#sixteen tons

[the-gnomish-bastard]

My goblins have been singing a weird song lately. Anybody know if this means they’re planning something?

Some people say a goblin’s made outta mud

A poor gob's made outta muscle and mud

Muscle and mud and skin and bones

A mind that's a-weak and a back that's strong

You load 16 tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Maglubliyet, don't you call me 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the Murderous Gnome

I was born one mornin' when the sun didn't shine

I picked up my drill and I climbed down the mine

I loaded 16 tons of Runic Warp Stone

And the gnome boss said, "Well, a-curse my soul"

You load 16 tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Maglubliyet, don't you call me 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the Murderous Gnome

I was born one mornin', it was drizzlin' rain

Fightin' and shankin’ are my middle name

I was raised in the canebrake by an ol' bird thing lion

Can't no high toned wizard make me walk the line

You load 16 tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Maglubliyet, don't you call me 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the Murderous Gnome

If you see me comin', better step aside

A lotta gobs didn't, a lotta gobs died

One fist of copper, the other of steel

If the right one don't get you

Then the left one will

You load 16 tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Maglubliyet, don't you call me 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the Murderous Gnome

[paper-mario-wiki]

in prison rn hope u like my song

[azdesertwillow]

So since I've seen it come up several times, I figured I'd post the song where the latest Junoverse episode gets it's name.

Sixteen Tons by Tennessee Ford

It was about the horrible conditions many miners worked in. They worked in a company town and were paid with the company's exclusive currency that was only good at the company store. You lived where you worked, you couldn't escape, it was framed as a good thing—made your life easier... Sound familiar?

This mind set is also very similar to a lot of silicone valley tech companies. Amazon was also talking about going back to a similar system that just skirted the laws that make it now highly illegal.

The chorus of the song is especially relevant to our beloved thief.

The name of this episode is brilliant, honestly. And even then, I wouldn't put it past Penumbra to make it reference something specific within the story as well in the next episode.

Enjoy!

[creeket]

Spearmaster having a perpetual midlife crisis.

Audio from this awesome cover

Suns design by @shkika

[punemy-spotted]

WIP Wednesday: 16 Tons

It's Wednesday, my dudes, and therefore I'm getting in the spirit to share a new WIP... because I can.

Please enjoy a preview of a new Curtis Everett fic set in my Down Here, in this Valley universe. Featuring Miner!Curtis, a Witch!Reader, and a whole lot of Lore™

Warnings: discussions of death; a relatively brutal murder scene; burn scars; my limited understanding of how medicine works; exploitation of workers; the fic is dark because the content is; THIS IS A HORROR FIC; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (MIND THE TAGS)

If you would like to be tagged in updates, please check out my (new and improved) taglist and sign up! I have also created an archive where just my fics and drabbles will be reblogged (and tagged), over at @punemys-library. It's a little under construction, but we're working on it.

Curtis Everett is going to die. ‘Course, everything dies, eventually. Much as you loathed sittin’ through your daddy’s sermons, you knew the truth in ‘em — death is a prize every livin’ being, regardless of sapience or the desire to be, ought to aspire to. Death is the gift of all gifts, your daddy would proclaim from his bone-an’-antler pulpit, the final gesture of our loving Lord and Savior — an’ you, your sisters, your momma, your daddy an’ a few others your daddy claimed were kinfolk on his side were all the guides meant t’introduce all manner of worldly beings too blind t’understand just how precious that kinda oblivion was to the glory of that final, permanent end.

Still. Curtis Everett is going to die. Curtis Everett is going to die in your kitchen, his own pickaxe embedded in his chest, the final desperate pumps of his pierced heart pouring blood all over that pretty linoleum you didn’t actually like keepin’ in your kitchen an’ probably would tear up after you came to terms with never feelin’ like you could scrub away the remnants of him.

You watch it play out before you like you’ve done plenty of times before, the course of Curtis Everett’s life written in scars yet to be earned, bruises waiting to bloom on flesh that has known little more than the danger and dread of coal dust for as long as you have known him. You also watch him sitting in your clinic, for once not complaining as you finish cleaning and rewrapping the thankfully not festering burn he’d been dutifully letting you treat — per your own professional orders — for the past week-and-a-half, Looks like it’s healing nicely, but it’ll probably scar.

It’s not the first scar he’s earned in Snowpiercer, but it’s certainly not going to be the last. You’ve been counting down the months — and injuries — to that particular worry for a while. The ones you can help him avoid — the ones he listens to you about — you warn against, and the ones he can’t escape, you patch up. The same as you would anyone in Snowpiercer, being the company’s own doctor as you ar. Your momma’d scold you up, down an’ sideways if she knew what you were doin’ interferin’ with the predestined path of men as you watched ‘em struggle, suffer, an’ eventually succumb. But your momma wasn’t here to know, and even if she were, your momma’d never be able to understand just what sorta poison of a gift it was she’d saddled you with.

Death is a Rogers daughter’s birthright, even if they themselves were more often than not denied the majesty of its truest gift. You were not born into this life to die, but to be a guardian of it, to guide the walking dead makin’ their way beyond the borders of that ol’ Holler you’d been born in through the trials of judgment and that ultimate verdict. You were not, your momma would have reminded, meant to shield ‘em from the pains of life — an ‘the lessons to be gleaned from ‘em.

Anything you want me to do with it? Curtis Everett’s question breaks you out of your bitter ruminating, reminds you of the more pressing responsibilities you chose. You turn to watch him a moment, looking as if you might just need a moment to remember the exact instructions you ought to give for his wound care. Except that’s not what you give, is it? Instead, you look over Curtis Everett’s work-weary expression, the quiet dread in his eyes at the prospect of needin’ to manage yet one more thing, one more purchase at the Company Store, one more burden to bear, Just come by every evenin’, I’ll keep the coal dust outta them wrappin’s for you.

You know full well you’ll need to work late to take care of it… and clean the coal dust outta your clinic, but it’s better you than him — at least that’s what you tell yourself as Curtis Everett’s shoulders relax, relief flooding those work-weathered features you’ve almost started memorizin’ by this time, makin’ the sleep you will almost certainly lose tomorrow and the remainder of this week worth it.

It must always be worth it.

[aboutoriginality]

Busker gets them dancing in Hobart! - ‘Sixteen Tons’

[fletcherwilbury]

@sochilll December Prompt List Day 16: Fireplace

Warning for Physical abuse, verbal abuse, overworking, exhaustion, flare-up, misgendering

[diet-poison]

Cyberfolkpunk, which is mostly listening to Sixteen Tons and imagining Merle Travis with a cybernetic arm and robo eye

[tfc2211]

The George Mitchell Choir – Where Have All The Flowers Gone (1963)

[the-one-and-only-overlass]

horus kobold named sixteenth ton

is this anything

[nugothrhythms]

Are there any goth covers of "Sixteen Tons?" I don't care what subgenre (darkwave, gothic rock, trad post-punk, etc); I just want one. If it doesn't exist yet, I give all the musicians following me full permission to rip off this idea.

[muttball]

Big Big John

[yoursinharmony]

Sorry to be shallow this evening, but he is gorgeous.

[aboutoriginality]

Sixteen Tons | Tennessee Ernie Ford | Oct 18, 1956