Not long ago I watched the film Pride (set largely in 1984 Wales), and there was a scene where the community hall broke into the song Bread and Roses. I was on a plane, otherwise I’d probably have googled it.
I was looking at some labor history links today after looking at some titles on Scribd and came across this by the Labor Education Service from the University of Minnesota: there again, Bread and Roses (1912, far from Wales).
So now, reading the lyrics and looking up the strike and the song both, this is how we get the name Rose Schneiderman - who coined the phrase that was turned into a slogan, poem and song.
All of this to say that I was moved by a speech from Rose herself, in the wake of the famous Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire. Thank you wikipedia for that. And now perhaps I ought to find more to read of hers, but that is the beauty of internet rabbitholes, there is always more to read:
“I would be a traitor to these poor burned bodies if I came here to talk good fellowship. We have tried you good people of the public and we have found you wanting. The old Inquisition had its rack and its thumbscrews and its instruments of torture with iron teeth. We know what these things are today; the iron teeth are our necessities, the thumbscrews are the high-powered and swift machinery close to which we must work, and the rack is here in the firetrap structures that will destroy us the minute they catch on fire.
This is not the first time girls have been burned alive in the city. Every week I must learn of the untimely death of one of my sister workers. Every year thousands of us are maimed. The life of men and women is so cheap and property is so sacred. There are so many of us for one job it matters little if 146 of us are burned to death.
We have tried you citizens; we are trying you now, and you have a couple of dollars for the sorrowing mothers, brothers and sisters by way of a charity gift. But every time the workers come out in the only way they know to protest against conditions which are unbearable the strong hand of the law is allowed to press down heavily upon us.
Public officials have only words of warning to us – warning that we must be intensely peaceable, and they have the workhouse just back of all their warnings. The strong hand of the law beats us back, when we rise, into the conditions that make life unbearable.
I can’t talk fellowship to you who are gathered here. Too much blood has been spilled. I know from my experience it is up to the working people to save themselves. The only way they can save themselves is by a strong working-class movement.”
For everybody (very reasonably) tagging this post with variations on ‘WHY?’ (J2 RPF, maybe alllmost NSFW?)
“Slap me in the face,” says Jensen; and Jared does, hard enough that Jensen’s teeth clash together and he fishes half a splintered molar out of his mouth.
“What the fuck,” he says, stunned, and Jared wheezes with drawn-out laughter, tears running down his face, bent over in the middle of the Toronto street with his hands on his knees as he howls at Jensen’s shocked expression.
“You asked for it!” he says, and Misha says,
“I mean, he isn’t wrong.”
Jensen blinks a few times, rearranges his jaw, shakes away the stars that are spinning across his vision. Then the hilarity of the situation sinks in and he’s laughing too, cheek scraping painfully across the jagged surface of the broken tooth.
“What were you thinking, man?” says Misha, and Jensen says,
“I don’t know.” He doesn’t. It just felt like a good idea.
“Dude,” says Jared, hand heavy on Jensen’s shoulder, “dude, dude, dude, Misha, I know what we should do now.”
The hotel wrestling match that follows leaves Misha with an elbow that he can’t work properly for the next six months; Jared with a bruised rib that twinges every time he laughs; and Jensen with rug burn across his forehead and chin. It also leaves him with a low-burning, queasy curiosity that he doesn’t let himself examine. That is, not until six months later when they’re at another convention, in Jersey this time, and he and Jared are out by themselves and they’re wasted, again; soaked through with wine and four or five whiskey chasers, stumbling giggling up a New York backstreet to their hotel.
Jared has his arm around Jensen, his weight swinging unevenly against him, and suddenly Jensen’s flushed with a giddy adrenaline rush that he half-recognises but doesn’t try to stop.
“Hey, Jared,” he says, “hey, you should slap me in the face.”
Jared turns his head towards him, wide eyes right up close, pink cheeks, whiskey breath. His eyebrows draw together, forehead furrowing, and he lets his arm drop from Jensen’s shoulders and takes an unsteady step back.
Jensen is fizzing all over, little electric sparks through his veins. “Go on,” he says. He pushes his chin forward, shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Hit me.”
The tip of Jared’s tongue flicks out across his lips. He raises his hand; but he doesn’t draw it all the way back like he did in Toronto, doesn’t let fly with the same uncontrolled power. This time, he delivers a deliberate, open-palmed slap across Jensen’s cheek. Jensen’s teeth don’t rattle in his skull. But the hot sharp sting of the contact radiates out across his body, shooting through his nervous system and settling urgent and tight in his groin. He stares at Jared, silent, chest heaving. Jared meets his gaze, dark-eyed.
Also…. I kinda feel like your mine and Lee’s mother, scolding us somewhat.
You two are having way too much fun with this.
And @cherrybombs-and-rabbitholes those sentences… Oh my God, staaaaap. My mother is sitting next to me (the computers are next to each other) and I really don’t wanna test how many English words she may know…
CHIRRUT / BAZE: Fighting together side by side in a jaeger since their early days. When Chirrut is blinded by a kaiju Baze becomes his eyes once they are in the drift, a place that Chirrut also calls the Force, while Chirrut remains Baze’s fixed point so that the drift does not lure him down rabbitholes. Their jaeger is the Guardian. It is colored with sandy reds and dark blues and is loaded with blaster guns. Additionally, from a slot in its right leg produces a metal electrostatic staff that unfolds to its full size for battle usage.
JYN / CASSIAN: After ‘recruiting’ Jyn from a prison camp to find out more about the superweapon, they go head to head about the usage of the jaegers in these battles. After a bout of arguing and getting into a brawl the Resistance notes their compatibility. At first they are resistant to the notion, even as far as refusing the neural compatibility test, but after a run-through in the dark grey K2sO Jaeger they find they have more in common than they thought. Their weapon specialties are blaster rockets for long range attacks and dual swords for close range.
BODHI: Formerly a cargo shuttler for Krennic turned Jaeger technician for Chirrut/Baze and Jyn/Cassian. It is with his knowledge that they are able to sneak onto Scarif, the holding facility which has the superweapon’s plans, and courier them back to the Resistance for safer usage to defeat the kaiju. Later on he is proposed/initiated as an additional pilot for the Guardian (which would undergo maintenance to adapt to this addition).
GALEN / KRENNIC: former Jaeger pilot team. Old tensions remain after Galen retires from the Jaeger program and at first refuses to help Krennic build a destructive weapon that could potentially kill all kaiju but also could wipe out most of humankind in the process. The only ones who would be except would be select people whom they feel would be “proper” for continuing humankind. Krennic still feels the sting of this and hates Galen for everything that has happened since. Their former jaeger’s name was Catalyst.
“I know that because I’m an anomaly. I’ve moved things with my mind. I’ve lit things on fire, I’ve caught bullets midair. I’ve seen things that people only dream about. I’ve seen the seams between universes ripped apart. Things that human shouldn’t see. You people make up explanations, assign meaning to things without knowing, because it’s reassuring. It’s comforting. But I can’t do that. Because I know too much.”
I’ve been seeing so many cool builds for Forgotten Hollow on my dash lately! Very inspiring. It’s too bad the world has so few lots, because it would be fun to do a S3 Moonlight Falls type of town, with distinct neighborhoods and spooky/mysterious community lots. I always loved the rabbitholes for that world!
The numbers in this are all off because I have a mod in place, but I thought the tuning on a cowplant was actually pretty interesting. I knew certain traits were predisposed to eating a cowplant’s cake, but didn’t know how deep the rabbithole went.
The mod I have in place makes it so that no one outside of my active household is safe from eating the cake - one eat, one death. It was actually really effective when I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. :D