#INDUSTRIALIST

[darlingweareatragedy]

his new high

Warnings: DUB-CON, Organized-Crime, Drug (Shimmer) Use, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness

Summary ~ You soothed his pain in a way shimmer never could, and now he’d rather destroy your dreams than watch you leave his arms.

The first time Silco saw you, it was in the fading light of a backroom chem lab. You were bent over a half-conscious man, stitching his torn arm with mechanical precision. His screams filled the room, curses and desperate pleas, but you remained calm, steady, your voice soothing. There was no hesitation in your movements, no tremor in your hands. You didn’t look up when he entered. Not even when the room fell into that particular kind of silence, the delirious ramblings of the injured man fading as he slipped into unconsciousness. It was the kind of silence that settled when someone powerful walks in.

You didn’t fear him. That was your first mistake.

“Most people flinch,” he said eventually, his voice a smooth rich timber. One eye gleamed with an unsettling interest. The other was ruined, unblinking.

You tied off the final stitch and set the needle aside. “Then most people aren’t busy saving someone’s life.”

Silco smiled, it wasn’t a kind smile.

He started showing up more often, sometimes to have you patch up one of his men, stitch a wound, or set a broken limb. Then came the calls for help with research, concoctions, healing. Gradually, he began to trust you enough to assist him in administering shimmer to his red eye. He always had a reason. But over time, those reasons began to wear thin. You were sharp enough to notice

“You don’t need me, Silco,” you told him one evening, after his lieutenant left with freshly bandaged ribs. “You just want something.”

He stepped closer, the scent of smoke and oil clinging to him, the faint metallic tang of shimmer still lingering around his skin.

“And you’re so sure that’s a bad thing?” he murmured. “Wanting something.”

The obsession wasn’t sudden. It was a drip. Slow. Poisoned.

A package on your desk one morning, a vial of rare solvent, only available in Piltover, wrapped in black silk. A gift of soft velvet-lined gloves, with a note: “To protect your hands. We can’t afford to lose them.”

A word to your landlord, suddenly, your rent dropped to nothing. "Consider it... gratitude," Silco’s voice had been like a velvet noose, tightening around you.

You told yourself you weren’t his. But his people stopped calling you by name. They started calling you Silco’s medic. Then, simply, Silco’s.

He kept coming back. Each time, it was a new wound, a dislocated shoulder, a burned hand, a poisoned operative. But he never left right after. He lingered, watching you as you worked. Sometimes, he brought rare supplies, claiming they were for your patients, but he always insisted on giving them to you directly.

He learned your rhythms. What made you laugh, when you skipped meals, how your brow creased when you were focused, how you chewed your lip when you were uncertain.

And somewhere in that quiet obsession, shimmer began collecting dust.

You never saw the moment it shifted. The moment his need for you went from admiration to something darker. Something possessive. Addictive.

One day, while you were restocking shimmer, you mentioned it, absently. “I’ve applied for a fellowship in Piltover. Medical sciences. If I get in... I’ll be gone for a while.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

You turned slowly, feeling the weight of his gaze, a cold burn against your skin. Silco was staring at you like you’d just ripped the breath from his lungs.

Piltover. The word alone was bile in his mouth.

“You want to leave?” he asked, too calm, like it was a simple question.

“For a year. Maybe two.”

“For them?”

“No. For me.”

He stepped closer. You could feel the heat of him now, the tension building between you. “You don’t need that. Everything you’ve built ... we've built, it’s here. These people need you. I need—”

He stopped himself, like he was choking on the words.

You stared. “You need...?”

He looked away, jaw clenched, before answering coldly, “The undercity needs you.”

But the lie hung in the air, thick and suffocating, like smoke.

After that, things changed. The guards around your clinic doubled. Your mail stopped arriving.

And one morning, you found a letter from the Academy , torn at the seal, empty, discarded in your trash bin.

You confronted him, and he didn’t even pretend to be innocent.

“You belong here,” he said, they will use you. Break you. Strip you of everything that makes you... you.”

“And you won’t?” you shot back.

He stepped closer. So close that you could feel his breath on your lips. “No,” he whispered. “I’ll worship you.”

“You belong here,” he repeated, the words trembling with a quiet madness that sent a chill skittering down your spine. “With the undercity. With me. Piltover would ruin you.....strip away everything that makes you… you.”

“Ruin me?” you shot back, your voice rising as you took a defiant step toward him. “You’re the one caging me! The guards, the missing mail, this—” You thrust the torn letter toward him, your hand shaking. “You don’t get to decide my life!”

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Don’t I?” he murmured, closing the gap between you with a predator’s grace. The heat of his body was suffocating, the scent of him, smoke, oil, and that faint metallic tang, wrapping around you like a chain. His hand rose, fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that felt like a lie, a trap disguised as affection. “Everything I’ve done, the rare solvents, the gloves, your rent, it was for you. Because you’re mine.”

You jerked away, but the examination table pressed against the backs of your thighs, cold and unyielding, trapping you in his orbit. “I’m not yours,” you said, your voice wavering despite your resolve. “I’m not some… thing you can own, Silco. This is obsession, it’s not love. It’s control.”

His hand froze, his expression flickering...pain, anger, then something deeper, more unhinged. “Control?” he echoed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “No, my dear. It’s devotion.” He stepped closer, his body crowding yours, his breath hot against your lips. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The way we fit. The way you calm the storm inside me.” His fingers slid to the nape of your neck, tangling in your hair, not pulling but holding you in place, anchoring you to him. “You’re my salvation.”

Your heart pounded, a traitor that refused to still. You wanted to push him away, to scream, but his proximity, the raw intensity of his gaze, stirred something within you, fear, yes, but also a flicker of something else, something you couldn’t name. “You’re wrong,” you said, but the words lacked conviction, your voice barely above a whisper. His thumb brushed the pulse point at your throat, and you hated the way your body responded, a shiver racing through you, warm and treacherous.

“Liar,” he purred, his lips grazing your ear, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “You’ve never flinched from me before, not when you stitched my men, not when you held my gaze while dosing my eye. Why now?” His hand tightened in your hair, tilting your head back, exposing the vulnerable curve of your throat. His lips brushed there, a fleeting kiss that made you gasp, your hands instinctively grabbing his coat, unsure whether to push or pull. “Because you know what I want… and part of you wants it too.”

“No,” you said, louder, shoving against his chest. But he was immovable, a wall of lean muscle and unshakable will. His free hand slid beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across the bare skin of your waist, possessive and warm. The touch was electric, and you shuddered, caught between revulsion and a spark that flickered low in your belly. “Silco, stop,” you said, your voice trembling. “This isn’t right.”

His eyes softened for a moment, a glimpse of the man who’d once brought you rare supplies, who’d watched you work with quiet reverence. But the darkness surged back, drowning that fleeting light. “Right?” he murmured, his voice a low growl that vibrated through you. “Nothing in this world is right. But you… you’re perfect.” His lips crashed against yours, not gentle but desperate, hungry, as if he could consume you, bind you to him through sheer force of will.

You turned your head, breaking the kiss, but he didn’t stop. His mouth moved to your jaw, your neck, leaving a trail of bruising kisses that drew a whimper from your lips. His hand slid higher, pushing your shirt up to expose the soft skin of your stomach, his fingers tracing the curve of your ribs with a reverence that belied the coercion. “Silco, please,” you said, but the words were a plea, not a command, and he heard it.

“You say no, but your body begs for me,” he whispered, his voice thick with triumph. His hand cupped your breast through the thin fabric of your undershirt, his thumb brushing over your nipple, coaxing it to a peak. He groaned against your skin, the sound raw and primal, and you hated the way it sent a pulse of heat between your thighs. “You’re mine,” he said, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, his touch both gentle and demanding, a paradox that left you dizzy.

You pushed at him again, but your hands faltered, your resolve fraying under the onslaught of sensation. His other hand moved lower, deft fingers unbuttoning your pants, slipping inside to find you already wet, a betrayal that made him groan low in his throat. ��See?” he said, his voice a dark caress. “You want this. You want me.”

Tears stung your eyes as you shook your head, but your body was a traitor, responding to his touch with a heat you couldn’t deny. His fingers teased you, slow and deliberate, coaxing pleasure you didn’t want to feel. “Silco, please,” you said, but the words were softer now, your voice breaking as he pushed you toward an edge you didn’t want to cross.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, pulling back to meet your gaze, his good eye dark with need, the ruined one a void that seemed to swallow your protests. “Tell me, and I’ll make it good for you.”

You stared at him, torn between the fear in your heart and the heat in your body. “I…” you started, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t know what you wanted. The uncertainty was a crack in your armor, and Silco seized it.

He kissed you again, softer this time, but no less possessive, his tongue exploring your mouth as his fingers worked you, pushing you closer to a precipice. When he pulled back, he lifted you onto the examination table, the cold metal biting into your bare skin, baring you to his hungry gaze. His hands were everywhere, on your thighs, your hips, your breasts, claiming every inch of you as he spread your legs and stepped between them.

His trousers were already undone, his cock hard and heavy against your thigh, and you gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, unsure whether you were pulling him closer or pushing him away. “I’ll worship you,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he positioned himself at your entrance. He entered you slowly, deliberately, each inch a claim, a promise, a curse. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you, the stretch both painful and intoxicating.

He moved with a reverence that belied the coercion, his thrusts deep and measured, his hands cradling your face as if you were something precious, something sacred. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice a low chant as he drove into you, each movement pushing you closer to an edge you couldn’t escape. And as pleasure built despite your protests, you felt yourself unraveling, giving in to the storm that was Silco, his touch, his voice, his obsession.

He didn’t shoot shimmer anymore.

He had traded one addiction for another.

You were his new high now.

[honkula]

Haven’t had the time to draw properly in a while, here’s an Edmund drawing to change that!

It’s hard being a cruel and temperamental industrialist from the late 1800s who gets everything he wants, but you know, someone’s gotta do it.

[vox-anglosphere]

The impact of William Morris on British textiles was unsurpassed.

[jumpyj3st3r]

The Industrialist

[scotianostra]

George Lauder was born on November 11th 1837 at Dunfermline, Fife.

Lauder is probably a wee bit more well known in his native Dunfermline, or maybe so Americans, I would think this is due to him being a bit overshadowed by a guy described as his "cousin-brother", Andrew Carnegie.

George Lauder was the son of George Lauder, Sr. and Seaton Morrison. His father, a local shop owner on the high street, Dunfermline. Very well read, Lauder Sr. was instrumental in the upbringing of his only son George, as well as his nephew the aforementioned Carnegie.

Lauder Jr. and Carnegie were two years apart in age and best friends as a result of their shared experiences. They affectionately referred to one another as “Dod” and “Naig”, as young children. After Andrew and his family left for America, George stayed in Scotland where he would go on to graduate from Glasgow University with a degree in mechanical engineering while studying under another famous name Lord Kelvin.

Carnegie wrote to Lauder asking him to join him in America as a partner in the Carnegie Steel Corporation. At the time, the major shareholders were Carnegie himself, Carnegie’s brother and two others.

Lauder brought several new developments to the steel business in America, including the process for washing and coking dross from coal mines, which resulted in a significant increase to the overall value of the business.

Lauder would go on to lead the development of the use of steel in armour and armaments. By the turn of the Twentieth Century, Lauder was a director of Carnegie Steel and its second largest shareholder behind his cousin Andrew. Throughout the course of his career, Lauder created a number of patented scientific advancements useful both in the steel industry and beyond.

The sale of Carnegie Steel to JP Morgan in 1901 created U.S Steel where Lauder sat on the board of directors. This became the first corporation in the world with a market capitalization exceeding $1 billion ($43 billion today).

Lauder’s oldest daughter, Harriet married Dr. James C. Greenway combining the Lauder and Greenway families into what is now known as the Lauder Greenway Family, their influence in American political and economic affairs dates from the 1640s through the contemporary era. Their primary contributions have been in the sciences, government, and intelligence. His son George Lauder III, was a high-profile sailor who set the record in 1900 (held until 1905) for the fastest trans-Atlantic crossing with his yacht, Endymion,

In 1905 Harriet bought, what has become known as The Lauder-Greenway Estate a 50-acre property in Greenwich, Connecticut, where George lived out the last eleven years of his life passing away on August 24th, 1924.

The Estate, for a time, was the most expensive private residence in the United States in 2014 when it sold for an eye watering $120 million.

Pics are of George Lauder, the second is Andrew Carnegie, George Lauder, and Thomas Miller in 1862 taken in Glasgow, it is one of very few pics of Carnegie without a beard, Thomas Miller is said to be the man who started Carnegie in the steel business.

[kayden-valcourt]

We got Alien Cat before GTA 6

Great thinking Juno, thanks for having an absolute brainrot vocabulary.

[kirtijolapara]

भारत के महान उद्योगपति और प्रेरणादायक व्यक्तित्व श्री रतन टाटा जी का निधन राष्ट्र के लिए एक अपूरणीय क्षति हैं।

ईश्वर दिवंगत आत्मा को अपने श्री चरणों में स्थान दे।

ॐ शांति। 🙏💐

[pixelpeo]

“Industrialist” Minecraft Skin from Castle Crashers

[krokoart]

Mr. Aldridge 001: Giclee Fine Art Print KEN ROKO https://krokoart.etsy.com/listing/713569436

[screenshot-thoughts]

“The rich industrialist was horrified to find the fisherman lying beside his boat, smoking a pipe.

'Why aren't you out fishing?' asked the industrialist.

'Because I have caught enough fish for the day,

'Why don't you catch some more?'

'What would I do with them?'

'You could earn more money. Then you could have a motor fitted to your boat to go into deeper waters and catch more fish. Then you would have enough money to buy nylon nets. These would bring you more fish and more money. Soon you would have enough money to own two boats... maybe even a fleet of boats.

Then you would be a rich man like me.'

'What would I do then?'

'Then you could sit back and enjoy life!'

'What do you think I'm doing right now?'”

[honkula]

After the War.

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1798 – Death of United Irishman, Henry Joy McCracken.

“The rich will always betray the poor.” –Henry Joy McCracken Henry Joy McCracken was a cotton manufacturer and industrialist, Presbyterian, radical Irish republican, and a founding member, along with Theobald Wolfe Tone, James Napper Tandy, and Robert Emmet, of the Society of the United Irishmen. McCracken was born in High Street, Belfast on 31 August 1767. Proud to belong to two important…

[scotianostra]

May 3rd 1768 saw the birth of Charles Tennant who became a chemist and an industrialist.

Tennant was born at Laigh Corton, Alloway, Ayrshire to John Tennant and his second wife Margaret McClure. Tennant’s family had farmed there for generations - and had been friends of the local poet Robert Burns. They moved to Glenconner, Ochiltree, Ayrshire, shortly after his birth and Charles attended Ochiltree parish school. After leaving school, he was apprenticed as a weaver.

In his work he saw that the weaving industry was being constrained by the method used to bleach cloth which involved crude chemicals and long exposure to sunlight for many months. He started his own bleaching fields in Ayrshire and looked at the methods used for bleaching. There had already been progress (times had been reduced from 18 months to four) but in 1799 Tennant (in partnership with Charles Macintosh who is best known for his technique of macintosh waterproofing clothing) patented a new method to create a dry bleaching powder that could be used indoors. He built a factory at St Rollox in Glasgow and demand for his bleaching powder soared. By the 1830s and 1840s it was the largest chemical plant in the world, with over 1,000 workers.

Later, he was to become a social reformer, helping to create one of the most productive periods of social progress and reform in Scotland’s history. His works needed large quantities of coal and as he was a good friend George Stephenson, the great railway engineer, Tennant was one of the prime movers in railway expansion. He was mainly responsible for getting a railway into Glasgow. The chemical business founded by Tennant eventually merged with others in 1926 to form the chemical giant Imperial Chemical Industries, that’s ICI, in case you were wondering!

As well as a social reformer they say that he was sharply aware of the atmospheric pollution his works were creating and so he ordered the building of the worlds highest chimney - 450 feet high - in an attempt to lose his fumes into the upper atmosphere. Tennant’s Stack was a Glasgow Landmark well into the twentieth century. Of course pumping it into the atmosphere was doing as much damage up there as it was in Glasgow. I call into question his credentials in this respect as over the decades the St Rollox works has been one of the cities worst eyesores. Chemical waste was dumped in the Sighthill area causing a deadly spread of contaminants through the soil, which local people called the Stinking Ocean. Many of his workers suffered perforated septums and blindness due to continued exposure to toxic chemicals and were colloquially known as ‘Tennant’s White Mice’.

Charles Tennant died suddenly at his home in Abercrombie Place, Glasgow in 1838 aged 71.

Pics are of Tennant, his St. Rollox Chemical Works in 1831 and his grave on the Necropolis.

[kayden-valcourt]

Happy Valentine's Day!

first time drawing side profiles like... Ever!!!

[gentlemans-code20]

#Luminaries - Ratan Tata

Ratan Naval Tata (born 28 December 1937) is an Indian industrialist, philanthropist and former chairman of Tata Sons. He was a chairman of the Tata Group from 1990 to 2012, and interim chairman from October 2016 through February 2017. He continues to head its charitable trusts.

[rightnewshindi]

भाजयुमो के पूर्व प्रदेश प्रवक्ता समेत चार लोगों ने उद्योगपति पर किया हमला, पांच लाख की फिरौती मांगने के लगे आरोप

#News भाजयुमो के पूर्व प्रदेश प्रवक्ता समेत चार लोगों ने उद्योगपति पर किया हमला, पांच लाख की फिरौती मांगने के लगे आरोप

Una News: पंजाब-हिमाचल सीमा पर अजौली मोड़ स्थित एक रेस्टोरेंट में खाना खाकर लौट रहे उद्योगपति व उनकी पत्नी पर भाजपा युवा मोर्चा के पूर्व प्रदेश प्रवक्ता व ऊना के लालड़ी से जिला परिषद सदस्य कमल सैनी समेत चार लोगों ने हमला कर दिया। इस घटना का सीसीटीवी वीडियो भी वायरल हुआ है। इसके बाद नंगल पुलिस ने विभिन्न धाराओं के तहत मामला दर्ज कर लिया है। हमले के कथित आरोपियों की गिरफ्तारी के लिए प्रयास तेज कर…