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mostlysignssomeportents · 8 months

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"Efficiency" left the Big Three vulnerable to smart UAW tactics

Tomorrow (September 22), I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. Tomorrow night, I'll be in person at LA's Book Soup for the launch of Justin C Key's "The World Wasn’t Ready for You." On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.

It's been 143 days since the WGA went on strike against the Hollywood studios. While early tactical leaks from the studios had studio execs chortling and twirling their mustaches about writers caving once they started losing their homes, the strikers aren't wavering – they're still out there, pounding the picket lines, every weekday:

https://www.cnbc.com/2023/08/09/how-hollywood-writers-make-ends-meet-100-days-into-the-writers-guild-strike.html

The studios obviously need writers. That gleeful, anonymous studio exec who got such an obvious erotic charge at the thought of workers being rendered homeless as punishment for challenging his corporate power completely misread the room, and his comments didn't demoralize the writers. Instead, they inspired the actors to go on strike, too.

But how have the writers stayed out since May Day? How have the actors stayed out for 69 days since their strike started on Bastille Day? We can thank the studios for that! As it turns out, the studios have devoted so much energy to rendering creative workers as precarious as possible, hiring as little as they can getting away with and using punishing overtime as a substitute for adequate staffing that they've eliminated all the workers who can't survive on side-hustles and savings for six or seven months at a time.

But even for those layoff-hardened workers, long strikes are brutal, and of course, all the affiliated trades, from costumers to grips, are feeling the pain. The strike fund only goes so far, and non-striking, affected workers don't even get that. That's why I've been donating regularly to the Entertainment Community Fund, which helps all affected workers out with cash transfers (I just gave them another $500):

https://secure2.convio.net/afa/site/Donation2?df_id=8117&8117.donation=form1&mfc_pref=T

As hot labor summer is revealed as a turning point – not just a season – long strikes will become the norm. Bosses still don't believe in worker power, and until they get their minds right, they're going to keep on trying to starve their workforces back inside. To get a sense of how long workers will have to hold out, just consider the Warrior Met strike, where Alabama coal-miners stayed out for 23 months:

https://www.thenation.com/article/activism/warrior-met-strike-union/

As Kim Kelly explained to Adam Conover in the latest Factually podcast, the Alabama coal strikers didn't get anywhere near the attention that the Hollywood strikers have enjoyed:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvyMHf7Yg0Q

(To learn more about the untold story of worker organizing, from prison unions to the key role that people of color and women played in labor history, check out Kelly's book, "Fight Like Hell," now in paperback:)

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Fight-Like-Hell/Kim-Kelly/9781982171063

Which brings me to the UAW strike. This is an historic strike, the first time that the UAW has struck all of the Big Three automakers at once. Past autoworkers' strikes have marked turning points for all American workers. The 1945/46 GM strike established employers' duty to cover worker pensions, health care, and cost of living allowances. The GM strike created the American middle-class:

https://prospect.org/labor/2023-09-18-uaw-strikes-built-american-middle-class/

The Big Three are fighting for all the marbles here. They are refusing to allow unions to organize EV factories. Given that no more internal combustion cars will be in production in just a few short years, that's tantamount to eliminating auto unions altogether. The automakers are flush with cash, including billions in public subsidies from multiple bailouts, along with billions more from greedflation price-gouging. A long siege is inevitable, as the decimillionaires running these companies earn their pay by starving out their workers:

https://www.businessinsider.com/general-motors-ceo-mary-barra-salary-auto-workers-strike-uaw-2023-9

The UAW knows this, of course, and their new leadership – helmed by the union's radical president Shawn Fain – has a plan. UAW workers are engaged in tactical striking, shutting down key parts of the supply chain on a rolling basis, making the 90-day strike fund stretch much farther:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2023-09-18-labors-militant-creativity/

In this project, they are greatly aided by Big Car's own relentless pursuit of profit. The automakers – like every monopolized, financialized sector – have stripped all the buffers and slack out of their operations. Inventory on hand is kept to a bare minimum. Inputs are sourced from the cheapest bidder, and they're brought to the factory by the lowest-cost option. Resiliency – spare parts, backup machinery – is forever at war with profits, and profits have won and won and won, leaving auto production in a brittle, and easily shattered state.

This is especially true for staffing. Automakers are violently allergic to hiring workers, because new workers get benefits and workplace protection. Instead, the car companies routinely offer "voluntary" overtime to their existing workforce. By refusing this overtime, workers can kneecap production, without striking.

Enter "Eight and Skate," a campaign among UAW workers to clock out after their eight hour shift. As Keith Brower Brown writes for Labor Notes, the UAW organizers are telling workers that "It’s crossing an unofficial picket line to work overtime. It’s helping out the company":

https://labornotes.org/2023/09/work-extra-during-strike-auto-workers-say-eight-and-skate

Eight and Skate has already started to work; the Buffalo Ford plant can no longer run its normal weekend shifts because workers are refusing to put in voluntary overtime. Of course, bosses will strike back: the next step will be forced overtime, which will lead to the unsafe conditions that unionized workers are contractually obliged to call paid work-stoppages over, shutting down operations without touching the strike fund.

What's more, car bosses can't just halt safety stoppages or change the rules on overtime; per the UAW's last contract, bosses are required to bargain on changes to overtime rules:

https://uaw.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/Working-Without-Contract-FAQ-FINAL-2.pdf

Car bosses have become lazily dependent on overtime. At GM's "highly profitable" SUV factory in Arlington, TX, normal production runs a six-days, 24 hours per day. Workers typically work five eight-hour days and nine hours on Saturdays. That's been the status quo for 11 years, but when bosses circulated the usual overtime signup sheet last week, every worker wrote "a big fat NO" next to their names.

Writing for The American Prospect, David Dayen points out that this overtime addiction puts a new complexion on the much-hyped workerpocalypse that EVs will supposedly bring about. EVs are much simpler to build than conventional cars, the argument goes, so a US transition to EVs will throw many autoworkers out of work:

https://prospect.org/labor/2023-09-20-big-threes-labor-shortages-uaw/

But the reality is that most autoworkers are doing one and a half jobs already. Reducing the "workforce" by a third could leave all these workers with their existing jobs, and the 40-hour workweek that their forebears fought for at GM inn 1945/46. Add to that the additional workers needed to make batteries, build and maintain charging infrastructure, and so on, and there's no reason to think that EVs will weaken autoworker power.

And as Dayen points out, this overtime addiction isn't limited to cars. It's also endemic to the entertainment industry, where writers' "mini rooms" and other forms of chronic understaffing are used to keep workforces at a skeleton crew, even when the overtime costs more than hiring new workers.

Bosses call themselves job creators, but they have a relentless drive to destroy jobs. If there's one thing bosses hate, it's paying workers – hence all the hype about AI and automation. The stories about looming AI-driven mass unemployment are fairy tales, but they're tailor made for financiers who get alarming, life-threatening priapism at the though of firing us all and replacing us with shell-scripts:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

This is why Republican "workerism" rings so hollow. Trump's GOP talks a big game about protecting "workers" (by which they mean anglo men) from immigrants and "woke captialism," but they have nothing to say about protecting workers from bosses and bankers who see every dime a worker gets as misappropriated from their dividend.

Unsurprisingly, conservative message-discipline sucks. As Luke Savage writes in Jacobin, for every mealymouthed Josh Hawley mouthing talking points that "support workers" by blaming China and Joe Biden for the Big Three's greed, there's a Tim Scott, saying the quiet part aloud:

https://jacobin.com/2023/09/republicans-uaw-strike-hawley-trump-scott/

Quoth Senator Scott: "I think Ronald Reagan gave us a great example when federal employees decided they were going to strike. He said, you strike, you’re fired. Simple concept to me. To the extent that we can use that once again, absolutely":

https://twitter.com/American_Bridge/status/1704136706574741988

The GOP's workerism is a tissue-thin fake. They can never and will never support real worker power. That creates an opportunity for Biden and Democrats to seize:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/18/co-determination/#now-make-me-do-it

Reversing two generations of anti-worker politics is a marathon, not a sprint. The strikes are going to run for months, even years. Every worker will be called upon to support their striking siblings, every day. We can do it. Solidarity now. Solidarity forever.

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/2023/09/21/eight-and-skate/#strike-to-rule

#pluralistic #strikes #uaw #labor #automakers #big three #big car #eight and skate #work to rule #tactics

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sittinwithyou · 1 year

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Good Tragg #QuordlePrompt 18

On my Wattpad!

Tragg shook the notepad at its captain, and she did everything she could to ignore it She was being what humans called surly. It knew that this night was supposed to be the one time she had this year to be left alone. But somethings were ‘just to important to let rot,’ its brood mother had always said, and it took that to its hearts. It shook the pad again, making the papers rustle just on the edge of its captain’s pink, fleshy ear flap.

Ear lobe?

Ear… wing? Whichever. Tragg shook the pad once more, its chitinous plating clacking together with the effort. It held onto the doorframe with its other three arms and leaned as far into the cabin as it could. The captain sat at her desk facing the large thick pane of glass that separated them from the deep cavern of the quarry beyond. It was well into the night, and nothing could be seen past the glass save for the illusory reflections of Tragg and the captain. “Captain, please,” it chittered. The pale green light on the captain’s collar blinked in tandem with the small earring she had riveted into her upper cartilage. She turned her head a fraction. “These readings. They are important.” She raised her shoulders in what looked like a sigh, but it couldn’t be certain. The mannerisms of humans in various modes of distress seemed to be as diverse as they were exaggerated.

“Everything you bring me is labeled important,” she said. The captain’s mouth sounds were exceptionally sticky. Tragg spied a bottle of alcohol on the desk in front of her. The brown glass flickered in the oil lamps’ lights and its contents steamed the window’s glass. The odor that emanated from the container was no doubt strong to those with liquid-filled olfactory senses. Tragg could barely notice the density of the steam on its many sub-antennae.

“That is why I exist in this facility,” it reminded her captain.

Captain Mar Ger-ett turned in her chair and the wooded joints of the seat squeaked. The sound was reminiscent of a hatchling’s squeal and Tragg reflexively tensed up. It was suddenly flooded with visions of its nest at home. Its previous generation would care for the eggs well enough, it supposed. But this was the first time Tragg was far from its nest longer than a few Earth days. It ruffled its plates and shook the notepad again, this time flipping the edges of the paper to touch against the captain’s wet mouth.

“You work here,” she said, putting an odd emphasis on the word ‘work’, “because the Gethchian Syndicate needed proper representation in this mining facility because someone-” There was that odd inflection again. Tragg didn’t know why the captain chose to drink that warmed alcohol, but in the morning, before they departed to their individual nests, it would have to ask that she not drink that while in the office. “-chose to build a goddamned nest six miles into a future quarry. So now here we are.”

Tragg stood against the frame of the door. It held the notepad resolutely. Somewhere behind it, towards the mess hall, a loud cry of humans celebrating something drifted down the hall. “Captain, please.”

“Fuck, fine, give it.” She snatched the pad from Tragg’s pincers and scanned the pages with the watery, glassy eyes of a human who wasn’t paying attention. “First we sit through that damned strike up in Ohio and now I’ve got you lot to deal with.” She slapped the pad down on her knee and glared up at Tragg. It could tell she was having a hard time focusing because her gaze shifted from each of its three eyes in a random pattern. “I’m damned glad to be the first female foreman here, Tragg. Shit, did you know they pay me half what the damned miners were getting up there? HALF. And now I’ve gotta babysit bugs.” She picked up the pad again and scanned it once more. “What the hell is this?”

“It is the wage request of the new workers, Captain.”

“I’m not your captain.”

“You will note that the amount of coal purged from this land has risen, as well as the installed infrastructure-”

“The what?”

“Infrastructure, Captain.” Captain Mar Ger-ett stared up into Tragg’s face with eyes that were rapidly beginning to lose their traction. “The homes humans have offered to protect the uncovered nests.”

The captain nodded. “Oh, right. Right, we’ve done good by you lot,” she said. For some reason, she lifted one of her arms and waved an extended phalange at it. Cheers rose behind them again and this time the wordless cries were mingled with a few shouts of ‘Happy New Year!’

The captain tilted her head at the neck – a most unsettling pose – and tried to see past Tragg’s body. “That’s right boys,” she shouted. “The hell with eighteen seventy-three! Nowhere to go but up!” The responding calls to her denouncement seemed to be directed towards her, but not as an answer. The crew, too, seemed to be indulging in alcohol as well and thus were wreaking havoc in the way drunk humans did.

“The workers are demanding more, too, Captain. I brought this to you because I fear their greediness will deny you a fair wage yourself.”

The captain peered at the pad. “Tragg.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“How in the bluest blazing fresh fucks am I supposed to read this?” She held up the pad to wave it in front of one of its eyes and tapped the page with her other arm’s phalanges. “It’s written in bug. Uh, whatchacallit… Gethchian.” She thrust the pad back into its still outstretched pincer and spun abruptly to grab her drink. She then continued to stare out her darkened window. Her posture slumped as if some support structure within her had broken.

It paused for a long moment, letting the jubilation of the crew down the hall fill the space between them. “Sorry, Captain. These numbers. They are acceptable?”

“Please,” the captain said around the lip of her bottle. “Just get the hell out. Tell the boys I wish them a Happy New Year’s.” Tragg took a few clicking steps back and turned to leave back the way it had come. Behind it, the sound of the door to the captain’s cabin shutting slapped against the small corridor. It looked down to its math with a possible sense of satisfaction.

“Happy New Year,” it chittered to the ‘boys’ in the galley as it slid past the open door. “And… the hell? To eighteen seventy-three?”

The ‘boys’ cheered and raised steaming cups of alcohol towards it in response. Yes, Tragg was filled with satisfaction.

Good Tragg.

#original story #short story #writing prompt #quordle prompt #sittinwithyou #science fiction #historical fiction #coal industry #1873 #1874 #coal miner's strike of 1873

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racefortheironthrone · 9 months

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Can I ask why the Pinkerton agents get such a bad rap online? All I know from them comes from the Sherlock Holmes novel The Valley of Fear, where they help take down a gang of extorsionist coal miners.

So the Valley of Fear concerns a real-life incident that helped to shape the Pinkertons' reputation: their destruction of the Molly Maguires in the coalfields of Pennsylvania. An early trade union of miners of mostly Irish extraction, the leadership of the Molly Maguires were accused of murder, arson, kidnapping, and a whole host of other crimes by undercover Pinkerton agents who had infiltrated their ranks on behalf of the Philadelphia and Reading Railroad, who the Molly Maguires were fighting over wages, hours, and working conditions. Dozens were sent to jail for long stretches of time, and ten men were ultimately hanged as a result of Pinkerton testimony.

The fact that the evidence against the Maguires largely stemmed from undercover informants paid by management to disrupt and destroy their organization and other suspect sources of evidence like jaihouse snitches, and that the prosecutions against the Maguires were personally carried out by the CEO of the Philadelphia and Reading Railroad in the midst of labor conflict over who ran the coalfields, has led a lot of labor historians to conclude that the Molly Maguires were stitched up in the courts and that the Pinkertons committed wholesale perjury, acted as agents provocateur to provoke the crimes they then testified to, and caused the judicial murder of ten men.

That was just the start of their long and inglorious history of being the favorite goons of anti-union robber barons: the gun thugs who were outfought at Homestead were Pinkertons, as were the private armies who fought for capital during the Great Railroad Strike of 1877 who had to be once again bailed out by the National Guard. Likewise, their foray into bearing false witness continued with the manufactured confession that named UMW leader Big Bill Haywood as the man who arranged for the assassination of Governor Frank Steunenberg of Idaho.

So yeah, the Pinkertons have earned every last drop of their evil reputation. There is blood on their hands.

#history #u.s history #labor history #molly maguires #pinkertons #trade unions #labor

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salty-sweet-ren · 7 months

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You know, I can't stop thinking about the very start of the new series when everyone was around the campfire, and how Martyn punched Jimmy before the game even began. I was watching Gem's POV first when I saw it, and I joked with a friend about how it would be funny if as karma Jimmy freed himself from the canary curse and killed Martyn when they turn red- which is a long way off and I probably shouldn't make predictions this early... But then I got around to other people's povs and even if I'm not fully correct, I can't help but wonder if I was on to something.

It was an honest mistake and he immediately gave Jimmy a heart to rectify it, they gave each other a quick kiss and went on their way... but then Martyn had some of the worst luck he's ever had day one in the series. He was attacked, injured, got completely lost underground, and dropped down to five hearts before finally completing his task- which I believe is the lowest anyone dropped!

Martyn was the winner of the last season, turning against the others for the sweet taste of victory. And he begins the new season striking the canary- a mistake, sure, but whenever people discuss canary symbolism they also discuss how while it's a warning to the miners, the miners look after the canary. They care for it and look after it, after all it's what keeps them alive. And watching everyone's povs nobody wants to target Jimmy (unless its funny), nobody wants to put him in danger so soon, they might consider it then bring up how he always dies first and find someone else... But whether intentional or not, whether rectified or not, Martyn injured the canary before the miners went into the coal mines, and he suffered the most of anyone.

I dunno exactly what dots I'm trying to connect here or how to properly put it into words at this point, something something transferrence of curses, something something karma... Idk, maybe I'm onto something, maybe not, we're just on episode 1, we'll have to see how the rest of the series goes!

#secret life #secret life spoilers #secret life smp #traffic life series #trafficblr #inthelittlewood #jimmy solidarity

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usnatarchives · 2 months

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Power and Light Exhibit 💡

Immerse yourself in the Power & Light exhibit, a profound exploration of the coal miner’s life in 1946 America through the compassionate lens of Russell Lee. A master of documentary photography, Lee was tasked with an extraordinary project following labor strikes—a nationwide survey capturing the essence of remote coal communities. His photos, over 200 of which are featured in our #ArchivesPowerAndLight exhibit, shed light on the rich tapestry of everyday moments against the backdrop of a pivotal time in labor history.

Beyond documenting the gritty realities of coal mining, Lee's photographs celebrate the strength, resilience, and unity of the families that powered these communities. From pride in their homes to solidarity in the mines, every image narrates a story woven into the broader American saga.

Lee, a notable figure among the greats like Walker Evans and Dorothea Lange, believed in the power of photography to create social change. He carried his camera through 13 states, into the homes and lives of those who toiled beneath the earth, and emerged with more than just images—he captured stories that continue to resonate with us today.

This exhibit invites you to traverse time and experience the power and light within this historical archive. Witness the intimate and candid moments Lee immortalized and see the enduring legacy of his work at the National Archives.

#ArchivesSnapshot #Photography #CoalMining #RussellLee #Labor #CoalMines #Diversity #ArchivesPowerAndLight

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 4 months

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Green Carnation

Chapter One

I promised a male version of "The Economic Difference Between The Miner and Mine Owner's Daughter" for male readers. Please, oh please do read the tags! If this makes you uncomfortable then move on. I gave a warning in a previous ask about making the male version of this story and subjects it can touch.

Rated Explicit | Warnings: Period-Typical Homophobia, Historical References

Chapter Two

Muscle and blood, bones of iron, and the will to move mountains; are the traits you swear to see in Norton Campbell. He is the youngest of this group, seen as the weakest, yet you have seen the reports of the work output and Norton is one of the top miners. You have seen him work when observing the mining site with your father, you have never seen him leave the mine unless to eat or sleep and everything in between.

Maybe your approach to him was wrong, you only wanted to ask him some questions, or maybe you poked the wrong bear.

Now here you are in a fist fight and barely two swings in you are stumbling around. Your nose is bloody, your eye swollen near closed, and spit out blood before running at him again. The man is a scraper, the one who your father would bet on if Norton was in a fight clubbing as entertainment. The man is all muscle and blood, with bones of iron.

“Stay down!” You had fallen on the muddy ground, “I said stay down!” On top of you with knees pinning down your arms and his fist raised ready to strike. You struggled, at least you think you did, it is hard to tell given you can't feel much.

“Enough!” Shouts the foreman who finally shows up, he probably was just watching. No one likes your father so seeing his son get his ass beaten probably made everyone's day. Two miners pull Norton off you and he lets them willingly, “Get to him to the infirmary,” Shouts the foreman, and a miner helps you up and literally starts dragging you over to the infirmary tent.

“As for you—”

“Let him go.” Speaking up, “He did nothing wrong, understood?” You move to turn in the direction of the small group of men.

“But sir—”

“Understood, foreman?” Assertive this time, “He needs to go into the infirmary too.”

“Yes, sir.”

You look at Norton, the man is cold as the coal he digs, and then you look away, moving off the miner who was assisting you to walk on your own. Pride, maybe, you can stand on your own and take your hits.

The infirmary is quiet as the nurse overlooks you both, you being the worst out of two.

A patch over your eye, bandages over your ribs, and bandaids on the cuts on your hands and fists. You look like you just boxed with a professional boxer! Norton on the other hand needed some ice, a few bandaids for some cuts, but no worse for wear.

You hiss in pain as you sit on the medical cot then look at Norton who is in front of you sitting at the end of his cot. “Why?” You hear him say it loud and clear.

“Why what, Mr. Campbell?” Fixing your position to be comfortable.

“You could've let them deal with me. Pay one of them to fight me. So why?”

“It was between you and me. You don't like me but nothing you said prior to the fight that wasn't wrong.” The working conditions, the equipment, and everything else in between are a problem. Sure most of the grievances are with your family, and the company too, but the problem is not going to be solved right away. Again this is your father's company and only upon his death will it be yours. “And my offer still stands.”

“Stop trying to butter me up, I ain't being your lapdog.” Crossing his arms over his chest.

“Not a lapdog, a business partner. Equals.”

But being equal with Mr. Campbell is not quite easy given his background; the hatred for those like you, the rich who too often use others to create their stairs to success. Maybe you hoped to make him your business partner, helping give him his footing in this new social and economic status, and maybe just trying to be a friend would lessen the hate-- Towards you at least. You genuinely wanted to make a change in the company, to help the estranged relationship between the employee and the employer; you started to see Mr. Campbell as more than just a man full of anger. His greed is not without reason, when one has nothing he wants everything, you cannot blame him but it worries you.

Fool’s Gold is a material called pyrite that can be used for things like paper. Norton Campbell was livid, the sort of livid that has him ready to break something, until you explain the other uses of ‘Fool’s Gold’.

“Now will you please not break that vase, it is cheap but rather nice. I like to have it as part of the decoration.” You say while leaning against the desk in your study. Well, in your late father’s study before his passing, nature causes.

He looked confused and then realized what he was doing. Norton knows how unstable he can get, seeking mental help for it would be a good idea but he fears he will be locked away. Only you are aware of the voice in his mind after Golden Cave, the mine closed down due to “unstable tunnels” rather than the truth of something is down there. It is not spoken about.

“You must want something out of his,” Placing the vase back and adjusting it to its previous position, “Nothing is free.”

“Please, Mr. Campbell we've talked about this,” Crossing your arms as you sigh while shaking your head, “We are partners,” Explaining yourself again, “When no one else would speak up about my father's treatment of the miners, you did. Both with that mouth of yours and fists. I respect that. I respect you.”

The Prospector scoffs, “Respect. Three years as partners and I still cannot believe getting your jaw rocked suddenly inspired this.”

“Not like I can marry you and take your last name to further prove that I—” You go quiet. Both of you are with him staring hard at you. “Bad wording. Still, I mean it, respecting you.” Dropping your arms from your chest and pushing yourself off the desk, “I need to go get ready.”

Right. Family dinner with that wife of yours. Norton swears she is cheating on you.

“Mr. Campbell?” Stopped mid-way of passing by him, a firm grip on your arm, he moves in closer whispering in your ear. You go still, looking down at the floor in mortifying shock, “H-How?” You were careful! There is no way he could have known! Hell, you are happily married!

“So I'm right?”

A green carnation. It is resting on a suit you wore to the funeral of an old friend. Norton Campbell is very observant, he may not be book-smart, but he is street-smart. Growing up around all types of people, he has seen a lot of things growing up.

Including the green carnation, he saw some men wear where he worked at the time. He would get paid in bread leftovers from a bakery and maybe a coin or two for doing deliveries.

He saw what he believed was a woman and a man wearing a green carnation. Later on, he learned that the bakery had a secret bar called a molly house. By then, he was a young adult, and his deliveries took him to that bar. Shipment deliveries of alcohol and such. He could care less about what anyone did, he wanted money.

If his father did not owe so much in debt, Norton might have still been a delivery boy or a bartender.

When he drove your wife and you from the funeral, he offered out of pity, he saw the flower.

“Where were you really going tonight?” He has you brought back to the spot against the edge in front of the desk, “Your wife is going out too.”

“... Why? Are you going to extort me?!” Clearly upset.

“Huh,” Caging you in with height, size, his arms on each side of your body, “Geez, why bother? You already gave me what I want. Anymore and you should be my wife.”

It is not like he could not imagine you groveling at his feet while Norton calls you ‘Mrs. Campbell’, he has a few times given how often you and him are together. It is like you both were of one mind often, inseparable. Your wife teased it, but he saw how flustered you would get when you think he did not notice.

“Tonight you are going to take me to that spot I know you like to actually go to with your wife.”

“Norton please this—”

“I want you.”

“Don't… Don't say that.”

“Fine.” So he shows you by pushing you down on the desk and kissing you. Not a romantic, no, Norton has you pinned down making you take every bit of raw desire he has for you leaving you stunned and completely in his grasp.

When he finally lets you breathe, you both are breathing hard– Him more so than you– Staring at one another unsure where to go from here. You more so than him.

“Be a good boy and listen.”

#idv #reader insert #idv prospector #identity v x reader #identity v #idv x you #idv reader insert #idv x reader #idv norton #norton campbell x reader #norton campbell #norton campbell x you

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heavencanbeaprisontoo · 3 months

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I just love the idea of Tommy coming face-to-face with an American gang family with a lady as their boss or second hand. Just talking to a woman who isn’t trying to impress him, but isn’t underestimating him.

A mobster from the Rocky Mountains who’s from a similar background to him. She was poor, and she had climbed up the social ladder through any means necessary. Bootlegging during prohibition, messing around with the coal miner unions and all the strikes that took place in Appalachia. Slowly, slowly, coming out of the mountains and into the big city to stake her claim on greater riches.

She can be brutal. She doesn’t care if she isn’t perceived as being feminine but can perform her gender if she feels like it.

She finds him interesting, but she isn’t about to grovel or spread her legs for him.

She is practical and cunning. This is a woman who knows how to catch people off guard just as easily as she can lull them into a state of calm.

You want to become allies? Excellent! But first, she wants to demonstrate what happens to people who cross her family. The whole time she’ll act like she’s doing you a favor. And in a way, she is.

Personally, I think Tommy wouldn’t know what to do with himself. He might consider his old tricks, but change his mind. She’s someone he had never encountered before. A beast with the same dead eyes as him.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders x oc #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby headcanon #thomas shelby x reader

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 2 months

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"For the General Mining Association (GMA), then, the strike was unambiguously about control. Union miners had received eviction notices in the spring of 1882. Those remaining sustained themselves during the summer with the help of a plentiful herring fishery and cod. By September, a contingent of only 31 individuals was left. “Supplies are not sent as regularly as they should,” reported the Trades Journal, “yet the brothers are stout hearted. The strike is still on.” Sydney physician and William McDonald’s brother, Dr. Michael A. McDonald, also made calls at Lingan to attend to the remaining people there free of charge. However, it was clear no resolution was in sight, and the GMA was not interested in suggestions from the union miners to submit the case to the government for arbitration. Meanwhile, by November rumblings about [mine manager] Lynk’s intentions to move men from Low Point to Lingan were heard. In January, Lynk indeed made efforts. Nine men were sent from Low Point to work at Lingan, but they were “captured by the union” and returned to Low Point. Later, on 25 January, six more men working at Lingan were captured by a union delegation. R. H. Brown was scandalized. The group of “50 or so Unionists” had entered the enclosure around the pit at Lingan, ignoring “a notice at the gate prohibiting any person going there without permission of the GMA or their Agent.” Brown subsequently interviewed Drummond Lodge delegates who had participated in the Lingan excursion on direction of the PWA subcouncil. “I told them to warn all the men whom they represented that I would prosecute any man who entered upon any of the GMAssn property at Lingan,” he fumed. By month’s end, it was reported that seven pairs of men were working the pit along with two or three loaders.

...

Lynk and the GMA persisted in their efforts to find workmen to send to Lingan. John McKinnon, a tailor in Sydney, reportedly tried to recruit a man, returning to Little Glace Bay from the country, to work at Lingan for $2 per day. The man, Michael McMullen, was a member of Keystone Lodge, and he wrote to the Trades Journal advising miners not to frequent McKinnon’s shop and warning that Lynk had other agents in Sydney trying to recruit.

.... A party of about 70 miners descended on Lingan on 19 March from Glace Bay, Reserve Mines, Bridgeport, and Sydney Mines. This was not spontaneous. The order had come from the Cape Breton subcouncil of the Provincial Workmen’s Association (PWA) for each lodge to send fifteen men to Lingan in order to persuade the labourers there to quit – some of whom, the Trades Journal claimed, hoped the arrival of a union delegation would give them a needed pretext to leave their work. By six o’clock that evening, the party of union miners occupied the “big bridge,” over which those working at the colliery had to pass to arrive back at their houses. Lynk, Brown, and Constable Musgrave accompanied the men attempting to cross this railway bridge. John McDonald – the Lynk loyalist “Smoker” – also accompanied the GMA group and ordered the union men to move off the bridge. One of the strikebreakers reportedly drew a gun. A fight broke out. Lynk’s men were outnumbered, and Lynk was struck. Some were knocked down and kicked, others scattered. The siege continued into the next day, by which time the union men had taken “full charge of the colliery.”

...

Though there was a tradition of vigilantism and direct action among the miners, collective action of this scope had not been seen before on the Sydney coalfield. The GMA requested regular troops be brought in, and 100 men of the Prince of Wales’s Own Yorkshire Regiment boarded the steamer Newfoundland in Halifax on 27 March with “arms and ammunition ready prepared for a fight.” The Newfoundland government, however, would not permit the steamer’s planned journey to St. John’s to be prolonged by a stop at Louisbourg to deposit the military force, and Prime Minister Macdonald insisted on the deployment of Canadian militia instead. The British troops were required to unload their gear from the ship and return to barracks. The following day 25 members of the Sydney Volunteers arrived in Lingan under the command of Colonel Crowe Reed.

The GMA was not able to restore order on its terms. That night, at two o’clock, Chief Const. Musgrave arrived in Little Glace Bay from Lingan with seven volunteers and six constables to arrest men in connection with the Lingan riot. “They arrested Joe Currie and brought him down to jail,” fifteen-year-old Allan Joseph McDonald reported to his father, William, who was away in Ottawa at the time for Parliament. Next, Musgrave proceeded to the home of Simon Lott, a miner over 60 years of age and a member of Keystone Lodge. He broke down the door, and, as Allan Joseph described it, “dragged old Simon out.” But, as Allan Joseph continued, “some of the Union Men heard the noise and they went all around the other houses telling [people] what was wrong[.] Ten all the men followed Musgrave and the soldiers up to McPherson[’]s and Musgrave hid there.” An angry crowd of about 300 people gathered outside McPherson’s house where Musgrave was sheltered. The crowd, reported Allan Joseph, “would have killed him,” given the opportunity. A warrant for Musgrave’s arrest was obtained, and he was collected and placed in jail. The volunteers and constables departed Little Glace Bay before noon and without Musgrave, who was bailed out of jail the following day by Henry Mitchell. The episode was an outright defiance of constituted authority, and it revealed the interlacing of the miners’ perspectives with a broader community solidarity that could be mobilized to enforce collective moral judgements. The outside report of the Montréal Gazette – which claimed that the constable had “escaped to the lock-up … to save himself from the mob” – evaded acknowledgement of the full extent, and deliberate nature, of the popular agency exercised at Little Glace Bay.

The coal operators perhaps wished not to openly expose the limitations of their power to the outside public. After refusing to negotiate for over a year, on 17 April, the GMA asked to meet with the committee of Coping Stone Lodge. An agreement was reached on 24 April, which was ratified by the Cape Breton Coal Association.

- Don Nerbas, “‘Lawless Coal Miners’ and the Lingan Strike of 1882–1883: Remaking Political Order on Cape Breton’s Sydney Coalfield,” Labour/Le Travail 92 (Fall 2023), 110-114

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nerdyenby · 6 months

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One of my favorite things about the life series — aside from the everything — is how fluid the narrative is and how it’s primarily shaped by the fanbase. Because of this, you can maintain multiple contradicting theories with minimal concern about starting an argument or being proven wrong, it’s great

For example, I have two separate interpretations of Jimmy not being first out of Secret Life. I love them both to death and I don’t have to choose (at least for now)

1. the curse isn’t broken (lizzie)

This theory (introduced in this post) is essentially that Lizzie’s final death doesn’t break Jimmy’s curse. The canary’s curse is to be a warning of impending doom, to die to signal danger to miners within caves. Jimmy was still the first to die in the Overworld, the first funeral, the first lightning strike. Lizzie died in the End, a tragic accident that went unnoticed for seconds if not minutes. She died in the void like no player before. The End has not been in play in any prior season, and the Watchers are known to have a special relationship with it. Is it possible she escaped their notice? That her death was beyond their reach? Beyond the bounds of the game? Jimmy has always been the first to die, a warning to others that death is coming, but what meaning does the canary’s call — or lack of it — have to those beyond the coal mine?

2. the curse is broken (skizz)

I noted (in this post) when episode four first came out that Skizz said something unexpected, something with unusual confidence behind it. He called Jimmy a winner, commended his fighting spirit, and told him things would be different this time. He truly believed in Jimmy, and, possibly more importantly, got Jimmy to believe in himself. Fans have consistently interpreted Skizz’s character as angelic — as kind, honest, pure, good, steadfast, sacrificial, and selfless. Between his pattern with threes (being in every season except the third, having three deaths in the first episode of Limited Life, etc.) and the pattern known as “Skizz’s Blessing,” (where the winner of each season was there when he died) it’s easy to see why. His words historically have weight in the games, take “TIES makes top three” for example. Whether he predicts or dictates events as we know them, we don’t know, but it doesn’t seem to matter. When Skizz speaks there is truth we don’t see anywhere else. He is an omen of victory, all the sweeter in Jimmy’s case considering Skizz was the one to end his series — end anyone’s series — for the very first time.

(Note that I gotta go back and fact check the other patterns/curses I reference, these may be edited accordingly)

#both of these things can be true #these theories are my babies you guys #now. whether skizz KNOWS the future or whether the games unfold ACCORDING TO HIS WORD?#I don’t know but I’d love to hear you guys’ thoughts #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #lizzie ldshadowlady #skizzleman #secret life spoilers #life series #trafficblr #nerdy’s traffic analysis

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thesweetnessofspring · 8 months

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Katniss Wants Kisses: Part 5

Drabble series: Katniss is fed up with getting no physical affection from Peeta during their training for the Quarter Quell, so she takes matters into her own hands. Rated T.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Read on ao3

I expect Peeta to hide from me the next day, so I’m surprised when in the early evening, he’s knocking at my front door and asking me to go on a walk with him. I take my father’s jacket with me and head out the door.

The snow has melted and patches of grass have come through. Though it’s warm enough, Peeta’s hands stay securely in his own coat pocket.

“I know you want Haymitch to go into the Quell with you,” Peeta says. I don’t deny it. I can’t lie to Peeta. Not any more than I already had to in the Games. He continues, “And you know that I’m planning on going in there.”

“Peeta–”

“I’m not here to fight with you about that,” he says. “I’ll make my plans, you make yours, and we’ll see what Haymitch decides to do. But what you’re doing–it’s not fair.”

“And what exactly am I doing?” I ask.

“Come on, Katniss. The massage? The kiss? You’re trying to give me hope of what we could be, if I let Haymitch go in and you win. To convince me to stay behind,” Peeta says.

“What?”

What he’s accusing me of is cruel. And after the offense strikes me, I try to imagine how this has been for Peeta. How I played up our romance to save his life before, without him knowing and the hurt when he found out it was for the show. The distance I put between us after the Games and then again after Gale’s whipping. It doesn’t make sense why now I’m longing for Peeta’s touch, Peeta’s kiss, after all of that history, unless I’d returned to the act.

“I’m not doing that,” I say.

“Then what are you doing, Katniss?”

I shrug. I don’t know how to explain it to him. I don’t even quite understand it, just that right now when I’m so scared and worried, he makes me feel warm and good.

We’re quiet as we keep walking. Peeta’s question hangs over us. Why do all I can to have physical contact with him? Why chase after his arms, his kisses? Because now, it doesn’t matter. I only have these few months left. The things I used to worry about that kept me distant–having children, losing them–they won’t ever happen. My guard has dropped, just as Peeta has put his up, suspicious of everything I do.

I’m so stuck in sorting all of this out that I don’t notice where we’re going until blackened faces with olive skin appearing along wrinkled creases start to pass us by. The west mine entrance.

I stop before going any further down the way. “Why are we here?”

But I know. I know that we hadn’t been walking down a random path. Peeta’s brought me here deliberately.

He has a sad smile on his face. “Reminding you that you have a future.”

Gale’s coming down the path–he’s taller than just about anyone else in the whole District and impossible to miss. A future. A future with Gale, he means. I’d made that decision once, but that had been before. Before it would be Peeta’s life or mine.

Peeta turns around, catching my eye and masks the hurt of this whole situation and I want to scream and cry that this isn’t fair. None of it. Not the Quell and not using Gale for him to get his way. Then he walks away, leaving me to be alone with Gale.

“Hey, Catnip,” Gale says when he’s in front of me. A stream of miners step around us as we stare at each other. His gray eyes stand out against the black coal dust on his face.

“Hi,” I say.

I think about last Sunday, how I’d ignored him all evening, not wanting to give Peeta the satisfaction of having his distraction work on me. Now, though, this same distraction has a heavier weight after my conversation with Peeta.

“Walk me home?” Gale asks.

I nod, feeling odd that my fiancé has set me up on a date. To others it would just look like two cousins taking a walk, but I know better. And I know what Peeta is trying to do, what Gale is helping him with.

Gale starts talking, reminiscing about memories of the woods. Finding that patch of strawberries, practicing duck calls, sledding in the winter with a long strip of bark. I laugh along with him at the memories, but it's only an echo of those days so long ago. Days that were both harder and easier than now.

Gale has a spigot outside his house and he starts washing up, though I remember from my father the dust never really comes out the whole way. Once he's cleaned up, he turns to me and says, "Come inside and have dinner with us. My family would like to see you."

If I cross that door and follow Gale in, I'll step for a moment back to the days of two kids trying to survive and save our families.

But those days are gone.

“My family is expecting me," I say.

He gives me a nod and we go our own ways.

It’s completely dark now. I make my way through the Seam, across the town square, and to Victors Village. As I walk up the street, I see that Peeta’s kitchen light is on at the back of his house, so I sneak up the side and around to the back door. I pause, watching through the window as Peeta cleans up dishes, his back turned to me. And for a moment I picture things that could have been. A extra set of dishes, towel in my hand as I dry, ending the day with his arms wrapped around mine.

But we still have time.

I knock on the glass window of the door. Peeta jumps and then sees that it’s me. I wait as he dries his hands on his apron and heads toward the door to let me in. His wide shoulders have slouched and he's frowning as the door opens.

“Katniss,” he says, voice deflated. I can't take his disappointment, so I lean forward, pressing my mouth to his. He hesitates, and I screw my eyes tight, willing him to allow this. It takes a moment before his arms enclose my waist and mine go around his neck, scrunching my shoulders up to pull him into me. I want to taste more of him, feel his heartbeat against my chest, and never let him go.

He breaks the kiss and while holding me in his arms, looks down at me with a mix of wonder and conflict. I hold my hands together around his neck all the tighter. But something passes over him, smoothing his brow, and then his lips are on mine while he steps back into his house with me and shuts the door.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #thg fanfiction #katniss wants kisses #one more drabble after this!#plus a bonus peeta pov

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