czescmnie

[yourfavealbumisgender]

Ta-Dah by Scissor Sisters is a Nonbinary Lesbian!

requested by anon

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 24

The Second Doctor took Jamie and Victoria to Traken once. The Keeper at the time was so fond of Victoria he gave her a piece of his mind that would one day become Viola.

The whole idea behind clowns came from the ravenous predators of the Time Lords.

When the Doctor's biodata had been altered by the Faction Paradox, the Eighth Doctor's eyes pulsed between blue and green.

The Herald is a monstrous version of the Thirteenth Doctor from an alternate future where she was absorbed by the chaos while trapped in the Catastrophia, a universe of madness. The Herald exists alongside the original Thirteenth and the Sanity, another counterpart.

Katarina was originally judged to be neither good nor evil and was sentenced to wander for eternity in the fields. The First Doctor refused to accept this from the judges and instead went to the highest authority he could, Hades. (He wanted to talk to their manager.) After being convinced by Persephone, Hades relented and allowed Katarina into the Elysian Fields.

Even before this, it was difficult to even get Katarina across the River Styx anyway. Charon considered her unclean because she had taken her own life. To get her across, the First Doctor originally offered his signet ring as payment, but they instead scattered Charon's coins and stole his boat.

Susan made an archive of all of her adventures on the TARDIS. The Thirteenth Doctor would later find and watch all of them.

The Fifth Doctor, Nyssa, Tegan, and Adric once went to a planet full of statues. These statues were highly intelligent. Adric started turning into a statue after the statues started saying that he belonged with them, but the Doctor saved him (because no, that boy is not allowed to turn himself into a statue), to his shock and horror. Adric was very angry about this for a long time since the Doctor didn't let him choose his destiny.

Liv Chenka has referred to the Eighth Doctor as a "kitten with a ball of string" before.

For Yaz's birthday, the Thirteenth Doctor picked up a Sontaran Frosted Boom Cake from a Sontaran bakery, some Zeppelins from Blitz-era London to function as balloons, and a candelabra from Paris to function as birthday candles. The cake ended up exploding into a mess of pink chocolate, but Yaz was delighted regardless.

Padrac was an old classmate of the Doctor's and a member of the same zero-grav hyperball team. The Eighth Doctor referred to him as "Paddy" several times. Like many old classmates and friends of the Doctor's, however, Padrac was evil and tried to not only kill the Doctor but destroy the vast majority of everything in existence.

Cardinal Zero regenerated into an avian.

The Fifth Doctor and Nyssa landed on Mondas as the Cybermen were being created. Due to his alien biology, the Doctor was used as a template to produce fully functioning Mondasian Cybermen.

The Thirteenth Doctor once served as an undercover assassin to the King. Eventually, she was contracted to kill...the Doctor.

When the Twelfth Doctor caught the common cold, he thought he would have to regenerate.

A little girl named Lizzie once snuck on board the TARDIS while the Thirteenth Doctor was away and dropped a peanut butter sandwich down the console. This broke the navigational systems.

While trying to guess the Ninth Doctor's name, the Grimminy-Grew called him Brother Lungbarrow, Theta Sigma, and the Oncoming Storm.

One time while posing as a museum curator, the Thirteenth Doctor met Missy. Missy wanted to know the location of several items that had been stolen from her but never actually realized she was talking to the Doctor.

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

[andromedism]

June 2017

“What’re you doing, bro?” 

“I’m twirling!” Charlie yells over the booming bass, a blur of rainbow beads rattling around his neck. They shimmer in the strobe lights, casting specks of refracting light across his army jacket and his upturned face. 

The dance floor parts slightly, a red sea of narrow-faced gays scowling at him as he overtakes their space with his revolution. It’s making Mac dizzy, but he needs to stay sharp. 

“He’s twirling!” Dee confirms. She’s swaying at Mac’s side, a large rainbow flag tied around her neck. One of her gaudy fake lashes is sticking to her eyelid. 

They’re both tipsier than Mac; the stale beer tolerance they’ve built up at Paddy’s is an unworthy match for the dangerously fruity drinks The Rainbow hands out like candy during Pride. Mac’s a pro by now and can knock back watermelon daiquiris with the best of them, but tonight isn’t the night for dicking around. 

He grips Charlie’s shoulder, stopping him. “Take it easy. You don’t wanna pull trig on the dance floor, dude. People’ll get pissed.” 

It’s not that this dance floor hasn’t seen its fair share of vomit—it has. Much of it, Mac’s. It’s just that the hundreds of glittery bodies swaying to the house music are giving him vertigo, and he didn’t really want to come, and Charlie and Dee cannot be left alone together without committing at least one felony. If one of them angers the wrong gay, he’ll have to bust out his jiu-jitsu training, and this isn’t the venue for that. 

Someone needs to reign them in, be the straight man in the gay bar, and it has to be him—there’s no one else, anymore. 

“You’re being such a buzz kill, man! This is your night!” Charlie cries, nodding his head to the beat of the music. He hasn’t stopped moving since Elton John’s tenor broke through the speaker on the first parade float earlier that afternoon. Mac’s always loved how Charlie absorbs the musicality in everything; tapping his feet to the rhythm of the leaky tap in the bar or pulling a piano riff from thin air after sniffing paint. It’s second nature for him. And then there’s Dee.

“Yeah! This is your night!” she parrots. She takes a swig from the penis-shaped cup she’s spilled the contents of on everyone in her orbit since they arrived. Mac has no idea where she got it from. The Rainbow doesn’t supply these. “Hey, this is blue flavored. What fruit is blue? Mac, d’you know?”

Charlie whirls on her, tipping back onto his heels as his legs catch up with his upper body. “Now hold on a minute, Dee. Why are you asking him, huh? Feels homophobic for you to assume he’s the fruit expert, here.”

“I’m not—” she huffs loudly and rolls her eyes in that eerie way that reminds Mac she’s someone’s twin, “—I’m not saying he’s the fruit expert ‘cause he’s gay, dipshit! I just—he’s been working out a lot and eating boring health food. Thought he’d know his fruits.” 

Charlie turns to look at Mac, eyes skidding over his biceps. He doesn’t pay attention to things like this. If Mac showed up at the bar tomorrow with D-cups and ass implants, he wouldn’t bat an eye and doesn’t now. “He hasn’t been working out.” 

“Yeah, he has! My god, do you pay attention to anything?” 

They’ve been doing this a lot: talking about Mac like he isn’t standing right in front of them. His own friends treat him like a dog, hinting they’ll take him for a walk without saying it because they think if he hears the word, he’ll scamper around excitedly until they leash him. Or put him down.

Charlie plants his hands on his hips. “Well who’s to say between the two of us, I’m not the one with the fruit expertise?” 

“Oh, what do you know about fruits, Charlie?” Dee challenges, walking up on him. 

Charlie bounces on his toes as he shouts in Dee’s face. “I know a lot about fruits! I know a lot about fruits! My areas of expertise are bird law, woodworking, and then fruit—”

“Woodworking, what the hell are you talking about!?” Dee shouts back. She’s gesturing so violently that blue liquid is flying everywhere. Mac is strategically dodging drops of it as he steps forward to break them up. 

It’s just then that the song changes and Charlie shoves his hand over Dee’s mouth to silence her. “Shut up! Shut up! Dee, shut up.” 

She pushes him away, spitting wildly. “What the hell is on your hands!? Glue!?”

“I said shut up!” Charlie shrieks. He takes a deep breath and extends his arms, palms outstretched like a prophet. “I have to twirl about this.” Before Madonna can get a word of Express Yourself in edge-wise, he’s spinning again, off into the crowd.

Mac steps forward to follow him, but a sharp, quippy ‘Hey, boner!’ stops him in his tracks. When he turns to look at Dee, she’s staring at him. It’s so unnatural that he can only blink back at her. These past few years, they haven’t paid much attention to each other—only to fight like cats; their dynamic always defined by their gravitational proximity to another man. 

“Are you—are you talking to me?”

“Yeah, duh. What’s up your ass?” She accents her question with a long swig from her dick cup. There’s a familial likeness there that keeps Mac from ever looking her directly in the eye. 

Mac crosses his arms, standing a little straighter. “Nothing. Just trying to keep you two safe.”

She arches an eyebrow at him, dumbfounded. “From who?” 

And yeah, that’s a good question. The threat level in the room is pretty low. Mac knows because he assessed it when they first walked in. 

He shrugs. “I dunno. Anyone could be lurking here. Spies, henchman, a ninja maybe—”

“A ninja?” she interrupts, and there’s skepticism in her tone that makes him nervous. Why can’t she mind her own business? 

“They could be anywhere, Dee. You don’t understand because you’re thinking like a civilian.” He taps his forehead for good measure. 

“You’re a civilian, jerk ass.” She pulls the little umbrella out of her cup and twirls it in between her fingers. “You’re thinkin’ ‘bout your buddy, huh? Yikes!” 

He’s been trying really hard not to think about anything at all; the door in his apartment that’s always closed; the room behind it that’s always empty; the one-way ticket to North Dakota that made it all so.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah y’are.” She shoves the dick cup in his face until he takes a swig. It feels like water going up his nose. 

“Holy shit. What is this, Windex?” He eyes the sloshing blue substance, suspiciously. Maybe it will poison her and she’ll stop asking him so many pointed questions. 

“No, it’s a blue lagoon. I got it from Estevan.” Dee flicks her hand behind her lazily, and Mac follows the direction of her flippant gesture into a crowd of strangers. 

“Who’s Estevan?”

“He’s over th—” She turns to point at an empty space on the far wall. “Oh. I could’ve sworn he was…” She cocks her head back at Mac. “Hey, what d’you think was in those edibles?”

Mac swallows dryly. “I don’t think those were edibles, Dee.” 

There was something kind of wonky about the little pink gummies Frank dropped into each of their palms, hours earlier. ‘You kids stay woke and don’t mix these with poppers or you’ll end up ass up in an airfield,’ he’d said before descending the stairs to a sketchy basement bar with Artemis. He hadn’t meant it in the liberal sense. There’s nothing woke about Frank. If Mac had a dime for every homophobic thing the guy said today, he’d be able to buy everyone in the bar a round. What’s the word for that? Reparations, maybe? 

He looks to his side to ask the person who’s always standing there, the person who always knows the answer. There’s no one.

Dee pokes Mac in the pec with the toothpick end of the umbrella. “Look, I don’t care if you go home and sob into his pillow every night—“

“Estevan’s? I still don’t know who that is.”

Dee furrows her brow. “Est—what? No! Not Estevan’s! You know who! And you can mope about him all you want on your own time! But tonight’s supposed to be fun and you’re shitting on everything!” 

“I am not shitting on everything!” Mac shoots back. He holds up the dick cup, pointedly. “You’re the one collecting souvenirs like a tourist! You should really give that kid her flag back!”

“Finders keepers!” Dee clutches at the ends of the flag and wraps them around her body, possessively, cocooning herself like a big ugly moth. 

“You didn’t find it! You stole it!” She’d ripped it out of a college girl’s hands in line outside and told her to suck a fat chode before parading past the bouncer. If Mac’s retained anything from the Star Wars prequels he’s been marathoning in his now-infinite free time, it’s that not all heroes wear capes, and not all people who wear capes are heroes.

“Oh don’t make this about me!” Dee snaps. “We’re doin’ your thing tonight and you’re not even enjoying it, like an ungrateful asshole!” She gestures broadly to the dance floor, the ends of her pride cape flaring out around her in a blur of color. “Look around you! Everyone’s having a great time but you! If I were you, I’d be dancing my ass off! Not thinkin’ ‘bout my loser roommate.” 

Mac clenches his fists. “He’s not a loser, Dee! He’s a dad!” 

“What’s the difference!?” she yells, stomping her feet like a toddler. 

There’s a huge difference, obviously–and she’s too drunk and dumb to see it. Dads can’t be losers. Take Mac’s for example. He’s a total badass. What, with all of his tattoos, and his secrets, and his criminal record? Bad. Ass. 

Mac shoves the dick cup back into her hands. “Can we stop? Can we stop!? This is stupid! You’re drunk, we’re all high, Frank totally poisoned us which is probably a hate crime, at least in my case! This night has been shitty and I wanna go home! I’d rather be finishing Revenge of the Sith right now and that’s saying a lot. I’m gonna go find Charlie.”

“Whatever! Go do that! But remember, the night wasn’t shitty until you started shitting on it!” As Dee flings her hand out, liquid sloshes from the dick cup and hits Mac’s chest in a cold splatter. 

“Hey!” he cries, grasping at the wet fabric of his tank top. “Oh god damnit, Dee!”

She cups a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I fucked it.”

“Yeah, you fucked it! Get me something to clean this up! Shit!” 

��Fine!” She starts to tromp off, but then stops. Turning on her heels, she walks up into Mac’s space and jabs a sharp finger into his chest. “Stop. Shitting.” 

They scoff at each other before she’s off again, stomping into the crowd. Mac flexes his fingers, fighting off the urge to trip her as her pride cape blurs with the other rainbow apparel. It’s just him, now. Him and a hundred other gay people. That thought alone is enough to unnerve him from his sticky spot on the floor. 

Mac drifts aimlessly through the flock of sweaty bodies, eyes fixed on the blue stain blooming over his heart. Something’s kicking in: the edible, or Dee’s molotov cocktail, or the big horrible feeling he has in crowded rooms now that there’s no one to turn to and say ‘ It’s crowded in here, huh? ’.

The DJ has switched things up, opting for a slow song. People are pairing up to dance a boozy waltz. Bodies slotting together, hands grasping for broad shoulders, and Mac, all alone, covered in glitter and suspiciously blue liquor. 

A couple in matching leathers bumps into him in the scramble, muttering apologies. A server lifts a tray of tequila shots high above their heads as she skirts past him. She’s wearing a tee shirt that says 'Love who you love' in big bold lettering. How? That’s all he’s been asking himself his entire life. How do you love someone the way they need it? How do you cope when they leave? How do you come out without immediately locking yourself in a brand-new box? 

There’s a lull in the crowd finally, a clearing in the musky haze, where he can take a long deep breath. He blots at the stain with clammy fingers to no avail, barely noticing the hands ducking into his line of sight to press a napkin to his shirt. 

“She’s so fucking annoying.” 

Everyone sounds a little like this these days, so he doesn’t react anymore. In coffee shops, and grocery stores, and clubs like this one, Mac hears the familiar pert inflection that used to fill the space between him and the other end of the couch. And every time he turns to look, the face isn’t right. 

“So annoying,” Mac agrees. “You know her?” 

“You might say I know her better than anyone,” the stranger says with a theatrical inflection. He was always so dramatic. 

Mac is still staring at the long, slim fingers fussing with the stain, the manicured nails grazing his bare chest as they hold fast to the fabric, lighting his skin up with goosebumps. He shifts on his feet. “Wow, you that close with her? Dee Reynolds? Bro, that’s—”

“Look at me, asshole.” 

He won’t. 

Because this is the same nightmare he’s been having for months. And it ends badly. It always has. It will never be different. 

“Mac,” the stranger says, softly, in that tone he used to take in their kitchen at midnight, when they’d have tea together after a long day at the bar, when they’d share stories they’ve heard each other tell a million times like secrets. “Look at me.”

To Mac’s great pleasure and horror, he is just as easy to look at as he was the last time they saw each other. The vivid club lighting is cutting through the moving shadows, catching the arc of his cheek, the soft curl of his hair, his prim mouth set in an intent line. 

As dancers and servers pass them by like ships in the night, Mac can feel it: the gossamer thin thread keeping him tethered to reality snapping as those slim hands drop the napkin and press hot to his neck, pulling him forward.

“What are you—” Mac starts, but it’s no use, because Dennis Reynolds, South Philadelphia’s most infamous ghost, is kissing him soft and open-mouthed in the middle of a gay bar. 

And everything is blue like the sky on an autumn day when they were children, and Charlie would push him on the rusty swing set in the park. That fluttering deep in his stomach, as he’d dropped back down to earth, returning to him now like an old friend. Returning to him now, like Dennis. 

And there’s something unnervingly gentle about the pale hand, reaching up to brush a stray hair off Mac’s forehead as they press closer to each other.

And Mac is gripping at the collar of a familiar button-up for dear life, wanting to anchor them both in this moment so that he won’t wake up in a cold sweat, any minute now, legs sticking to his sheets. 

And the planets are all marbles, rolling out of orbit into the black universe, where everything tastes like the lip gloss Dennis left on the counter when he walked out of Mac’s life.

You never text me back, he wants to say. You never call. But he can’t speak, he can only sigh into the mouth of this beautiful, horrible stranger, who is kissing him like it’s the last time they’ll ever see each other. Maybe it is. Fear bubbles up in Mac’s throat at the idea that this is the closest he’ll ever be to Dennis again: hallucinating his likeness in crowded rooms he’ll never be in for all of eternity. 

But when the stranger breaks the kiss, it’s still Dennis; still sharp lines and a rigid brow, pursed lips, and something rare and open in those wide, blue eyes flickering out as the mask is tied back on. 

In all of Mac’s dreams, they don’t get this far. They don’t kiss. He always wakes up before they do it. Which only means one thing:

“This is a nightmare,” Mac whispers. It’s all he can think to say. It’s the only explanation. 

“Yours or mine, buddy?” Dennis says softly. It’s quiet enough that Mac shouldn’t be able to hear it, but he does because he’s watching Dennis’ mouth so intently he could probably draw it later, from memory. His eyes linger there as Dennis turns in the other direction, walking away before Mac can take a breath. 

“Wait!” Mac calls after him, trying to catch up, weaving through the crowd. It’s so like Dennis to power walk out of any compromising situation. Mac should know - he’s seen him do it a million times and not once has he been able to keep up. The guy’s got the stamina of a show pony. The last time he did it, he didn’t come back, and Mac’s reliving it again, for the hundredth night in a row. Remembering everything he didn’t say, or tried to say but it came out wrong. 

“Dennis, wait!” Mac calls again, shoving the server from earlier aside as she walks between them. “Move, bitch!” 

One moment he sees Dennis’ silhouette in the crowd, curls haloed by the overhead lighting, fingers digging into his palms in that way he does when he’s nervous, the arc of his tensed shoulders, shifting through the masses. The next, he’s gone. 

“There you are!” Dee’s hand is on Mac’s shoulder, spinning him around. She and Charlie are staring at him with twin looks of concern. “Where the hell have you been!? We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” 

Everything is ten times louder all of a sudden like someone ripped his headphones out of his ears at the gym.

“I was…” Mac presses his hand to his mouth. His fingers are trembling. “Did you two see him?”

“Who, Estevan?” Dee asks, head cocked inquisitively—yes, like a bird. 

“Estev—no. No.” Mac lifts his hand from his mouth to his forehead, massaging the skin there. It takes everything to move, suddenly. He feels like a bug, suspended in amber. “Guys, I think those edibles were laced with something.”

“I think you’re right, man.” Charlie says, “I just spun so much I wore a hole in the dance floor” 

“It’s true,” Dee says, “I tripped over it and got blue everywhere.” 

“Yeah, it’s everywhere. There’s blue everywhere,” Charlie adds.

Mac’s heart is beating so fast he can feel it in his ears, over the beat of the poppy synth music. Reality has rushed back in, the bar buzzing with energy once again. Maybe it always was. 

“I—I think we should call it a night, guys. I need to get some air. I’m seeing things.”

Dee and Charlie exchange a look. Maybe they’ll take him for a walk after all. “Yeah,” Charlie says, “I think that’s the right move. Not that this hasn’t been so fun!”

“Oh! So fun!” Dee parrots, unconvincingly. 

“But yeah, let’s go.” As Charlie motions toward the door, Dee flashes a bundle of paper towels.

“Oh, I almost forgot, I brought you this for the—” she stops, staring at Mac’s chest. “What the hell? Did you change your shirt?”

“No, why would I…”

He looks down, padding at the spot where there was once a blue stain. Now, nothing. 

They all look at each other, letting the beat of confusion hang between them before deciding at once: “The edibles.” 

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Dee says. She flares out her cape dramatically and leads them through the crowd. 

Mac trails behind her, eyes unfocused, the desire to be curled up on the couch watching Anakin burn to death in the lava river greater than he could have ever imagined. ‘I hate you,’ he’d said. ‘I loved you.’ Obi-Wan had replied. It’s where Mac had left off.

A wet napkin gets stuck to the sole of Charlie’s sneaker. He kicks it off and stumbles after them. “So wait, who’s Estevan?”

read more here <3

[fatehbaz]

[T]he advent of imperialism in Myanmar. [...] [An] episode in the history of the ecological impact of imperialism [...]. During the late nineteenth century and into the early twentieth century, Myanmar [British "Burma"] became one of the world's biggest exporters of hardwoods. [...] The rapid development of the timber industry was a vital motor in the expansion of capitalist and colonial relations in this often neglected corner of the Raj. Teak traders financed from Britain were vocal in lobbying Westminster and the [British] Government of India to colonise the [...] territory [...]. Following the eventual annexation of upper Myanmar in 1885, they continued to inveigle the local government into interceding on their behalf in the borderlands [...]. The booming rice industry developed alongside the growth of the teak industry [...]. Like teak extraction, rice cultivation in Myanmar was of transnational importance.

The rich alluvial soil provided fertile ground for the Ayeyarwady delta to undergo a dramatic transformation to become the largest rice-producing region in the world, having a ripple effect across the global cereal market. The white rice exported from Myanmar fed colonised labouring peoples (and some non-human animals) engaged in commodity production across the Empire, most notably in neighbouring Bengal. The delta was crucial to an interdependent network of food security established through and underpinning British imperialism.

The changes on the delta itself were profound, both socially and ecologically. [...] [F]rom the 1850s what was still predominantly a mangrove-forested backwater at the margins of political power became a febrile hive of activity.

Sparsely populated, isolated hamlets, hemmed in by the thick jungles and thickets of dense grass in the tidal delta, became enmeshed in an extensive tapestry of paddy fields, their populations growing fivefold to become thriving commercial hubs, connected by a busy riverine transport network to the bustling imperial port cities of Akyab (now Sittwe), Mawlamyine and Yangon. [...] Thick forest needed to be felled, the undergrowth burnt, and the remaining dense network of roots dug out [...]. Even then, they were in a precarious position. [...] This work was underpinned by heavy borrowing, mostly from local Burmese and overseas Indian sources, and misfortune could lead to them defaulting on their loan and losing their land to their creditor. [...] [P]rimary producers did not retain the wealth generated through rice production, and many agriculturalists were in a vulnerable position when the market went into crisis in the early 1930s. [...]

---

All text above by: Jonathan Saha. “Accumulations and Cascades: Burmese Elephants and the Ecological Impact of British Imperialism.” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 32, pp. 177-197. 2022. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[scotianostra]

25th June 1936 saw the birth of Roy Williamson, Scottish folk musician and songwriter in Edinburgh.

Williamson was brought up in comfortable surroundings in Northumberland Street in Edinburgh, his father was a lawyer and they had servants in the house growing up but tragedy struck the household in 1944 when he took his own life, this was kept from the children and it was only to come to light decades later.

Roy and his older brother were then sent to Gordonstoun boarding school, increasingly their mother couldn’t cope with them and they spent much of their early years in or around the school, even on their school holidays.

Roy went on to The Edinburgh College of Art where he became friends with Bill Smith, and Ronnie Browne. Roy went on to become an art teacher at Liberton High School, where he taught a friend of my father’s.

Roy founded the Corrie Folk Trio in 1962, alongside Ron Cruikshank and Bill Smith, they played their first gig in the famous Waverley Bar on St Mary Street, Cruikshank left the group within weeks of this due to illness which led to the arrival of Ronnie Browne, Irish singer Paddie Bell also joined the group who became the Corrie Folk Trio and Paddie Bell for the festival gigs that year.

Early tv appearances followed on the Hoot’nanny Show and later The White Heather Club. After a series of arguments Smith and Bell left the group and they became The Corries as we know and love.

It was Roy who wrote Flower of Scotland, a song he didn’t rate at the time he was always the main musician, bringing sensitivity and technique together to lay the foundations of the group’s characteristic interpretation and arrangement of their material. Ronnie’s booming tenor singing gave the Corries their main vocals.

Flower of Scotland was first sung at a sporting event in 1974 when the winger, Billy Steele, encouraged his team-mates to sing it on the victorious Lions tour of South Africa in 1974, since then it has been increasingly used as our unofficial national anthem and sung in many stadiums throughout the world. As well as Football and Rugby internationals perhaps some of you will remember the song being belted out before Scottish lightweight world champion, Jim Watt’s bouts.

Flower of Scotland was voted tops in an online poll of over 10,000 people to choose a national anthem in 2006.

To say that Roy and Ronnie as the Corries are a Scottish institution would not be a lie, I listen to Corries songs as regularly as any others and they will always have a place in my heart, I never got to see them live but my late mother and her friend did on several occasions.

I think the songs the Corries sang lent themselves to their voices, they didn’t need a lot of musical accompaniment, like in Loch Lomond, a little harmonica and the wee squeeze box, in others they just had the bodhrán, the songs were also part of the Scottish psyche, engrained in our history.

On August 12, 1990 we sadly lost Roy Williamson he died from a brain tumour aged just 54 in Forres. RIP Roy, you brought our history to life.

Brownie points for those that recognise whre the video was shot?

[levi-venn]

The First Toothpick

Chapter Five: Toothpicks

Characters: Cad Bane, Crosshair ("the kid"), Jango Fett (flashbacks) Gen Fic - Mentor/Protege

Summary: Cad Bane teaches Crosshair how to be a sniper. The kid picks up some other habits as a result.

Chapter Summary: Cad pushes Crosshair a little too far.

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 |

Available also on AO3

“And who are you again?” Jabba asked, reaching for another paddy frog from the scummy jar.

“The name’s Cad Bane,” Cad said, tilting the brim of his hat. “The only bounty hunter you'll ever need.”

“But not the bounty hunter we asked for,” Bokku the Hutt said. “Where is Fett?”

“Fett’s long gone,” Cad drawled. “Retired. Fled. However you want to spin it. His jobs are mine now.”

The twins sneered from their shared platform, whispering to each other. The brother spoke. “Fett’s Huttese was better.” 

“An ugnaught’s Huttese is better.” Bokku said.

Jabba’s laugh boomed inside the council chambers, bouncing off the slimy stone walls, rattling Cad’s spine. The rest of the council snickered and sneered.

Cad remained perfectly still, an easy smile on his face despite his nerves frayed like live wires whipping inside his chest. 

“Tell ya what,” Cad said, hooking his thumbs in his belt. “I’ll do this job on a discount. Pay me half and if I come through, you keep me on retainer.”

The mood changed instantly. The Hutts whispered amongst themselves, too fast for Cad to translate, but he recognized “bargain” and “discount” surfacing. Two of a hutt’s favorite words.

And words Cad couldn't afford. He barely had the fuel to get off this mudhole planet. But he'd rather go hungry than risk losing Fett’s contracts. He needed them to build his reputation. And his reputation was all that mattered.

“You have a deal, Mr. Bane.”

Cad tipped the brim of his hat. “Esteemed Hutts of the Grand Hutt Council, this is the start of a profitable arrangement for us both. You will be hearing from me soon.”

The echo of Cad’s spurs jingled and jangled at a steady pace all the way back to the Justifier, Todo 360 floating quietly beside him. 

As soon as the ship’s ramp closed behind him, Cad slumped heavily against the wall. “Fuck Jango for not telling these sleemos that I was coming. That’s the third time I had to introduce myself like a fucking greenhorn.”

“Mr. Bane?” 

“Not now,” Bane growled. “Pull every contact Jango has with the Black Sun. We’re visiting them next.”

“I will, but Mr. Bane?”

“I need to make this damn speech four more times before we can work these contracts. I need as many-”

“Mr. Bane!” 

“What?” Cad growled.

“Your lip is bleeding.”

“Shit, again?” Cad touched his lip. It stung. “Was it bleeding during the meeting?” “No. It started as we were leaving.”

Cad sighed and patted the various pockets of his new duster.

Todo held up the small leather pouch. “Perhaps you should use one before entering the room.”

Cad snatched the pouch and flipped it open. The inside flap had a mythosaur skull branded into it. He pulled out a toothpick, putting it between his teeth. “Ain’t professional. Tryin’ to make a good impression here.”

“Maybe it shouldn’t be professional,” Todo held up a finger. “A little insolence can command great respect. Or so Mr. Fett used to say.”

Cad thumbed the brand, thoughtfully. “Jango said a lot of things.” He clipped the pouch to his belt. “We’ll try it at the next meeting. Set a course for Falleen.”

The toothpick clicked in Cad’s teeth as he trained his scope on the kid skulking through the golden wheat field. The sun was low in the sky, setting the field ablaze with menacing orange light. 

“It’s too bright,” the kid complained through the comms.

“That’s the point,” Cad smirked from the shade of the belltower. “Yer environment ain’t always yer friend, kid. Now quit belly achin’ and focus.”

The comm crackled with a mando’a curse telling Cad where to stick the environment.

“I speak Mando, kid,” Cad sneered. “Don’t get cute.” 

Through the scope he could see the kid grimace with embarrassment.

Cad managed to mute the comm before snorting a laugh. 

The first few weeks were hard on the kid, but not because Cad was particularly hard on him. In fact, Cad barely had to do anything at all. The kid worked hard, trained hard, was unyielding and resilient to everything Cad threw at him.

Yet the moment the kid made a mistake, he destroyed any hope of recovering for the rest of the day. It didn’t matter if it was his fault or not. A stalker lizard once leapt onto his trousers in the middle of the day and interrupted his shot. Cad explained that was a one in a million chance since those lizards were nocturnal, but the kid wouldn’t hear it. He shot for shit the rest of the day.

Today was going too well for it to last. 

“Just focus up. Head on a swivel or find your six or whatever the hell soldiers call it.”

“It’s called Watching your s-”

Cad flicked a switch, interrupting the kid’s cheeky response. A target burst out of the grass twenty yards away. The kid fired in record time. Bullseye.

Cad flipped more switches, two seconds apart in random parts of the field. Some of the targets were mirrored. Some not. The point of the exercise was to shoot the target and avoid the ricochets.

Three weeks of this and the kid only shot himself twice.

Not bad.

Cad had more scars from this field in less time.

The kid fired a mirrored panel and rolled to avoid the ricocheting bolt as it hit the panel behind him.

Cad muted his comm again before exclaiming “fuck yeah!” He promised himself he wouldn’t praise the kid, only call out fuck ups.

But that shot was wizard and fuck you Lieutenant Pynk for gettin’ into this kiddo’s head.

He flipped three switches and three panels came up at once. 

All the kid has to do is hit the north panel and-

The kid shot the south panel.

Well…shit.

The south panel’s mirror ricocheted the blaster bolt between the north and east panels.

The kid froze, staring at the unharmed panels.

C’mon, kid, recover.

The kid looked down at his own rifle. Then back at the belltower, an openly worried crease across his dark brow. 

“Dank farrik,” Cad sighed and fired a shot at the ground in front of the kid. 

The kid leapt back and looked, wide-eyed at the belltower.

Another shot inches from the kid’s boots.

The kid lifted his sniper rifle and aimed at the north panel again. The bolt went wide.

He could already see the kid was losing focus.

Sorry, kid, I gotta snap ya outta this somehow.

Two more shots near the kid’s feet.

The kid jumped back again and fired at the north panel again. 

Missed again…

…and dodged another shot from Cad.

He fired. He missed. He dodged. 

Fired. Missed. Dodged.

An angry, rattling hiss crackled from the comm, just as the kid’s rifle took aim…but not at the panel.

A bolt flew into the belltower.

Cad felt the heat of the bolt sear past his hat and into the back of the belltower. The stench of burning leather filled his nose. He lowered his rifle and removed his hat. “Huh,” he smirked, blowing out the embers.

When he looked back at the wheat field, the kid was gone.

***

“We need to talk, Cad.”

“The hell we do, Jango.”

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, how am I supposed to help?”

Cad sank out of sight, hiding in the belltower. He could hear Jango’s boots clink against the roof tiles away from the belltower and towards the ledge. He sat down with a quiet groan. 

Cad winced. Jango was groaning from pain. Because of him.

“How about this?” Jango said. “You tell me what’s going on and if you don’t feel better afterwards…you can punch me in the face.”

Cad peeked out of the belltower. “In the face?”

“Right on the nose if that’s what you want.”

Cad slipped out of the belltower, and sat beside Jango, legs dangling over the ledge.

“You’ve been chewing your lip again.”

Cad licked his lip. He hadn’t noticed the coppery taste until now. “I do that when I’m...antsy”

“And anxious and nervous and excited and…?” Jango prompted.

“And…” Cad shrugged. “And…I dunno.”

“Right in the nose,” Jango reminded him.

With a sigh, Cad laid on his back, staring up at the sky, a shitty black canvas stained with white dots that painfully reminded him of all the worlds that were too far beyond his reach.

“And…guilty.”

Cad looked over at Jango who was gazing up at the stars like he was gazing at his first love.

“…I shot you today.”

“You shot my chest plate,” Jango corrected, rubbing his chest that was probably bruised to all hell at this point. “It was a shitty assassination attempt if that’s what you were after.”

“It wasn’t…I’m…”

“If you apologize to me, Cad, I’ll throw you off this roof.”

Cad stayed silent.

Jango sighed and rolled over on his side, propping his head up on his 

“Cad, you shot for shit today. I know it. You know it. And you got angry. I warned you I’d push you to this point. Today, your lesson lead you to your biggest weakness. That hot-temper of yours. In the future, leave that shit behind. When you’re in training, when you’re on the job, hell, even just talking to clients. You think I’m an asshole? Wait until you talk to the Hutts. They love rattling new blood. Half the time they just feed them to starved rancors locked beneath their throne rooms. Here on this ranch, shoot me all you want, but at the end of the day, it’s only going to hurt you more than it hurts me.”

Cad knew it was true. He felt so out of control of his destiny before meeting Jango and now that he was here, he realized his anger didn’t just magically go away because he had a purpose in life.

He was pissed at himself for fucking up.

Pissed at his sniper rifle for jamming at a shitty time.

Pissed at Jango for pointing out that he still had a lot to learn…

…even if he was right.

“I got something for you,” Jango said, pulling out a small pouch.

“What is it?”

“Shut up and open it.”

Cad opened up the bag expecting a weapon, a data chip, a charm…but it was a bunch of sticks stuffed in a leather pouch with a mandalorian symbol branded in the inside flap.

“Sticks?”

“Toothpicks. Pop one in your mouth next time you feel antsy or nervous or…guilty. No client will take you seriously if you’re chewing your face off during negotiations. Just try it.”

Cad popped a toothpick in his mouth, rolling the smooth wood over the tip of his tongue, gnashing it gently with his fangs. It drew the focus away from the knot in his gut. 

It brought things into focus.

He clipped the pouch to his belt.

“You still want to punch me?” Jango asked, elbowing Cad in the ribs.

Cad hissed and squirmed away. “Yeah, but…I’ll do it later.”

The kid didn’t come down for dinner that night. 

The beef stew went cold.

The protein bar beside it was left uneaten.

Cad went out on the porch as the moon rose high over the field, cool air blanketing the grass with a ghostly fog.

He plucked the toothpick from his pouch and let it roll between his fingers before setting it between his fangs. 

Probably shouldn’t’ve shot at the kid, Cad thought. Thought I could pull him outta this trench he keeps diggin’ for himself. Guess that was a shit plan.

And then he had another thought that nearly snapped his toothpick in half.

Jango would’ve known exactly what to do…

The floorboards creaked behind him. 

Without looking back, Cad grabbed the rocking chair beside him and pulled it closer to the railing.

A moment later, the kid climbed into the chair and, with a little adjusting, rested his feet up on the rail next to Cad’s boots.

“Ya missed dinner,” Cad asked.

The kid said nothing.

“Ya missed my head, too,” Cad sneered. “A real sloppy assassination.”

“I aimed for your hat,” the kid said, his boots clicking together quietly. “And I hit your hat.”

“Well, in that case,” Cad took his hat off and showed the kid the burn mark along the side of the brim. “That…was a killer shot. Ya did good, kiddo.”

The kid looked up at Cad, hair as stark as the stars themselves, but his eyes were dark and round like an anooba pup. “You’re not mad?”

“You know how many times I shot Jango in the chest plate just for giving me shit during training? I’m just surprised it took ya this long to shoot me.”

The kid’s smile disappeared as he leaned back in the rocking chair, enveloped in shadows. “I missed a lot of shots today.”

“You hit a lot of targets today, too. Forget about all those?”

The kid shrugged again.

“Yer problem ain’t missin’ the shots, kiddo. It’s you poutin’ over it n’ not shootin’ again. It ain’t like yer gonna run outta blaster bolts. Keep firin’ until ya get it right.”

“But…I have to be perfect.”

“Ain’t no one’s perfect and sooner you learn that, the sooner you can quit beatin’ yerself up over the impossible.”

“Do you miss targets?”

“All the time,” Cad drawled with a sneer. “But nobody lives to tell about it.”

The kid thought about this for a moment…then sneered back.

“Tomorrow if you hesitate, ya get a shot to the boot, understand?”

“I won’t hesitate.”

“Don’t make promises you can't keep.”

“Then…I promise, I won’t shoot your hat again,” the kid said, in a tone too apologetic for Cad’s liking.

“Oh trust me, I’ll find ways to piss you off enough to fire at me again.”

The kid hissed quietly…or maybe it was a laugh.

“Bane?”

“What, kiddo?”

“Why do you chew on toothpicks?”

For the first time since he came to this ranch, Cad hesitated.

“It…keeps me from smokin’ death sticks,” Cad lied. 

“Oh…”

The kid wriggled out of the rocking chair and walked down into the field. Cad couldn’t see what the kid was doing, but he heard some rustling, a crunch, and a faint snap. 

A few moments later, the kid returned, hopped back into the rocking chair and, after studying how Cad was sitting, slouched in his chair and rested his boots beside Cad’s on the railing.

“I’m quitting death sticks, too,” the kid said, and stuck a piece of wheat between his teeth.

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

The Luck Of The Irish - Andy Barber x Reader

A/N: This is a follow up to St Paddy I didn’t plan for it to be a whole year later but I’d say it’s worked out pretty well! 

Summary: Andy calls on Paddy’s good luck

Word Count: 818

Warnings: FLUFF!

Masterlist

It didn’t take long for Paddy to fully integrate himself into your lives. Only two months on from bringing him home as a temporary foster, the papers were being signed to permanently adopt him. 

He was the perfect addition to the family, even if he did steal Andy’s spot on the couch. And while Andy knew he couldn’t put it all down to Paddy’s presence but he couldn’t help but notice an increase in your luck. Your business had boomed to the point you were now looking into getting another permanent member of staff, Andy’s case record went through the roof. Andy even found $50 in a jacket you’d picked up from a thrift shop for him.

And it was that luck Andy was counting on more than ever. He had been trying to act casual all morning because as far as you were aware all you were doing today was going on a hike with Paddy. But he’d been jumpy and nervous making you chuckle whenever he would startle after you walked into the room without him noticing.

“I’m not that scary am I?” You teased when he once again jumped when you appeared behind him just after he put Paddy in the car.

“No but I am thinking you’re trying to give me heart attack with that silent tread of yours” Andy smirks as he wraps his arm around your shoulders and pressing a kiss on your temple.

You laugh patting him on the chest “you need your hearing tested old man” you chuckle as you stepped away and climbed into the car.

Andy let out a huff of laugh before taking a deep calming breath, patting his pocket for millionth time that morning. Once he felt secure that he had everything he needed he climbed in the car and drove out towards your favourite hiking trail.

The actual hike was nothing out of the ordinary, you would hold Andy’s hand whenever you could. Laughing whenever Paddy would run ahead and look back at the pair of exasperatedly before running back and trying to herd you to go faster.

Soon enough you reached your favourite hiking spot, a small stream that flowed over boulders making multiple tiny waterfalls. You loved the babbling noise it made and often said that if tiny mythical creatures were to exist, they would live here.

Like you usually did you dropped Andy hand to go have a closer look, smiling as you watched the water run past. While you were distracted, Andy gestured for Paddy to come over and he slipped something into the treat pouch on Paddy’s harness. He then sent Paddy over to you.

“Looks like someone’s after a treat” Andy pointed out as Paddy came to a stop in front of you, wagging his tail in excitement.

“Oh well you have been a very good boy haven’t you” you grin bending down to give Paddy some fussing.

You then unzipped the pouch to grab a couple of treats but a frown of confusion then formed on your face. You pulled your hand back out and turn it over palm up to reveal the ring that Andy had hid in there.

“Andy I-“ you mutter in disbelief, turning to look at him to find him already down on one knee beside you.

“Honey, I am not an easy man to love I know, I have a million and one flaws, a pretty big one being my overly demanding job yet you see all those flaws and love me anyway” Andy start with a small shake of his head, still unable to believe that was he was saying was true “and I love you so so much, I am so so damn lucky to have you and I count my blessings everyday so I hope you don’t mind me using Paddy as a good luck charm to ask the most important question I will ever utter…” Andy continues before taking a deep breath “Y/N, Honey, will you marry me?” 

Tears were flooding down your face as you grabbed him and crashed your lips down onto his. Andy wrapped his arms around you securing to stop your both from falling over. 

When you parted he gently brushed some hair out of your face “can I take that as a yes” he chuckled.

“Yes” you chuckled through the tears, your hands shaking as he took the ring from you and slid it onto your finger.

He then kissed you again deeply, only pulling away when Paddy barked and whined. Paddy then wiggled his way in between you and started licking the tears off your cheeks.

“Thank you sweetie” you chuckled kissing the top of head “do you think we could train him to be the ring bearer” you ask making Andy laugh.

“Dunno but he’ll be there either way, we have to have out good luck charm with us” Andy smiles.

Sharing is caring so please reblog if you enjoyed this and maybe even leave a comment to make my day!

Masterlist

I don’t have a taglist so follow @secretswiftymarvelfanlibrary​ and turn on post notifications to be kept up to date!

[shaktimanagro]

Protektor 600 is a self-propelled high clearance boom sprayer, especially designed with a wider boom span for extensive coverage of crops. During spraying it ensures minimum damage to tall crops like cotton, sunflower, paddy & chilly due to higher ground clearance. Equipped with advanced nozzles which blast the spray into low micron droplet size, it assures ample penetration into crops with top to bottom leaf coverage and reduced chemical consumption. The hydrostatic transmission system & 4WD brings operating smoothness, agility and flexibility.

Features :

Pendulum Boom Pivot Mechanism High Ground Clearance Ceramic Nozzle Tips Power Steering Digital Control Panel

* The Company reserves absolute rights to modify the specifications of machine and components therein without any prior notice.

[tact-and-impulse]

Shinkane Week 2022 Day 5

I’d like to say I started shipping them when she shot him or when he talked to her from his hospital bed, but I didn’t. I started shipping them from their first scene together. For the “wrath” prompt!

Turbulent

Ozone and rain.

The Enforcers emerged from the paddy wagon, while Akane hurriedly donned her new jacket. He was the last to step under the temporary shelter, his posture taut and already facing the closest alley. She glimpsed unruly dark hair, a fur-lined collar, and broad shoulders. A stoic side profile, or maybe, ‘brooding’ was the better word. He didn’t meet anyone else’s eyes, completely focused on obtaining the Dominator. But his eyes weren’t eager, the blue glow surging briefly, and he spoke of the case in blunt terms of hunting prey.

Her gaze tracked him, as he walked to the perimeter with clear intent. Kougami Shinya. Her first impression wasn’t of a leashed hound, but a wolf that only accepted to be tamed for the time being.

In the coming weeks, she’d realize how true it was. With every new piece of information she learned, it explained his demeanor. Simmering rage, just barely concealed under a veneer of self-discipline. Everything he did was in pursuit of his target. His quest for revenge was anger distilled, at Makishima, the system that allowed him to slip away, and towards Kougami himself.

And despite the warnings, she was unable to stay away.

***

Dust and cigarette smoke.

Adrenaline still buzzed beneath her skin; she redirected the frantic need to move, pulling on the shirt loaned to her. She stole glances at the owner. After four years, Kougami was tanned and more muscular. He’d always been the type to appear thinner with clothes on, but now, that strength was uncontained.

He drove on, turning a corner. “The group is based in one of the abandoned ruins. We have food, water, medicine. Cigarettes are practically currency. We turn the lights off at night, for safety.”

“Have you gotten into many fights?” A faint white line ran down his jawline. She didn’t remember it.

“Plenty. More than I can recall. I can share them with you later.” The car hit a bump. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright.” She looked behind. The dirt path was free of drones, the lush trees framing either side. Towards the horizon, a gray haze remained. Another distant boom resounded, and her heart sank.

“Almost there.” He reassured, voice steady.

In this brutal place vastly different from home, Kougami didn’t flinch. He seemed perfectly accustomed. She should’ve been frustrated, appalled, saddened. Even so, all she felt was overwhelming relief that he was alive.

***

Ironwork and warm lights.

She was surprised at how spacious an Enforcer’s quarters were, and compared to her prison, it was a definite upgrade. Her belongings had been moved in quickly, especially with the help she received. “Thank you, again. This isn’t bad, I’ll get to experience how you lived.”

However, Kougami hadn’t budged from the couch, hands interlocked in that familiar pose of deep thought. “I still don’t like that you’re an Enforcer. Statutory or not, it’s the same.”

Akane stood over him, gently caressing his tense shoulders. “I’ll continue investigating, just in a different way. The foxes are out there.”

“Yes, and I won’t stop until every one is arrested. You suffered in that underground cell, and they need to pay.” His tone was foreboding, a dark promise.

After all these years, his default coping mechanism hadn’t changed. She sighed, and buried her lips against the top of his head, amidst the new gray visible. “Will you stay for dinner?”

“Of course.” He brought her in for a kiss, with a searing intensity only he could deliver. His wrath was a reckless beast, but it was fighting for her sake this time, and for once, she couldn’t protest.

[squeakyfir]

Stow-Away (Jaws 1975) (X Child! Reader)

Description:

Stuck on a populated island with an abusive father with only one way out but hard to reach.

A boat.

Born on Amity island and losing your mother at the age of two, it left you with your father who was caring at first but then became abusive. You had too escape. You thought about sneaking onboard to a boat but now that a massive man eating shark was threatening the waters, the town stopped the flow of boats leaving the harbors out of fear.

You were stuck.

Until…

You see a boat preparing to leave the island. That was your only option, jump aboard and hide until gets to another port.

But… Oh boy… What these men were doing was not what you expected.

They were out on the water… To catch the man eater themselves…

I do not own the cover image. All rights of that image, characters and story belong to Universal Studios™. I will be adding my own twists but the main things belong to Universal Studios™

Chapter 4

Previous ~ Next

A lot of time went by and it was now night time. Quint finally came into the cabin to fix some food for all of you. You weren't sure what it was but you were so hungry you dug in. The men started drinking alcohol and you, obviously not allowed to have any, were given water with your meal. "You want some more, squirt" Quint asked after you finished your meal, "It'll be good to get some meat on your bones. Your as skinny as a sardine".

"Yes please".

"Just take the rest of mine, (Y/n)" Brody said, "I'm not that hungry". You didn't complain and took his plate. While you ate, Quint looked over and saw Brody looking at his forehead in a mirror. His recent head injury from falling was a little bit sore. "Chief... don't you worry about it, Chief. It won't be permanent. Want to see something permanent? Boom-boom-boom". Quint then took a fake tooth out of his mouth to reveal that one tooth was shaved and broken. He made a wheezy cackled laugh before turning his attention to you and Hooper. "Hey, you two, you want to feel something permanent? Just put your hands underneath my cap". Both you and Hooper reached out, you especially due to your short arms, to feel a small lump on his head. "You feel that little lump? Knocko Nolans, St. Paddy's day, Boston". Quint sat back down and Hooper spoke up.

"I got that beat. I got that beat". He rolled up his sleeve to show off his left forearm that had a dark scar on it. "It's a Moray eel. It bit right through my wet suit". Now Quint spoke up. "Well, Hoop, now listen, I don't know about that, but I entered an arm wrestling contest in an Oakie bar in San Francisco". Quint lifted his sleeve an inch. "You see this? I can't extend that. You know why? Because in the semi-final, celebrating my third wifes demise, a big Chinese fella, he pulled me right over" Quint said laughing.

You were seated at the end of the bench and Hooper scooted over to Quint and put his leg on the table. "Look at that". You saw what looked like a birth mark at first but Hooper then explained it was from a bull shark that scraped his leg when he was taking samples. "I got something for ya". Quint then pulled his leg up onto the table to show a scar that went down his calf. "That's a thresher. See that, chief? A threshers tail".

"Thresher" Brody asked.

"It's a shark" Hooper said. Quint took his leg off the table and said "You want a drink? Drink to your leg"?

"I'll drink to your leg".

"Ok, so we drink to our legs" Quint said and they both laughed. You didn't laugh though. You didn't understand what was being said so you just stayed quiet. "I got the crème de la crème. Right here. Hold on" said Hooper as he started to undo his sweater and pointed to a spot on his hairy chest. "Here, you see that"?

"Your wearing a sweater" Quint said.

"Right there. Mary Ellen Moffit. She broke my heart". Thay all started laughing with Hooper laughing uncontrollably. When their laughter had died down, you noticed something on Quints arm. "What's that one" you asked.

"What" Quint asked you.

"That one on your arm" you said pointing at it.

"Oh... It's a tattoo. I got that removed".

"Don't tell me. Don't tell me" Hooper said. "Mother". Hooper then started laughing up a storm but was able to ask "What is it" through his fits of laughter. "Mr. Hooper, that's the U.S.S Indianapolis". Hooper and Brody were silent for a moment but Hooper then asked, "You were on the Indianapolis"?

"What happened" asked Brody.

"Japanese submarine slammed two torpedoes into her side, Chief. We was comin’ back from the island of Tinian to Leyte, just delivered the bomb. The Hiroshima bomb. Eleven hundred men went into the water. Vessel went down in 12 minutes. Didn’t see the first shark for about a half-hour. Tiger. 13-footer. You know how you know that when your in the water, Chief? You tell by lookin’ from the dorsal to the tail. What we didn’t know, was our bomb mission had been so secret, no distress signal had been sent. They didn’t even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, Chief, sharks come cruisin’, so we formed ourselves into tight groups. You know, kind of like old squares in a battle like you see on a calendar, like the Battle of Waterloo and the idea was the shark come to the nearest man, that man he starts poundin’ and hollerin’ and screamin'. Sometimes the shark would go away… sometimes he wouldn’t go away. Sometimes that shark, he looks right into ya. Right into your eyes. You know, the thing about a shark, he’s got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll’s eyes. When he comes at ya, he doesn’t seem to be livin’… until he bites ya, and those black eyes roll over white and then… ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin’. The ocean turns red, and despite all the poundin’ and the hollerin’ those sharks come in and they... rip you to pieces".

Quint took a brief pause in his story to take a quick glance in your direction and noticed you were still listening intently. You didn't look too frightened so he continued with his painful story.

"You know by the end of that first dawn, lost a hundred men. I don’t know how many sharks. Maybe 1,000. I don't know how many men, they averaged six an hour. Thursday mornin’, Chief, I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player. Boson’s mate. I thought he was asleep. I reached over to wake him up. He bobbed up and down in the water, just like a kinda top. Upended. Well, he’d been bitten in half below the waist. Noon the fifth day, Mr. Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura swung in low and he spotted us, a young pilot, lot younger than Mr. Hooper here, anyway he spotted us and a few hours later a big fat PBY come down and started to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened. Waitin’ for my turn. I’ll never put on a lifejacket again. So, 1,100 men went into the water. 316 men come out, the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.”

You all were stunned into silence but you broke the silence by saying, "Sorry, that happened to you". Quint looked back at you and smiled briefly. "Don't worry about it, squirt. It was a long time ago"-

"But it still happened to you" you interjected. Quint couldn't argue with that, knowing you were right. You all stayed silent with only the sound of the swaying boat being heard. Suddenly, a loud wailing sound from a whale was heard. "What's that" you asked.

"It's a whale" Hooper said.

Quint then started to sing, "Farewell and adieu to you, fair Spanish ladies

Farewell and adieu you ladies of Spain"

Hooper jumped in to sing but it sounded like it was a different song. "Show me the way to go home

I'm tired and I want to go to bed

Quint then joined in to sing along.

"I had a little drink about an hour ago

And now Brody joined in but you didn't join in. You didn't know the lyrics so you just listened and couldn't stop smiling at the nice moment that was taking place. You had to scoot over so Brody could sit down so you were much closer to Hooper and Brody.

"And it's gone right to my head

Wherever I may roam

By land or sea or foam

You'll always hear me singing this song

Show me the way to go home

They started to sing faster which made you start to laugh. Hooper, who was still a bit drunk, grabbed your wrist and tried to make you dance which made you laugh harder and Brody quickly noticed and copied after Hooper by taking your other arm.

"BOM BOM BOM

Show me the way to go home

BOM BOM BOM

I'm tired and I wanna go to bed

I had a little drink about an hour ago

And it's gone right to my head

Wherever I may roam"

Quint stopped singing when he felt the boat shake and soon, you all caught on to what was happening. "Start the engines". Hooper quickly jumped over the table and Brody stood up fast and Quint tried to remain calm. The shaking of the boat caused a door to open and it made the stuff inside it fall out onto the floor. Both Hooper and Brody fell to the ground and you got up to see that water was starting to come in on the bottom part of the boat. The pounding on the side of the boat continued and you put the pieces together to figure out it was the shark from earlier.

"Fire her up" Quint said to Hooper.

"It's busted a shaft". You could hear the engine was stalling but Hooper kept trying. Brody grabbed the receiver and was about to make a call but a small oil metal can fell to the floor and started a tiny fire. "Chief, put out the fire, will you"?

The two other men turned around and Brody quickly grabbed his jacket to put it out. Quint got down to the bottom of the boat and could see where the shark was pounding at and could see water piling up. "Pump her out". All of a sudden, the light in the cabin started to flicker and was now out. You let out a small whimper since you were always afraid of the dark. "(Y/n)? You ok" Hooper asked.

"Yeah".

"Good. Everybody on deck" Quint said.

"He ate the light" said Hooper.

"Terrific" Brody said in a sarcastic tone.

You followed after them and saw the same barrel that was attached to the shark. Quint grabbed his rifle and started to fire at the shark. "Quint, what are you doing? Don't waste your time, Quint. Come on" said Hooper. Brody kept you behind him to keep you safe.

"What's wrong with this shit? Jesus Christ". Quint fired another round and said, "Hooper, take the wheel. Brody, follow that. Whatch for him. Squirt, stay behind me". You quickly got behind Quint and covered your ears from the loud gunfire. Quint kept firing more rounds until the shark vanished yet again. Quint knew he was gone for now and turned his attention to you. "You alright there, squirt" he asked while lowering his gun. You uncovered your ears and had a small tear fall from your eye which made more fall down your ckeeks. "Hey, no crying" Quint said a bit sternly, "Come on, we don't have time for that, alright? Now dry those eyes". You wiped your eyes and held back your tears.

"Come here". You went closer to him and he gave you a reassuring pat on the back and then spoke in a more soothing voice. "Crying ain't gonna get you nowhere. You gotta keep your head up, alright squirt"?

"Ok" you said wiping your eyes again.

"Good". That little pep talk was really needed. It may not have been the most gentle one but it was still needed. Quint started to sing again for some reason but considering what had just happened to the boat, it needed to be repaired. You were so tired and exhausted with all that had happened today that you just wanted to sleep. You let out a big yawn which caught Quints attention. He stopped singing and said, "Go get some shut eye, squirt. You earned it. Go on". You didn't complain and went inside the cabin to sleep on the booth on the side closest to the door. The only light source you had was from the moon which had to do.

You instantly fell asleep. A couple minutes later, Quint came into the cabin to retrieve the tools to fix the engine and quickly noticed your sleeping form. He smiled a bit and saw that you were shaking from the cold. He sighed to himself and grabbed his green jacket. He draped it over you as a makeshift blanket to keep you warm. Almost immediately, you stopped shaking and smiled in your sleep. Quint smiled yet again and went to get started on the repair process and was generous enough to inform the others that you were asleep. "Alright, gentleman. The squirt fell asleep. Hooper, you and me will handle the engine and injectors. Chief, you go up to the bridge and see if there's any improvement".

Brody went ahead and climbed up the ladder to the top and Hooper and Quint removed the hatches and got down to the bottom of the boat. Before Hooper got down, he too noticed you sleeping on the bench peacefully and covered up with Quint's jacket. He chuckled quietly and got down to the bottom of the boat. Even though this was a dire situation, it was nice to be around people who actually care about you.

[pridef0und]

@goodheartt said : ❛ i’m trying to fix your hair, so hold still. ❜

he doesn't really know how they got here; he's squirming on a barstool, swatting petulantly at hands that try to sort through beer - soaked locks . . . okay, he knows how they got to this part — another "badass bar idea" of mac's that somehow ended up with him on top of the counter and spurting beer out of his mouth like a goddamn fountain. that part is as straightforward as it gets ( at least to him ).

what he doesn't understand is how they got here. dennis is touching him ( ! ), albeit minimally with how much instinctual resistance mac puts up, and every time fingertips so much as brush against his forehead, his heart skips at least five beats in his chest. he should be dead by now. totally, literally, pathetically dead.

"dude," brows crease in frustration, lips curling to form a sour scowl, "dude, my hair looks fine! there's nothing wrong with my goddamn hair! the beer acts as a lubricant, y'know? like gel, but now i smell like paddy's. boom: free advertisement!" it's stupid. it's exceptionally stupid, but mac is nothing if not blind to his own stupidity.

only when his fingers wrap around dennis' wrist does he pause — abruptly, at that. skin is soft against his calloused fingertips. all at once, he feels an intimate urge to press his thumb against the other's pulse point, to feel the steady thrum of a heart that he knows is there. he doesn't pry at that wrist. he doesn't yank. he doesn't even move.

eyes cross in an attempt to eye outstretched fingers. once more, he squirms, cheeks flushing. his hold is firm, palm clammy, and all too suddenly, he seems inclined to indulge dennis for the small price of fifteen more seconds of closeness. "you wanna fix it? like, actually fix it?" he questions, voice quieter then, soft gaze finding the other's face. "'cause i trust you, bro. totally. your hair is so badass. kinda fluffy though, i don't do fluffy. can we not do fluffy?"

[fatehbaz]

[T]he advent of British imperialism in Myanmar. Elephants in their thousands were conscripted into the timber industry. [...] [An] episode in the history of the ecological impact of imperialism [...]. Accumulation in colonial Myanmar took several different forms, but there were two that had the greatest impact on the country's elephant populations. One was the extractive teak industry [...]. The other was the rice industry [...].

---

During the late nineteenth century and into the early twentieth century, Myanmar became one of the world's biggest exporters of hardwoods. Teak was particularly desirable for its use in the production of ships, railway sleepers and luxury furniture. The rapid development of the timber industry was a vital motor in the expansion of capitalist and colonial relations in this often neglected corner of the Raj. Teak traders financed from Britain were vocal in lobbying Westminster and the Government of India to colonise the landlocked rump of territory [...]. Following the eventual annexation of upper Myanmar in 1885, they continued to inveigle the local government into interceding on their behalf in the borderlands with Siam [...]. Extractive logging operations [...] came into conflict with the shifting subsistence farming of some indigenous Karen communities. [...] Vital to the industry were elephants. [...] [T]he British regime asserted that elephants were the property of the state. [...] Moreover, elephants in the colony were not readily amenable to being controlled; officials were alarmed by herds of hundreds of elephants periodically wreaking destruction on freshly cleared agricultural lands, particularly as rice cultivation accelerated in the 1880s.

---

The booming rice industry developed alongside the growth of the teak industry and had direct effects on elephant populations.

Like teak extraction, rice cultivation in Myanmar was of transnational importance. The rich alluvial soil provided fertile ground for the Ayeyarwady delta to undergo a dramatic transformation to become the largest rice-producing region in the world, having a ripple effect across the global cereal market.

The white rice exported from Myanmar fed colonised labouring peoples (and some non-human animals) engaged in commodity production across the Empire, most notably in neighbouring Bengal. The delta was crucial to an interdependent network of food security established through and underpinning British imperialism.

The changes on the delta itself were profound, both socially and ecologically. [...] [F]rom the 1850s what was still predominantly a mangrove-forested backwater at the margins of political power became a febrile hive of activity. Sparsely populated, isolated hamlets, hemmed in by the thick jungles and thickets of dense grass in the tidal delta, became enmeshed in an extensive tapestry of paddy fields, their populations growing fivefold to become thriving commercial hubs, connected by a busy riverine transport network to the bustling imperial port cities of Akyab (now Sittwe), Mawlamyine and Yangon. [...] 

Thick forest needed to be felled, the undergrowth burnt, and the remaining dense network of roots dug out [...]. This work was underpinned by heavy borrowing, mostly from local Burmese and overseas Indian sources, and misfortune could lead to them defaulting on their loan and losing their land to their creditor. [...]

The ecological transformation was rapid, and from an elephant's perspective at least, profound. Focusing in on one of the fastest-growing deltaic areas between 1880 and 1920, around the townships of Thôngwa and Myaungmya, the impact is pronounced. Correspondence in 1886 identified 230 elephants living in the local forests. They would frequently raid freshly cultivated paddy fields, destroying crops [...]. However, just thirty years later, the local settlement report recorded that there were no longer any elephants left in the area. [...] [T]he rapid deforestation of the area to make way for paddy is likely to have been what displaced the local elephant populations. [...]

---

[T]he government explored the prospect of organising official kheddahs [...] to solve two problems at once: to eliminate the problem of these rapacious elephants’ raids while meeting growing demands for elephant labour. [...]

At the same time, elephants became more important, indeed indispensable, for commercial teak extraction. In the analysis of former employees turned historians of the Bombay Burmah Trading Corporation, the largest teak firm operating in Myanmar, the acquisition of large herds of working elephants was pivotal in enabling imperial companies to dominate logging. [...]

The kheddah is a large stockade into which elephants are corralled after being chased down by humans [...]. [T]he Government of India was moved to sanction the establishment of kheddah operations in the colony in 1902, although the move was quickly exposed as an expensive, ill-fated folly. The scheme resulted in an appalling mortality rate, with roughly half the over 500 elephants captured in its first four years of operation dying of disease, neglect and trauma-induced breakdowns. To make matters worse, the superintendent, Ian Hew Warrender Dalrymple-Clark, was exposed in a dramatic court case as having adopted an alter ego, Mr Green, for the purposes of faking the deaths of elephants through forged paperwork, and selling them directly to timber firms, leaving the state out of pocket. The British regime, never entirely successful in realising its claim to Myanmar's elephants, left the capture of elephants mostly to colonised peoples through a licensing scheme.

These arrangements enabled the large timber firms, such as the Bombay Burmah Trading Corporation, to establish considerable herds of captive elephants [...]. By 1914 the Corporation had amassed a herd of 1,753 elephants. [...] Estimates for the overall number of timber elephants employed by the 1940s vary, but a figure of around 7,000, or 10,000 including calves, would seem plausible. [...]  

---

Elephants in Myanmar were caught between two modes of accumulation. The timber industry demanded their labour [...]. Meanwhile, the expansion of the rice industry was enabled [...] by cultivating more and more land. The resulting deforestation meant significant habitat loss and fragmentation for elephant populations. [...] Nevertheless, the history of elephants contains multitudes. Creatures, such as dung beetles and frogs, who rarely make it into archival collections in their own right, were intertwined and implicated in the lives of Myanmar's forest-dwelling giants. The transformations in elephant demographics and behaviour wrought by their mobilisation for teak production, the destruction of much of their habitats, [...] cascaded.

---

All text above by: Jonathan Saha. “Accumulations and Cascades: Burmese Elephants and the Ecological Impact of British Imperialism.” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 32, pp. 177-197. 2022. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks added by me.]

[interiorleague]

STEP BACK HIT ME WITH THE KNICK KNACK PADDY WACK HIT ME WITH THE BOOM WHILE I LISTEN TO THE GIRLS SING

[samyamameditation]

Rediscover Yourself with Yoga Retreats in Bali

Imagine an area wherein the sound of nature harmonizes with the moderate float of yoga. Welcome to the Yoga retreats Bali on the Samyama Meditation Center. Our retreats are meticulously designed to aggregate meditation and yoga, promoting holistic properly-being and religious enrichment. Here, you’ll embark on a adventure of self-discovery and inner peace.

A Sanctuary for Your Soul

Nestled within the serene panorama of Ubud, our Yoga retreats Bali provide a haven for rejuvenation. The Samyama Meditation Center is more than simplest a retreat; it's miles a sanctuary in your soul. Picture this: morning daytime filtering via lush greenery, the clean rustle of leaves, and the calming sounds of nature placing the proper degree in your yoga workout.

Our retreats cater to anyone, from novices to advanced practitioners. Each consultation is guided with the aid of the usage of expert teachers who're dedicated to deepening your data of yoga and meditation. Whether you choose out Hatha, Vinyasa, or Yin Yoga, you could discover practices that resonate with you. These several offerings make certain that your experience is not sincerely holistic but profoundly transformative.

Personalized Retreat Experiences

What gadgets our Yoga retreats Bali aside is the personalized hobby every participant receives. We be given as real with that each adventure is particular, and our retreats are designed to reflect that. Imagine having a time table that aligns perfectly collectively together with your non-public goals, whether or not or no longer or no longer it’s looking for tranquility via silent meditation or energizing your spirit with Kundalini yoga.

Our instructors are adept at tailoring programs to meet your specific desires. This customized approach ensures that your retreat is not truely some different getaway but a massive step closer to achieving inner peace and stability. The flexibility in our schedules permits you to have interaction deeply with the practices and emerge feeling renewed and revitalized.

Serene Retreat Setting

The placing of our Yoga retreats Bali isn't a few troubles brief of magical. Ubud’s natural splendor is the right backdrop for introspection and growth. Envision yourself surrounded thru tranquil rice paddies and high-priced tropical forests, in which the stresses of everyday lifestyles soften away, making room for inner peace.

Discover Your Inner Peace

The actual essence of our Yoga retreats Bali lies within the discovery of inner peace. Through a harmonious combination of yoga, meditation, and mindfulness practices, you’ll discover ways to quiet your mind and connect to your genuine essence. Our retreats offer a supportive and nurturing environment wherein you can find out your spirituality and boom a profound record of yourself.

[yachtlily]

Weekend away - Day 1

Saturday, 14th September 2024

Wind SSW  9mph               Sunny day with occasional cloud                      Temp 19°C

Total distance sailed 12.55 miles

It is a fortnight since we have been able to get to the boat and, as the weekend weather looked kindly, we decided to get away for the weekend. The overnight temperatures have been very cold of late but there seemed to be some easing so we packed warm things and headed over to Thurne.

It was cold when we arrived at the boat. Took the cover off and motored to Thurne Dyke to load up. By the time we were loaded I had changed into shorts and taken off my pullover. Made coffee and departed. We raised sail as we passaged down the Thurne. Reaching the Mouth we turned up the Bure. There were yachts and motor boats everywhere and we had to execute an emergency gybe at one stage to avoid a collision. The other yachts were either from Hunter’s Yard or  Eastwood Whelpton so all were slower than us. We were able to tack past them and gain clear water. From then on it was a beat/close reach all of the way to St B’s. Here we dropped sail, fired up the engine and motored up the Ant, dropping our mast underway. We soon reached the bridge, which was clear for once, as were the de-masting moorings on the far side. We came alongside and raised the mast.

Having raised the mast and got everything shipshape we moved to a regular mooring and had lunch. By now the sun had some heat and so Changed into a polo shirt. It was almost summer. After lunch left the mooring, motoring a very short distance until we had room to raise sail. It is ages since we had a wind suitable for sailing up the Ant and it was most enjoyable to make leisurely progress up this beautiful but tree lined river. The wind held good for us until we approached Irstead where it came around on to the nose. We then furled the jib and motor sailed up to Barton.

The wind was great on Barton so we unfurled the jib and had a short play on the relatively empty Broad. We then sailed to Paddy’s Lane, dropping sail as we approached and coming alongside in a vacant mooring. We sat and read the newspaper for a while and then walked up to the cricket ground to have a drink and watch a game. It is such an attractive cricket ground at Barton Turf and it is always a joy to visit. Back to the boat for tea and cake.

Although we had a good mooring we decided that we would prefer to be on our own, hanging off a mud weight on the Broad. We slipped our mooring, much to the delight of a motor boat desperately looking for somewhere for the night, and motored up towards Gaye’s Staithe and Neatished. In a bay out of the channel we dropped our mud weight, raised the boom and roof and put on our cover. Supper followed and once that was finished and the washing up done we settled down to watch the film ‘Operation Mincemeat.’ We turned in around 1045

[casbooks]

Book 12 of 2024 (★★★★)

Title: LBJ's Hired Gun Authors: John J. Gebhart

Series: 1 of Gebhart in Vietnam ISBN: 9781935149651 Tags: Aviation, Helicopter, US USMC United States Marine Corps, VMO-2, VMO-6, VNM Vietnam Rating: ★★★★ Subject: Books.Military.20th-21st Century.Asia.Vietnam War.Aviation.USMC.Helos

Description: Many Vietnam memoirs have appeared in recent years, but not a single one has the humor, pathos, poignancy, and often sheer hilarity of John J. Gebhart's riveting LBJ'S Hired Gun. As Gebhart tells it, he was a "smart-mouthed college boy" who joined the Marines to see the world and "dust a few black pajamas for Uncle Sam." Two grueling tours of duty later (1965-1967) he returned home as a sergeant after surviving 240 combat missions (12 air medals) and being shot down twice. On his chest was the Navy Commendation Award (with the combat V).

LBJ's Hired Gun launches with Gebhart's grim recollection of the intense old-school brutality that was Marine Corps training on Parris Island before transitioning to his difficult journey for Southeast Asia aboard a troop transport with 2,000 other nameless grunts. These hardships offered but a glimpse of the suffering he and his comrades were about to endure. PARA His candid account of life and death in Vietnam is written with a lively, infectious flair. But be forewarned: no attempt has been made to sanitize this memoir with politically-correct language. Gebhart tells his story exactly as he and his comrades spoke in the 1960s. The result is a gripping, no-holds-barred memoir of his "misadventures in-country." He spares no detail and no one in his effort to convey exactly what he and his comrades experienced in Vietnam.

Here is how the author describes Vietnam: "What was not to like about Vietnam? It was a tropical paradise filled with lush green forests and mountains, endless rice paddies, and beautiful beaches with clear green water. You get all the free ammunition you want, endless cold beer to drink, and boom-boom girls to party with. Who could ask for more? Of course, there were some minor problems like all the VCs and NVAs who wanted to kill us. Everyone counted the days they had left before rotating back to the land of the big PX. I was having such a great vacation I signed up for another 12-month tour. I spent twenty-four action-filled months dusting VCs and NVAs, rescuing reconnaissance teams, flying LZ prep missions, delivering mail to bases where you came in shooting and flew out the same way. Somewhere along the line they decided I should be decorated for killing the enemy."

This is not just another book about Vietnam written by an officer. LBJ's Hired Gun is the story of an enlisted man who lived on a dead-end street in West Philadelphia, intent on lifting your spirits and putting a smile on your face as you journey with him across the world and meet the people, explore the places, and relive the events that shaped Marine Corps history in Vietnam from September 1965 to September 1967.

There are many outstanding Vietnam memoirs. LBJ's Hired Gun stands heads and shoulders above them all.