mountain blows?" Swerve asks. "We're standing right here."

Rodimus plants his servos on his faulds. "Well, go stand somewhere else!"

So the rest of the team gets out of blast range (which is very far away) and they send out a broadcast telling the other teams to also get out of blast range and they warn the Lost Light above the planet's atmosphere about what's about to happen (they already know since they're tied into Rodimus's video feed and Rodimus has already turned off their comm feed so that they can stop harassing him about how this is a stupid idea and he's about to get himself killed and he better not do it, Rodimus, we're serious -).

Once everyone's a safe distance away, Rodimus goes down into the cave with Velocity and some data packets from Perceptor about what copper rock even looks like. They're actually quite colorful, he likes them.

Velocity is tip-toeing along like the very movement of her joints might set off the methane, so Rodimus makes a show of being very unbothered by everything. He's joking with Velocity, making her laugh, getting her to unwind a little bit as they go further down into the network of caves.

They're limited in where they can go since most of the caves are too small for them to fit through, but the major systems are very accommodating.

"Drones," Velocity groans, almost slapping her own forehelm before she pauses and puts her servo back down. "We could have sent drones down in our place. We were so busy arguing with you that we forgot we didn't have to send anyone down here. And they would be able to fit through the smaller tunnels and chambers too."

Rodimus had actually thought of drones, but he wants to be able to take a hunk of this copper rock to Ratchet himself, dug out by his own servos, and have his mate berate him for his stupidity right before he gets rewarded for his gift.

"Well, if there's a lot of copper, we can just send the drones down next time instead of coming back ourselves," he offers.

They eventually find some colorful rocks in a side of a cave. Rodimus digs his digits in and scoops it out. The cave wall is softer than he expected.

Velocity is also very carefully digging out only as much copper rock as she can carry. Rodimus's optic catches on the glint of something next to her.

"Hey, what's that?"

She turns her helm to look at what he's pointing at. "Oh, it appears to be some kind of... gem, I guess. I'm sorry, my geology is poor. I'm sure it would be very pretty if it was polished, though."

As it is, it's some kind of milky green where it just breaches the wall, dull and without much shine to it.

Rodimus opens his comm to Drift (and Drift alone) to show him his video feed. "Hey, sweetspark, what am I looking at?"

Drift gasps through the comm line. Rodimus's interest is instantly perked. "That's emerald! I have only ever seen emeralds on Earth. They're beautiful once they've been tumbled and polished, and their energies are so pure. They can channel emotions such as love and improve the health of your spark." And then he gasps again. "Roddy, turn to your right. There is something... Yes, a little more. There. Primus, that's a rare form of chrysoberyl. It also resonates with the spark and promotes feelings of love. And it's so rare. On earth, they called it alexandrite and it was still in short supply." His voice is ringing with longing.

Rodimus is determined now. "Anything for you, sweetspark."

"No, Roddy, you're there for the copper."

"And I've got the copper. No worries. Like I was telling Velocity, we'll just send some drones down for more once we get back to the surface."

"Then the drones can pick up the crystals, it's okay."

But it isn't. Rodimus is going to be the best mate ever. He's going to give Ratchet his copper rocks and he's going to give Drift his crystals because they deserve it and because it will mean more from him than some drone that can't even recognize how gorgeous and awesome his mates are.

Velocity has stopped mining the copper rock and is watching him closely. "Be careful, Rodimus. Be very careful. If you scrape your digits across those crystals..."

"Don't worry, I got this." He pauses. "But, just in case, you should start up without me. I'll meet you up there." He turns off his comm feed where Drift has started yelling at him, echoed by other voices on the bridge.

"I'll stay," Velocity says, scared but brave. Brave because she's scared and still will not leave him.

He respects her. "Okay. Just give me a klik and we can head back up."

For him, it doesn't take long to dig around some crystals and put them directly in his subspace (he's going to have to hose it down, he realizes with a grimace. There's dirt and sediment everywhere now). With Velocity watching with the widest optics, posed as if ready to start running, it make the process feel eons longer.

But he gets the crystals and nothing combusts and they have the copper rocks. They leave the cave and the air quality is almost instantly different without the methane cloud setting off their sensors.

It's all very anticlimactic for Rodimus, but everyone else is acting like he just barely managed to escape the certain grasp of death.

The moment he and Velocity are out of blast range, Perceptor and Brainstorm send down some drones to get more samples and Rodimus and Velocity take one of the shuttles up to the ship.

The mecha waiting for Rodimus are Not Happy. Megatron has that look on his face that says, "I've eaten Cybertronians before out of desperation, but I'm willing to bite you in half out of sheer frustration." Minimus tells him how many rules he broke by the order they were broken in.

Drift has that closed off look on his face that says he's more upset than he is angry and he doesn't want to show it. Ratchet just looks thunderous as he yanks Rodimus in that direction and another, checking him over even though the only thing wrong is that his servos are dirty. Velocity doesn't point out that she already checked Rodimus over because this is just a Ratchet thing, not a medic thing. Ratchet needs to know for sure that Rodimus is safe.

It's not the easiest checkup he's had since he's holding copper rocks in the curve of one arm and refuses to let them go for anything. Not until Ratchet is done with him and he is able to, with a sunny grin, hand over the copper.

Ratchet looks incredibly sour as he takes the dirty rocks in his servos. "I can't even do anything with these, you fool! Swerve has to draw the wire from these! And you left Swerve on the planet. Now my servos are just dirty."

That was not how it was explained to Rodimus and now he's kind of angry that, at no point, did Swerve mention this.

"Yeah, but this is your copper," he stresses. "You can do whatever you want with it."

Ratchet is clearly tired of his slag. "Sure, Rodimus." He ex-vents. "Thank you for risking your life for some rocks a drone could have brought me without endangering the life of my mate."

"You're welcome!" Rodimus says, choosing to ignore everything that came after the thank you. If he thinks about it too hard, it might ruin his mood.

At least it makes Ratchet huff with humor. Ratchet wraps one of his dirty servos around the back of Rodimus's helm and pulls him down into a kiss. "You're an idiot, but at least you're my idiot."

Drift steps up to them and puts a servo gently against Rodimus's chest shield. "You didn't just risk your life down there to impress Ratty," he says knowingly. "I'm upset with you, but I am so, so thankful as well. Never risk your life like that again. You are worth so much more than copper and crystals. But, thank you."

Rodimus opens up his subspace, grimaces as he feels how dirty everything is, and pulls out the clumps of crystals. "If it makes my mates happy, I'd do a lot more than just walk through a cave and pick up some rocks." He gets another grateful kiss.

Rodimus's spoiler shakes from how high he's holding it. He's beaming with joy as Ratchet grimaces down at his filthy gift, a calculative look in his optics as he's already thinking about what to do with the copper that will get drawn from it, and as Drift gives his own crystals a much softer, much happier look.

Their happiness means so much to him.

[angelfrommontgomery]

My review of the twenty one pilots concert was that it’s the best concert I’ve been to tbh I forgot how good of a show they put on. I’ve seen them at red rocks in Denver which was very cool, the schott which is also a hometown show a couple years ago, but the lighting teams and the best design was so so good. It was a 2hr set and all of it was so entertaining. I assume their other shows won’t be the full 2+ hr the hometown show got but if u ever listened to them the ticket is worth it

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Miner Who Quit Job Without Permission Jailed For Six Months By Drumheller Court," The Province (Vancouver). September 11, 1943. Page 6. --- PRECEDENT SET BY CONVICTION == DRUMHELLER, Sept. 11. - The first conviction of its kind under National Selective Service regulations in Canada was registered in the Drumheller court Friday when Sidney Vanattan of Toronto, was sentenced to six months Imprisonment and a fine of $100 or, in default, an additional two months' imprisonment, by Magistrate A. G. Bond.

Vanattan was charged with terminating his employment at the Maple Leaf Mine without permission of the Selective Service. He was brought back from Toronto under warrant to face the charge.

GIVEN JOB. Witnesses testified that the accused presented himself here as a coal miner. Documents produced by the prosecution showed that when the emergency appeal went out for miners, Vanattan filled in the necessary forms as a miner and registered himself as such with the Selective Service at Drumheller.

After signing on at the mine and being cared for with board and room, the accused failed to show up for work, and returned to Toronto, where he was arrested.

TO REPAY FARE Vanattan claimed that on his return to Toronto he entered into an agreement with the Selective Service office there to pay back the fare advanced by the goverament to bring him to Drumheller.

The crown prosecutor argued that this alleged agreement had no bearing on the charge, and was upheld by the magistrate. In passing sentence the magistrate told the accused that there was no excuse for his not knowing the Selective Service regulations.

These regulations, he said, are a pillar in the numerous endeavors for the successful prosecution of the war. Two additional charges of false pretences against the accused were dismissed.

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Twelve: apple pie

tw: minor violence

You remember the Blackpeak Coal Mine Slaughter well—very well.

Plastered over the front page of every newspaper in the nation, it’s hard to forget the event and the harrowing accounts of survivors and the family members that were left behind in the wake of the tragedy. Over thirty men were massacred that day. Nothing but lifeless torsos without hands to stop the bleeding, limbs too far out of reach to retrieve. Twelve more were injured. You remember the paper retelling a story of one of the workers, now rendered blind from the explosion that rocked The States, rippling through the population. 

Confusion kept everyone stupid for some time—it was widely accepted that this was an accident. Natural gases within the earth that ignited when explosives were detonated in order to carve deeper into the earth’s surface. When this take was first published and traveled down the wagon trail to Penmosa, you remember your father huffing at the words, fist clenched tight around the arm of his chair. 

“Serves them right. Desecrating God’s green earth like that. Bastards, every one of them. You hear me, girl? This is what human greed does. It makes you a corpse.” 

You suppose that, in the end, he was right. 

Weeks later it was confirmed that this was no accident, but rather intentional. Workers came forward with stories about strange men in masks wandering into the worksite towing obscene amounts of TNT. Many men fought back, only to be shot. Others couldn’t quite escape before the earth caved in on them, burying them beneath mounds of rubble. Even to this day, they still find pieces of them. Shattered bones and dusty work boots, never to be lacquered again. 

Last you knew, the criminals were still on the run. Some uncouth hit and run. Nothing but a slimy act of terror. The old company went out of business, unable to make up for the lost workers and the compensation that was owed, and a new one moved in, still putting the site to use. A memorial was erected in honor of the lives lost. The day has been lost to memory and grief. 

Now, you know otherwise. 

Dead or Alive: for the Blackpeak Coal Mine Slaughter. 

Your stomach twists as you travel down the winding roads of Grand Hollow, but the nervosity chewing on your neurons makes it impossible to enjoy the otherworldly beauty presenting itself before you. When Mr. Beckett had warned you about John Price and his posse, you had never expected violence in a magnitude such as this. You’ve broken bread with these men. Fished in the same waters. Laid on the same dirt. 

Now you understand his secrecy. All John’s hidden motives and dodged questions, answers given with vicious snark and a half lidded glare. What terrors does he expect to rage now in Blackpeak? Was his slaughtering of those working men not enough? Must he now steal from their grieving families, too? 

Guilt spears through you like a freshly born knife still hot from the furnace. How dare you have the audacity for such emotions? Had you known John Price was this much of a monster, you would have let him spill your blood next to the campfire the night you fled from your father. 

“Pecora.” 

The driver’s rough voice pulls you from your nightmarish anamneses. You glance up from your worn, tattered nails and stare at the back of his head where his wiry, white hair greets you. He does not look at you, but you’re certain you were the one he spoke to. 

“Pardon?” you ask. 

He looks over his shoulder and stares at you blankly for a moment before pointing to something on the cart’s right. “Pecora,” he repeats. 

Following the crooked curve of wrinkled his finger, you spot an ewe and her lamb. They’re terribly out of place, fresh white wool contrasting against the darkened grey cobblestone of the streets, but the ewe does not fret. She trots through the foot traffic, splitting pedestrians who gawk at her and her child with coos, all while stopping to chew on the weeds that spring up between the bricks. 

Her lamb, however, stumbles behind her on jelly legs with wide eyes and a mouth that knows nothing other than to cry. Its voice is strident as it weaves through its mother’s legs, eyes anxiously gazing at the tall creatures that surround them. Utterly lost and out of place, you hum as you watch them find a patch of grass to lay and bask in. 

“Oh, sheep,” you realize. “How cute.” 

“Cute,” the driver repeats with a nod. 

Proud, baronial buildings slowly dwindle into something quieter the further you’re taken away from The Twin Rose. At first you passed them off to be more stores and places of interest for citizens and travelers alike to visit, but you come to the realization that these are houses when you catch a woman throwing bed linens out onto a clothesline. 

Wide lawns stretch out like royal carpets before two story houses with large windows and porches sporting long sunroofs. If your father witnessed the white paint that decorates the wood, you’re certain he would keel over in the dirt of the streets, scandalized that simple homes would bear the same pure milky sheen of his church. It’s quieter here without the hustle of the deep city. Fewer pedestrians, sparse horses, children laughing in a nearby field as they kick and throw various toy balls around to one another. 

The cart comes to a stop in front of a house at the end of a cul de sac. It’s different from all the others in the neighborhood, sporting a rosy pink rather than snowy white. Several flower bushes line the siding of the house, almost in full bloom, bitterly reminding you of your mother’s lily plants back in Penmosa. From somewhere inside of the house, music bleeds. It’s a quiet crackle with a canorous melody soaring over compressed violins, trumpets, and pianos. It sounds wrong. Nothing at all like the warm tones you’re familiar with from the church choir. 

Your driver hops out of his seat, worn boots scraping on the stone at his feet, and offers you a hand. “Here. Laswell home.” 

Placing your hand into his worn palm, he helps you out of the cart and gestures to the front door with a wrinkled, lopsided smile. You give him a quiet thanks as he loads back up, reins flicking and prompting the horses into action where he turns around and slowly trots back down the street. 

Each beat of your heart threatens to drown out the music as you trot up the steps to the porch. The sillage of rose and lavender bleeds from the flower bushes at the base of the stairs and mixes with the warmth bleeding through the open windows of the house. Swallowing, you approach the door and knock. 

There is no answer. 

Someone obviously is inside the house. You can hear chirpy humming and various utensils being knocked around, so you try again only to have the same luck. After a few minutes, you muster up the courage to open the door and peek your head inside. 

The foyer is small with shoes lined up against the floorboards and various coats and hats hanging on hooks drilled into the wall. Just past the entrance you can see a staircase that leads up to the second floor with a rich vermillion runner along dark stained wood, but there is no sign of the woman you were sent to help. 

“Lottie?” you call out as you close the door behind you with a shaky hand. 

Still receiving no response, you exit the foyer and begin to wander where the noise is loudest. You travel down wide hallways with open windows, sunlight bleeding through wispy drapes like mist on a cold autumn morning. Various paintings catch your attention as you walk, hung up high and proud, displaying scenes of nature and animals and captured with a keen eye. Other hallways split off like a burrow of tunnels, like a warren lurking in a field, but you keep your feet steady until you reach the kitchen. 

The woman you’re assuming is Lottie stands with her back faced toward you as she sways her hips in front of the stove. A phonograph plays on the counter, spinning a waxy cylinder and playing its music loud and proud. A rosy pink skirt twirls around her legs as she wipes her hands off on her apron, then toys with the frizzy curls of her bright blonde hair as they fall from her disheveled bun. She’s humming along to the music—some upbeat tune you don’t recognize—as she hops on her feet, hips twisting as she reaches for a large wooden spoon. 

“Miss Lottie?” you ask once more. 

The woman squeals like a bird caught in the maw of a barn cat as she spins around, spoon waving as if she wields a knife. She’s rather pretty, you think, even with this look of terror on her face. Pale brows rising as her teal eyes widen, free hand pressed against her collarbones as if to still her fluttering heart. She looks you up and down and then sighs before wiping her brow. 

“Oh, darlin’ don’t do that to me. Damn near scared me half to death!” Her voice is saccharine and slow, accent drawing long vowels and dropped consonants. Southern, you think—Georgia, if you had to guess. 

“I’m sorry, miss,” you apologize. You raise your hands as a sign of good faith before you glance at the items behind her on the counter. Fresh meat, a mason jar of white, bubbly liquid, a fresh block of cheese. “Laswell sent me here. I’m supposed to help with dinner?” 

“Did she now?” Lottie asks. Her face melts. All tension vanishes back into the depths of her skin as a smile pulls at her lips. “Reckon we have guests to cook for, then?” 

You nod. “Yes—erm—myself and a few others. Four men.” 

“Sounds like we have half a battalion to feed,” she muses. Tapping the spoon against the side of her hip, she seems swept away by the chorus of the song crackling from the phonograph, melody bleeding from the speaker like a warm campfire in the midst of the boonies. “Awfully kind of Katie to send me a little helper, then. Why don’t you grab one of those aprons darlin, we can’t have you mucking up that dress of yours!” 

She points over her shoulder to a small rack of off-white aprons long stained by home cooked meals. Each of them are embroidered with little flowers. Some sport roses, others daisies, and what you think is an attempt to do forget-me-knots. You snatch up the one with lilies before tying it around your waist and hopping in line next to Lottie, who isn’t afraid to throw work your way. Handing you a knife, she orders you to peel potatoes and cut them into cubes while she works on heating the stove up enough for the meat. 

When she asks you what your name is, you tell her the truth, though it’s overshadowed by the mention of your nickname. Lamb. It makes her giggle something sweet and bubbly like champagne. 

Lottie is a beautiful woman—it’s difficult not to find yourself starstruck by her. Rosy cheeks flush in the heat of the kitchen, illuminating the sweet and sparse freckles that spot her face. Her lips are painted a matte cherry red, though it slowly fades each time her teeth dig into the tender flesh as she mutters to herself about the next steps for her meal. Then, there’s her bosom. Your eyes burn when you notice the swell of her breasts and how her corset can hardly keep them from spilling over the blushing fabric of her dress. She’s any man’s dream. 

“So,” you speak up. Small talk is not a strong attribute of yours, and Lottie and her phonograph are doing plenty of conversing for the both of you. Still, you are a stranger in this home, and the acrimonious bile in your stomach urges you to make something of yourself. “You live here, then? With Laswell?” 

“Well, of course,” she Lottie giggles. She’s got flour smeared on her face, dusty eggshell staining a line across her forehead. “Certainly wouldn’t be doin’ all this good cookin’ for free.” 

“Are you and Laswell sisters, then?” you ask. 

Lottie’s in the middle of placing a thinly rolled piece of pastry dough on top of her sheet of pot pie when she freezes. Her gaze is quizzical as she turns her attention to you, eyes studying every line in your face. For a moment, there’s something malicious that lurks in her gaze. An incensed flicker that leaves your spine tingling. It quickly vanishes when her eyes drop to the necklace dangling around your neck. 

“Oh, bless your heart. Aren’t you just as sweet as a peach,” she says with a quiet smile before returning to her work. 

Unsure of what else to say, you continue to do as you’re told. Chopped potatoes. Rolling dough. Making bread—sourdough. Slicing apples. Warming sugar until golden brown. You’re grateful for the work. It’s been a long time since you’ve cooked a proper meal, and you’re hoping you’ll actually be able to get a taste of it this time around. 

Neither you nor Lottie take a break until her apple pie is cooking in the oven and her pot pie is staying warm atop the stove. She fetches you a cup of water from a valve in the kitchen, leaving you slack jawed, and corrals you out onto the porch where the two of you sit next to one another on a thatched bench.

As you drink, you can’t help but realize that even the water tastes different here. It’s strange. Tangy, like blood from a split lip. You hold the glass up to the setting sun where amber light refracts through it, illuminating the bubbles that swirl through the liquid. 

“You’re not from around here, are you?” 

When you turn your attention back to Lottie, you realize she’s staring at you, bright eyes piercing through you like cold rays of sun. Pressing your lips together, you place your hands into your lap, fingers clenching around your glass. 

“No, I just got here today, actually,” you explain. 

She nods. “Where’re you from?” 

“Penmosa.” 

“I’m not familiar.” 

“It’s… well, it took us a fair bit of travel to get here.” 

“Us?” 

Blinking, you realize the slip of your words. John’s name rattles through your brain like dark ink on parchment—pinned to a board, face on display for all to see, a call for violence; for vengeance. 

“Yes. I’ve been traveling with… a man named John.” 

“John Price?” Lottie confirms. 

Solicitude seeps deep into every bone in your body at her recognition. “Yes. Him and the others will be here for dinner tonight. I… I hope that isn’t a problem.” 

“Oh, not at all!” she beams as the tips of her feet tap against the porch. “It’s been quite a long time since I’ve last seen John and his boys. Didn’t think he’d be comin’ back to Grand Hollow so soon. Last I knew he was out wandering while tryin’ to wait for things in Blackpeak to cool down.” 

The more she speaks, the more your brows draw together. “You know him?” 

“Of course I do! Him and Kaite have been doin’ business for a little while now. He’s a fine man. A little strange, but I think all those English folk are, if you ask me.” 

A subtle discontent stirs at the base of your skull leaving your mind spinning. A dissonance screams. It burrows deep and roots. You’ve been warned that John Price is not a good man, and you’ve seen the very proof of it yourself. That man he shot and killed. The clothes he ripped off of your body. The wanted poster with his name and face plastered on it. 

Yet, he saved you from your father, and Lottie spews about him as if he were a disciple. You know it is ungodly to cast judgement on another person, but you can’t shake the discord of the situation. How thin is the line between salvation and betrayal? 

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,” Lottie murmurs. 

There, just down the road, trots a line of horses. Bear’s familiar head rears while his tail flicks, shooing off flies attempting to nurse on him all while Kyle pats the side of his head. John lazily looks around at the houses, shoulders squared as he seems to chat away with Laswell, who leads the pack on her own horse. 

Swallowing, you prepare for what you’re sure is about to be the most painful dinner you’ve participated in for quite some time. 

Laswell is the first to dismount, leg easily swinging over the side of her horse without a dress to get in the way. She trots up the porch and greets you with a polite nod before her hands reach for Lottie. The woman grins, bright, pearly teeth flashing between the blood red of her lips, before she allows Laswell to help her off of the bench. Then, their lips meet. Soft, chaste—enough to stain Laswell’s mouth with color. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare. Two women, embracing one another in such a way. Heat simmers from your core for only a short moment before it’s boiling, splashing bubbling water all up your insides until they’re searing and raw. You can hear John’s chuckle haunt you from somewhere along the staircase. 

“Come on, Lamb,” Lottie urges with a wave. “Let’s go set the table.” 

The distance you sow between you and John is appreciated and welcomed, but it only lasts for a few fleeting minutes before God has brought the two of you together again. Palms flat in your lap, eyes staring at the long table as you’re squished between Kyle and Riley, John’s eyes flickering like a lone candle flame across from you—the weight is nearly unbearable. Crushing. Bones fracturing. Splinters sticking in the raw, fleshy parts of you. 

Thick fingers curl around his fork, dark hair lining the space just below his knuckles. You watch as his tendons dance just below his skin as he cuts into his food before he shoves it into his open maw. As he eats, you wonder how many men he’s murdered with those very same hands. How much blood the earth has had to swallow because of him. How many children weep over rotting fathers because of what those hands have done. 

As he cracks his knuckles, you’re reminded of the first time he ever taught you how to shoot. Trigger finger trembling, he told you a gun is nothing more than a tool. Something to protect yourself with. It’s a similar mentality he barked at you when you dared to challenge him over his slaughtering of that farmer who threatened to soil you. Protection. Saving. Family. 

What honor was there in slaughtering those coal mine workers? 

“I can see why Laswell’s tied you down with a ring, Lottie,” John hums. His thumbs graze over one of your sourdough rolls, nails biting into the crisp crust as it caves in beneath his pressure. He places a fluffy piece against his tongue and offers a tight-lipped to the woman. “With cooking like this, I reckon you had her ensnared.” 

Lottie’s giggle falls like a sheer blanket over the table as she shoos John off with a wave. “Oh, I can’t take all the credit. Your little lamb was quite the helper. Pretty much did everythin’ for me! And, as far as I know, she ain’t taken quite yet.” 

John’s eyes settle on you, and though you know better, you can’t help but return his gaze. Sticky like tree sap on fresh logs, you can’t look away. You hold his gaze, jaw tense and aching, he hums. His lips quirk into a smile and for the first time in your life, you find yourself wanting to slap it from his face. 

“Maybe we ought to keep you around after all,” he muses. 

Scoffing, you glance back down at your plate. There’s hardly anything left for you to eat, yet you poke at it with your silverware anyway. “Awfully rich coming from the man who considers me a right nuisance. What did you call me again? Cargo?” 

Enmity soaks your tongue so much that it does not feel like your own anymore. This is your father’s tongue that rots your mouth—bitter and swollen from long standing annoyance, ever petulant. Even John seems to recognize this change within you. Eyebrows rising, he shakes his head and chuckles. 

“Right,” he agrees. “The most headache-inducing cargo I’ve ever laid hands on.” 

A hush halts the table’s conversation leaving you to face the white hot anger brewing in your chest all by yourself. You note the sideways glances. The way Kyle turns away from you. The way Soap’s lips press together. 

Look at you, once again, the prodigal daughter. 

“Well, how about some dessert to offset all this bitterness?” Lottie suggests, voice gentle like honey, blunt humor pulling at her words. 

Laswell pushes her plate away before looking up at her wife with a nod. “A perfect idea, love.” 

Apple and cinnamon dance in a waltz on your tongue but their feet are numbed as the rest of the feast is finished in choppy conversation punctuated with long bouts of silence. Fatigue pulls heavy at everyone’s eyes, but your anger keeps you wide awake. Fork clutched in hand. Metal scraping on porcelain. When everyone is finished, John attempts to have everyone stay behind to help clean up, but Laswell waves him off, saying that he ought to get everyone back to the hotel to rest. 

Before you leave, Lottie bids you farewell with a soft hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Welcome to Grand Hollow, darlin. I hope it’s everythin’ you need.” 

You ride on the back of John’s horse. You’re much too close for comfort to him, and your skin tingles as if there were a million small beetles dancing on your body. He at least offers you the courtesy of not talking to you, allowing you to stew in your thoughts as your eyes glaze over and focus on the dusty stones that crumble beneath the horse’s hooves. 

Still, you are incensed that you missed all the omens. Vague warnings from Mr. Beckett. The bursts of anger that seemed to seep from every pore in his body. The way he never flinched when enacting violence upon others. 

You spent so long attempting to find humanity in the eyes of the wolf that you failed to notice the fresh blood staining his teeth. 

“Ever been to a theatre before, Lamb?” 

It’s the first thing John’s said to you for the entire ride, and it’s enough to get your ears to quirk. Gaze shifting upwards, you notice an unfamiliar sight that you’ve only heard about from word of mouth. Fat bulbs light up the street as they line a marquee board listing off show names and times. Stories you don’t recognize, with actors and actresses from a whole other world. Behind a glass window sits a man selling tickets, who looks as if he’s about to fall asleep face first into the palm he rests his chin on. 

“Can’t say that I have,” you reply tartly. 

“They used to be shows of just actors. People dancing on stage, things of that sort,” John explains, head leaning back in active conversation. “Used to have women hiking their skirts up, too. Would probably send your daddy into a proper fit if he ever saw it. Now they’re showing moving pictures. Films, I think they call it.”

“Is that so?” Short. Dull. The theatre passes you by and you’re back to staring at the ground. 

John’s hips shift in his saddle, fingers tightening on the reins. “The boys and I were thinking about seeing one tomorrow.”

All you do is hum in reply. You watch as John’s shoulders tense and rise before falling with a huff. The horse begins to slow, its proper trot dwindling to a lazy meander. 

“You know Lamb, I can’t say I’m too overly fond of this new attitude of yours. Picking fights at dinner while we’re guests wasn’t too godly of you,” he bites. 

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re getting rid of me soon, isn’t it?” you retort. 

His body stills. Not even the swaying of his horse can move him. 

“You might be right about that, little lamb.” 

With Laswell tucked away at home, John is the only one left to show you to your room. He bids the boys a goodnight before leading you up to the second floor, key pinched between his fingers as he unlocks the door for you. You find your carpet bag waiting for you on the foot of the largest bed you’ve ever seen—big enough to house six swine comfortably, if you had to guess. Another vanity sits shoved against the far side of the wall, along with several complementary products of soap and oils, but the wonder is lost on you now. 

Sighing, you take the key from John’s hand and busy yourself with sorting through the items in your bag. John’s gaze sears your skin. Shoulder tucked into the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, he stares at you. Through you. Piercing your body as if his eyes were knives. 

“You’re not still upset at me for earlier, are you?” he suddenly questions. 

“Earlier?” you repeat. You’re still turned away from him. Shoulders hunched, hands busy. You know it’s not smart to face away from wolves but you can’t bring yourself to be scared of his bite anymore. 

“When I interrupted your bath.” 

“Whyever would I be mad about that?” you reply bitterly. 

While John’s chuckles are usually warm, earthy things, the one he gives you now can only be described as sour milk. Thick and clumpy, noisome and in desperate need to be thrown out. “Full of fire today, aren’t you? Did you ever talk to your daddy like this?” 

Your fingers have just wrapped around your comb when he asks you this, and the unfamiliar choler it fills you with nearly suffocates you. Tossing the item onto the comforter, you whip around to face him, head tilted to the side and teeth grinding like eroding stones. 

“No, Daddy beat me whenever I opened my mouth out of turn,” you snap, stating the obvious with so much vitriol you nearly choke on it. Still, it propels you forward, feet sliding across the floor as you approach him. “Is that what you wanna do to me, John?” 

“You better slow down, sweetheart,” John warns. 

Ignoring him, you stalk closer on wobbly legs. Nothing but a freshly jellied lamb. 

“Gonna take off your belt and beat me the way your daddy did to you?” you challenge. You’re within biting distance now. John’s no longer leaning against the doorframe, but instead standing with his feet wide and firm as if ready for a blow. “Gonna make someone pay for your pain? That’s all you wan’t, isn’t it? Vengeance? You’re no better than the man behind the belt, John Price, you’re-” 

All it takes to shut you up is a hand on your jaw. 

Thumb and fingers curling into the fat of your cheeks, John Price is close enough to your face that you can feel his breath fan across your skin. His grip is firm enough to get your lips to part, but not enough to ache—not yet, anyway. Your pounding heart quivers against your sternum, making it impossible for you to swallow properly as you stare at him. 

Tobacco pairs nicely with the hue of his eyes—dark like a lake rippling during a storm. You want to be scared. Everything within you tells you to be scared. These are the hands that slaughtered innocent lives. Still, the way his thumb brushes across your bottom lip is the most gentle thing you’ve ever felt since your mother’s last parting kiss to your forehead, and you’re not sure why, but it feels worse than any slap you’ve ever received before. 

“Dunno what’s gotten into you sweetheart, but I’ll just assume you’re in desperate need of some good rest.” John huffs when he releases you, hands falling to his side before his fingers wrap around the doorknob. 

For a moment, he stands there like this. Gaze wandering up and down, his pupils soak up the narrowing of your eyes and the shaking of your knees before he swings the door shut. 

“Goodnight, Lamb.”

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[girlactionfigure]

Antisemitism, an old saying goes, is the canary in the coal mine. The implication is that, when antisemitism is rising in a society, this is a telltale sign that said society is in decline. In many cases throughout history, this has very much been true. For example, the Nazis rose to power -- and later led their country into a suicidal war -- by mobilizing German society with inflammatory antisemitic rhetoric.

Nevertheless, I’ve always really hated the expression, not because it’s necessarily untrue, but because of the implication that what really makes antisemitism matter is that Jew-hatred eventually poisons everything and everyone else. I think antisemitism matters because Jews are human beings, and that should be enough for us to act decisively against it, not because antisemitism might, in the future, affect other groups of people.

Regardless, I do think that it’s important for people to understand why and how antisemitism eventually might affect them too.

ANTISEMITISM AS A SIGN OF SOCIETAL DECLINE

Which came first: the chicken or the egg? In other words, do societies decline because of antisemitism, or does antisemitism rise because societies are in decline? In my opinion, it’s a little bit of both.

First, it’s important to understand how antisemitism functions. Antisemitism is not only a bigotry, but a worldview that relies on conspiracies, scapegoating, and projection. When things are bad -- for instance, when a society is in disarray -- people need someone to blame. When a child went missing in the Middle Ages, who was at fault? Why, the Jews, of course. When as much as 30 to 60% of the European population died from the Black Death in the 14th century, who was to blame? The Jews. When Weimar Germany suffered from economic hardships, who else could be at fault but the Jews?

I personally noticed this phenomenon in real-time in 2020, following the murder of George Floyd and the Black Lives Matter protests. Instead of holding American police to account for their police brutality, very quickly, antisemites swept in with the “Deadly Exchange” conspiracy theory, which absurdly posits that it’s the Jewish state that is at fault for police brutality in the United States (as though American police brutality didn’t exist before 1948!). In this sense, it’s obvious that antisemitism rises when societies are in strife.

On the other hand, pre-existing antisemitism will poison everything in a society. White supremacists and Islamic fundamentalist terrorist groups, for example, often recruit followers with antisemitic rhetoric, but their violence targets more than just Jews. It doesn’t take long for hostile antisemitic environments to become hostile to many other groups of people.

"FIRST THEY CAME FOR THE..."

Surely you’ve heard the famous Martin Niemöller poem: “First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out — because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out — because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out — because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me — and there was no one left to speak for me.”

It is, perhaps, the quotation most often associated with the Holocaust and the Nazi persecution of Jews and political dissidents. And while Pastor Niemöller certainly had a point, the question bears repeating: why must others be targeted alongside Jews for antisemitism to matter? Shouldn’t antisemitism matter simply because Jews are human beings deserving of fundamental human rights and dignity?

As it turns out, Niemöller never quite got the memo. In the early 1930s, he not only openly agreed with Nazi ideology, but he voted the Nazis into power. His change of heart came not because he atoned for his antisemitism, but because he disliked how the Nazi Party was meddling with the Lutheran Church, which led to his eventual arrest. Even worse: after the Allied victory, he opposed the de-Nazification of Germany because he thought that it would “do more harm than good.”

In the end, it seems, for Niemöller, antisemitism only mattered when it affected him personally.

"FIRST THE SATURDAY PEOPLE, THEN THE SUNDAY PEOPLE"

The proverb “min sallaf es-sabt lāqā el-ḥadd qiddāmūh” — “after Saturday comes Sunday”— is used in many Middle Eastern countries, including Egypt, Syria, and Lebanon, to describe the treatment of Middle Eastern Jews and Christians. A popular variation is “first the Saturday people [Jews, who observe Shabbat on Saturday], then the Sunday people [Christians, who attend church on Sundays.” The idea is that what has been done to the Jews of the Middle East is now what is being done to Middle Eastern Christians.

The origins of the phrase, with this particular meaning, are contested, but some historians trace it back to the 1936-1939 Arab Revolt in Palestine and claim that it was coined by the followers of the Nazi collaborator Palestinian leader Haj Amin Al-Husseini. The phrase has also been attributed to the pro-Zionist Maronite Christians in Lebanon in the 1930s and 1940s. After the British authorities passed the 1939 White Paper, which virtually banned all Jewish immigration to and land purchases in Palestine, some Palestinian Arab Christians reportedly worried that they would be marginalized next.

In the 1940s and 1950s, virtually 100% of the Jewish population of the Middle East — which once numbered at around a million — was expelled from their homes in a series of systematic expulsions and massacres.  

Unfortunately, much as the proverb predicts, Middle Eastern Christians have suffered a similar fate. In 1900, Christians made up about 13% of the population of the Middle East. Today, Christians form only 4% of the Middle Eastern population.

Assyrian, Maronite, Coptic, and other Native Middle Eastern Christians have been driven out of their homes by Islamic fundamentalist violence, a recent example being the massacres and executions perpetrated by ISIS.

JIHADIST GROUPS

Like white supremacist groups, Islamist jihadist groups such as ISIS have historically used antisemitic rhetoric as a “gateway drug” for recruitment. For example, Damon Joseph, also known as Abdullah Ali Yusuf, was indicted by a federal court in late 2018 for providing material support to ISIS. After an investigation, it seems that Joseph had been radicalized within a matter of months, following his conversion to Islam. Joseph, however, had espoused antisemitic beliefs for years, and it seems that his pre-existing antisemitic worldview influenced his fundamentalist interpretation of Islam.

According to former CIA agent John Kiriakou, after the CIA captured Abu Zubaydah, who at the time was believed to be the number three in Al Qaeda, Abu Zubaydah said that he never hated America and only wanted to kill Jews and attack Israel.  

Similarly, in his 2002 “Letter to the American People,” in which he “explained” the 9/11 attacks, Al Qaeda founder Osama bin Laden justified his terrorist acts on the basis that the United States is allied with Israel and Jews allegedly “control” the American government.

Since the outbreak of the Israel-Hamas War, Jihadist groups have recruited lone wolf attackers in third countries by inciting against Israel.  

Hezbollah, which was formed to fight Israel’s existence, has now taken the lives of Syrians, Lebanese, Iranians, and much more.  

Antisemitism is closely linked to Islamist terrorism, even terrorism that doesn’t specifically target Jews, and it should be considered an international security threat.

WHITE SUPREMACY

Antisemitism is foundational to white supremacy, but it is not exclusive to white supremacy. White supremacy does not exist without antisemitism, but white supremacists don’t exclusively target Jews, and non-white supremacist ideologies can be antisemitic, too. In other words, all white supremacists are antisemitic, but not all antisemites are white supremacists, and white supremacists are bigoted toward many other groups of people, too.

Antisemitism plays a very specific function within white supremacy. White supremacists rely on antisemitism to (1) scapegoat, and (2) divide and conquer. For example, white supremacists believe that Jews are behind a supposed “white genocide,” aiming to replace white folks with Brown and Black folks. In other words, what starts with Jews doesn’t just end with Jews.

White supremacist groups often recruit online with antisemitic rhetoric, and many violent white supremacists were radicalized by consuming antisemitic content.

In the 1920s, the resurgence of the Ku Klux Klan is tied directly to the 1913 lynching of Leo Frank, a Jewish American. The KKK then went on to terrorize Black Americans.

DOMESTIC TERRORISM, MASS SHOOTINGS

Many domestic terrorists and mass shooters have been radicalized through antisemitic rhetoric, even if their violence eventually targeted other people. Some examples include Nikolas Cruz, who murdered 17 Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School students and employees in 2018, and the perpetrators of the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing, which killed 168 people.

rootsmetals

you shouldn’t wait until antisemitism affects you personally to care, but antisemitism *will* affect you personally eventually, whether you’re Jewish or not.

For a full bibliography of my sources, please head over to my Instagram and  Patreon. 

[batboyblog]

Things Biden and the Democrats did, this week #21

May 31-June 7 2024

As part of President Biden's goal to bring the number of traffic deaths to zero, the Department of Transportation has sent $480 million in safety grants to all 50 states, DC, and all the US territories. The grants will focus on trucks, buses and other large vehicles. Thanks to DoT safety actions deaths involving heavy vehicles dropped by 8% from 2022 to 2023 and the department wants to keep pushing till the number is 0.

The Departments of Interior and Agriculture announced $2.8 billion plan to protect public land and support local government Conservation Efforts. $1.9 billion will be used to repair and restore national parks and public land, restoring historic sites, as well as Bureau of Indian Education-funded schools. $900 million will go to conservation funding, allowing the government to buy land to protect it. Half the funds will go to the federal government half to state and local governments and for the first time ever a tribal Conservation Land Acquisition program has been set up to allow tribal governments to buy land to protect nature.

The Department of Transportation announced that it had managed to get customers nearly $1 Billion dollars worth of flight reimbursements. The DoT reached an agreement with 3 airlines, Lufthansa, KLM, and South African Airways to pay between them $900 million to passengers effected by Covid related cancellations and delays. This adds to the $4 billion dollars of refunds and reimbursements to airline passengers under the Biden Administration.

The Department of Interior announced $725 million to clean up legacy coal pollution. This is the 3rd pay out from the $11.3 billion dollars President Biden signed into law in the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law to clean up coal pollution and invest in communities that used to rely on the coal industry. The money will be spent across 22 states and the Navajo Nation. Closing dangerous mine shafts, reclaim unstable slopes, improve water quality by treating acid mine drainage, and restore water supplies damaged by mining.

HUD launches the first of its kind investment program in manufactured homes. Manufactured homes represent a major market for affordable housing and the Biden Administration is the first to offer support to people trying to buy. HUD hopes the program will help 5,000 families and individuals buy their own home over the next 5 years.

The Department of the Interior announced $700 million for long-term water conservation projects across the Lower Colorado River Basin. The Colorado River Basin provides water for more than 40 million people, electric power to 7 US States and is a critical crucial resource for 30 Tribal nations and two Mexican states. The project hopes to save more than 700,000 acre-feet of water in Lake Mead. In the face of climate change causing a historic 23-year drought, there is record low water levels at Lake Powell and Lake Mead. The Biden Administration has moved aggressively to try to protect the Colorado River and make sure there's enough water in the West.

HUD makes $123 million for fighting Youth Homelessness available. This represents the 8th round of investment in Youth Homelessness since 2021 for a total of $440 million so far. The Biden Administration is focusing on innovative answers, like host homes, and kinship care models, with emphasis on creating equitable strategies to assist youth who are most vulnerable, including BIPOC, LGBTQIA+, and youth with disabilities. This is part of the Biden Administration goal of cutting homelessness by 25% by the end of 2025

The Department of Agriculture announced a series of actions to strength Tribal food sovereignty. The USDA will grant tribes in Maine, Alaska, Montana, Nebraska, North Carolina, Oregon and Washington $42 million through the Indigenous Animals Harvesting and Meat Processing Grants to support native animal harvesting. $18 million for projects under the Tribal Forest Protection Act. As well as $2.3 million to support the service of Indigenous foods in school meal programs. The USDA also plans its first ever class of interns specifically focused on Tribal agriculture and food sovereignty. The USDA also plans to host a first ever international trade mission focused on Tribal Nation and Native Hawaiian Community businesses.

Bonus: President Biden, First Lady Jill Biden, and Secretaries of Defense Lloyd Austin and State Antony Blinken traveled to Normandy France to mark the 80th Anniversary of D-Day. They were joined by a handful of surviving veterans of the landings many over 100 years old.

[tickleinvaforums]

Did Ashley Judd star in the Big Stone Gap Virginia movie?

Adriana Trigiani is one of Virginia's most cherished authors. She grew up in Big Stone Gap, Virginia, as part of a large Italian family and went on to become a well-known novelist and television writer. Big Stone Gap is a coal mining town in the mountains of Virginia. Ave Maria Mulligan (Ashley Judd) is the 40-year-old spinster who runs her late mean-spirited father's pharmacy. After her mother's death, she gets a letter from her revealing her real Italian biological father. She is known for her role in the movie High Crimes a 2002 American legal thriller film directed by Carl Franklin and starring Ashley Judd and Morgan Freeman, reunited from the 1997 film Kiss the Women. As of 2024, Ashley Judd's net worth is $14 million. This impressive figure comes from her successful acting career and her activism. Just giving you some info. To answer your question. Yes, she did!

[pinchofhoney]

be careful what you wish for

coriolanus snow x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

warning: platonic relationship, quite angst-ish, text in italics is a flashback

summary: Turning in a district boy to the authorities felt like the right thing to do for Coriolanus. But what if, in doing so, he betrayed you as well?

a/n: absolutely no one asked for it, but i'll deliver it to you anyway<33 i'd say have fun but i'm not sure i'd be appropriate here

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: @watercolorskyy

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

The moment Sejanus shared Billy Taup's escape plan with you, there wasn't much hesitation on your part. It's not that you acted without thinking; it's just that you didn't need much time to decide.

The summer was scorching, feeling like an unending oven. The sun never let up, and even when you hoped for cooler nights, the heat lingered. You've gotten used to the coal dust that's practically become your second skin in District 12, but what truly got to you wasn't the clinging dirt. It was the musty scent of men's sweat, a scent that clung to the air, heavy with the hard work that defined your daily life.

Being one of the few female Peacekeepers among a crowd of men wasn't your ideal situation. Many other girls had come and gone, unable to stand the sacrifices the job demanded, but you stood your ground, determined to prove yourself in this role, even if serving in this particular district wasn't your dream come true.

At least until a certain point.

When you first arrived in District 12, your main goal was to pass your officer's exam as quickly as possible and secure a transfer elsewhere. But when young Plinth kindled the idea of a life beyond authority and rules, the seed of belief in freedom took root within you. The very thought of it resonated in your mind, sounding truly incredible, and you couldn't wait to leave the filthy district behind, escaping through a gap in the wire mesh fence.

But, of course, life wouldn't be too easy if everything just went as planned, right?

One moment, you were getting ready with Sejanus and the other rebels, gathering the basics for your escape north to the supposedly destroyed District 13. The next, you found yourself standing behind one of the empty houses on the Seam with Coriolanus. He held onto your shoulders, telling you urgently that you had to leave the District as soon as possible.

“What?” was the first word that slipped from your lips, your brows furrowed in confusion as you looked at your friend. “Isn't that exactly what we're working on?” you added, slightly amused, pushing Coriolanus' hands off your shoulders.

Shaking your head, you were about to update him on your progress when he caught your forearm again. “I think you misunderstood me, Y/N,” he said, his face dead serious. “You need to get out of here now,” he continued, and seeing your raised eyebrow, he almost gritted the last word through his teeth.

“What do you mean, Coryo?” you asked, breaking the silence after staring at him for a while, tired of him speaking in riddles.

Now Coriolanus was the one staying silent, his cool eyes fixed on you. You couldn't decipher his expressions; it felt like he was betraying a hundred feelings at once and, at the same time, nothing at all.

“I… um, there's…” the blond man started, stumbling over his words, unsure how to share the information he needed to tell you. “There's a chance that the talk Sejanus and I had, which you joined not long ago, about your escape plan, might have been fully recorded by one of the jabberjays.”

You seemed not to grasp the gravity of Coriolanus' words, so you stared at him, searching for any hint in his eyes that he might be joking.

“Okay, so what?” you eventually asked, once again furrowing your brows, this time with a bit less intensity.When a twig snapped around the building's corner, you quickly turned, thinking it might be someone eavesdropping, but finding only a small hedgehog, you shifted your attention back to the boy in the bluish uniform.

“So what?” Coriolanus repeated your question, unable to believe your difficulty in connecting the dots. “Y/N, these birds are headed to the Capitol. To the lab of the woman who’s the Head Gamemaker of the Hunger Games. And do you know what the Capitol authorities do to rebels?” he asked the question, not waiting for your response. “They hang them on the hanging tree, Y/N.”

You stared at Coriolanus, steadying yourself with a hand against the wooden building. With every word he spoke, you felt the color drain from your face.

“How… How did this happen?” you asked, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Coriolanus happily took care of the mockingjays, moving their cages, tagging them, and passing them along. As Bug left with the fiftieth cage, Sejanus burst into the room, full of excitement. He shared the good news about the upcoming package from his mother with his friends, watching Bug leave with a smile before turning to Coriolanus, who had just finished dealing with the bird marked as number 1.

The bird chirped in its cage, mimicking the last mockingbird, but once Bug was gone, Sejanus' cheerful expression faded, replaced by a troubled look. He glanced around the hangar to ensure they were alone before speaking in a quiet voice.

“Listen, we've only got a few minutes. I know you might not like what I'm about to do, but I need you to at least understand it. After what you said the other day, about us being like brothers, well, I feel I owe you an explanation. Please, just hear me out.”

This was the moment, the confession.

Now was the time for the pieces to be explained, especially about the alliance with rebels and money that he found in Sejanus' belongings. Once Coriolanus heard it, he'd be as good as one of them, a traitor to the Capitol.

Panic, running, or trying to silence Sejanus could be expected, but Coriolanus did none of these things. Instead, his hands moved instinctively. His left hand adjusted the cover of the jabberjay cage, while his right, hidden from Sejanus's view by his body, reached for a remote on the counter. Coriolanus pressed RECORD, and the jabberjay fell silent.

Turning his back to the cage, Coriolanus leaned on the table with his hands, waiting.

In the middle of Sejanus' explanation, you dashed into the hangar like a hurricane itself.

“There you are!” you exclaimed, both happy and a bit annoyed to find young Plinth. “Why didn't you wait for me? I said I wanted to go to Coryo with you,” you added, crossing your arms on your chest as you closed the gap between the boys and yourself.

It seemed that Coriolanus, noticing you in the hangar, tensed up a bit. He glanced briefly at the cage with the bird recording the conversation on the table, but neither of you or Sejanus noticed, and together, you continued explaining your plan to him.

During your report, where you and Sejanus competed over who could give Coriolanus more details, he lowered his head and rubbed his brow with his fingertips. It looked like he was trying to gather his thoughts, unsure how long he could stay silent without seeming suspicious.

But Sejanus rushed on, “I couldn't leave without telling you. You've been like a brother to me. I'll never forget what you did for me in the arena. I'll find a way to let Ma know what happened to me. And my father, too. I'll let him know the Plinth name lives on, even if it's in obscurity.”

The mention of the Plinth name was enough.

Coriolanus's left hand found the remote, and he pressed the NEUTRAL button with his thumb. The jabberjay resumed its earlier song.

Something caught Coriolanus's attention. “Here comes Bug.”

“Here comes Bug,” the bird echoed in his voice.

“Hush, you silly thing,” he scolded the bird, secretly pleased it had returned to its normal pattern. Nothing to alert both of you. He quickly covered the cage with a cloth and marked it with J1.

“I swear, I have no idea,” Coriolanus lied, wearing a worried expression. “While rearranging the cages, one of them must have snagged the remote control.”

You lightly bit your lower lip, eyeing your friend. Without any reason to doubt him, you finally let out a shaky breath.

Gazing up at the sky, you counted to three in your mind to steady your nerves. Then, you looked back at Coriolanus.

“Does Sejanus know?”

“Of course, I told him first,” he lied again, his gaze fixed beyond your shoulders without losing the concerned look on his face.

“God, what are we going to do now?” nerves took over every cell in your body as you asked another question. You leaned against the wooden building, slowly lowering yourself until you were sitting on the ground.

You lifted your head to meet Coriolanus's eyes, and he crouched in front of you, placing his hand on one of your knees.

“Hey, don't stress. You're heading back to the base now. Pack what you need, and tonight, you'll slip out of the district just like you planned with the rebels. You'll meet Sejanus at the lake, alright?” he spoke with a calmness, almost like talking to a kid, trying to reassure you.

Even though Coriolanus despised rebels — those who went against the Capitol's rules — he didn't want you to suffer the consequences that would surely befall Sejanus. He had nothing against you; in fact, he genuinely liked you. Your innocence about a better life beyond the Capitol's control wasn't his concern because you hadn't caused him any trouble, unlike young Plinth who had stirred up problems more than once.

“But won't it be suspicious if I suddenly vanish? They'll be searching for me, Coryo. They'll find me and punish me,” you said, placing your hand on his.

“I told you not to worry, remember?” Coriolanus replied, a bit sharper but still maintaining his reassuring tone. “I'll figure something out. No one's going to harm you.”

“But Coryo, you-” you began, but he quickly cut you off.

“Enough, Y/N,” Coriolanus said firmly, standing up from his crouch. “Get up. We're heading back to base,” he reached out a hand to you, which you took after a moment's hesitation. He helped you stand, silently conveying to act naturally before stepping out from behind the building.

You had no choice but to go along with Coriolanus' questionable plan, clinging to the hope that he knew what he was doing.

Little did you grasp the reality—that he was the cunning architect behind the recorded conversation. Sejanus wouldn't show up at the lake beyond District 12's boundaries. Instead, his fate would take a dark turn as he dangled lifeless from a tree in a matter of days.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A taxonomy of corporate bullshit

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

There are six lies that corporations have told since time immemorial, and Nick Hanauer, Joan Walsh and Donald Cohen's new book Corporate Bullsht: Exposing the Lies and Half-Truths That Protect Profit, Power, and Wealth in America* provides an essential taxonomy of this dirty six:

https://thenewpress.com/books/corporate-bullsht

In his review for The American Prospect, David Dayen summarizes how these six lies "offer a civic-minded, reasonable-sounding justification for positions that in fact are motivated entirely by self-interest":

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2023-10-27-lies-my-corporation-told-me-hanauer-walsh-cohen-review/

I. Pure denial

As far back as the slave trade, corporate apologists and mouthpieces have led by asserting that true things are false, and vice-versa. In 1837, John Calhoun asserted that "Never before has the black race of Central Africa, from the dawn of history to the present day, attained a condition so civilized and so improved, not only physically, but morally and intellectually." George Fitzhugh called enslaved Africans in America "the freest people in the world."

This tactic never went away. Children sent to work in factories are "perfectly happy." Polluted water is "purer than the water that came from the river before we used it." Poor families "don't really exist." Pesticides don't lead to "illness or death." Climate change is "beneficial." Lead "helps guard your health."

II. Markets can solve problems, governments can't

Alan Greenspan made a career out of blithely asserting that markets self-correct. It was only after the world economy imploded in 2008 that he admitted that his doctrine had a "flaw":

https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/greenspan-admits-flaw-to-congress-predicts-more-economic-problems

No matter how serious a problem is, the market will fix it. In 1973, the US Chamber of Commerce railed against safety regulations, because "safety is good business," and could be left to the market. If unsafe products persist in the market, it's because consumers choose to trade safety off "for a lower price tag" (Chamber spox Laurence Kraus). Racism can't be corrected with anti-discrimination laws. It's only when "the market" realizes that racism is bad for business that it will finally be abolished.

III. Consumers and workers are to blame

In 1946, the National Coal Association blamed rampant deaths and maimings in the country's coal-mines on "carelessness on the part of men." In 2003, the National Restaurant Association sang the same tune, condemning nutritional labels because "there are not good or bad foods. There are good and bad diets." Reagan's interior secretary Donald Hodel counseled personal responsibility to address a thinning ozone layer: "people who don’t stand out in the sun—it doesn’t affect them."

IV. Government cures are always worse than the disease

Lee Iacocca called 1970's Clean Air Act "a threat to the entire American economy and to every person in America." Every labor and consumer protection before and since has been damned as a plague on American jobs and prosperity. The incentive to work can't survive Social Security, welfare or unemployment insurance. Minimum wages kill jobs, etc etc.

V. Helping people only hurts them

Medicare will "destroy private initiative for our aged to protect themselves with insurance" (Republican Senator Milward Simpson, 1965). Covid relief is unfair to people that are currently in the workforce" (Republican Governor Brian Kemp, 2021). Welfare produces "learned helplessness."

VI. Everyone who disagrees with me is a socialist

Grover Cleveland's 2% on top incomes is "communistic warfare against rights of property" (NY Tribune, 1895). "Socialized medicine" will leave "our children and our children’s children [asking] what it once was like in America when men were free" (Reagan, 1961).

Everything is "socialism": anti-child labor laws, Social Security, minimum wages, family and medical leave. Even fascism is socialism! In 1938, the National Association of Manufacturers called labor rights "communism, bolshevism, fascism, and Nazism."

As Dayen says, it's refreshing to see how the right hasn't had an original idea in 150 years, and simply relies on repeating the same nonsense with minor updates. Right wing ideological innovation consists of finding new ways to say, "actually, your boss is right."

The left's great curse is object permanence: the ability to remember things, like the fact that it used to be possible for a worker to support a family of five on a single income, or that the economy once experienced decades of growth with a 90%+ top rate of income tax (other things the left manages to remember: the "intelligence community" are sociopathic monsters, not Trump-slaying heroes).

When the business lobby rails against long-overdue antitrust action against Amazon and Google, object permanence puts it all in perspective. The talking points about this being job-destroying socialism are the same warmed-over nonsense used to defend rail-barons and Rockefeller. "If you don't like it, shop elsewhere," has been the corporate apologist's line since slavery times.

As Dayen says, Corporate Bullshit is a "reference book for conservative debating points, in an attempt to rob them of their rhetorical power." It will be out on Halloween:

https://bookshop.org/a/54985/9781620977514

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/27/six-sells/#youre-holding-it-wrong

[worldly-fluster]

Imma post something, only cause my cat put her paw on my phone screen while I was reading about Sylus and she hit the little blue circle in the corner. She the love of my life ❤️

Anyway...time to write some ANGST angst.

Like... WARNING THIS MIGHT TRIGGER SOMEONE.

LADS boys when...they find your 'Diary'

--Sylus-- Part 1 of 4

(I don't have the mental energy to put all of them on one lol I'll try getting Xavier's out tonight-no promises)

Yeah um, going off some personal stuff here so it's probably gonna be a mess. MC has an emotionally abusive family. It's 'Diary' but I call mine a different name.

You have been warned btw.

Sylus-

•He knew your life wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, even living in Linkon he knew there were shadows everywhere. Hell, when he met you, you would flinch at everything and hardly spoke so he knew something had happened to you at some point.

•He just didn't expect it to be...this bad.

•You both were having a normal day, you were smiling and laughing. Finally feeling safe enough around him to open up more. He was so excited to have seen your eyes light up that nothing else mattered in this moment.

•When it happened.

•Your eyes, still bright and happy, looked around the Mall you both were in when they fell on two people staring from across the walkway.

•He saw you freeze and your eyes glaze over slightly making his eyes snap to whatever was making you react like this.

•He saw an older couple, almost glaring in your direction.

•He acted fast as he moved to block yours and their view. He stood in front of you, gently lifting your chin to look at him.

•Your eyes were still glazed over with an unknown emotion to him.

•He gave you a soft worried smile and took your hand and led you away.

•But not before hearing some words from the couple as you walked.

•"I see she's whoring herself out." "I wonder if she has a kid yet?" "She'd make for a useless mother if so." "She's probably living under a bridge in a tent she can't afford while sleeping with crack heads." "I bet that's her pimp with her now."

•Sylus' eye shined red as he heard the exchange, his blood boiling in red hot anger.

•Who were these people to talk about you like that?? Especially while he was in earshot.

•The rest of the day he spent just trying, trying his hardest, to make you feel better. To bring you back to laughing and smiling again.

•But all you said was, "Can I go home please?" In the small voice you used to talk in.

•He obliged, not wanting to overwhelm or overstep.

•When he dropped you off at your apartment, he... didn't want to leave you alone.

•He didn't worry about finding the couple from earlier, he already had Mephisto on them the moment they left the Mall. He was more worried about the look in your eyes.

•And more than pissed that those people made you shut yourself away from life- from him- again. After he worked so hard to get you to feel safe.

•You barely registered his presence in your apartment before you locked yourself in your bedroom, wanting to be alone.

•He understood and sat in your living room to wait for you to feel at least a little better.

•In his waiting he saw your book shelf and decided to read something of yours.

•The Book Thief...no, The Hobbit series...no, oh what's this? A notebook?

•He opened the book in curiosity only to be met with pages and pages of words, emotions, and... things he wishes weren't true. He thought this was a diary of some sort, he felt he shouldn't be reading this but something inside him wanted answers to why you act the way you do.

•The more he read the more an uncomfortable weight started settling in his chest. How have you been through so much...

•He put it together that those people might be your Mother and Stepdad. He could feel the red hot coals of anger towards them as he read what they did.

•He flipped through the notebook to the front and saw the title you gave it. 'My Death Book'.

•...

•Before he can think about it anymore, he takes quick, long strides towards your closed bedroom door.

•He knocked on the door softly, not waiting for an answer as he opened the door slightly to peek in.

•You were laying, curled up in the bed asleep.

•He walked over to check on you, to make sure the words in that book weren't going to come true. Ever.

•He wants to make sure you have a chance to forget, and never be reminded of any of it.

•He was going to make sure that you would never have to write something like that again, that you'll never feel like that again.

•One way to make sure you never ran into them again...was to take care of the problem at the cause.

•He texted Luke and Kieran a few details, just a screenshot of Mephisto's surveillance of the older couple and an order to 'take care of it.'

•He immediately got replies, '🫡' 'On it boss!'

•They didn't even question it, used to how he works by now.

•Now with that taken care of he sat down on the end of your bed. He reached over to play with a strand of your hair, a soft, protective look in his eyes.

•He just wants to lay with you, cuddle you, shower you in his love and kisses, but you aren't that close yet. He doesn't want to overstep more than he already does.

•He just wishes that he could have been there from the beginning, to make sure you kept your adorable shine.

•No one messes with his Sweetie and gets away with it.

**IT HAS BEEN UPDATED lol just a few things here and there to pull it together and make some things make more sense. Sorry lol**

[phoward89]

Masterlist

Dark!Coryo, Dark!Peacekeeper Coryo, Innocent!Reader, Delulu!Coryo, obsession, manipulation, toxic relationship, cussing, smut

Chapter 7:

“What is there to do around here, baby?” Coryo asked, since he didn't feel like going back to your house to deal with your family, as the two of you cuddled on the bench in the town square after finishing your breakfast.

Honestly, he didn't like your family. For a bunch of dirt poor miners, they sure do act like they're better than him. And that pisses him off.

“Not much.” You simply reply.

“Ah.” Coryo nods. “Well, is there something we can do to kill some time before we have to go back to your house?” Coriolanus has to stop himself from saying deathtrap shack instead of house. Ugh, the place you live in makes him shudder.

“There's a lake deep in the woods a couple hours hike from the Seam.” You tell him, earning a nod. With a smile, you carry on with, "There's a bunch of cabins scattered around it, left from the Pre-Panem days- I think.” Looking over at him, you ask, “Think we could go?”

“If you want to, I don't see why not.”

You omit the fact that sometimes the Covey goes there on Sundays.

And today's Sunday isn't it?

Hopefully you don't run into the Covey because you'd really like to spend a nice hot summer's day with Coryo at the lake.

Coriolanus hated the great outdoors and he hated the heat. Why was it so damn muggy in 12? It wasn't so hot back in the Capitol. Was 12 truly hell, is that why it's so hot?

The platinum blonde’s sweating like a pig, white T-shirt soaked with sweat, as he walks thru the woods with you, side by side. At least your carefree and bright demeanor brings a smile to his face. Even tho he's about to keel over from heat stroke at any moment, at least you're happy. As long as you're happy, that's all that matters to him.

“You'll get used to the summers here.” You assure your boyfriend with a smile while playfully tapping his shoulder with your boots.

You both took your shoes off; opting to walk barefoot what seems like endless miles ago. You convinced Coryo that the long hike would be easier on his feet if he did it barefoot. You also told him that you always hiked barefoot in the woods while going to the lake. That it was much easier on the soles of your feet.

“I don't think I'll ever get used to this heat, baby.” Sweat rolled down Coryo's neck as he slapped a mosquito on the side of his neck. “Or the damn bugs.”

“Yea, the skeeters are bad here.”

“Little bloodsuckers won't leave me alone.” Your boyfriend grumbled, smacking another bug off of his skin.

“Old saying says that skeeters are attracted to sweet blood.” You remember being told that as a little girl, before the war. You were about 4, you think. The memory’s hazy, but you think your dad told you that. But you can't remember what he looked like or anything truly about him to save your life.

“Sweet blood? Oh, darling, that's silly.” Coryo chuckles. Dripping an arm over your shoulders, he presses a kiss to your temple and tells you, “Come on, show me to this lake of yours.”

Coriolanus was surprised at how beautiful the lake looked as the thick woods gave way to a clearing where crystal blue water, a dock, and scattered cabins could clearly be seen. It felt so serene, like a scene out of a Thomas Kinkade painting.

He never thought that something so breathtakingly beautiful could be found in the backwater District 12. But, yet again, he found you in the coal mining shithole, didn't he? Perhaps there are some rare hidden gems in 12.

“Come on, Coryo. Let's go swimming.” You tell your boyfriend, dragging him out of the woods, by a cabin, and over to the dock.

“Do you swim here often, darling?” Coriolanus asks as you come to a stop at where the grass meets the edge of the wooden dock.

“Yea, but not as much as I'd like to.” You answer while you and Coriolanus drop your boots on the ground.

Coryo just nods, quickly pulling off his t-shirt while you pull off your dress. He's slipping out of his denim jeans when you start running down the dock in your bra and panties. He'd rather you be naked, but he doesn't mind seeing you in your underwear. “Just can't wait for me, huh?” Your boyfriend asks, taking off in a run after you.

Giggling, you look over your shoulder as you run faster down the dock. A big smile breaks over both your face and Coryo's as he chases you towards the edge. It's a fun little game of cat and mouse. A game that you win by jumping into the water before the platinum peacekeeper can reach you.

Coryo lets out a genuinely joyful laugh at seeing you jump into the water, causing it to ripple and splash up. Seeing you happily swim in the water, looking up at him with a huge smile, made Coriolanus' heart beat a thousand miles a minute. He couldn't help, but to fall even more obsessively in love with you as he watches you lazily splash in the water, waiting for him to join you.

Coryo ran to the end of the long dock, only to cannonball into the water. Water splashed high up into the air as your boyfriend's body broke the water’s surface; entering the cool cerulean liquid. When his platinum buzzed head pops out of the water, he quickly blinks his icy eyes open and smiles wide when he sees you staring at him.

He swims over to you, only to take you in his arms and break the spell he seems to have over you. Coryo leans in, kissing you sweetly. He smiles into the kiss, causing you to do the same.

Breaking the kiss, Coryo pulls his head back slightly and grins. He begins swimming, leading you further away from the dock. His baritone’s nostalgic as he tells you, “The last time I went swimming was for my gym class at the Academy, back in the Capitol. It's nice to be doing it again and with you, baby.”

“Your school’s gym had a pool in it?” You ask in disbelief, swimming alongside Coryo.

“Yes,” Your boyfriend nods. “It's under the floor and the floor’s cranked open for use of the pool.” Coryo splashes some water at you while chuckling, “But it's getting an upgrade since Strabo Plinth, Sejanus' father, bribed the dean with a new gym to make sure that we both got our diplomas.”

“But why wouldn't you get your diplomas? You both had good grades, right?”

“We screwed with the games.” Coriolanus answers before splashing water in your face to distract you from thinking up anymore questions about his fall from grace. He told you enough about Lucy Gray and his cheating allegation yesterday; today's a new day he wants to enjoy with you.

As long as you're by his side he feels happier, powerful, and like he can do everything in the world.

After swimming for a while, you and Coryo ended up sitting on the dock together. The sun’s kissing your skin, drying it, as you and Coryo dangle your feet over the dock’s edge. Actually, your feet's dangling while his toes skim the water's surface.

You're sitting side by side, just looking at the crystal clear water, the treeline, and the scattered cabins from a time before Panem had exited.

“It's so beautiful here, baby.” Turning his head to look at you, he smiles, “Thank you for sharing this spot with me, it means a lot.”

“You're welcome.” You smile in return. “There's not many beautiful places in 12, but this lake and the meadow behind my street are some of the few ones you'll find.”

“Everything's beautiful in the Capitol.” Coriolanus says matter of factly. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders and bringing close to his side, he kisses your temple and promises, “I'm going to show you the beauty of the Capitol; all of my favorite places once we get the chance to go back.”

You want to believe Coriolanus, you really do, but you also don't want to give your hopes up. The probability that you and Coriolanus will be able to go to the Capitol is, in your opinion, slim to none. You don't want to burst your boyfriend's bubble tho. Not when he seems in such good spirits.

So, you just force out a weak smile. “That sounds like fun, Coryo.”

“Once I pass that exam and become an officer, things’ll start looking up for us.” Coriolanus says, his conviction as sure as stone. “With hard work I'll be able to move up high enough in the ranks to get us back to the Capitol.”

“What if it takes your entire 20 years of service to do that, Coryo?” You wonder as the birds fly around in the blue sky above.

“It won't take that long, my darling rose.” The platinum peacekeeper assures you with a charming smile.

“But what if it does?” You press, wanting to hear your boyfriend's response on the possibility of being stuck in a district for two decades without being able to visit his beloved Capitol despite becoming an officer.

“It won't, baby.” Coriolanus told you before explaining his confident answer with, “My father was a general; was the Commander here during the war. He was able to come and go between his post and the Capitol before he was a general, back when he was just a lower officer.”

Yes, you remember your brother making a remark about Coryo's father being General Crassus Snow. Perhaps your boyfriend has more of an insight on the inner workings of the peacekeepers then you thought he did?

Coryo rubs his thumb into your shoulder, since his hand’s resting on it. “So, I think they'll let me take a furlough to the Capitol with you once I become an officer.”

You don't say a word, just nod as the platinum blonde's words wash over you. You let them sink in, swim in your mind just like your body has swam in the cool water mere moments ago. Coriolanus’ words flood over you, in a way that causes you to understand that being with the Capitolite peacekeeper’s life changing.

“You'd really take me with you to the Capitol for your furlow, Officer Snow?” You asked, doe eyes hopeful as you and your boyfriend locked eyes.

“Of course, I'm taking you, Y/N.” Coryo assures you. His icy eyes roam over your form possessively, taking in every inch of your radiance as he utters in a proprietorial baritone, “You're my girl; I want to show you off to my family during furloughs.” Of course he did, he's so obsessed with you; thinks that he owns you and has to have his family know that. Pictures sent thru the mail can only show off your beauty that rivals that of sunshine and roses. Coriolanus wants Grandma'am and Tigris to meet you, so he can make sure they know that you're now apart of the Snow family; has him enchanted under a spell of love and vice versa.

“I hope your family's friendlier to me than mine is towards you.” You blurt out, watching the reeds around the lake dance slightly in the breeze.

Cattails are bending low and springing back up, over and over again around the water’s edge. “Grandma’am and Tigris will love you because I love you, plus l you're as bright as sunshine- they could never be hostile with you, baby.” Coryo assures you with a knowing glint in his eyes- eyes that are as crystal clear as the cerulean lake at.

It feels as if one minute your sitting on the dock with Coryo and the next he's leaning against a tree trunk, bark digging into his back, as he looks out at the serene scene that's the lake and the long, wooden dock in the middle of it, as your naked bodies grind onto each other. His face is buried in your tits as he kisses, licks, and bites them while bucking his hips up; making your mewl breathily as his long, thick cock hits your cervix with every bouncing movement you make on top of him.

“That’a girl, baby. You're doing so good riding my cock.” Coriolanus grits thru clenched teeth, fighting the urge to flip you onto your back and piledrive into you hard and fast to empty his cum heavy balls. But, he's a man of his word when it comes to you and he did promise you to let you control the pace; to take the lead on top. It's the least he could do after losing control and pushing you too hard last night.

“Coryo…” Your voice trembles as you feel a lightning bolt go up your spine and the feel of his cock hitting your sensitive nerves deep inside of your tight, wet cunt.

“You're close, baby.” Coryo observes between leaving sloppy, open mouth kisses on the top of your boobs. Pulling his head back to look into your eyes, he smirks while sinfully saying, “Can feel it by how your pretty cunt's clenching around my cock, sucking it in with a velvety vice grip.”

“So close, Coryo.” You agree, feeling the knot tightening in your stomach, as you dig your nails into his shoulders- using them as leverage to go up and down faster on his dick.

Coryo wants nothing more then to roughly grab and spank your ass as you quickly bounce up and down on his lap, but he knows that you aren't ready for that yet. It's only your second time fucking and after last night- well…let's just say that he'd rather you think he's a gentle lover for a wee bit longer before he shows his true colors.

Because when he shows his true colors it'll be too late for you to leave him- if you dared. You'd be too much in love with him, too entwined with his soul to ever leave.

So, Coryo opts to bring the pad of his calloused thumb to your clit to help you get off faster instead. He rubs your swollen pearl hard and fast, causing your hips to snap quicker and quicker until you're a babbling mess- crying out his name as you cum with a harsh gush around his cock. Your spasming cunt's milking him dry and before he can control himself, Coryo holds your hips and bucks up into you a couple of times before cumming with a groan; your name on the tip of his tongue.

You go to get off of his lap, but Coryo holds you still by firmly digging his fingers into your hip bones. “Just let me stay inside you for a while, okay?” He asks, needing to feel your warmth around him. Just being connected, all snug and cozy, is a calming balm to the darkness that threatens to overthrow his heart.

“Okay.” You softly smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Your fingers trace patterns over his dog tags as his chest rises and falls beneath your touch.

Coryo’s gazing longingly, lovingly, and obsessively at you while running his calloused fingertips up and down your spine. His touch his barely there, ghost like, but it makes goosebumps appear on your skin all the same.

So, in the late afternoon by the lakeside the girl made of sunshine and roses is caressed and worshiped by the boy made of moonlight and violets.

But Coriolanus was always drawn to roses, perhaps it's because his mother smelled like them once upon a time, but you being as friendly as the sun and as beautiful as a rose is what's damned you to be by his side for the rest of your life.

But you'll enjoy being tethered to him by a suffocating vine, a vine that’ll wrap all around you and keep you bound to his soul. At least the icy eyed young man plans to spoil you with all the luxuries the Capitol has and will condition you to turn your back on the scum you call neighbors and embrace the elite Capitolites he calls ‘friends’.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @lady-harvey @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[maxwellatoms]

Do you think the new division of Cartoon Network Studios will end up exploiting and abusing AI to make new cartoons of their old properties?

I wouldn't put it past any studio to do this.

We're at the end of The Animation Industry As We Know It, so studios are going to do anything and everything they can to stay alive.

The way I see it is:

AI "art" isn't actually art. Art is created by humans to express ideas and emotions. Writing prompts allows a computer to interpret human ideas and emotions by taking other examples of those things and recombining them.

Just because something isn't art doesn't mean that humans can't understand it or find it beautiful. We passed a really fun prompt generation milestone about a year ago where everything looked like it was made by a Dadaist or someone on heavy psychedelics. Now we're at the Uncanny Valley stage. Soon, you won't be able to tell the difference.

It's not just drawings and paintings that are effected, but writing and film. It's every part of the entertainment industry. And the genie is out of the bottle. I've seen people saying that prompt-based image generators have "democratized" art. And I see where they're coming from. In ten years, I can easily see a future where anyone can sit down at their desk, have a short conversation with their computer, and have a ready-to-watch, custom movie with flawless special effects, passable story, and a solid three act structure. You want to replace Harrison Ford in Star Wars with your little brother and have Chewbacca make only fart sounds, and then they fly to Narnia and fistfight Batman? Done.

But, sadly, long before we reach that ten year mark, the bots will get hold of this stuff and absolutely lay waste to existing art industries. Sure, as a prompter I guess you can be proud of the hours or days you put into crafting your prompts, but you know what's better than a human at crafting prompts? Bots. Imagine bots cranking out hundreds of thousands of full-length feature films per minute. The noise level will squash almost any organic artist or AI prompter out of existence.

AI images trivialize real art. The whole point of a studio is to provide the money, labor, and space to create these big, complicated art projects. But if there are no big, complicated art projects, no creatives leading the charge, and no employees to pay... what the fuck do we need studios for? We won't, but their sheer wealth and power will leave them forcing themselves on us for the rest of our lives.

The near future will see studios clamp down on the tech in order to keep it in their own hands. Disney does tons of proprietary tech stuff, so I'm sure they're ahead of the game. Other studios will continue to seek mergers until they can merge with a content distribution platform. I've heard rumors of Comcast wanting to buy out either WB or Nick. That's the sort of thing I'm talking about. The only winners of this game will be the two or three super-huge distribution platforms who can filter out enough of the spam (which they themselves are likely perpetuating) to provide a reasonable entertainment experience.

400,000 channels and nothing's on.

I do think that money will eventually make the "you can't copyright AI stuff" thing go away. There's also the attrition of "Oh, whoops! We accidentally put an AI actor in there and no one noticed for five years, so now it's cool."

One way or another, it's gonna be a wild ride. As the canary in the coal mine, I hope we can all get some UBI before I'm forced to move into the sewers and go full C.H.U.D.

[sirenjose]

Hunter Norton Backstory Trailer Analysis

As a rule, the sons of miners follow the occupation of their fathers. Once Norton’s father died, and his mother also likely dead by then too, he had no other choice but to become a miner if he wanted to survive. Especially with how poor they likely were, Norton’s father (and mother) likely left almost nothing for their son, forcing him to work hard to support himself from a young age.

Based on Norton’s comment about living like a “rat” for 20 years, as he is 28 in the present, Norton’s father potentially died when he was 8 (his mother potentially died before then), leaving him an orphan.

A Mine Regulation Act in 1872 prevented children under the age of 12 from working underground. Until then, he would likely have been kept to surface work, such as:

Sorting and transporting materials

Loading and unloading transports

Assisting with general maintenance and cleaning

Delivering messages

Etc…

An Educational Act in 1870, which applied to England and Wales, made schooling compulsory for boys between the ages of 5 and 10, while an Act in 1872 applying to Scotland made school compulsory for kids between 5 and 13.

Once he reached the age of 12, the Regulation Act in 1872 would continued to limit his work hours, which prevented boys between 12 and 16 from working more than 54 hours in 1 week or 10 hours in 1 day. It also required them to have 8 to 12 hour breaks between “periods of employment” (defined as starting when they leave the surface and ending when they return to the surface).

Once he was old enough, regular miners were expected to work at least 12 hour shifts (though this varied from mine to mine) on weekdays. And we know from Norton’s deduction 2 that he worked longer than any of his coworkers, while his 3rd letter states, as a habit, he enters the mines at least 30 minutes before the others.

Conditions in the mine were hot, musty, and cramped (as mine owners didn’t want to spend extra to make them bigger), increasing the chance of accidents. We can actually see just how narrow the tunnels usually were in the trailer.

Miners also worked in complete darkness except for lighting they had to buy themselves. In fact, they had to buy much of their own equipment.

Unfortunately, wages for miners were incredibly low back then. Miners were paid by the quality of what they produced rather than by the hour, giving owners plenty of ways to reduce how they could pay their miner (including by lying about the quality or rigging the scales).

The average wage of coal miners in the 1880s was somewhere between 3s (s = shillings) and 5s per day, with around 4s being closer to the normal, and 5 only if you were lucky. 4 shillings was about $1.20. Generally though wages varied greatly in different districts. After spending on equipment, food, and rent, they could be left with maybe no more than 1s.

Going back to the trailer, it says “Blasting Agent – Mercury (II) Fulminate”. This is an explosive compound made from mercury, nitric acid, and ethanol. It was commonly used as a primary explosive in percussion caps and detonators during the 19th century. When struck or subjected to a shock, it would rapidly decompose and produce a violent explosion. Its role was to initiate the ignition or detonation of the main explosive charge, such as dynamite.

This is the stuff that we see him pouring into the dynamite.

Continuing, we see Norton smiling at a coin, but then his wrist is crushed by the other miners, who steal it from him, taunting him to try to take it back.

Norton actually smiling at the coin helps show Norton’s desire to get out of poverty, an idea he emphasizes later when he describes poverty as a “curse”.

But as we see in the Famitsu Article, people didn’t understand why he tried so hard. It “intimidated” them. Then in Norton’s 2nd letter as well as in this trailer, we see that he was ridiculed by his coworkers. They didn’t think it was possible for him to achieve such a goal. This is reflected with how essentially, at that time “Englishmen recognized if he is in a certain social grade, he is likely to remain there. He’ll never reach a higher class, and didn’t rebel”. Each class “cheerfully” accepted “the lot which providence has assigned” to them.

Norton was different though. He says in the trailer “I once thought the same” after it talks about sons of miners became miners themselves.

He may have initially accepted the same thing everyone else did, but things likely changed over time, the longer he was forced to live this sort of life.

There’s also a good chance part of his change was from working with people like Benny. He learns from them to improve himself (and hopefully improve his chance at earning more), but he also sees how these old miners are, which emphasizes in his brain he doesn’t want to end up like them. He doesn’t want to end up in hospice or stuck in poverty his whole life like they did, just waiting for the day they die.

Norton worked hard, harder and longer than everyone else, in the hopes eventually this would be enough to improve his life, to make it even slightly close to what most would consider a comfortable life, even if it meant only the basics. But it wasn’t enough. The mine owners were greedy. The other miners were all in it only for themselves. His wages were miniscule, and his daily and weekly expenses pretty great. Especially with how back in that time period, mine owners had ways where they attempted to keep their employees indebted to them, to force them to keep working for them, as well as improve their own personal profits as much as possible.

Norton was surrounded by these sorts of people forced to live in such a cruel environment, watching the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. This is reflected in his 2nd letter where he says “This is simply unfair. The poor find it difficult to lead a comfortable life, while all the rich need to do is wave their banknotes around”. He describes all the pain he’s gone through just at the chance to “climb up” out of poverty before describing “how much effort I put into this” as “ridiculous”.

His hard work is exemplified by his 3rd deduction, which describes how he’s done so well his employers always attempt (but fail) to keep him for longer. He works to learn, to improve his skills, and better himself at the chance at earning more and thus potentially work his way out of poverty faster.

We can also see it during the trailer, with him surrounded by all these books and other things.

This quality of his, where he likes to teach himself, to learn, and to improve himself has been implied at other points by Netease, such as by several of his skins or even from part of other collabs, like B.Duck, which described Norton as “full of curiosity” and “likes learning”. It also described him with a “desire to act at MAX” or “highest level of execution”. This means he’s the type of person to put all his effort into whatever he does.

It just wasn’t enough.

We even see the sort of suffering this life has forced him to endure, as in the trailer it shows him coughing due to the damage his lungs have suffered due to his life as a miner.

Hard work wasn’t enough. This is why he eventually turned to the list of 13 mines he learned from Benny, seeking to instead attempt to escape poverty by finding gold.

As explained by @metalIurgy and @Deskdeas, each of the names on this list are European mines or people.

(Also, there seems to be 15 names total on the list, rather than 13)

Von Donnersmarck: House of Donnersmarck, prominent aristocratic family that originated in the region of Silesia. Owned mines.

Georg Wilhelm: Russian military officer and engineer who specialized in mining

Prince Konstantin: prince of Russia, killed in a mining shaft

Ștefan Procopiu: physicist who researched electricity and magnetism

Friedrich Alfred Krupp: German industrialist, developed Krupp steel manufacturer and arms manufacturing company

Saarbergwerke: mining company that operated in the Saarland region of Germany

Romeria: religious pilgrimage (Spain or spanish speaking countries?)

Petro-pavlivska (''Петро-павлівська''): black coal mine located in the Eastern part of Ukraine

Nova Baňa: silver and gold mining site in central Slovakia.

Swansea Copper: Welsh copper mines

Eramet: French multinational mining and metallurgical company

Ivan Polzunov: Russian engineer known for his contributions to steam engine technology

Wowdcole: ?

(Sorry, I can't read the 15th name crossed out in the top left corner of the list)

We know from Norton’s 5th deduction that he tried and failed to find anything at any of the other 12 mines, leaving him with only Golden Cave left.

Back to the trailer, we see him with a map.

The left side looks like it should be a map of Lakeside and the surrounding area, with Golden Cave being the X at the base of the mountains. Count Barriere is the owner of this land, and also the owner of Golden Cave. The right side should be the representation of a map of the mine itself.

Considering how earlier Norton’s coworkers stole Norton’s coin, it’s possible they essentially tried to do the same thing here. Saw him looking at the map, then took it for themselves. Like how Norton’s 8th deduction includes “you need more helpers”, they may have forced him to take them along, and why they explore it on their own without Norton. Especially with the looks on their faces in that scene not showing they had any good intentions.

(A lot of what I’ll say next is said very well by @Yaboku_samaa)

Norton seems to have set all this up in advance, before they came through the mine.

Next we see Norton’s inner conflict. A conflict between morals and vengeance represented by survivor Norton vs Hunter Norton. His Hunter side manages to win out by telling Norton that this is what they deserve, it’s revenge for all the pain and ridicule he’s been put through, all in silence, all without fighting back. He’s forced to keep a façade. To keep his true feelings hidden if he doesn’t want a penalty or reduction in wages. He’s tired of having to live such a hard life of constant suffering and humiliation and hopelessness, and thus why he had hit his limit and the side represented by his Hunter version won out.

(I’m not going to push the idea too much, but it’s possible Norton may have bipolar disorder. That or DID, especially with how he literally talks to himself in his 2nd letter. Especially as both can form in children or young adults who experience long-term physical or emotional distress or abuse. Causes can include childhood trauma (like neglect, abuse, trauma, losing someone like a parent), stressful life events, genetics, etc…)

This decision is shown during the trailer when Norton says “There are ways to make a change”.

Norton’s 2nd letter does an accurate job of summarizing everything:

“Over the last 20 years, I lived like a rat in the gutter. I spent days under the ground in the dark just so I could earn a minimal living. Scars from the blasts crawled all over my face like maggots. The constant scorn and ridicule... I endured it every time just so I'd get a chance to climb up the ladder. It's ridiculous how much effort I put into this—anyway, I've finally managed to crawl out from the rat hole. I no longer have to pick and pull on the disgusting ash. Those who did nothing but laugh at me deserve to stay underground and be stepped on like maggots forever.”

And the trailer visually showing Norton’s inner conflict matches up very well with how quite clearly Norton in his 2nd letter is arguing with himself. The side represented by Hunter Norton is likely the version talking right now, trying to convince him (the side represented by Survivor Norton) to kill the female, “think about how arrogant she is” and all the money he’d get. The fact he is trying to convince himself shows that Norton doesn’t want to do it, and how he isn’t willing to do anything for money. His hatred for his coworkers for their treatment of him for so long was enough for the side represented by Hunter Norton to convince him to trigger the explosion on them, but that motivation doesn’t exist here. Right now, his less moral side is trying to motivative him with money and thinking about others as “arrogant” and essentially mean, as well as the doubt that she could do something to him.

But that may not be enough to convince him next time to actually do it if he’s given a chance. At Golden Cave, that was his last chance to try to find gold. He’d gone through 12 other mines (and 20 years of pain on top of that) with nothing to show for it. Norton may be very stubborn and determined, but even he was growing so very desperate, which is shown well by Norton’s 5th deduction as well as by the trailer itself. So it makes sense that Norton was mentally not in the right place and vulnerable to the sort of temptation we see him going through in the trailer.

Norton is alone. No family. No money. Suffering from lung problems. Has never been shown kindness and forced to grow up in a very cruel environment. The only thing keeping him moving forward and losing all hope is by focusing on his goal of getting out of poverty and achieving some form of a comfortable life with at least the basic necessities. This is shown very well by Norton’s 4th birthday emote “Savings”, where Norton takes out a single gold coin and thinks about simple worn clothes and a loaf of bread, while the description reads “Endure it, Norton. You’re almost there”.

For years he attempted to push on, but little by little, his coworkers, his employers, his environment, it all chipped away at him until he felt he had no other choice. I believe the trailer does a good job of emphasizing how his main motivation wasn’t greed but desperation, hopelessness, and the pain he was subjected to by his coworkers and everyone. It’s life or death, and this mine is his last chance, and his deep misery that pushes him over the edge, so it’s no wonder he doesn’t care about anyone anymore. He’s always been alone, always had to be the one to look out for himself. No one else could be trusted. They would only take advantage of him or even potentially steal what little he had. Yet even still he hesitated to pull the trigger, which I think says a lot about Norton.

Despite the decision being made, he doesn’t run after he sets off the explosion. He accepts what happens. There’s no way he didn’t know what was going to happen, not with how long he’s worked as a miner, and how much he’s learned in his own time. It could be the side represented by his survivor version sees the scar as punishment for his deeds. It could be he knew if he wanted to get his revenge he had to deal with the potential scars.

But he was here not just for revenge, but for the chance at finding gold. Hunter Norton’s character backstory says the accident brought Norton “Golden Luck” or “a gold rush of fortune”, so it sounds like he did find something.

We do know he at least found the meteorite, which is what he made his magnet from, so this could be what is referred to in Hunter Norton’s backstory.

Along with the above, we could connect whatever his “golden luck” was with Memory’s comment during Time of Reunion, where she says “they seemed to be looking for something other than ore”.

This is repeated during AoM with a newspaper clipping about rumors being false of precious metal ore in the mine.

Considering Golden Cave’s rumor is “despite not a single piece of gold was ever found, Count Barriere still got what he wanted with this land”, these statements should be talking about the same thing.

It’s possible Barriere was after the meteorite, especially as the only things we know that came out of that mine after it collapsed were Norton and the chunks of the meteorite he carried.

There are potential parallels from Lily’s essence, which connects to Golden Cave, and her essence story says “The mine is filled with special phosphorescent ores, which brought wealth to their ancestors but also cursed them with phosphorescent illness”. Considering in the famitsu article it says the magnet aka the meteorite may have been affecting his brain, it’s possible the “phosphorescent ores” is meant to parallel the meteorite.

If that is what Barriere is after, maybe there’s a chance he reached out to Norton afterwards, and he could’ve been the one to offer Norton all that money in exchange for killing some female. Especially when we know Count Barriere has a lot of money based on Lily’s backstory, as he even offered her enough to survive for 2 years and even more via making her the owner of the IOU likely belonging to Orpheus for him buying Oletus Manor.

Anyways, we also know from Norton’s 3rd letter that he “dug his way out through a mountain creek a few dozen meters away from the mine” with only “minor burns”. We also know from the Famitsu Article that people didn’t talk to him, they said a bare minimum then kept a “wide berth”, and considering the very visible scar on his face, it is possible this was the reason they avoided him (they were frightened of him. Like we see at the end of the trailer, it is possible people saw him as a “monster”, especially back then when these sorts of things weren’t treated or seen as kindly as today).