#Distinguished Service Cross

[goodjohnjr]

The GIANT Sioux Warrior Of The Korean War

The GIANT Sioux Warrior Of The Korean War What Is It? The YouTube video The GIANT Sioux Warrior Of The Korean War by the YouTube channel Simple History, which is about Woodrow Wilson Keeble: The GIANT Sioux Warrior Of The Korean War Description: Check out our other Channel:    / @simplehistorylive Become a Simple History member: https://www.youtube.com/simplehistory… Support us on…

[tenth-sentence]

After Gary had his DSC turned into an ashtray by Buddy Torgeson, who did custom welding in his spare time and who worked days down to the Castle Falls Esso (they were all Exxon stations now, and Gary Pervier didn't give a shit), a version of the story found its way into the Castle Rock "Call".

"Cujo" - Stephen King

[shadowfoxsilver]

There's this really cool thing that a handful of diaspora Palestinians have committed a lot of time and effort to called vetting (maybe you've heard of it?) in which they speak directly with a fundraiser holder face-to-face or over phone/video call to verify all portions of a fundraiser. There are so many posts [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] that talk about the details of this process to verify that a fundraiser organizer, recipient, and the details are correct by verifying legal documents like proof of residence, photo ID, fluency in Palestinian-Dialect Arabic, family tree constructions, etc.

These vetters have been posting about Palestinian/Gaza/Arab culture/Islam/etc. for a really long time, [1] [2] [3] (these are Wayback machine links to the tumblr accounts of 90-ghost, el-shab-hussein, & nabulsi before you start crying "but, you can post backdate on tumblr!") [4] (moayesh's Instagram because his tumblr is fairly new) meaning that they didn't just pop up after Oct 2023 to start posing as a qualified individual. They are real diaspora Palestinians with stories to tell and culture to share.

GFM also has strict requirements for withdrawing money, needing evidence of a bank account from a country they service and a solid way to transfer funds from that bank account to the recipient's bank account. If the funds are withheld from the intended recipient, that can be reported to and resolved by GFM.

If you're too overwhelmed by trying to distinguish between scams and real fundraisers, then whatever. That's your problem, not everyone else's. You don't need to publicly announce to everyone that you're too busy/tired/incompetent/ignorant to properly investigate fundraisers, so everyone else should stop supporting them as well. There are plenty of vetters and scam-busting blogs dedicated to helping people distinguish between real and fake.

Donating to established nonprofit aid organizations is absolutely a good deed and is much more straightforward, but it's not the only way to help. Especially with the repeated aid blockages, sometimes Ghazan families need a more direct flow of money to pay for the ridiculously inflated cost necessities (I recently received a video from Farah wherein she states that a bottle of dish soap cost $50. $50!!!!) as well as save up for evacuation costs once the Egyptian border crossing opens. (Thousands of dollars!)

With a few minor parts removed, here is a copy/pasted text that was originally in a reblog but now in its own post since the original account is gone. Links that didn’t work anymore have been left out. I figured it’d be useful for anyone who needs it.

[mancalledhoss]

Sergeant Billy Walks About (Billy Waugh) - Cherokee: one of the most decorated Warriors in the Vietnam War, awarded one distinguished service cross, 5 silver stars, 10 bronze Stars, and 6 purple hearts. Native tribes send more of their young men and women into battle than any other race in the United States.

[redbelles]

Beirne Lay recommended Cleven for the Medal of Honor. “I didn’t get it and I didn’t deserve it,” Cleven said. He did receive the Distinguished Service Cross but never went to London to pick it up. “Medal, hell, I needed an aspirin,” he commented afterward. “So I remain undecorated.” —Donald L. Miller, Masters of the Air: America's Bomber Boys Who Fought the Air War Against Nazi Germany

MASTERS OF THE AIR Part Three ⬩ Austin Butler as Maj. Gale "Buck" Cleven

[bayareabadboy]

The warrior you're looking at, is Sergeant , Billy Walks About, one of the most decorated Warriors in the Vietnam War. Sergeant Walks About was awarded 1 distinguished service cross, 5 silver stars, 10 bronze Stars, and 6 purple hearts. Native tribes send more of their young men and women into battle more than any other race in the United States.

L.Dunne.

[kdogreads]

Love Story

Richie Jerimovich x f!reader fun flirty blurb where your friends are visiting you in Chicago 🤪🫶

Just fluffy funsies here but still 18+ as always bc why not. Love yous all💕

———————

The restaurant is mostly void of customers as the busy Saturday dinner service winds down. You look up from your glass as the last sweet drops of whatever wine Richie picked for you tonight dance onto your tongue. That sweet smile you love so much comes into view.

You are wrapping up an evening out with some close friends visiting Chicago. As perfectly timed as always, Richie approaches your party.

“Ladies,” Richie practically sings as he nears the table occupied by you and two of your closest friends, “It’s been my sincere pleasure serving you tonight, and watching you get my lady wine drunk.”

Giggles erupt as your (also slightly wine drunk) friends make heart eyes at you and Richie.

“Richie!” You screeched in mock-anger, “I am not that drunk, thank you very much. Even if I were… That’s on our host for over-serving meeee.”

More giggles dance from your table as your friends enjoy the show you and Richie are putting on.

“You’re right, sweetheart,” He winks your way, loving this game you play, “My apologies to our distinguished guests.”

Wine-fueled cackling erupts as you and your friends eat up every minute Richie spends with you. He really does make you swoon even when he isn’t trying to.

“One last thing before I turn you lovely ladies loose on the town,” The lilt in his voice has you all exchanging looks of excitement, “Dinner is on us tonight. Thank you for being here tonight and showing my girl such a good time.”

Richie’s hands cross over his chest, his gratitude on full display for the world to see. A series of happy sounds and light cheers fill your ears but all you can focus on is how damn blue Richie’s eyes are. How sincere his expression is.

You and your friends clink your wine glasses in a celebration and shrill “cheers!”

None other than the Neil Fak passes behind Richie and slips him a note during your toast. He glances down at it, smirks slightly, and flips it so you can see:

A scrawled out “last guests :)” in black ink. They are professionals to the minute.

Richie’s demeanor changes immediately. He loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his crisp white dress shirt. The way his strong shoulders relax slightly let you know that now he can be just be Richie, not maître d’ Richie.

Servers begin cleaning up around you but Richie shows no sense of urgency to leave. He pulls up a chair next to you and takes a sip of your wine, silently nodding to himself at his excellent choice. You shake your head at him teasingly but lean in to kiss his plush lips anyway.

Someone turns up the chill house music and your group settles into comfortable, lively conversation. Carmy and Syd come out to say hi while Fak brings yet another bottle of wine out for you to enjoy. It’s only then that it hits you: Richie is turning the restaurant into a private little nightclub for you and your girls to enjoy. Swoon.

“You look real pretty, baby,” He whispers in your ear and leaves a tender kiss on your temple, “Beautiful.”

Heat rises in your chest as you smile over at him, “So do you, Richie.”

You slide a finger over his exposed neck and find yourself practically drooling at the warm, smooth skin you find.

Richie sees the fire in your eyes and smirks back at you, one eyebrow cocked. He wraps his strong arms around you and pulls you close, his warm body sending goosebumps dancing across your skin.

“Patience, baby,” he whispers deeply in your ear. You pout jokingly for a beat before nodding your head slightly with a giggle. You know he’ll be worth the wait.

You begin to settle into his embrace when you realize the beginning to Love Story (Taylor’s Version, of course) is playing from the hidden speakers. Richie literally gasps in excitement, jolting you slightly before pulling you onto your feet.

“Hell yeah! We love T Swizzle! Right, baby?” The way he lets the joy radiate off of him sends butterflies to your stomach. It’s infectious you think as your closest friends join you in dancing along to this classic love song.

God, you love this man.

You feel the wine and the excitement and the love as you float around the room with Richie. By now, most everyone from the kitchen has joined your group. All you can see around you is a collection of your favorite people having so much fun and living in this very moment.

Your eyes feel watery as Richie tilts your head towards his and smiles warmly. The look of love his face filling your heart up to the very brim.

He gives you small, inquisitive look — silently checking in and making sure you’re okay. You nod and lift your lips in a smile to let him know that you’re perfect. This is perfect.

Richie twirls you around gently as your friends belt out the chorus: Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone.

You swear someone replaced Romeo with Richie and you’re 95% it was the goofy man himself.

“Thank you for this, Romeo,” You whisper to your man, adoration oozing from your lips. You’re lost in his kind eyes as he leans in for a quick kiss.

“Anything for you, my Juliet.”

———

The night slips away slowly, sweetly.

You spend hours just dancing, talking, enjoying the company around you, snacking on whatever Carmy or Sydney or Marcus want you to try next. All around you are your favorite people just having fun and being together.

While The Bear won’t be debuting its new nightclub hours anytime soon, this one-night-only event sneaks its way into your core memories. It’s fun, and comfortable, and happy.

You realize at some point, lost in the music and the emotions just how lucky you are to get to do all of this with Richie.

It hits you suddenly and wholly that you are so, so in love with Richie Jerimovich.

It’s a love story, baby just say ‘yes.’

Tagging some friends just for fun! 🫶 @foreveraimingtowardsthesky @ankhmutes @thebearer @potato-with-hair

[dirtyvulture]

Ceremony

Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Sergeant!Reader

18+ only read at your own risk

Summary: You get some (very nice) awards for your actions during Operation: Avalanche.

Word count: 1834

AN: Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

This is Part 4 of my Sergeant Beef AU, following the events of this fic.

“Why is all of this necessary?” you whine, pulling at your stiff collar. Natasha slaps your hand down as she fixes the medals and ribbons on your chest. 

“This is what you get for almost getting yourself killed,” she replies, although there is no malice in her tone. “Don’t worry. We can go back to my place afterwards and–”

“Finally,” you interrupt with a grin. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she chastises again, although you know she’s just as excited as you are to be back on your home turf for the first time in months. 

“How do I look? Would I pass your inspection this time?” you ask as she backs away from you, surveying you up and down. You’re leaning on one crutch still, but you’re glad that you don’t have to use a wheelchair anymore. 

“You look fantastic,” Natasha says, leaning in for a soft kiss. “Ready?”

“Let’s do it.”

She walks at your pace as you hobble out of the parking lot, joining the large group of people gathered on the lawn of the park. Most of them you hadn’t seen since before your deployment, which at this point feels years ago. Your entire team is here too, all of them crowding around you for hugs and handshakes. There’s too many things to be said but no privacy to say them in, so you promise that you’ll give them your time once you return to the base. Men and women with more medals and ribbons than you can count come over to thank you and wish you well. It feels odd being the center of attention and you’re not really sure you like it.

Peter Parker brought along his Aunt May and she gives you a hug that almost lifts you off the ground. She cries into your shoulder while thanking you for not leaving her nephew behind and you unexpectedly get a little choked up yourself. 

There’s also a camera crew from the local news station that asks you to sit down for a brief interview. You see Natasha watching you from behind the camera, a mixture of pride and worry on her face for you. She knows this event is emotionally and mentally draining for you, but she can’t be happier to be here celebrating your achievements with you. 

After the interview, you sit with her in the front row, you on the aisle side because you need space for your crutch. General Fury goes up to the stage and gives the opening speech. 

You zone out, hearing your name said a few times, but you don’t really care. Natasha nudges your knee with hers and you look up at her. She smiles bracingly which you return half-heartedly.  

“I would now like to welcome Sergeant Y/N to the stage,” Fury says, as everyone erupts into applause. You grab your crutch and Natasha stands with you. Slowly, you limp to the steps of the stage, Natasha hovering behind you carefully. You hop up each step, your face hot as you feel all eyes on you and you pray that you don’t accidentally trip in front of them. “Sergeant Y/N,” Fury says as you approach him. He is mindful to offer you his left hand so you can leave your right one holding onto your crutch. 

“It is with great honor that I present to you today the Purple Heart Award and the Distinguished Service Cross, for your bravery and actions during Operation: Avalanche. You did not hesitate to put yourself in certain danger to ensure your team’s safety, and because of your sacrifice, all six members of your team are here today. Thank you for your service and dedication to protecting this country, Sergeant Y/N.”

The applause sounds louder up here than your seat, and you stand tall as Fury pins your two new awards to your chest. Natasha is standing, probably clapping louder than anyone else, and her reaction makes you feel happier than the two awards you’ve just been given. 

“Thank you, General,” you say, saluting him with a tight voice. 

“Don’t thank me, Sergeant Y/N. I didn’t even write the speech,” he teases, standing next to you and posing for some pictures. 

***********************************************************************

After the ceremony, you skip your own after party to go home with Natasha. You give everyone the excuse that you’re tired, which isn’t technically a lie, but now you just want to spend time with Natasha. She brings you to her apartment, which is bigger and nicer than yours, but you don’t even have a second to revel in its familiarity when she pushes you into the bedroom. 

She helps unbutton your shirt, being very mindful of your new awards, taking it over to her closet to properly hang up. You can’t help but smile at how respectful she is when it's normally a desperate frenzy to get you undressed. You toss your crutch onto the floor, leaning most of your weight on your left leg while trying to simultaneously unbuckle your belt and take off your pants without falling over. 

By the time she comes over to you, she’s already naked herself and you can’t help but moan when she presses against you, skin-to-skin. She wraps her strong arms around your waist, helping keep you upright, leaning up to kiss you. You can tell she’s trying to be gentle with you, but you can feel her passion with the way her hands possessively run up your sides, skating carefully over the new, large scar along your ribs. Her nails dig into your back muscles to press you against her harder.

“Nat,” you whisper when you start to feel your right leg shaking. You know you lost some muscle mass and definition being cooped up in a hospital bed for months, but Natasha doesn't seem to mind. You're also embarrassed that you can’t stay standing for long, but Natasha pulls away to take your hand and lead you to the bed. You limp after her, immediately dropping to your knees on the mattress as she lays down in front of you.

“I really want you, Y/N,” she says, practically devouring you with her eyes alone. “But if you’re not up to it, I can wait.”

“I want you too, Nat. So much,” you reply, starting to jerk yourself off to hardness. It’s been months since you’ve had an opportunity to have her like this; as often as her visits to your room in the hospital were, you weren’t well enough to engage in her favorite activity the way you used to. It had been hard on both of you to have to wait, and part of you was nervous that you wouldn’t last that long or didn’t remember how to please her.   

“Okay. How do you want me?” Natasha asks, and it’s unusual for her to let you decide. But she seems to understand the importance of going at your pace and doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable.

“Uh…on your knees?” you suggest, not even sure what you’ll be able to handle. As long as the movement was minimal, you figure you’d be okay. 

“Okay.” Natasha kisses you again before turning to face away from you, presenting her perfect backside. Instinctively you grab onto it, shuffling forward until your cock bumps against her butt. You’re already throbbing at her touch but you want to make sure she’s near the same level as you.

You bend forward, your side protesting a little at the movement, but you push through, slipping your arm around her waist to drag your fingers through her folds. Natasha puts her hand on your wrist to guide you better, and you start panting in anticipation when you feel how wet she is.    

You dip your fingers into her while circling her clit and her body stiffens underneath you. You’re just glad you’re doing something right as she ruts back against you with a whine, guiding you to move faster and deeper. 

“Fuck, I think I’m already going to cum,” Natasha admits, tightening around your fingers. She forces you to stop moving so you wait for her next instruction. It makes you feel a little bit better that you’re not the only one with decreased stamina. “Are you ready, babe?” she asks. “I want to cum with you.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you say, looking down at your hard cock that’s standing almost at a 90-degree angle. 

“Okay. Fuck me good, Y/N.”

Her words turn you feral almost instantly and you steady yourself by holding onto her waist with both hands, maybe a little harder than you intend because you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to keep yourself upright, even in this kneeling position. The tip of your cock brushes against her hot center and this time, you don’t wait for further permission to enter her. You push in, her tight heat surrounding you, and you have to bite your lip to remind yourself not to cum immediately. 

“Fuck, Nat,” you grunt, afraid to move while you adjust to how perfectly she stretches around you. Your cock twitches when she pulls you in deeper and you finally move your hips in time with hers, although a little more slowly than you would have liked.

You moan like you haven’t been fucked in months, which is technically true, and Natasha pulses harder around you when she hears your reaction to her. She pushes back against your abs with some force, a little afraid that she’ll knock you over, but she’s so desperate to be filled by you. Her toys, her hands, and even yours would never compare to your cock. 

The bedroom quickly fills with the slick noises of your cock sliding in and out of her pussy. The pain in your side and thigh starts to become noticeable even with the numbing pleasure between your legs, and you realize you have to finish soon or you won’t get to at all. 

“Nat, I…I need to cum,” you beg, hoping she’s at her peak too. 

“Let go, babe,” Natasha says, curling her hands into the blankets and lifting her hips higher so you can piston against the sensitive spot inside of her. It takes a few more strokes that almost have you seeing stars before you unload, arching forward to bury yourself to the hilt as you pump out your seed in a few hard bursts. The pressure of being filled is enough to send Natasha over the edge, her cum dripping onto your cock as you pull out and collapse next to her on the bed, your chest heaving and sweat collecting around your neck. 

Natasha reaches out to you, wrapping herself around your body like a koala bear. Although she would love to go another round with you, she can tell you’re too exhausted and doesn’t want to push you. So as you slowly drift off to sleep, Natasha whispers in your ear how much she loves you and how she’ll never take you for granted again. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: And things are basically back to normal for these two! :)

I wrote a Part 5, which you can read here.

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[nellywrisource]

A writer’s guide to the historical method: how historians work with sources

In this post, I provide a brief overview of how historians engage with different types of sources, with a focus on the mindset of a historian. This insight could be valuable for anyone crafting a character whose profession revolves around history research. It may also prove useful for authors conducting research for their book.

Concept of historical source

The concept of historical source evolves over time. 

Initially, the focus was mainly on written sources due to their obvious availability. However, as time has progressed, historians now consider a wide range of sources beyond just written records. These include material artifacts, intangible cultural elements, and even virtual data.

While "armchair historians" may rely on existing studies and secondary sources, true professional historians distinguish themselves by delving directly into primary sources. They engage in a nuanced examination of various sources, weaving together diverse perspectives. It's crucial to recognize the distinction between personal recollection or memory and the rigorous discipline of historical inquiry. A historical source provides information, but the truth must be carefully discerned through critical analysis and corroboration.

Here's a concise list of the types of sources historians utilize:

Notarial source

Epistolary source

Accountancy source

Epigraphic source

Chronicle source

Oratory and oral source

Iconographic source

Diary source

Electronic source

Example: a notarial source

These are documents drafted by a notary, a public official entrusted with providing legal certainty to facts and legal transactions. These documents can take various forms, such as deeds, lawsuits, wills, contracts, powers of attorney, inventories, and many others.

Here we are specifically discussing a lawsuit document from 1211 in Italy.

A medieval lawsuit document is highly valuable for understanding various aspects of daily life because in a dispute, one must argue a position. From lawsuits, we also understand how institutions truly operated.

Furthermore, in the Middle Ages, lawsuits mostly relied on witnesses as evidence, so we can access a direct and popular source of certain specific social situations.

Some insight into the methodology of analysis:

Formal examination: historians scrutinize the document's form, verifying its authenticity and integrity. Elements such as structure, writing style, language, signatures, and seals are analyzed. Indeed, a professional historian will rarely conduct research on a source published in a volume but will instead go directly to the archive to study its origin, to avoid transcription errors.

Content analysis: historians proceed to analyze the document's content, extracting useful information for their research. This may include data on individuals, places, events, economic activities, social relations, and much more. It's crucial to compile a list of witnesses in a case and identify them to understand why they speak or why they speak in a certain manner.

Cross-referencing with other sources: information derived from the notarial source is compared with that of other historical sources to obtain a more comprehensive and accurate view of the period under examination.

Documents of the episcopal archive of Ivrea

Let's take the example of a specific legal case, stemming from the documents of the episcopal archive of Ivrea. It's a case from 1211 in Italy involving the bishop of Ivrea in dispute with Bongiovanni d'Albiano over feudal obligations.

This case is significant because it allows us to understand how feudal society operated and how social status was determined.

The bishop's representative argues that Bongiovanni should provide a horse as a feudal service. Bongiovanni denies it, claiming to be a noble, not a serf. Both parties present witnesses and documents supporting their arguments.

Witnesses are asked whether the serf obligations had been endured for a long time. This helps us understand that in a society where "law" was based on customs, it was important to ascertain if an obligation had been endured for a long time because at that point it would no longer be contestable (it would have become customary).

The responses are confused and inconsistent, so witnesses are directly asked whether they consider Bongiovanni a serf or a noble. This is because (and it allows us to understand that) the division into "social classes" wasn't definable within concrete boundaries; it was more about the appearance of one's way of life. If a serf refused to fulfill his serf duties, he would easily be considered a noble by bystanders because he lived like one.

Ultimately, the analysis of the case leads us to determine that medieval justice wasn't conceived with the logic of our modern system, but was measured in oaths and witnesses as evidentiary means. And emerging from it with honor was much more important than fairly distributing blame and reason.

Other sources

Accounting source: it is very useful for measuring consumption and its variety in a particular historical period. To reconstruct past consumption, inventories post mortem are often used, which are lists of goods found in households, described and valued by notaries to facilitate distribution among heirs. Alternatively, the recording of daily expenses, which in modern times were often very detailed, can lead to insights into complex family histories and their internal inequalities - for example, more money might be spent on one child than another corresponding to their planned future role in society.

Oral source: in relation to the political sphere, it is useful for representing that part of politics composed of direct sources, that is, where politics speaks of itself and how it presents itself to the public, such as a politician's public speech. However, working with this type of source, a historian cannot avoid hermeneutic work, as through the speech, the politician aims to present himself to a certain audience, justify, persuade, construct his own image, and achieve results. This is the hidden agenda that also exists in the most obvious part of politics.

Iconographic source: it concerns art or other forms of "artistic" expression, such as in the case of an advertising poster. They become historical sources when it is the historian who, through analysis, confers upon them the status of a historical source. Essentially, the historian uses the source to understand aspects of the past otherwise inaccessible. The first step in this direction is to recontextualize the source, returning it to its original context. Examining the history of the source represents the fundamental first step for historical analysis.

Diary source: diaries are a "subjective" source, a representation of one's self, often influenced by the thoughts of "others," who can be close or distant readers, interested or distracted, visible or invisible, whom every diary author can imagine and hope to see, sooner or later, reflected on the pages of their writing. Furthermore, they are often subject to subsequent manipulations, and therefore should be treated by historians only in their critical edition; all other versions, whether old or new, foreign or not, are useful only as evidence of the changes and manipulations undergone over time by the original manuscripts.

Electronic source: historians use Wikipedia even if they often don't admit it out loud.

This blog is supported through tips here on Tumblr. If you’d like to support me, please consider giving a tip.

[shootingstarwritings]

Body-a-Day #2: Orb

The realm of Nadine faced utter calamity. A meteor headed off straight for the land and all seemed lost. Throughout the continent, people despaired as the news of the meteor spread.

Yet, hope was not lost. “And it shall not fall!” declared a bold young man by the name of Alfonse. He was a celebrated knight in the service of a lord of a small plot of land. Though still green in the path of knighthood, he was armed with knowledge of legends spread throughout the land. It was due to that knowledge that Alfonse set off.

“Five orbs are scattered throughout the continent,” he had told his lord. “When gathered, they are said to grant someone immense magical power to alter the very fate of the world.” With the power from those orbs, the meteor could be diverted. Perhaps even whisked away to another dimension entirely. “Please, milord… spread word of my quest. Give hope to the people of Nadine once more. That is all I ask.”

And without waiting for approval or even a response from the slack-jawed lord, Alfonse set off. He wandered the land, recruiting allies and gathering the orbs of power until he had four of the five orbs collected. A new legend took shape in Nadine, and Alfonse was right in the middle of it.

Now, the journey was near its end. Just one more week, Alfonse thought to himself as he looked up at the orange-dyed sky. He and his allies had managed to track down the fifth orb to a temple in the south.

And yet, Alfonse reminded himself, it could all be for naught. The legend could be mere hearsay with little truth to it. He couldn’t stop his hands from trembling or his heart from racing. At the start of this journey, his heart had been bursting with confidence. But now that he was so close to his goal, doubts began to muddle his mind. He had met and inspired so many people throughout his quest that the mere thought of letting them down nearly crushed heart. Either that crushes me, or the meteor does, he thought, allowing an ironic smirk to cross his face.

Alfonse took a deep breath and returned to camp with a smile that had become more and more of a burden to wear.

Unbeknownst to him, the fifth orb had already been found. Spying on Alfonse’s team just outside of camp was an old rival and fellow knight of Alfonse, Kronos. Untalented in magic yet extremely gifted in the physical combat, Kronos had been tailing Alfonse and his party for most of their quest. This last stop, the Southern Temple, was the first time he had been able to beat them to an orb. At the most pivotal point, thought Kronos. In his grip was the final orb, a cloudy thing that was about the size of his fist. Finally, the limelight will shine on me.

Growing up, Kronos had always been unable to stand out compared to Alfonse. Lacking any talent in magic, he could only distinguish himself by working on his body—becoming a beefy and powerful warrior. Sadly, Alfonse’s gift for spells and his strategic mind led to accolades that far and away overshadowed Kronos’ more meager accomplishments.

Not anymore, thought Kronos as he glared at Alfonse and friends’ campfire. He waited until they settled in for the night before making his move.

Kronos, despite his large stature, was unnaturally blessed with the gift of stealth thanks to his early days of sneaking around the mess hall for midnight snacks. He carefully made his way into Alfonse’s tent and snatched up his bag which contained the orbs. Honestly, if he’s this careless with them then they’re better off in my hands, Kronos thought.

Yes, it was for the best that Kronos stole them. He continued to convinced himself of that the whole time he snuck through the campsite. Once he managed to put a good distance between himself and Alfonse's party, he broke into a sprint, giddy as a schoolboy with gossip to spread.

Not long after, Kronos found himself in a clearing with a stump near the center. He sat down and placed the orbs in the shape of a star as the prophecy claimed.

Immediately, the orbs began to glow a myriad of colors. Kronos couldn’t help but laugh and cheer in pure joy as a ball of pure, magical light rose from the orbs and grew closer to him. He cupped his hands in front of his chest, fingers trembling with excitement as he imagined how wonderful the gift of magic would finally feel! “G-Give it to me…” he said, the corners of his eyes burning. “Give me the power to be a legend. Let me be the hero that stops the meteorite.

“Better yet,” an unfamiliar voice whispered to him. Kronos whipped his head back and forth, searching for the voice’s source. “Why don’t you give me something?” Was it the orbs? Before Kronos had time to think, the light rushed past his hands and dove into his chest.

“OOF!” was all Kronos could say as he fell back on his back. His body felt full—not simply with power, but with another entity inside.

“Give me your body!” The voice shouted in Kronos’ head. He tried to struggle and protest, but began to panic as he felt himself slowly lose control over his own body. “Don’t struggle, you’ll only be hurting yourself.”

Kronos shook his head in panic. “N-No…! S-Someone, please help!” he tried to shout, but couldn’t find the strength to speak louder than a whisper. He moaned as he felt the invasive force shifting inside of him. His arms and thighs flexed and his hands began fondling his hairy and robust chest. “P-Pervert…! There’s a pervert inside of me…” Kronos tried again.

“That’s right, my little hero,” said the voice, now echoing in Kronos’ mind. “There’s a pervert inside of you… the new Kronos. But, this body is getting quite cramped. I’m afraid your turn with it is up. But thank you for molding it into such a fine shape. Don’t worry, once your soul enters the orbs, it'll be split into too many parts to feel any of the loneliness."

So what rested inside the orbs wasn’t magical power, it was someone’s soul?! “Please don’t...” begged Kronos, knowing that Alfonse was too far away to help him. “Th-This is my body, no!” But it was too late. Kronos felt himself being sucked up and split into pieces. His very essence was being torn apart by magic that his mind couldn’t comprehend.

“A-Al… save me. Please,” were Kronos’ last words before he couldn’t think anymore.

~o~

The new Kronos grunted as he tried out his new equipment. Armor discarded, he leaned against the stump as he jacked off. “It’s like masturbating for the very first time again,” he couldn’t help but chuckle. He raised an arm and took a whiff of his new musk before placing his attention back on his deliciously plump nipples.

“Wow! This body’s so sensitive,” groaned ‘Kronos’ as he began to pant, growing closer and closer to climax. “Fuck, fuck. This is me now…! I’m Kronos, I’m Kronos,” he said, laughing in joy and pleasure as he adopted his new identity. “Fuck, fuck, I-I’m… my first climax as Kronos…! Ahh, ahh, nngh…! Oh…” He bit his bottom lip as his cock shot one, two… five loads of cum onto the clearing. “How’d… you even become a warrior… with a body as erotic as this…?” ‘Kronos’ said in between pants.

With well-trained muscles, ‘Kronos’ stood up and stretched his new body, popping several joints with groans of pleasure. Each sensation was like saying hello to an old friend. He enjoyed the blades of grass tickling his bare feat and the cool night air caressing his naked flesh. He picked up an orb left on the stump and began to tell his tale to the first audience he's had in millennia.

“My name was William. I was a gifted mage in my king's court. They doubted my power and intentions, and sealed me away. Rather, they sealed William away, but now I’m you," he said with a sneer.

"Don’t worry, the name ‘Kronos’ will go down in history, just as you desired. I’ll stop that meteorite.” He raised a hand and saw the sparks of power that danced alongside his fingers. Good. None of his magical potential had faded during the soul transfer. “For now, just rest. Perhaps someone else will gather the orbs and you can escape.” He smirked at that, knowing that Kronos’ couldn’t hear him. “Farewell!”

After a quick incantation, the orbs rose to the sky and scattered throughout the continent yet again.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Luxury and Lessons - 2

Character: concierge!Bucky x heiress!female reader

Summary: A spoiled heiress is sent to work at her family’s luxury hotel, where she clashes with Bucky, the handsome and strict manager who is fiercely dedicated to the hotel’s success.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 ,-

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The alarm clock blared at 4:45 a.m., but it felt like it was the middle of the night to you. You groaned, barely able to open your eyes, and slapped at the snooze button. Five more minutes. Just five more minutes. But those minutes flew by, and soon Bucky was at your door, knocking sharply.

“Miss, it’s 5 a.m.,” his voice came through the door, way too chipper for this hour.

You groaned again, dragging yourself out of bed, your movements sluggish. It was a miracle you even managed to pull on your uniform without falling back into bed. Your head still pounded from the night before, and your body felt heavy, almost as if you were moving through water.

As you walked into the staff room, you could feel the eyes on you, every pair judging. The silence was thick, the air filled with a palpable tension. These were the same employees who had probably seen the video, who knew exactly who you were and what you’d said. You could almost hear their thoughts: "There she is, the spoiled heiress."

Breakfast was a quiet affair, with only the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of low voices breaking the silence. You tried to make yourself as small as possible, wishing you could disappear under the table. When the meal ended, everyone filtered out, leaving you alone with Bucky.

“You lied,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. “I thought this uniform was for new employees, but most of them are wearing the same thing as you. You fucking tricked me!”

Bucky didn’t even flinch. He just looked at you with that calm, unbothered expression that was starting to grate on your nerves. “Miss, like I said before, you need to put in the effort first.”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “Me? I look like a fucking waitress!”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your outburst. “If you want to wear something more distinguished, you’ll have to earn it. The uniform is a symbol of commitment, and right now, you’re just getting started.”

You rolled your eyes, but he wasn’t done.

“Your first task,” he continued, his tone firm, “is to clean up the rooms.”

Bucky stepped closer, his presence somehow even more imposing up close. “You think this is a joke? This is real work. Every employee here starts at the bottom and works their way up. If you want to be taken seriously, you’ll do the same.”

You clenched your jaw, fists balled at your sides. “And if I don’t?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice low but steady. “Then you’ll stay exactly where you are: someone who’s never earned their place. Also, you still won’t get access to your funds.”

You stared at him, trying to come up with a retort, but nothing came. He had you trapped, and you both knew it. Finally, you huffed, turning away from him. “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”

Bucky didn’t reply, just gave a small nod, as if your agreement was expected. “Meet me in the service hallway in five minutes. We’ll see what you’re made of.” Then, without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving you standing there, feeling smaller than ever.

As you struggle with the task at hand, frustration bubbles up inside you. The bed sheet you’re trying to spread over the mattress keeps slipping, and the steam iron in your other hand feels foreign and cumbersome. "Putting the bed sheet on and then steam ironing it?" you grumble, glancing at Cleo as if searching for some confirmation that this is all unnecessary.

Cleo, calm and composed, finishes her side of the bed and looks at you with a small smile. "Yes, exactly. The guest may not notice every detail, but we do. It’s about creating perfection, even in the unseen." There’s a quiet pride in her voice as she smooths out a wrinkle.

"But why?" you mutter, annoyance creeping into your tone. "The guests don't care. As long as they know the material is silk, they’re happy."

Cleo pauses, her hands still for a moment as she looks at you with something close to pity. "Well… unlike you, we care about our work. For me, this is art."

You roll your eyes, clicking your tongue in irritation. "Weirdo," you mumble under your breath, but Cleo hears it and merely shrugs, unfazed.

"You might think this is a bother," Cleo says, folding a towel with precision, "but for us, this work pays our bills, puts food on our tables, and keeps a roof over our heads."

Her words hit harder than you expected, and you feel a pang of something—guilt, maybe?—as you fumble with the sheet, trying to get it right.

You drag the mop across the floor, your back aching with each swipe. The floor is spotless by Cleo's standards, but you can’t help but think it's a waste of time. As you lean down to clean a stubborn spot, you accidentally knock over the bucket of water. It spills everywhere, soaking your shoes and spreading across the freshly cleaned surface.

“Damn it!” you hiss, trying to stop the water with your hands as if that could help.

Before you can even think about the mess, Bucky appears out of nowhere, calm and composed. “Let me handle this,” he says, taking over with effortless precision. Within moments, the spill is cleaned, the floor as pristine as before.

Later, you’re stationed at the swimming pool, tasked with handing out towels and keeping the area tidy. You fumble with the stack of towels, dropping them into the water. A guest raises an eyebrow at you, clearly annoyed.

Before the situation escalates, Bucky steps in, his demeanor soothing the guest’s irritation. “I apologize for the inconvenience,” he says smoothly, offering a fresh towel with a smile. The guest’s frustration melts away, replaced by a grin of admiration for Bucky.

You watch him work, seeing how effortlessly he manages the guests, how they light up at his attention. It’s obvious he loves the hotel, and it’s just as obvious that the guests love him.

Meanwhile, you can feel their eyes on you—cold, judgmental, full of disdain. It’s clear that they all hate you, and the realization stings.

During lunch, you slip away to a quiet corner outside, the only place you can find peace. You light a cigarette with shaking hands, taking a deep drag to steady yourself before dialing Tom’s number.

“Fuck. Fuck! I hate working here. Tom, I want to go home,” you cry, your voice breaking as the weight of the morning crushes you.

There’s a pause on the other end before Tom’s voice comes through, exasperated. “You’ve only worked for a day and you’re already complaining.”

“My knees hurt!” you blurt out, playing the card you swore you wouldn’t.

Tom falls silent, the unspoken tension thick in the air. You know it’s a sensitive topic for both of you—the accident that left you with bad knees and left Tom more protective than ever. His silence is heavy, and after a moment, he ends the call without another word.

You stare at the phone, your heart sinking. “Is he still mad at me?” you whisper to yourself, the unresolved pain between you and your brother weighing you down as much as the job.

You drag the mop across the floor, the repetitive motion doing little to calm your frustration. Your knees ache, a dull reminder of the accident, but you grit your teeth and keep working. As you move down the hallway, you spot Bucky in the historic room, his back to you as he carefully wipes down a framed photograph. You hesitate, curiosity pulling you closer.

Bucky’s hands are gentle, almost reverent, as he cleans the photo. It’s a far cry from the brusque attitude he’s shown you, and it catches you off guard. You inch closer, peering over his shoulder.

“That’s my great uncle,” you say, pointing to the photo in his hands. Your voice comes out softer than you intended.

Bucky glances at you, then back at the photo. “Yup,” he replies simply, his tone neutral. He hangs the photo back on the wall with care, not bothering to look at you again before turning to leave.

As he walks away, you mutter under your breath, “Asshole.”

With him gone, you’re left alone in the room, surrounded by the faces of your ancestors. You gaze at the photos, trying to feel some sort of connection, some pride in the legacy they’ve left behind. But all you feel is emptiness. These people, with their stern expressions and formal attire, are strangers to you.

You run your fingers over the polished wood frame of one of the photos, tracing the outline of your great-great-great-grandparents. They built this empire from the ground up, turned a simple dream into a thriving business. They must be proud, you think, knowing the Serene Resort still stands after all these years.

But you’re not the same. You don’t feel the pride they must have felt. The weight of the legacy feels like a burden, something you’re supposed to carry but don’t know how. You step back, staring at the wall of history, and sigh. The only thing you feel is the suffocating pressure of expectations you don’t know if you can ever meet.

🏨🏨🏨🏨🏨

You collapse onto the bed, the exhaustion of the day hitting you like a wave. Just as you’re about to drift off, there’s a knock on your door. Frowning in confusion, you pull yourself up and open it, only to find Tom standing there, his expression a mix of frustration and concern.

Your eyes widen in relief. Without thinking, you throw yourself into his arms. “Save me!” you exclaim, clinging to him.

He stiffens, then awkwardly pushes you away. “How hurt are your knees?” he demands, his voice edged with irritation.

You look down, caught off guard. “Umm… they don’t really hurt at all,” you admit, feeling awkward under his scrutinizing gaze.

Tom’s eyes narrow, seeing through your half-hearted excuse. “You really don’t get it, do you? Do you understand why I sent you here?”

You stay silent, unable to meet his gaze. The truth is, you’re not sure why he’s being so hard on you, but you’re afraid to admit it.

Tom sighs heavily, the weight of his exhaustion showing. “I won’t spoil you anymore,” he says, his voice firm but tired. He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly worn out from the day’s stress. “I’m done with this. I’m tired.”

He turns to leave, and you call out, desperation creeping into your voice. “Where are you going? Can I stay with you? I thought you’d be in the presidential suite.”

Tom doesn’t look back. “Nope,” he says curtly, his tone final.

“Selfish prick!” you shout, frustration bubbling over. “If you’re not going to help me, then why are you even here?”

He gives you a middle finger without turning around, his back to you as he heads down the hall.

You slam the door shut, the sound echoing through the room. The anger and hurt mix with a deep sense of helplessness as you sink back onto the bed. Tom’s departure leaves you feeling more isolated than ever, questioning what you’re really supposed to be learning from all this.

Unable to sleep, you throw on a robe and quietly slip out of your room. The cool night air greets you as you step onto the balcony, hoping the fresh air might calm your racing thoughts. To your surprise, you find Bucky standing there, holding a steaming mug of hot milk.

You approach him, wrinkling your nose in distaste. “Eww, you drink hot milk? Are you twelve?”

Bucky takes a measured sip, clearly unfazed by your comment. “The CEO, your brother, really cares for you,” he says, his tone surprisingly gentle.

You scoff, crossing your arms defensively. “Him? Impossible.”

Bucky glances at you over the rim of his mug. “He was supposed to be on the other side of the world. But when he heard your call, he dropped everything to be here.”

Your eyes widen in shock. You hadn’t realized just how far Tom had gone for you.

Bucky’s gaze softens slightly. “Some people make sacrifices for you. The least you could do is be grateful.”

You frown, feeling a mix of frustration and something else. “You’re so fucking mean.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Because you’re spoiled. Besides, we’re the same age.”

You’re taken aback. You’d assumed he was older, given his no-nonsense attitude.

“There’s one thing I keep wondering,” Bucky continues, looking out over the balcony. “Today, every time you get humiliated, why don’t you use your status as the hotel owner?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Because I’m not really part of it.”

Bucky studies you for a moment, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “Then maybe it’s time you start acting like you belong.”

Author's Note: Hey everyone, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this! I’m currently grappling with a writer’s block and have tried various methods to spark new ideas, but nothing seems to be working.

Any feedback or suggestions you have would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for your support!

❤️❤️❤️❤️

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[captain-price-unofficially]

Officers of the 366th Infantry Regiment. Lieutenant C.L. Abbot, Captain Joseph L. Lowe, Lieutenant Aaron R. Fisher (recipient of Distinguished Service Cross), and Captain E. White.

[throneofsapphics]

Part two to up all night? It’s such a funny idea 😂

up all night (part two)

(part one)

Azriel x Reader x Cassian

Summary: You, Cassian, and Azriel get into a small argument.

Warnings: a bit of suggestiveness

A/N: thank you for requesting it!

“You were at the Riverhouse,” Azriel commented, the corners of his mouth turning up. You weren’t really angry, but his amusement pissed you off.

“You weren’t meant to hear that.” Cassian said, distracting you from glaring at the shadowsinger. 

“Oh?” You slowly turned your head back to face him. Cassian inhaled sharply, seeming to realize he’d said the exact wrong thing. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk shit about your mate.” 

Azriel’s hand landed gently on your shoulder, drawing your attention back to him, “and you’re the one that said it,” you snapped. 

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

You shrugged his hand off your shoulder. “Well,” you huffed. “Nobody likes a pissy Cassian.” You could almost feel the wince from the male in question, at how you said his name. 

“Y/n,” he called as you stalked off to the bathroom. “It’s a compliment.” 

You slammed the door anyway, hearing their hushed voices outside - too low for you to distinguish what they were saying. The smooth wood dug into your back as you slid down against it, sitting on the floor with your head held between your hands. You weren’t exactly fair to them, and knew it wasn’t meant in any harsh or derogatory way, but it still got on your nerves. Guilt started to sweep into you at how aggressive you’d been. You were always a gentle person, not really prone to snappy comments or arguments. 

You shoved the thoughts away and rose back to your feet, quickly going through the movements to get ready for bed. The door creaked open behind you, and you spotted Azriel in the mirror. Your hand paused, halfway through brushing your hair. He slowly made his way over to you, stopping so just an inch was between your bodies. His scarred hand wrapped around your, and he tugged the hairbrush away from you. 

“Let me,” he said quietly, and started working through the slight tangles in your hair. He was always gentle, making sure nothing would tug or make you wince. He methodically worked his way through, and you knew this was his way of apologizing to you. Azriel always tended to apologize through actions, or little acts of service, while Cassian would whisper them over and over again, until you told him to shut up.

“I’m sorry.” He said, almost quiet enough you didn’t pick up on it. A shadow swirled around your hand, a gentle and comforting caress. 

“It’s .. I overreacted,” you admitted, begrudgingly, and watching his expression in the mirror. 

“Maybe a bit,” he gave you a small smile, tugging on your hair when you rolled your eyes. “Someone else wants to apologize,” he whispered, kissing the side of your neck, and tugging you out of the room.

Cassian stood a few feet away from the door, looking vaguely like a kicked puppy, but his eyes lit up when he saw the soft smile on your face. 

“I’m sorry-” you both said at the same time. He snorted and tugged you forward, wrapping you in a tight hug, propping his chin on the top of your head. 

“How do I make it up to you?” He murmured. 

“You could …” You pulled back so you could look at him, mischief crossing your features. “Keep me up all night, without getting pissy.” 

“That’s a tall ask.” Azriel said from behind you, and you saw Cassian cutting a sharp glare at him. One hand tilted your chin up, and he lowered himself so he was a hairs breadth away from your lips. 

“Deal.” You took a step away from him, shrugging out of his arms. 

“Maybe next time,” you bit your bottom lip at the look of dismay on his face. “You have a meeting tomorrow.” 

You turned, making sure to flip your hair over your shoulder, and crawled into bed. You vaguely heard Cassian grumble, and the bathroom door open and close. 

Azriel slid into bed next to you, pulling you close and guiding you to rest your head against his chest. “That’s my girl,” you heard him say under his breath, and buried your face into him to hide a smile.

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Guarnere was also highly prized by Winters, even if he was something of a problem child. Winters recalled the early hours of D-Day when he, Lipton and Guarnere, all having lost their weapons in the jump, joined up with Colonel Cole and his men. The group had attacked a German supply train, and in the melee that followed, the three had managed to pick up German pistols. Preparing to move out after the fight, two shots rang out in the darkness. He found Guarnere standing over the bodies of the two POWs he’d been told to watch, the pistol in his hand still smoking. Winters blew his top and chastised the Philadelphia boy severely for gunning down the prisoners. But Winters had a deep respect for Guarnere’s abilities, both as a mortar platoon leader and as a man. Putting Guarnere in for the Distinguished Service Cross after Brecourt would be the highest nomination for valor Winters would make during the entire war.

~ Larry Alexander

[pfctipper]

thinking abt dick winters (as usual) but specifically the contemporary evidence of him in the context of damian lewis describing him as 'not without ego' and this post

aka i am absolutely fascinated that web’s main description of him is ‘big and hard and aggressive’

January 1945 letter from Johnny Martin to Bill Guarnere: 'Our CO is now Lieutenant Speirs from D Company. I think he’s the best one we've had yet'

Webster, Parachute Infantry (based on his wartime letters and notes he made in the late 1940s): 'A big, strong young man with sandy hair, he had won the Distinguished Service Cross in Normandy [...] Captain Winters jumped out of the ditch. “Let’s go! Let’s hear a little noise! Kill ’em! Kill ’em all!” [...] Our old Captain Winters, the medal-winner, who was big and hard and aggressive, seemed like the kind of man who would stay around forever. Now he was gone [as company commander]'

Speirs, THE OPERATIONS OF THE 2ND PLATOON D COMPANY, 506 PARACHUTE INFANTRY (101ST AIRBORNE DIVISION) IN THE VICINITY OF CARENTAN, FRANCE 11-13 JUNE 1944 (1948): 'The E Company commander, Lt Winters, was struck in the leg. He was not evacuated, however, and in spite of a stiff and painful leg, stayed until ·the end of the campaign'

speirs features a lot more than dick in parachute infantry, which is partly because of the parts of the war it spans, but probably not what you’d expect from watching the show and seeing how that puts him on a pedestal. also that webster and his particular brand of disdain for a lot of the military and its pettiness and regulations specifically really liked speirs but seems to have been fairly ambivalent about dick is interesting

plus there are dick's wartime letters to deetta in hang tough, where he comes across as. well. the top goodreads review appears to have mistaken it for a epistolary wwii romance novel and knocked off 1.5 stars for misogyny, and i think 'superiority complex' and 'temperamental' would just about cover the rest

so. clearly perceived as a good officer, but not exactly how he comes across in the show or the books. i think dick was absolutely not without ego ('I knew that I was a better man than most of the officers whom I had met, so I flirted with joining the commissioned ranks' in Beyond is a pretty good summation) and a very strong personality. as per ambrose, dick had the initial idea for band of brothers and presented him with folders of information he'd already prepared in anticipation that someone would want to write that book one day, led on collating most of the information from the other men, and along with lipton went through the book 'line-by-line' before it was published to 'correct' information provided by others

and i think that ego really informed both what is / isn't included in the show and how the audience was meant to understand what is included (the shaving scene in bastogne, the nco mutiny)

which in itself has very interesting implications for how nix gets portrayed in the show and in the books given that, by virtue of not engaging with ambrose and then passing in 1995, he's pretty much entirely invented based on information from dick. given that a lot of the show is serving dick’s ego, it’s interesting that nix’s characterisation doesn’t, really. he’s just kind of there

lots to think about. more exploration of egotistical dick please

[mostlysignssomeportents]

For 40 years, Big Meat has openly colluded to rig prices

On October 7–8, I'm in Milan to keynote Wired Nextfest.

Noted socialist agitator Adam Smith once wrote, "People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the publick, or in some contrivance to raise prices."

Smith was articulating a basic truth: when an industry grows concentrated, it grows cozy. Cultural differences between dominant firms are homogenized as top executives move from company to company, cross-pollinating attitudes and approaches. Ambituous, firm-hopping workaholic top brass make all their friends at the office, and so their former colleagues from one or two jobs back remain in their social circles.

Once an industry consists of half a dozen firms, the people running those companies constitute an incestuous financial polycule. They are executors of one anothers' estates, best men and maids of honor at one anothers' weddings, godparents to each others' kids. They play on the same softball teams and take family vacations together.

It would be heartwarming if it wasn't so costly to the rest of us. Remember Smith's maxim: "the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the publick, or in some contrivance to raise prices." Class solidarity among corporate executives forms a united front to screw us in every conceivable way, from corrupting our politicians to maiming and cheating workers to gouging buyers.

That's the basis of American antitrust law. When Robert Sherman was stumping for the passage of the Sherman Act, America's first major antitrust law, he thundered "If we will not endure a King as a political power we should not endure a King over the production, transportation, and sale of the necessaries of life. If we would not submit to an emperor we should not submit to an autocrat of trade with power to prevent competition and to fix the price of any commodity":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/20/we-should-not-endure-a-king/

Or rather, that was the basis of American antitrust law – until the Reagan era, when the fringe theories of the Nixonite criminal Robert Bork were elevated to a new orthodoxy. Under Bork's conception of antitrust, monopolies were evidence of excellence. If a company puts all its competitors out of business, that must mean that it is "efficient."

In Bork's fantasy world, the only way a company could attain dominance is by being so beloved by its customers that every competitor withers away. Governments that bust monopolies aren't protecting the public from "autocrats of trade"; they're overthrowing the winners of an election where you "vote with your wallet" to pick the best company.

But Bork and his co-fantasists couldn't quite manage all that with a straight face. They grudgingly admitted that a certain kind of bad monopolist could hypothetically exist, one that used its "market power" to raise prices or lower quality. Only when these offenses against our "consumer welfare" occurred should the state step in to protect its people.

This may sound good in theory, but in practice, it was a dead letter. The consumer welfare test isn't as simple as "If prices go up after a merger, punish the company." Instead, the government had to prove that the price raises came from "market power," and not from an increase in energy or labor costs, or some other "exogenous factor," like Mercury being in retrograde:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/10/you-had-one-job/#thats-just-the-as

And wouldn't you know it, it turns out that the mathematical models prescribed to distinguish greed from unavoidable circumstance inevitably "prove" that the monopolist wasn't at fault. Surely, it's just just a coincidence that the priesthood that understood how to make and interpret these models were Chicago School Economists who sold model-making as a service to companies that wanted to raise prices.

Pro-monopoly economists insist that this isn't true, and that their theory still has room to prosecute bad monopolies and cartels where they occur – more, they say this is already happening. In particular, they insist that "greedflation" can't be real, because it would require the kind of conspiracy that Smith warned of, and that their sickly antitrust enforcement is sufficient to prevent:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/11/price-over-volume/#pepsi-pricing-power

This strains credulity. After all, the CEOs of giant companies in concentrated industries openly boast to their shareholders about how they've used the covid and Ukraine invasion shocks to hike prices to increase their profit margins – not just cover their additional costs:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/23/cant-make-an-omelet/#keep-calm-and-crack-on

While excuseflation is new, open, naked price-fixing by industry cartels is not. Take the meat-packing industry, dominated by a tiny handful of giant corporations whose executives literally ran a betting pool on how many of their workers would get covid each week while working in their cramped, unventilated factories:

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-55009228

These companies have seen their margins soar – up 300% over the lockdown – while their payments to ranchers and growers cratered:

https://www.reuters.com/business/meat-packers-profit-margins-jumped-300-during-pandemic-white-house-economics-2021-12-10/

All this might leave one wondering whether there isn't something a little, you know, "conspiracy against the publick"-y going on in Big Meat?

Let me tell you about Agri Stats. Agri Stats has been around since 1985. Every large meat packer pays to be a "member" of Agri Stats, and they each submit weekly, detailed statistics about every aspect of their business: all their costs, all their margins, broken out by category. Agri Stats compiles this into phone-book-thick books that each member gets every week, telling them everything about how all of their competitors are running their businesses:

https://www.agristats.com/history

The companies whose data appears in this book are anonymized, but it's trivial to re-identify each supplier. Tyson execs hold regular "naming process" meetings where they go through new books and de-anonymize the data. A Butterball exec confirmed that he "can pick the companies for rankings with 100% certainty."

As David Dayen writes in The American Prospect, these books are incredibly detailed: "bird weights, freezer inventory, and 'head killed per operating hour.'" Within the cozy meat cartels, Agri Stats acts as a clearinghouse that allows every business in the industry to act in concert, running the entire meat-packing sector as a single company:

https://prospect.org/power/2023-10-03-lawsuit-highlights-why-meat-overpriced/

As interesting as the list of Agri Stats members is, the groups that don't get to see Agri Stats' "books" is just as important: "farmers, workers, or retailers." Agri Stats also offers consulting services to its members. As an exec at pork processor Smithfield put it, Agri Stats advice boils down to four words "Just raise your price."

Agri Stats ranks its members based on how high their prices are – they literally publish a league table with the highest prices at the top. Meat packers pay bonuses to their execs based on how high the company's rank is on that table. Agri Stats meets with its members throughout the year to discuss "price opportunities" and to advise them to "exercise restraint" by restricting supply to keep prices up. When one Agri Stats member considered leaving the cartel, Agri Stats wooed them back by telling them how to make an additional $100k by raising bacon prices.

The reason Dayen is writing about Agri Stats now is that the DoJ Antitrust Division has brought an antitrust suit against them. This is part of a wave of antitrust actions brought by Biden's DoJ and FTC, who, along with his NLRB, are shaping up to be the most pugnacious, public-interest force against corporate power since the Reagan administration:

https://www.meatpoultry.com/articles/29124-doj-sues-agri-stats-for-complicity-in-meat-market-manipulation

All this enforcement isn't a coincidence. It comes from an explicit rejection of neoliberalism's core tenets: inequality reflects merit, monopolies are efficient, and government can't do anything. In Biden's DoJ, FTC and NLRB, they're partying like it's 1979:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

What's amazing about the Agri Stats conspiracy to raise prices is that it's been going since the Reagan administration. It's a smoking gun proof that "consumer welfare" never cared about price-fixing and robbing the public (can a gun still smoke after 40 years?). There was never a time when consumer welfare antitrust cared about consumer welfare. It was always and forever a front for "a conspiracy against the publick," a "contrivance to raise prices."

Big Meat has been robbing America for two generations. Some of those stolen funds were used to corrupt our political process. The meat sector gets $50 billion in public subsidies and still gouges us on prices and rips off its suppliers:

https://www.ewg.org/news-insights/news/2022/02/usda-livestock-subsidies-near-50-billion-ewg-analysis-finds

Which means that it's possible that we're simultaneously being ripped off with meat prices and that meat prices are artificially low. Try and wrap your head around that one!

The do-nothing, pro-monopoly neoliberal antitrust is a virus that spread around the world. The EU's antitrust laws were reshaped to mirror American laws after the war through the Marshall Plan, but since the late 1970s, European lawmakers and enforcers have ignored their own laws (just like their American counterparts) and encouraged monopolies as "efficient."

This Made-in-Europe oligopoly, combined with energy and grain shocks from Russian invasion of Ukraine, created the perfect storm for European greedflation. As food prices spiked across the EU, Austrian hacktivist Mario Zechner set out to investigate Austrian grocers' pricing. Using the grocers' own APIs, he was able to compile and analyze a dataset of prices at Austrian grocers:

https://www.wired.com/story/heisse-preise-food-prices/

When Zechner open-sourced his project, collaborators showed up to expand the project across other EU countries, and an anonymous party donated a huge database of prices stretching back to 2017. The data reveals clear collusion among the grocers, who raise prices in near-lockstep, and use gimmicks like cyclic price drops to hide their collusion:

https://github.com/badlogic/heissepreise

Not every grocer has an API, and even the ones that do have APIs could easily block Zechner and co from accessing their data. When that happens, they could – and should – turn to scraping to continue their project. They should also scrape grocers elsewhere, including in Canada, where grocers rigged the price of bread:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/25/deep-scrape/#steering-with-the-windshield-wipers

Because Big Meat's "conspiracy against the publick" isn't unique to meat. It's in all our food, it's in all our goods, it's in all our services. The fact that the meat industry was able to rob American buyers, ranchers and farmers for two generations under a 200' tall neon sign that blinked "AGRI STATS AGRI STATS AGRI STATS" night and day is frankly astonishing.

But there's never just one ant. If the meatheads running Big Meat were able to do this in broad daylight since the NES years, imagine what all the other industries were able to get up to in the shadows.

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/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!