#Roper is so BROAD

[zeondraws]

Ok, I finally understood WHERE their heads are located. I realised I have to rebuild them with all the textures and body parts. It's a good excuse to learn blender.

But dang, I am getting closer, but this will take a long while to build one of them together....

These are Muir, Roper and Trots

[noellawrites]

The Concert - Yandere!Marcus White x Younger!reader

summary: Marcus seizes an opportunity to join you at a concert, but gets jealous when he realizes you have a crush on the lead singer. Marcus does what he has to to make sure you go home with the right guy tonight.

warnings: alcohol use, non/dub-con touching, kissing and fingering, age gap (15-ish years), possessiveness

requested by: @wicked1will0sparkles

Ever since your first day at Cloud 9 when you had met Cheyenne, the two of you barely went anywhere without the other.

You two were close in age, always had weekly sleepovers and you had been right by her side when she took the pregnancy test that ended up positive.

So you were completely devastated when she bailed on your sacred, long-anticipated plans for Bo of all people.

“Cheyenne, come on! We bought these tickets like three months ago and my parents won’t let me go alone!” you whine, crossing your arms over your chest in frustration as you lean against the lockers.

“I’m sorry (y/n), but Bo needs me right now! Who else is gonna hype him up before he gets on stage at Kenny Roper’s bar mitzvah?” she explains with a frown as her hand rests on her bulging stomach.

“Ugh okay, I guess I’ll just sneak out and hope my parents don’t notice,” you shrug.

After Cheyenne walked away, you shove a hand into your locker and feel around for your blue vest, tugging it out angrily.

“Woah, hey, what’s wrong?” you hear a voice ask from behind you. You look to your side, then slightly up, where Marcus White stood next to you with his arms crossed across his broad chest, a concerned expression on his face.

“Oh, I was just supposed to see my favorite band tonight, Shattered Hearts. Chey and I were going together but she had to cancel,” you explain sourly.

“Oh man, I love Shattered Hearts!” Marcus exclaims with a dopey grin.

Truthfully, he'd never listened to the band before. But he wasn't going to miss out on his chance to spend an entire night alone with you.

After you both finished your shifts for the day, you parted ways. You had planned to meet at the small downtown venue once you got changed and ready for the night.

Later on, you gleefully rummaged through your closet, trying to pick out the perfect outfit. Shattered Hearts' lead singer, Tommy Valentine, would be front and center like always so of course you planned on wearing a Tommy-inspired outfit. Ripped white tights, short shorts and a low-cut top (covered by a long coat) and your favorite jewelry pieces to complete the look.

You went for a heavier makeup look than usual, as Shattered Hearts was in the pop-glam-rock vein. It couldn't hurt, making yourself look a bit older and hopefully catching Tommy's eye if you could get close enough to the stage.

"I'm going to the concert with my co-worker tonight so don't worry, I'll be safe!" you yell to your parents as you make your way out of the house and into the evening air.

Once you arrive at the venue, you see Marcus standing outside, leaning against the wall. He immediately brightens up and you don't miss the way his eyes rake over your body from top to bottom.

"Hey, (y/n)! You look... wow!" he laughs, a blush heating up his cheeks. He can't help but look your body up and down once more, taking in the way your white tights stretch over your thighs and your top hugs your body in just the right ways.

"Thanks, Marcus! Here's your ticket," you say, handing him the ticket that was supposed to be Cheyenne's.

"I'm really excited to hear Breathless," you sigh, walking up to the end of the line as Marcus follows.

"Uh, yeah, me too. I'm like— I'm just excited to hear their newest album," he laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh, I didn't tell you? This is the anniversary tour for the Rock Solid album, I don't think they'll be performing much of their new stuff," you frown.

Marcus is saved by the security personnel, approaching you both and patting you down as you entered the doorway and handed your tickets to the employee.

"Damn, this place is dark," Marcus laughs, looking around as you step in together.

"C'mon, I wanna get close to the front!" you exclaim, grabbing Marcus' hand and pulling him with you towards the stage.

He barely has time to process your hand on his as he follows you across the dirty, dim room.

"This is perfect, he'll definitely see me here," you say with a smile, looking up at the rusty light above you that illuminated your area. You leaned against the wooden pole next to you which supported the shabby balcony above.

Marcus raises an eyebrow. He? Who was he? Marcus was hoping to at least kiss you tonight, but were you already obsessed with some other guy?

"I'll go get us some drinks," he says, gesturing towards the bar.

"Oh, thanks! I'll keep our spot," you smile, looking down and adjusting your outfit to show off even more skin than it already was. Did you know what you were doing to Marcus? How his skin buzzed whenever you touched, how he imagined leaning down and kissing your lips? How desperately he wanted his hands all over you?

He fumed as he headed over to the bar, ordering some cheap beers and shots of vodka. Who was this asshole you were so obsessed with?

When Marcus returns, you knock back your shots together. Some men in black tee shirts bring equipment onto the stage as the sound of applause echoes through the room.

"So, uh, this guy you want to see you... did you invite someone else tonight?" he asks, trying not to sound like a jerk.

"No, I just think this is the best spot for Tommy Valentine to see me. He's single, just broke up with Maxine McDonald. Did you know the band's guitarist met his girlfriend because she was a fan at one of his shows?" you say excitedly, watching the stage.

Of course. The jerk you were obsessed with was the band's lead singer. Marcus couldn't help but roll his eyes, thankful that you were turned away from him.

"C'mon, drink up. I'll go grab us some more," Marcus says, playfully tilting your beer up in the direction of your mouth. He would need to be a lot drunker if he was gonna watch you lust over some punk poser all night.

By the time Shattered Hearts came onstage, you and Marcus had already finished several drinks. Marcus felt fine, but you already felt woozy, tipsy, almost falling over a few times. Marcus caught you of course, and you leaned on his body as to not embarrass yourself further.

Marcus went to grab another beer for himself, and when he returned, you were clinging onto the wooden pole.

"This one's my favorite," you mumble as Marcus cracks open his fourth beer.

"Yeah? Is it?" he asks, an amused expression on his face.

You nod dumbly and Marcus wraps his warm arm around your waist, the drinks emboldening him.

He looks down at you, your beautiful face illuminated by the dim lighting. He just couldn't help himself anymore. Marcus leans down, pressing his lips to yours and deepening the kiss into a make-out session as your brain catches up and you start to realize what's happening.

His tongue pushes into your mouth, silencing your protests as he traces his warm hands over your shirt. You almost think you're having a bad dream until you hear someone nearby say, "eww!"

It's only as his hands move into your shorts that you're able to push him off of you. He recoils, staring at you with a pissed-off expression.

"Wh-what was that, Marcus?" you exclaim, putting your hands out in front of you to keep him at a distance.

"I thought we—"

"I told you, I'm interested in Tommy!"

"He's way too old for you," Marcus hisses.

"So are you!" you huff, crossing your arms.

"I'll go get us more drinks," he sighs, realizing you've both sobered up a bit.

When he returns, you're miraculously still there, eyes fixed on Tommy.

Marcus keeps his hands to himself for the rest of the concert, suffering more and more as each song thrums and passes. The band wasn't even that good and Tommy Valentine was just some forty-something, washed-up guitarist with eyeliner.

After the concert, Marcus heads to the exit but is surprised that your small hand manages to pull him back.

"We're staying. Tommy usually comes out afterwards if he sees someone he likes. And I definitely seduced him with my eyes. Will you get us a round of shots for when he comes out?" you ask, waving Marcus away as you watch the curtains for any sign of movement.

Twenty minutes pass, the venue almost cleared out and heavy with the stink of sweat. Your shots sit untouched as you slump down in your seat.

"You wanna go outside?" Marcus asks tenatively.

You shake your head like a petulant toddler.

"You... wanna finish these off?" he asks, gesturing to the shots.

You nod, sitting upright and taking all three shots consecutively. It had sunk in now that Tommy didn't see anything special in you, hadn't been wowed by your sexy outfit or your eyes or how you knew every word to every song.

Almost immediately, you slump sideways against Marcus and he rests his arm against you comfortingly.

"Let's get some fresh air," he sighs, leading you outside where you lean against the brick wall, fighting the urge to pass out.

"You look amazing tonight. It's Tommy's loss," Marcus says, hand stroking your arm.

You look up at him, tears in your eyes, mouth framed in a pout to either keep the tears from falling or the vomit from escaping.

Marcus sighs, leaning down and bridging the gap between you. You return the kiss in your own sloppy, half-conscious way. One of his hands plunges into your shorts as the other makes it's way up underneath your shirt.

You're mumbling, moaning, making some sort of noise with your mouth but his mouth covering yours muffles it.

Marcus can't wait any longer, mouth drifting down your neck and chest, sucking and leaving marks of his affections.

"N-n—stop—" you mumble, hands awkwardly trying to pull him closer or push him away, you weren't fully sure.

"Fuck," Marcus mumbles against your chest, causing a gasp to rise up your throat. His fingers trace your hole, spreading around your wetness as you let out a whimper.

"God, I wanna fuck you so badly," he groans, grabbing your waist and sucking on a new spot of skin.

"M-marcus— I-I should go huh—home—" you mumble.

He pulls away and examines his work with a big, dopey smile. You were so messed up, clothing rumpled, hair undone, love bites all over your neck and chest.

He turns you and leads you to a reflective window, and you gasp at the look of yourself. So many hickeys that your coat couldn't even cover. You looked... like a slut.

"I—I can't go home like this! My parents will kill me!" you whimper.

"You can come to my place, my mom'll love you," Marcus offers.

"Uh— no, that's—“

"I'm not letting you walk somewhere alone. Come with me and we can take the bus to work tomorrow," Marcus suggests, raising his eyebrow.

"Ugh, fine," you sigh, leaning against Marcus as he walks the two of you to his mom's house.

You try your best to ignore Marcus' childish, messy room and dirty sheets as you undress and climb in next to him, still feeling drunk and used up.

You hold back a shriek as he pulls you into his chest, body flush against him. "This is nice, huh? My perfect toy," he laughs, kissing your bare shoulder. You shudder at his touches and objectification of you.

"Marcus, stop," you sigh, and his grasp loosens, but not forever. You know he'd be pulling you close in the middle of the night and you had half a mind to sleep on the dirty floor.

The next morning, you borrow one of Mrs. White's long-sleeved shirts for work but it still doesn't cover everything. You walk into Cloud 9 beside Marcus, embarrassed and red-faced.

Marcus throws an arm around you, and when you get to the break-room, he pulls you into his lap as all of your co-workers stare.

"Pretty epic, huh? Got 'em all to myself," Marcus grins, placing a big hand on your thigh and rubbing it creepily.

"Uh, (y/n), your neck—" Cheyenne stutters, eyes wide at the confusing scene before her.

"Yeah, it was all me. We had a pretty crazy night last night. You were all over me, begging for it, huh?" Marcus brags, leaning back and bumping fists with Isaac as he passes by the two of you.

You keep your eyes fixed on the ground, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. You were quite a catch in the store, everyone knew it, and now Marcus was asserting his dominance at having made you his.

[honkytonk-hangman]

Just Another Thing – [1]

Walt 'Finn' Finnegan x Reader/OC

Summary: God help anyone who might've thought a nice, stable relationship might bring some kind of change to Walt Finnegan's usual mischief and mild-hedonism. God especially help them if they also thought a girlfriend would provide any sort of calming influence over him.

She definitely influenced him, anyone could tell you that, unfortunately just never in any way that could even remotely be described as 'calm'.

Warnings: cussing, mentions of and talk of sex, sexy body parts, ect. reader/OC is named Kimberly/Kimber, but it is still written in second person and her name shouldn't come up very often.

Notes: oh boy oh boy oh boy you have no clue how excited i am for this fic. it's literally been in the works for over a year. i'd even go as far as to say it's my fave fic in recent memory!!! Im not sure yet how many parts, but the story does have a beginning and end.

It's not necessary to have watched the film before reading this fic, as this is set in the year after, around 1982, however certain character dynamics could be confusing. Also i definitely headcanon Finn and Beverly becoming good friends, hidden beneath a layer of exasperation of course but he is definitely the type to go to all the theatre stuff like come on look at him!!!!!

okay enough from me now heres the fic I really hope you enjoy!!!

You register the alarm on your friends’ face’s far too late to do anything, and the next thing you know you’re clutching the crown of your head, a dull throbbing ache now pulsing under your fingertips.

It wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar sensation, you’ve been hit in the head by a ball plenty of times, but the sheer weight behind this particular impact stood out to you. That, and you knew it couldn’t have been the volleyball you and your friend’s were playing with, because you currently held it.

“What the fu–” you begin angrily, already whipping around in the direction you’d been hit, cutting yourself off at the sight of an approaching man, a look of genuine remorse painted on his features as he jogs toward you. Behind him, a group of guys with baseball gloves watch on with various cringing expressions. Just as the man nears you, his eyes subtly travel up and down your figure, his lip quirking with approval, but he keeps his face apologetic. He comes to a stop several feet away, where the baseball had landed, but doesn’t take his eyes off of you, placing his hands on his hips and lifting his chin at you.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he says, and it at least sounds sincere. “Roper’s never had much of an eye.”

You purse your lips, but try not to look too angry. He was cute, you realise dumbly, still rubbing your head. Dirty blond hair settled in light waves at the top of his collar, a matching blond moustache groomed neatly above his upper lip. He was tall, broad across the shoulders and chest in a way you’d only ever really seen on guys who worked out, athletes and the like. He also looked a little older than a lot of the students you’d see walking around campus, and he certainly didn’t approach you with the confidence of a freshman, so you figure he must be at least an upperclassmen.

“Well, maybe y'all should work on that with him,” you grumble lightly, and drop your hand.

“You okay?” he nods at your head, and you shift to lean on one foot, not missing the flicker of his eyes to watch as you do, or the way he lingers on your rapidly rising and falling chest before he meets your eye again.

“Isn’t the first time, certainly won’t be the last. Hair probably won’t sit right tonight, though,” you complain.

“Big date?” he asks, the teasing tone unmistakable. You lift your chin a little indignantly.

“I’m sure your day is just riding on my answer, but I don’t feel particularly inclined on telling you that,” you huff, heart rate doubling when he laughs, looking away from you for the first time as he grins widely.

“Well, how about this,” he starts once he’s sobered, bending down to swipe the baseball from the grass, taking a step toward you as he does. “The next time I see you, I promise you won’t get hit in the head,” he waves the ball as if you need reminding, but takes another step closer. “And you tell me what night works best to take you out?”

You fail to hide the amused smile that pulls at your lips, but then again, you weren’t really one for playing hard to get. You can see now that he’s only a few feet away, that his eyes are a startling green, and you think you wouldn’t mind running into him again, sans head injury.

“Alright,” you tell him, stepping back with a nod. “Next time.”

It takes all of your will power to turn away from him and move back towards your friends, though you feel his eyes on you for some distance, and make sure you swing your hips just a little more than you usually might.

Part of you regrets not making plans then and there, but the other part of you shivers at the already building tension of your potential next meeting.

Squinting at your reflection in the mirror, you flip your feathery waves once more over your shoulder, before almost immediately letting it fall back where it was. Just as you’d predicted, thanks to the decent-sized lump on the crown of your head, your Jerry Hall blowout was looking less supermodel and more super-odd.

Scrunching your nose as you mess with your tresses one last time, let out a huff, and force yourself to turn away, just in time for Nancy to appear at your open door, her curled fingers tapping gently on the wood.

“Hey Kimber,” she begins, pausing to give you a whistle as you exit your bathroom and do a twirl for her. Your collared halter-neck jumpsuit was supposed to be worn with a ruffle-neck blouse, but you’d never intended to style it that way, not to mention it was tight enough that you’re not totally sure you’d even be able to fit said blouse beneath it anyway.

“Something’s telling me Miss Texas ‘56 didn’t have this particular ensemble in mind when she ordered this for you outta her fancy lil’ Saks catalogue…” Nancy teases. You roll your eyes.

“Saks don’t do catalogues.” you correct her with a faux air of haughtiness, but don’t bother to contend her point. All of your housemates were more than familiar with your former Beauty Queen mother, despite never having met her. The monthly ‘care packages’ she sent you, filled with various ‘in season’ (see: frivolous) items of clothing and ‘essentials’ spoke volumes about who exactly Mrs Charlene Wynne was. That mostly just amounting to ‘eternally neurotic but well-meaning’. 

Nancy pokes her tongue out at you and scoffs out a laugh.

“Whatever, the point is; Mama doesn't always know best. You look foxy!”

You let out a laugh and smooth your hands over your thighs, thanking her softly.

You weren’t at all oblivious to the way you looked. Certainly you were no Raquel Welch, but most days you could manage something in the realm of Christie Brinkley or Cheryl Ladd, which was pretty damn good. You had your mother to thank for that, though your dad was no slouch either, but considering your mother couldn’t walk ten steps without someone recognising her from her Miss Texas win almost thirty years ago, you’ll give her most of the credit. As a result of your parent’s contributions, you’d become aware fairly quickly of the effect you tended to have on men, especially College men.

“Did you need me for something?” you prompt after a few more moments of Nancy preening over your outfit, remembering that she had come up here with a purpose some minutes ago now. Nancy blinks, before she makes a soft gasping sound, and straightens up.

“That’s right! Beverley arrived a little while ago, she was asking for you!” she informs you, waving her hand in the vague direction of the stairs and the party quickly coming to life on the first floor.

“I’m coming now!” you tell her, giving your hair one last flip before you move for your door, closing it behind you and quickly following Nancy as she all but skips. 

The ‘little’ get together had officially started a little while ago, but you’d had a study group that had run long, meaning you were now fashionably late to your own houseparty, if there were even such a thing.

Almost immediately once you crest the lower steps, you feel yourself shift into focus, totally in your element now, a cool, easy smile finding a place on your features. It isn’t difficult for you to move through the light throngs of people, despite your arrival not going unnoticed by those around you, but instead of excusing yourself meekly past distracted conversationalists, you’re liked enough that partygoers both consciously and subconsciously make way for you, plenty of familiar faces greeting you warmly in passing as you go.

You aren't surprised to find the kitchen milling with guests too, though the music is a little quieter here, so you figure it will remain more sparsely populated until later in the night, when everyone is comfortably tipsy.

“Kimberley!” A female voice calls out, perhaps a little too loudly, but you’d come to expect as much from anyone deeply involved in theatre.

“Beverly!” you match her energy, volume and all, knowing that she was likely already feeling a little out of place among the other guests, who were all mostly part of the College’s various sports teams and who you suspect weren’t even aware there even was a theatre program.

You can’t stop yourself from grinning ecstatically, overjoyed to see your friend for the first time since classes had commenced for the year. However, you feel more than you see the redhead that collides with you, her much shorter frame crashing into yours with a comforting force, and thanks to your non incosiderable height, as well as your many years playing volleyball, you hardly even budge from the impact, even in your chunky platform heels. You quickly hug Beverley in return, but far sooner than you’d like, she’s pulling back and launching into what sounds like a planned monologue.

“Okay! So, you know how ages ago I said I was going to set you up with one of Jake’s housemates from the baseball house?” Beverly starts, already waving her hands expressively, her expression bright and excited. You search your mind, but honestly, you aren’t sure if the conversation sounds familiar or not. You’d had a lot of people say similar things to you throughout your college career so far. Most of the time they were totally off-base matches, but you were always happy to experience new things, new people.

Beverley doesn’t wait for your reply though, clapping her hands and rubbing them together.

“Well, of course the team was invited tonight, meaning I can finally introduce you!” she exclaims, looking wildly over her shoulder, as though the person in question was supposed to be just behind her. When she sees an empty kitchen, she frowns and purses her lips. The glimmer of annoyance is wiped from her face by the time she’s looking back at you, and she huffs good-naturedly.

“I told him to wait for me…” she links your arms as she speaks, and you happily let her lead you to the kitchen door, where a light bubble of conversation floats through from outside. You have to let out a laugh at her sheer excitement, which appears genuine, though not in her usual manner. 

The usual manner meaning that every so often when the two of you found yourselves at the same club or bar, whenever she or her friend’s were being bothered, the pretty redhead would giddily inform you that she had someone she wanted you to meet, then standing back and watching gleefully as you casually sapped up the creep’s attention, only to bluntly shoot him down and send him off. 

You don’t get the feeling this is one of those times, but from what you knew of the baseball team, you very well may have to do some shooing on your own behalf tonight.

Outside on the tiny back-deck, a small group of people had gathered and right away your brain sparks with familiarity, though you have very little time to consider this before Beverley is releasing your arm and stepping forward. She smiles brightly as she sweeps between you and a man who turns around as if on cue.

“Finn, this is Kimberley Wynn! Kimberley, this is Finn! I am almost certain that the two of you will get along famously,” Beverely announces with a flourish and a wink. You and Finn both blink startled at one another for several moments, before mutual recognition quickly sets in. Your lips slowly pull into a wide grin, and you don’t bother hiding the fact that you’re now looking him over with no subtly, just as he’d done to you earlier in the park. 

“I’m not about to get clobbered again, am I?” you begin flirtily, glad that the man, Finn, recognises you as well, though unlike you, he seems to avoid taking the opportunity to check you out again, to his loss. Instead, he smiles big, almost showmanly, and takes up a slight lean on the railing behind him.

“If it’s any consolation, your hair looks great,” Finn replies cooly, and it’s almost as though you’d never parted ways at all. You flick your hair over your shoulder, seeing how his eyes follow the movement before they’re locked back on yours and you already know you’ve got this man hook, line and sinker.

“Luckily for you,” you sniff, though your smile undercuts any real resentment. Finn seems to grin a little wider then, more genuinely than the showman smile. You think the way his eyes crinkle in the corners is sweet, and that he should smile that way all the time.

“Wait, you two already know each other?!” Beverley cuts in, suddenly reminding you that she was in fact still standing there, watching and listening. “How?!” the redhead demands, not going so far as to stomp a foot, but she does cross her arms in a huff as she looks between the two of you in betrayed disbelief, though you note most of her ire seems directed at Finn.

The blonde swings his gaze back to the shorter woman, seemingly tickled by her apparent annoyance, yet his teasing expression is full to the brim with endeared fondness. You get the impression that this was the natural state of their friendship, and that Finn is about to say something inflammatory just to get a bigger rise, which might be a little funny, but you cut in before he can speak, relieving Beverly of her confusion.

“All Star over here threw a baseball at my head this afternoon,” you say pointedly, making sure he doesn’t mistake your happiness to see him for forgiveness. Finn holds his hands up then, and jerks a thumb in the direction of a man in the larger group of party goers on the porch.

“Roper threw a baseball at your head this afternoon,” he corrects you, as though that should absolve you of your attitude.

“Oh, that’s right! You just failed to catch it!” you tease, watching as he winces dramatically and grasps at his chest.

“You wound me sweetheart!” he exclaims ruefully, and despite the vaguely amicable antagonism, you can see now why he and Beverly are friends.

“Then we’re even.” You say. You already agree with the redhead’s earlier assessment; the two of you were going to get along famously.

Finn shrugs in a manner that reads more as relenting than indifference, and at least some of his overly performative act comes away. Beverley scoffs a laugh, rolling her eyes heavily as she reaches out to shove Finn in the arm. He sways, you think for her benefit, which makes you smile.

“Only you could throw a baseball that hits the one girl on campus who’d actually put up with you…” she snorts, seemingly assuming his chances with you were now dashed. Finn raises a finger in protest.

“As we just discussed, I only failed to catch the ball that hit the one girl on campus who may or may not be willing to put up with me. I’d like that to go on record.” He smiles at her simperingly. Beverley regards him with a withering look for several seconds, before choosing to ignore him entirely, turning to you.

“Have fun.” she says, sounding much more like her usual manner, though before you can tell her it’s alright, she’s already spun away, and when you find her again, she’s tucking herself under the arm of her boyfriend, Jake.

You shake your head, and look back at Finn, finding his gaze already locked on you. He pushes away from the railing then, and steps toward you.

“You know what this is?” he asks you, once more sounding like an actor reading lines, and gesturing between you. “Fate.” he says, lowering his voice somewhat like it was a secret just for the two of you.

You cock your head at his odd little act, though you aren’t entirely un-charmed by it. It was rather different to when you’d met this afternoon, despite his blatant flirting then, now it was as if you were speaking with a completely different person. A stage magician, perhaps.

“So, why don’t we go get a drink in your hand, and then you can tell me which day works for our upcoming date.” Finn gives a slight flourish, and while his whole demeanour is still clearly put on, there is an endearing element to his theatrics, a silliness that you might find more charming if it didn’t feel so much like he was performing for you.

He offers you his arm graciously, which you can imagine combined with his hyped up charm, would have plenty of women already giggling into their sleeves, which you don’t do, but you do place your other hand over his warm skin as well, and allow him to lead you back into the kitchen.

“So what’ll it be? Beer? Fruity punch? Fruity punch and beer?” he wiggles his eyebrows at you, and even though he’s still playing a role of some kind, it’s not hard for you to see through it.

“Fruity punch,” you say decisively. “Can’t stand the taste of beer.” You tell him honestly, watching as he goes about procuring you a glass of the punch you yourself had made, and appreciating the effort he puts in to make sure you have at least two cherries, though, you don’t think he means it to be suggestive, despite your own thoughts going straight to the gutter over the matter.

“So, what you’re saying is; I should switch to the punch if I want to test this theory about you being the one girl on campus who’ll put up with me later?” he asks in amusement, at last handing you your drink, his eyes sparkling. You accept the drink and give a noncommittal shrug as you take a small sip. 

“Oh, that’s not necessary, but I’ll certainly appreciate it later.” You really feel no need to go along with his act, not seeing any reason to play coy about your intentions, not in the way he seemed to feel was par for the course at least. You watch as Finn takes a moment to actually process your words, a brief mix of surprise and curiosity passing over his features, but it’s quickly covered up by a much more ‘cool’ looking mask.

You have to crack a smile at his sheer determination to convince you to have sex with him, the poor man somehow didn’t realise he was preaching to the choir.

“You really do look fantastic, by the way,” Finn says after a few moments of awkward quiet pass. You push aside your amusement, and grin happily at him, smoothing your hand over the material fondly.

“Thanks! I feel like one of ‘Charlie’s Angels’,” you gush a little, briefly feeling silly for bringing up the comparison, however, this time Finn’s smile makes the corners of his eyes crinkle in that way you liked, making his whole face seem softer and more natural, pouring with warmth.

“Trust me, Farrah’s got nothing on you right now,” he tells you sweetly, continuing to fondly watch you preen, not just at the compliment, but because you think this might be the first time all evening he isn’t speaking from some kind of script.

The moment passes quickly, though, and as you duck your head to accept his praise, you see his face momentarily scrunching up in a wince, like he was scolding himself for saying something so saccharine. You consider telling him that you found the sweetness endlessly more endearing than any of the other lines so far, but you hold your tongue. You had a small feeling that his pretence was really more about him, than about you, at least to a degree.

Finn is about halfway through earnestly telling you about his apparently ‘average’ sized cock when you at last run out of patience. The gimmick itself was entertaining enough, definitely an original approach to picking up women, and you’d even played along to start with, but you can’t help wondering why you’re standing around talking about his cock when you could be doing other things with it instead.

While he’s still talking, you reach into your pocket and dig around for a moment, before you find what you’re after. Finn trails off when you turn and lay the coin face-side up on his forearm. He blinks at it in confusion, for a few seconds, before looking questioningly up at you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask before he can speak again, and force yourself not to pump your fist triumphantly when his confusion is quickly replaced with affection. Sure, you knew he wanted to have sex with you already, but now he thought you were cute, too.

“Alright,” he answers simply, fully angling his body toward yours, leaning in closer to you at the same time.

“So, this whole ‘average sized cock’ thing, does it actually work? I mean, has it worked when you’ve used it before?” you tip your head up at him, genuinely curious, but you don’t miss the way Finn’s features fall blank for a second after you speak, his smile fading, replaced with mild discomfort. He seems to shift back from you slightly, regarding you once more before he replies.

“I guess this is the time it doesn’t.” He all but mutters, his frown deepening as he looks away from you again, clearing his throat this time and straightening up, obviously embarrassed. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks back at you evenly.

“Could’ve stopped me earlier,” he says a little stiffly, though seemingly coming to terms with whatever direction he now thought this conversation was taking. You can’t help yourself then, his sulking making you laugh, fully and joyfully, but before he can sulk further, you lay your hand gently on his arm, over the penny, and give him a light squeeze. You shake your head as your laughter dies down, and fix him with a warm expression

“I never said it wasn’t working– in a manner of speaking,” You softly tell him, watching as he blinks down at you. You hurry to explain. “I mean don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t working, but only because it’s totally unbelievable.”

Finn at last relaxes somewhat, though his slight frown remains as he considers your complaint.

“What’s so unbelievable about it?” he demands, in a way that tells you this pick-up tactic was one he was proud of, though clear playfulness had returned to his voice.

Confident that you were now talking, actually talking to Finn as he was, and not as he thought would get him laid, you feel energised to engage with the subject matter more seriously. You scoff and roll your eyes at his indignation.

“Firstly,” you start, shifting to lean on your hip, bringing you closer once again. “No guy is ever going to accept, let alone admit that he has an average sized-cock, and he’s definitely not going to admit it to a woman he wants to fuck.” You say matter-of-factly, though you didn’t have anything more than your not-insubstantial intimate experiences with men to go off of as proof.

“Guys who really are average, don’t think that they are, and they probably never will because no woman is going to bring up the fact that his seven inch cock looks suspiciously closer to five.” you wave your hands a little, not realising before now that you really had any firm opinions on this subject.

You see the cogs in Finn’s brain turning as he regards your words with something that resembles amused but genuine interest. You figure he hadn’t expected you to really have a point, which to be fair, you hadn’t expected either. You do plan to let him respond, but you suddenly remember something else you’d been thinking about earlier, when he’d first brought up the concept.

“–And! In my experience, guys who do have big cocks, they don’t really say anything, or they mislead you entirely, so that they can get off on hearing you telling him how big he is.”

That earns a hearty laugh from Finn, who shrugs a shoulder in admittance at that point at the very least. He’d returned at last to watching you fondly, and you think once more that Beverley had been spot on in introducing the two of you. You’re pretty sure Finn is the only man who would so happily, or nonchalantly debate with you about the size of other men’s cocks, just as you’re sure that you’re the only woman on campus who has ever challenged him on it.

Finn hums in thought. “So, you believe men will only ever overcompensate or undercompensate?” he asks, but it's more of a statement. He watches you intently as he tips his chin, and you nod.

“Exactly.”

A moment passes between the two of you, before Finn leans forward, right into your space, wearing a pleased smirk.

“In that case honey,” he starts, voice sounding a little deeper now, huskier somehow. “What’s the verdict then?” he stares at you unwaveringly, challenging you. You frown.

“The verdict on what?” you ask, though at this point you couldn’t muster much genuine interest, not when all this verbal foreplay was slowing down the process of getting him in your bedroom for some actual foreplay.

Finn’s smirk grows then, seemingly glad you’d asked. You watch as his eyes dip briefly down to your chest, where his height and closeness grant him a very good view of your tits. He meets your gaze again before he speaks.

“Do you think I’m overcompensating, or undercompensating?”

You blink and stare at him as you process, not even bothering to hide your captivation, but it lasts for mere seconds before your lips are curling into a coy smile to match his own. You copy his move then, dropping your eyes to take in the front of his jeans, but you don’t look back up again as he had. Instead, you reach out and begin tracing his belt buckle. Finn inhales sharply, clearly taken off guard by your forwardness, which was clearly working for him.

You’re momentarily distracted from his belt as you catch sight of the rather sizable bulge forming at the front of his pants, giving you a pretty good idea of what the verdict should be. You lick your lips without really thinking, but take full advantage of the way Finn’s eyes follow the movement, tracing the path over your now wet mouth as he awaits your answer. You lean in, closing the miniscule distance between you at last, and give his belt a teasing little tug toward you.

“Y’know, I haven’t a clue,” you lie nonchalantly, your smile only growing when you use his belt to pull yourself in and press right up against his front. “But I’d love to find out.”

[rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me]

Believe Me Now?

“There ain’t no way,” Pony said in disbelief, eyes locked on the bull bucking in the center of the arena as the eight-second buzzer blared through the rodeo’s packed crowd. “Ain’t no way they’re yours.”

Two-Bit just laughed and shifted away from Johnny to let his shoulder knock playfully against Ponyboy’s. “Why? Cause they’re a successful rodeo star and I’m just some hood?”

The rider let go of the strap and slid off the back of the bull, landing flat on their butt in the dirt. The animal, now sans rider, continued to buck across the arena until the flank strap fell loose and the ropers got him under control. As the announcer’s voice crackled through the speakers by the judges’ table, the rider started to jog back towards the bucking shoots, pausing to scoop up their hat from where it had fallen during their ride.

“That was Y/N L/N with the first qualifying ride of the night! The score for the ride is a 78, a mighty fine score for a mighty fine ride.”

Y/N lifted their hat in a grateful wave to the cheering crowd, turning to shuffle backward with a broad smile before ducking back into the safety behind the bucking shoots.

“If you’re really goin’ with them, you think they’d let us go back to where they went?” Johnny asked, looking up at Two-Bit as the announcer began to introduce the next rider and bull. 

“Aw kid,” Two-Bit chastised, reaching to ruffle Johnny’s dark hair with a grin. “You don’t trust me either, huh? Glory, you two are hard to convince.”

Johnny and Pony smiled at each other, the corners of their mouths quirking up in tandem. Two-Bit was always easy to mess with. His easy, happy-go-lucky nature made it simple to rile him up but he never got upset, just amused.  

“C’mon kids,” Two-Bit said. He threw his arms around their shoulders and started to lead them back towards the panels along the side of the bucking shoots. “I’ll introduce you to them, and maybe y’all are finally gonna believe what I’ve been tellin’ y’all this whole time.”

The three of them shuffled through the crowd, Ponyboy and Johnny ducking out from underTwo-Bit’s arms as they weaved through the crowd to get over to the panels.

“Scott!” Two-Bit yelled when they reached the metal fences, cupping his hands around his mouth to draw the attention of one of the cowboys over the din of the hollering bulls and loud announcer. A boy with dirty blonde hair looked up and a wide smile came over his face when his eyes fell on Two-Bit.

“If it ain’t Two-Bit Mathews!” Scott ambled over to the panel, crossing his arms and lifting a foot to rest it on the dusty metal. His smile grew even wider as he saw Ponyboy and Johnny. “These your kids, buddy? Didn’t know you had two of ‘em, there ain’t no way they can be Y/N’s.”

Two-Bit rolled his eyes, laughing as he shook his head. “Can you just get Y/N? The kids don’t believe I’m goin’ with them and I gotta prove them wrong.”

Scott laughed and nodded, stepping back. He readjusted his hat as he walked backwards. “I’ll get Y/N for ya, but I’ve gotta ride soon. I’ll send them your way and I’ll see you around, alright?”

“Yeah, alright,” Two-Bit agreed, smirking at the blonde. “I’ll see you later, not like I don’t have a reason to come back. What would I do without seein’ your face every Friday night?”

Still laughing, Scott walked away, and Two-Bit turned to look at Ponyboy and Johnny with a grin. “You two ready to meet the best person in the world?”

Ponyboy made a noise of disbelief and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Johnny grinned to himself and mimicked Two-Bit’s stance, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of his jeans.

“Y’know,” Two said, crossing his arms over his chest, “for a kid who spends so much time with his head in the clouds, I should’ve known you’d be so skeptical.”

Y/N’s head poked out from behind a few other riders and a smile lit up their face as they made their way over to the panel. “Howdy there, boys,” they said with a warm smile, making quick work of climbing over and dropping to the ground on the other side.

Two-Bit turned at the sound of their voice ,stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist as he peppered kisses over the side of their face. “There’s my baby!” he murmured, tugging them closer. Y/N laughed as Two-Bit scooped them up into a slow spin, looping their arms around his neck before leaning in for a slow kiss. 

“Should’ve known you’d be lookin’ for me after I finished up,” they said, a gentle smirk on their lips as they looked down at him.

Two-Bit just grinned and set them back on the ground, kissing them again. They pulled one hand from his neck to push their hat back, pushing it out of the way as Two gave them another kiss.

“Glory,” Ponyboy complained, drawing the couple’s attention back to the younger boys. He frowned unhappily and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “We didn’t come to watch you make out with them Two-Bit, c’mon.”

Y/N pulled away first, a sheepish smile on their face as they set their hat back on their head. Two-Bit kept them close to his side by leaving an arm around their waist.  “I’m sorry,” they said, looking between the two boys. “I haven’t even introduced myself, I’m Y/N L/N.”

“You had a nice ride,” Johnny said, giving them a shy smile. “You’re real good at what you do.”

Y/N smiled and tipped their hat. “Thank you…,”

“Johnny,” Two-Bit filled in. “That’s Johnnycake and the brat is Ponyboy, his brother Sodapop used to ride broncs here.”

Pony didn’t seem to appreciate the term and sent Two-Bit a icy glare, an expression he picked up from Darry. Two-Bit stuck his tongue out in response.

“Ponyboy and Sodapop, huh?” Y/N asked, an interested look on their face as they looked over at him. Pony shied under their eyes, rubbing the back of his neck as color started to rise to his cheeks.

“Oh no, I don’t mean anything by it,” Y/N corrected, shaking their head quickly. They set their hand over Two-Bit’s and drew it back up to their hip when it started to drift down their thigh. “I used to know a boy named Marlboro. I reckon you two’d get along just fine with your names and all. He rode bulls with me a few years ago.”

Two-Bit smiled fondly, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s cheek and tugging them closer. “You had a good ride, darlin'. You’re the only one qualifyin’ so far.”

“Thank you,” they replied, giving him a small kiss before glancing back at Ponyboy and Johnny. “Y’know it was real nice to meet you boys, but I’m afraid I’ve gotta get back to the bulls. They’re starting the second rides soon.”

“It was nice meetin’ you too,” Ponyboy replied, smiling slightly. Johnny echoed his agreement with a smile just a tad wider than Pony’s.

Y/N tipped their hat once more before pulling away from Two-Bit and climbing back over the panel. Two-Bit didn’t try to stop them. He watched them go with a small smile as he moved back to stand against the panels.

“Are you coming to the rodeo next weekend?” they asked, resting their arms on the metal. Behind them, a rodeo hand was calling for all the riders to return to the bucking shoots for the second ride. Y/N didn’t move and kept their eyes on Two-Bit.

“The one in Muskogee?”

“Yeah, that one.” They looked hopeful, head tilting as they waited patiently for him to answer.

“I don’t know…I’ve gotta check my schedule and everythin’, might have somethin’ to do that day.”

Y/N groaned. “Two-Bit.”

Two-Bit grinned, leaning forward to kiss them through the panels. “I’ll be there. I promise.”

Satisfied, Y/N gave him one more kiss, ignoring the rodeo hand again as he called out once more. “Pick me up after we’re done, we can get dinner or something at the Dingo.”

“Anythin’ you want,” Two-Bit replied. He nodded towards the bucking shoots, shooting them another smile. “Now go ride.”

Y/N nodded, eyes shining as they stepped away from the panels and wiped their hands on the front of their chaps. They waved to Johnny and Ponyboy before turning and jogging back towards the shoots.

Two-Bit watched them until they were out of sight before turning back to Ponyboy and Johnny with a smug smirk. “So. You believe me now or what?” 

[hexandbalances]

Hi!

My name is Ash and I´m an A-Level student that has to hold a presentation as one of my final exams. The topic I chose is the Salem Witch Trials and whether modern day Witches, such as yourself, still have to deal with prejudices and superstitions due to the Trials. I hope I didn´t offend you in any way and would really appreciate it if you could tell me your point of view on these things.

In hopes of a timely answer.

Ash

Hi Ash,

I have been away from Tumblr for quite some months so I doubt this is reaching you in a timely manner, but in case the topic still interests you I shall endeavor to be of some use.

This is a complicated question, in part because it presumes that the women accused during the Salem Witch trials were, in fact, witches and that there is a line of causality between modern prejudices and the Salem witch trials as a specific, singular event. I don't agree with that premise.

While historians have not satisfactorily identified the trigger of the witch trials - unlikely ergot poisoning, tensions with indigenous Americans spurred on by King Phillip's War, disputes between farmers and ministers within Salem Town and Salem Village, etc, - we can most certainly conclude that those who were targeted were not practioners of magic (with perhaps the exception of Tituba, who may have practiced her people's native religion and was released). The accused were predominantly women (of the 19 hanged four were men, and one Giles Corey was pressed) and inconvenient to the Putnam family in some form. I recommend the following reading for specifics:

Six Women of Salem: The Untold Story of the Accused and Their Accusers in the Salem Witch Trials by Marilynne K. Roach

The Salem Witch Trials: A Day-by-Day Chronicle of a Community Under Siege by Marilynne K Roach (this is a very thick volume)

A Storm of Witchcraft: The Salem Trials and the American Experience by Emerson W. Baker

The Devil in the Shape of a Woman: Witchcraft in Colonial New England by Carol F Karlsen

Certainly prejudice against witchcraft and any non-dominant religion persists within America. We experienced a renewal of mania, "the Satanic Panic", building in the mid 1970's as a reaction to growing acceptance of Vedic practices, Wicca, Eastern religions, etc., and peaking in the 1980's to 1990's with wide scale false accusations of ritual child abuse. This mania, while not yet quite ended, is rooted in perceived threats to societal norms (i.e. power) dictated by a predominantly white Christian culture. Try:

America Bewitched: The Story of Witchcraft After Salem by Owen Davies

Satanic Panic: Pop-Cultural Paranoia in the 1980's by Kier-La Janisse and Paul Corupe

In general, neo-pagan religion (if I might include witchcraft in this broad category, and as I suspect many Tumblr users use witchcraft interchangeably with Wicca) continues to flourish in America. Our most consistently cited issues are: 1) a lack of religious acknowledgement and ministry available to servicemembers in the military and to prisoners and 2) social ridicule. What forms of prejudice practioners experience here - while still very real and significant - are mild compared to the burnings and stoning of women accused of witchcraft in other parts of the world.

In the last decade women have been burned alive for accusations in Papua New Guinea, Ghana, Paraguay, Peru, Tanzania, Romania - in February of this year a woman in Bihar, India was set on fire then stoned to death for allegedly bringing on the unnatural death of a boy in her village. These women were targeted because they were vulnerable - not because they were witches.

And we see that misogyny has consistently been a prime motivator in the selection of victims of witchcraft accusations. See:

Witch Craze: Terror and Fantasy in Baroque Germany by Lyndal Roper

Witchcraze: A New History of the European Witch Hunts by Anne L Barstow

The Witch: A History of Fear, from Ancient Times to Present by Ronald Hutton

In short, I see the Salem Witch Trials as separate from current religious prejudice. "Witchcraft" is the vehicle by which one group justifies the seizure of property and/or murder of the vulnerable in their community. Whether or not the victim is actually a witch seems to have very little to do with it.

[hearttstopper]

What do you think cowboy Harry would wear? What’s his ultimate cowboy outfit?

Much in the same way that he tends to keep to himself, nose to the grindstone as he devotes all of himself to his work, cowboy Harry isn’t flashy or showy in his work clothes. In his day to day life, cowboy Harry wears a hand me down chamois jacket, lined with lambswool: faded, comfortable, and broken in, just like the leather along the seat of his dark oil saddle. He can be spotted from a mile away on the back of a tall chestnut mare, tailing quietly behind a group of cattle as a border collie faithfully follows suit, ducking and weaving between their heels ever so often.

His roper boots are a deep russet brown, though often indistinguishable underneath layers of dust or mud after a long day on the ranch. They’re scuffed at both the toe and heel, and underneath the grime, they boast hand-sewn embroidery with love in every stitch, craftsmanship so intricately done that they warrant a second look. His boots are so well loved, in fact, that they’re barely hanging on by a thread; with holes in the soles that threaten to burst every time he crouches down to shear an unruly lamb or hoist himself back up into his saddle. But they fit him like a glove, and he’s a bit sentimental, anyway, so he’ll end up wearing them until they physically disintegrate from his feet. His denim jeans go over his boots, never tucked, like any good cowboy knows. He cycles between three pairs of Wranglers, tried and true and always cinched at the waist with a buckle that reads “1964 Hesston National Finals Champion Bareback Rider.”

No one has ever asked him about it.

He’s a dyed-in-the-wool button down kind of man; all of his more exciting shirts reserved for nights at the honky tonk, where he’ll don embroidered roses and swallows across his broad shoulders, or a bright patterned pearl snap button-down, the first few buttons undone. It’s in these shirts that he dodges enthusiastic offers to get out of here left and right - he’s got an image to uphold as the quiet, well-mannered man at the end of the bar, the one with more interest in the blues bands that cycle through town than chasing skirts.

He’s made up of walls: anyone who’s ever asked him for a dance on a Friday night can see that. But he isn’t intimidating, or unfriendly - his doe eyes are gentle, he wears a soft smile, tips his hat when appropriate, and is unrelenting in his use of please and thank you, sir and ma’am. He laughs a little too loudly at the crude jokes that the emcees drop, whistles with both his fingers from where he hovers halfway between the bar and the stage, is the first one to cry out for an encore. He’s the reason for the sticky bar top, spilling his beer and then sheepishly asking for napkins to clean up his own mess. He knows his limits, and jokes good-naturedly about cutting himself off, calling it an early night. Without fail, he always heads home alone.

He’s so polite and genuine that nobody in his little hometown really questions why such a handsome, hardworking young man hasn’t taken up a wife yet. The community may be full to the brim with gossip and bushwa, but he’s never heard a bad word against him - or at least, if they’ve been said, they’ve never gotten back around to him. He never gives them any ammunition. How could he, anyway? When he shows up to church every weekend in his Sunday best - the only time he can be spotted without his black felt Stetson - there’s never a bad word to be said against him. He recycles, donates to charity, drives a hybrid truck, has done and would do anything for his neighbor at the drop of a hat. While he may not be the best dressed, or the richest man in town, it goes without saying that cowboy Harry is the town’s unspoken darling.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 10 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 10 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Before they could move, Master Juris spoke.  “Mistress Daeron, I speak to you as one Master to another.  Nobody stays in this shop unless I allow it.  I will tell you plainly that I am evaluating these children as possible apprentices.  I had not meant to say anything to them yet, but I must speak now, in order to keep them on.  Will you allow it?” he gestured to the hard-working children.

There was a confusion of “Of course,” and “Apprentice? Certainly!” and “Roper?  Yes, but what about the rope-walk?”

Roper looked up grinning and said, “I’ll still help you too, mother.”

Kurin looked away from the pulley that she was hanging and asked curiously, “Who told you that they were a being a problem?  We didn’t say anything to anybody.”

“Well, it was Silor.  He came to us and said that our children were bothering Master Juris.  That we should get them away from the boat-shop.”  They turned to Master Juris.  “The way that he said it, it sounded like he was relaying your request.  We apologize for interfering with your trial.”

“Think nothing more of it,” said Master Juris.  “Silor has been a cranky old Ord ever since I refused him an apprenticeship.  This is just more of the same.  Ignore what he says,” Master Juris paused, grinning nastily, before finishing, “in connection with this shop.”

With five boats working crabs and several more pulling nets for Glue Fish and Skelt, the Longin’s cargo space began to be filled.

When there was no more room for live crabs in the cargo vats, the cooks had to start processing the catch.  Crab cakes, dried crab flake, pressed into blocks and tallow dipped, and salted crab were laid in store.  Skelt dried, Skelt salted, Skelt pickled and Skelt in tallow blocks, joined the crabs in the cargo holds.  The Longin ran out of room for more.

Silor’s muscles strained as he helped to get the boat-shop hatch off.  They were launching the first boat that she had designed and built all by herself.  The crane lifted the boat into view.  Somehow, Silor felt just a bit disappointed.  It looks ordinary enough.  The way all of those white-haired-witch worshiping people talked for the last week, I had expected something more remarkable.

Everybody else was congratulating her and making a big thing of it.  The sides seem a bit thin to me.  He did as ordered and hitched it to the davits for lowering.  Crewmen were clamoring for the chance to be the first to use the new boat, as it floated along side.

Merkit and Forn, the lucky winners, clambered down and got into the boat and rowed it a short ways from the side of the Longin to put up the mast. They seemed to have a bit of difficulty at first but got it stepped and the sail up.  The boat gathered way. Maybe I was wrong. It is a fast one.

The mast began to bend and then broke off just short of half-way up. Merkit and Forn were clearing the wreckage of the sail when one of them yelled something that could not be made out due to the distance. He began to bail frantically.  A badly glued seam must have given!

“They’re taking water!  Get a boat to them, quickly!” Silor yelled.  Nobody moved.  They just watched.  In growing horror, Silor saw the tall, paired fins slashing through the water toward the men who were losing the battle to bail out the boat.

“Strong Skin!” Silor screamed.  Nobody moved.  They just watched.  The big, always hungry, fish hit the side of the boat with the large spine that made part of the front edge of its leading dorsal fin.  The poorly made side folded, breaking the boat and casting both men into the water.

Silor could only watch in dread as they struggled.  The fins of the Strong Skin disappeared.  There was a swirl of water and a brief scream. The powerful tail of the massive predator lifted from the water and slammed down flat, leaving only a stain of blood and a terrified Merkit who struggled against his certain doom.  The fish hit the man with its dorsal spine, ripping him open before it turned and took him in a bite.

Nothing was left but the sinking ruin of a boat, slowly sliding beneath the blood-stained waves.

I can’t believe it!  They don’t seem to care about Merkit and Forn. They’re all feeling sorry for … .

“Silor! Silor!  Wake up!” a hand shook him to sudden and shocked wakefulness.  Cron, his second lead deck-hand asked urgently, “How long have you been sleeping?”

Muzzily, Silor thought, Sleeping?  Was it only a dream?  It was so real! At least Merkit and Forn are OK.  Aloud, he said, “I don’t know, only a few minutes, I think.  Lucky you came down so soon. What got you down here at the start of the watch?  Is there a problem?”

Jolted, Cron answered, “Soon?  Soon!  Silor, it’s the start of MY watch!  You slept through the entire watch!  Can’t you smell it?  The vat water’s gone foul.  I can’t change it by myself now, I’ll have to get help.”

“You won’t be alone,” said Silor, following his nose to put the sluice over the worst of the vats.  “Go to the Captain and get men.  We need three for each of the four vats, and four or five of the biggest kettles the galley has.  They can dip water from the sea and lower it to us in the hold with the cargo crane.  The men and traveling cranes can take it from there.  Go!”

As Cron went, he could hear Silor opening the vat drains and starting to crank the bucket line.

Shortly, a grim faced Captain Mord and the equally somber First Officer Kotance came leading ten other men.  “Silor,” the Captain began, “you are relieved.”

“Sir, this happened on my watch.  I would prefer to stay and help until it is fixed.  I can offer no excuse, but I do know what to do and have started doing it.”  Silor had not paused in his efforts on the bucket line as he made his plea.

“Very well, Silor, you may stay,” said the Captain, “but only because we need every man.”  He paused in thought as he looked at what Silor had done and was doing.  “What do you recommend, Silor, to remedy this?”

“Sir, we need to leave the drains open for now, while we flush the vats. Once we get them to run clean, then we can close the drains and fill them back up.  I am flushing number three now.  As the pots of water come down on the crane, we need to use them to flush numbers four, one and two, in that order, because of the water conditions that I observed when I opened the drains.”

Captain Mord nodded silent agreement and began directing the men.  Big cooking kettles filled with seawater began to come down through the hatch.  As they came, they were hitched to the traveling crane and moved to the necessary vats.  Their life-giving seawater was dumped in and the pots returned to the crane repeat the cycle.

After a few hours of flushing, the first vat drain was closed and they began to fill it on up.  The watch was nearly over before the last vat was properly refilled.

At the Captain’s order, Silor followed him through the tidy passages of the ship, aft to the Captain’s cabin.  Captain Mord sat and gestured for Silor to sit as well.  He regarded the youth with serious eyes for a few moments.

“Silor, what am I to do?  You have put me in a truly difficult situation.” The Captain held up a hand and gestured at the books of Naral fleet Law and the Articles of the Longin, “These leave me little sea-room in dealing with you.  What you have done, is done.  We both wish to call it back and we both know that we cannot.

“There is much in your conduct to commend you.  You caused the problem but also solved it.  Your plan was sound and I followed it.  Only three of the Broad-legs died, due in part to your prompt and decisive action and your refusal to try to hide the problem.  It could have been much worse.

“It is past salvage that you fell asleep on duty and caused this.  Do you know your rights and avenues of action from here?”

Dully, Silor said, “I can put myself in your hands alone or I can ask a tribunal of three each of officers and Masters, with you to vote only to break a tie.”

The Captain said quietly, “There is another.  It was meant for officers but, as you do command men, you are qualified to it.  You can request a jury of those whom you command.  Of the options open to you, it might be best.  If I have the case, my action is proscribed by those books, and they are harsh.  The Masters and officers would be fair to you.  Your men are also your friends and may prove your best course. Whichever court you use, there is no appeal from a decision for this offense.”

“Sir, I will put myself in your hands.  I have known you all of my life and you have always been fair.  The others, well She has gotten to them, indeed most of the ship.  I will be safer with you.”

“Silor, please, do not do this.  I will have to break your well deserved rank.  The others do not.  That is why there are those courts available.”

“Sir, they could break me and worse, far worse.  She would see to it.”

“I do not understand,” said the Captain, puzzled.  What does he mean by ‘She’?  “You do know that you have chosen the hardest course to sail.  So be it.  Go, have the tocsin sound ‘general assembly’.”

Shortly, the sharp strong beat of ‘general assembly’ brought everybody not on watch to the quarterdeck.  Some, who stood night watches, were rubbing sleep out of their eyes.

Silor and the Captain stood before them.  Behind them was First Officer Kotance, quill in hand, with the current volume of the Ship’s Log open before him on a stand.

Clard, Master of Drums, called out loudly, “Justice at the Captain’s Hands has been requested by Silor Elon Longin.  He stands accused of sleeping on watch and thereby causing harm to our live cargo.”

To Silor, one face stood out in the crowd.  Kurin’s white hair drew his eye like a hungry fish to bait. She looks stricken.  She must have planned for any tribunal but this.  Whatever her plan was, it has been foiled.  It is a good thing that I chose the Captain’s Hands.  It’s the only justice she can’t reach.

Quietly, the Captain asked one more time, “Will you not take a tribunal? They can show mercy where I cannot.”

Firmly and loudly, Silor announced, “I will have Justice from the Captain’s Hands!”

Sighing at the foolishness that was costing him one of the best lead deck-hands that he’d ever had, Captain Mord said, “Silor Elon Longin, you stand in My Hands of your own will, having refused other tribunals.  You have admitted to falling asleep on watch, causing the death of three of the Broad-leg crabs in our cargo.  You are to be stripped of your duty as lead deck-hand for a period of three Gatherings.  During that time, you may not be made a lookout or given solo duty of any kind.  The Law of the Naral fleet and the Articles of the Longin demand this.

“Normally, the loss to cargo would demand a flogging to go with this punishment but you also formulated and directed the effort which saved us from much greater losses.  For this service, I can give reward.  The flogging is canceled unless any of the ship’s company demand it.” He paused and looked out over the assembled crew.  Nobody spoke. Silor had many friends and few who wished him any ill at all, had he been able to believe it.

The Captain turned back to Silor.  Regretfully, he asked, “I am in need of a new lead deck-hand.  Is there anyone that you would recommend?”

Silor actually considered the question carefully for a few moments before recommending, “Cron, Sir.  I think that he would be best.”

In the background, Kotance’s quill could be heard scratching across the paperfish parchment of the Log Book as he recorded the event.

“Thank-you, Silor.  You are dismissed.”  Then, with the same genuine concern that had caused Silor to trust him, the Captain added, “Go to the Galley and get something to eat.  You missed your last meal while saving our crabs.”

Afterwards, Silor lay in his hammock, dark thoughts running through his mind. Cron, the new lead deck-hand, and one of his oldest friends, came down the companion-ladder.

“Thought I’d find you here.  Tough break, that.  Hell, we’ve all taken a nap before.  Bummer about those three crabs, though.  That’s what did you in.”

“That and the little white-haired witch,” said Silor, grumpily.

“Yeah,” said Cron lightly, “if she hadn’t been showing off how she can find fish, we wouldn’t have the most valuable catch of crabs ever, and you wouldn’t have got in trouble.”

Silor sat bolt upright, causing his hammock to flip and dump him in a heap the deck.  “You’re right!” he exclaimed as he picked himself up.  “We voted against that stupid mapping thing, but they did it anyway.

“I wouldn’t be in any trouble if it wasn’t for her!”

Cron was dumbfounded.  That was supposed to be a joke!  I can’t believe it!  Silor’s serious.  He retreated up the companion-ladder shaking his head over the idea.  How can Silor prefer that the whole ship lose their shares in a rich cargo just so that he can get away with sleeping on duty?

That night’s dining assembly brought no relief for Silor.  The discussion was lively and optimistic.  As the Broad-legs had been believed to be the rarest of crabs, they were likely to bring high prices and therefore high shares.

The entire crew, even Silor, voted to make the existence of Kurin’s charts and the new, very profitable, method of crabbing Ship’s Business, with a penalty of expulsion and shunning for revealing it to anyone from another ship.

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS   NEXT==>

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[tessatechaitea]

Cerebus #17 (1980)

Oh! This is the issue where we learn that the toughest motherfuckers in Estarcion are priests!

What is the statute of limitations for stealing from nuns because have I got a story for my memoir! That's as close to an anecdote as I have for a comic book cover with a priest on it. At least I think that's a Tarimite priest and I think that was an anecdote (albeit a mysterious one!). It's been awhile since I've read Cerebus and I've certainly never seen most of these covers. You know how you can tell most Christians have never read The Bible? Because they're still Christian. I swear to fucking Christ it's the most ridiculous motherfucking thing I've ever read and I've read the later Xanth novels! I don't detect any hint of animosity or marital regret in Deni's "A Note from the Publisher." That just means I didn't find anything worth discussing since I'm inherently a 7th grade gossip. Dave Sim's Swords of Cerebus essay discusses sitcom television and how important it is to keeping everybody's minds diluted to the point of inefficacy. His major point is that it's easy to watch a four hour block of sitcoms without your brain coming up with one thought of its own. Obviously that's the lure of television. But what's not so obvious to most people is that it's not the show or the writing or the sitcom that's keeping you from having your own thoughts about them (although, granted, some aren't worth any thoughts at all). It's the block of time spent sitting and watching them one after the other. If a show offers an intelligent story line commenting on the troubles of our daily lives, the viewer has not time to process what they have just seen. They simply move on to the next show dumped into their viewing trough while whatever they just watched is dumped out the back of the brain to make room for the next character slipping on a banana peel causing Mr. Roper to smile mischievously at the camera because obviously that's what a gay person would do. This way of watching television mindlessly was probably more pertinent to the last century; now we are in full control of everything we watch and have ample time to pause a show or movie and discuss important and relevant bits rather then letting them simply disappear in the flicker of afterimages. Although, we sort of live in a binge culture now and watch entire shows in one sitting so we can move on to the next one. I miss the amount of discussion to be had during the week while waiting for the next episode of Wiseguy or Twin Peaks or Three's Company. Okay, maybe not that last one. What was there to discuss about that show other than why the fuck a landlord had any say in the roommate two women choose to share their apartment with?! If you read Dave Sim's essay, right now you'd be wondering, "How the fuck did that essay cause you to write those thoughts?!" Look, a digression isn't a digression because it's pertinent to the current narrative! Lay off me!

Oh, I guess this one isn't the one with the bad-ass priest (is that even one? Who can tell anymore? My brain is Swiss porridge); it's the one with the terrible German accents.

Cerebus left Palnu with a horse and eight bags of gold. When this issue begins, it's three weeks later and he's down to just the eight bags of gold. The horse had a minor accident which left Cerebus dragging bags of gold across a landscape turned muddy from torrential rains. To get out of the rain so that this issue doesn't devolve into multiple "Gee, what stinks?!" jokes, Cerebus purchases a hovel from some peasants for four pieces of gold. That's where he's relaxing when the big dumb German guys come knocking on his door. Cerebus learns that the Germans (or T'gitans or something. I feel like they're not really ever mentioned again. Not like the Hsifans or the Pavrovians) are about to invade Palnu which piques Cerebus' interest because Lord Julius was a huge pain in the ass and it would probably be funny to see his fall from power. Or maybe Cerebus just has ADHD. The guy on the cover I thought was a priest is some guy named Commander Krull. He's grim and large and dour and he's the kind of guy I thought of as a grown man when I was a kid. I will soon be 49 and I learned years ago that I'll never think of myself as the way I used to picture grown men. That's not a bad thing! I'm just commenting on the delusions that grow within the minds of children. When I was a child, I'm sure I subconsciously categorized every grown man in my life as "Man" or "adult male." I believe there was always a bit of fear that came along with the adults whom I though of as Men. It's probably why I loved old men so much because they were somehow broken through the other side of "Man" and were back to being child-like. If you're confused by my definitions of what I thought a Man was, I'd say it would have been people like Mr. Cunningham or James Evan Sr. or Pa Ingalls or Grizzly Adams or Sgt. Carter from Gomer Pyle or Mr. Banks from Mary Poppins. Men who didn't register as "Men" were Bert from Mary Poppins (hell, just about any character Dick Van Dyke played. He was too playful to be a Man), Jack Tripper, Gene Wilder as anybody, Roddy McDowall as anybody, Lenny & Squiggy. Maybe I was just intimidated by men with broad shoulders? It's sort of sad that one of the main qualities that made a male figure in my life "manly" was if they intimidated me. And yes, for those of you who actually think about shit I just wrote that you just read, Mr. C scared the bejesus out of me.

This is the face of a man who grew up thinking, "I have to be masculine or I am nothing!"

Just to be clear: I don't give a fucking toss about masculinity. All that nonsense about what makes a man a real man is simply philosophical wanking of the most boring kind. But that doesn't mean you aren't inordinately influenced by that shit while growing up, especially when your father left at two and all of your adult male role models were on television. I may have been intimidated by Mr. C and James Evans Sr and Pa Ingalls but thank fucking Christ for them because I knew at least three adult males cared about me for a small amount of time each week! Cerebus realizes Krull, disguised as a priest, has snuck out of the town for reinforcements. Cerebus' big plan is to not let that happen! My instincts are to call him a genius even though the plan seems pretty obvious. That's probably because Cerebus is a fictional character and I can lavish praise on him without feeling jealous and petty and upset that nobody is calling me a genius. I mean, why aren't they? Have I not criticized enough comic books to be regarded as a genius? Am I misunderstanding the definition of the word?!

Cerebus uses the priest disguise against Krull. Genius!

Like when he defeated the leader of the Eye of the Pyramid in Palnu, Cerebus uses trickery instead of force to defeat Krull. I mean, both are knocked out by a rock to the head which I suppose is force but Cerebus uses tricks to get the opportunity to smash rocks into their heads. Having defeated Krull, Cerebus and the T'gitans conquer Fluroc, putting pressure on Lord Julius to raise an army quickly (since his current army is on the Onliu border which is, I suppose, super far away and stuff). I guess next issue Lord Julius and Cerebus go to war! I can't believe I don't remember this story! I mean, I remember the Krull encounter but I'd forgotten it had anything to do with Cerebus waging war against Palnu. Another excerpt of Michael Loubert's "The Aardvarkian Age" appears this issue. It's as dry as reading an Associated Press rendition of a historical event. I'm not sure why I thought these things would be entertaining when I got to them. Cerebus is funny; why isn't the history of the world of Estarcion?! Aardvark Comment isn't interesting yet. It's still people praising this little rinky-dink comic book operation for surviving over a year. I can't wait until Dave starts pissing off fans and then arguing with them! Cerebus #17 Rating: B. This story seemed incomplete. Probably because it's just the first part! But also it seemed anti-climactic or a hodge-podge of semi-related scenes. It was like a sketch show! It had some pretty solid jokes but overall I just kind of felt like I'd have been better off spending the time eating a box of Oreos.

[dmsden]

Monster of the Month – The Rust Monster

Do you feel that chill in the air? It’s October as this posts online, Gentle Readers…a season for spookiness and scares. I thought it only fitting that I write about one of the most truly frightening of all D&D monsters...

The dreaded Rust Monster!

The Rust Monster has been a part of D&D since very early on, and it is a monster that is very much original to D&D. It is extremely distinctive, with its long feathery antennae and its broad, fin-like tail. It has its origins in a plastic Japanese “dinosaur” toy that Gary Gygax found. He was always looking for new, unique creatures to throw against his players, and this provided a terrifying new challenge.

Although I’m sure that, somewhere, there’s a player whose character was bitten to death by a Rust Monster, its true threat lies in what it can do to a party’s equipment. Non-magical metal weapons that strike the rust monster corrode, and it can use its antennae to corrode non-magical metal armor and shields. A well-equipped low-level party will likely find itself very vulnerable and weak after meeting a handful of rust monsters in battle.

Once again, you have to love the bonkers ecology of the D&D world in action. Rust monsters primarily haunt subterranean regions, devouring metal objects that they encounter. That means that enough metal needs to pass through their territory for them to survive, so they could only really exist in areas where armor-clad, armed warriors come through regularly. In other words, they are perfectly evolved to survive in a well-traveled dungeon environment.

On their own, the rust monsters aren’t going to cause much physical harm to an adventurer. They aren’t likely to bite unless harmed aggressively, and they are normally fairly docile. So I can easily imagine an underdark druid who wears hide armors and carries a staff traveling with a rust monster that protects him from well armored foes.

It’s also worth noting that rust monsters don’t particularly care what they’re rusting and eating. Carrying a spare shield or a pocket full of iron nails that one can drop to lure the rust monster while one flees is a perfectly valid idea.

I think rust monsters would work best when they are paired with other monsters. Maybe myconids could use rust monsters as pets and guards. Perhaps a savvy group of hobgoblins feed the weapons and armor of their conquered enemies to their trained rust monsters.  Even non-intelligent monsters who recognize the benefits of having a rust monster around might learn to leave rust monsters alone in order to make adventurers vulnerable. A group of ropers who let rust monsters roam through their vicinity (perhaps letting them feed on the discarded armor and weapons of devoured adventures) would certainly be able to take advantage of prey that had been softened up a bit.

It might be interesting to make some variations on the average rust monster as well. I remember that, in an earlier edition, there was a swarm of rust monster young. Since rust monsters do look rather insectile, this is a logical idea. Imagine the terror of hundreds of tiny rust monster larvae swarming you, causing your gear to rot before your eyes.  I was also once asked to come up with the stats for a rust monster queen, which was fun. She was a scary creature, much larger and tougher than the average rust monster, capable of corroding weapons and armor at double the rate of her young.

I will just mention that, if you like collecting bits of D&D’s history, the plastic figure that the rust monster is based on was fairly common. You can find them on eBay for relatively decent prices (especially when compared to the far rarer owlbear). I have one on my desk that I’m very fond of, terrible paint job and all.

This year, leave the ghosties and ghoulies behind when you want to scare your players. Send in the rust monsters and watch your players scream in terror!

[gardenshomemanagement]

Palm Beach County Home Maintenance Service

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Benjamin Franklin Plumbing® of West Palm Beach presents Delray Beach residents upkeep and repair services, so a sewer line downside doesn’t turn out to be an emergency. Regular inspections aren't at all times remembered by homeowners, allowing difficulties with sewer strains to turn into worse over time. If the problem is caught earlier, it could possibly decrease the necessity for repairs or even a new set up. I just wanted to comment on what excellent and skilled service we now have obtained from Senior Helpers during the last five months they've been offering home look after my Dad. They have never missed a day of providing full care in both the morning and the evening even during hurricanes and holidays.

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They went purchasing, to the park, and even to his VFW hall to see his pals. My dad was happy and we had been grateful that he was protected and cared for. Don’t waste your time going to a different watch restore place! We have a number of distributors at our flea market that can help you maintain your watch ticking and looking glossy. Lowe volunteered for Delray Beach Fire Rescue's new program, a partnership with Roper Lockbox, by which Delray Beach residents can order a lockbox and fill out a waiver to participate.

We use the data you present (e.g. name, tackle, phone quantity, email, etc.) to contact you to share information about our (products/services). We won't share your information with any third celebration outside of our organization, other than as necessary to satisfy your request. This firm doesn't promote, trade or hire your private information to others. Dementia living costs are typically 20-30% greater than assisted dwelling costs. Dementia care may be an costly dedication, but it's value the cost.

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No smoking or vaping is allowed on any part of the property. If there might be any evidence of smoking or vaping, further cleansing fees will apply. If the cardboard holder is not going to be present at check in, we require the Photo ID of the guest who shall be obtaining keys for entry. Owner Mark Whitten and his spouse, Julie, are new to the Delray Beach/Boca Raton area, but they aren't strangers to the Sunshine State. Mark was born in Daytona Beach and later moved to the Nashville, Tennessee, space.

[cabootstx]

Unique Varieties of Cowboy Boots to Buy from Stores near You

You have probably seen many movies or web series based on cowboys or Wild West stories and been fans of their outfits and uniquely designed boots for a long time. So, now you want to own a pair of cowboy boots for yourself to fulfill one of your childhood dreams.

Then, you can probably choose a type of cowboy boot from the choices mentioned below according to your preferences: -

Riding boots

If you are looking for traditional cowboy boots to help you ride on horses back then, buying a pair of riding boots would be the ideal choice. They are popularly known for protecting the cowboys while riding on a horse saddle and are pretty effective and efficient to use.

Roper boots

Roper boots are popularly also owned as ankle boots among the cowboys. They are one of the new designs introduced in the market, which lowers the risk of injuring the heel when going down from a horse in a hurry. Ankle boots are shorter in size and are mainly used for fast-paced movement activities like steering a rope.

Exotic boots

Exotic boots are one of the most wanted cowboy boots in the market due to the usage of different animal skins. Depending upon the customer's preference of lizard, eel, snake, deer, or alligator boots, they can be customized, making them costlier compared to other cowboy boots.

Walking boots

Walking boots are an ideal choice if you want to enjoy your cowboys' boots by just wearing them for going to different places. They are known for their wider toe and square-heeled design, offering comfort and broad functioning abilities.

Conclusion

After reading about some of the unique varieties of cowboy boots mentioned in the article, hopefully, you can choose to buy one for yourself, depending upon your requirements.

[patriotsnet]

Why Did Southern Democrats Become Republicans

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/why-did-southern-democrats-become-republicans/

Why Did Southern Democrats Become Republicans

Understanding The Changes In Pre

Why Did the Democratic South Become Republican?

To recap before moving on: In the late 1700s the American factions won their independence from Britain and formed a new country by compromising and coming together as Federalists and Anti-Federalists, in the early 1800s they found some unity under Jefferson as Democratic-Republicans, but from Jackson to the Civil War their differences pulled them apart with greater force than their commonalities united them together. The divisive new platforms of the parties create two polarized groups splitting America into Democrats/Confederates of the South and Republicans/the Union of the North by the start of the Civil War in 1861 under the Republican Lincoln;who ran on a platform which opposed the expansion of slavery.

To;understand how things went south so quickly, one has to understand how classical liberal positions can become socially conservative over time. The classical liberalism of Jefferson did not allow individual freedom for everyone, as it allowed for the freedom to own slaves and the freedom for states to be slave states. Thus, what was once progressive had become socially conservative over time, it was still technically liberal in the classical sense, just certainly not socially progressive but of course, let us not paint any party in any era with a broad brush, as both parties in any era are compromised of factions who agree only to varying extents.

Three Factions Of Modern Republicans To Oppose This

Although conservatism is complex, it is defined well as an opposition philosophy to liberalism. Through this lens, there is a type of conservatism that stands against for;brand;of liberalism. Modern American conservatism wants to conserve, which means not being progressive on a given issue and which by its nature is not conservative. Thus we get modern social conservatism which says no to social programs and federal power, except when it upholds conservative social values.;There is also a;more liberal version that;we call libertarianism. It is against all uses of state power for any reason and is a form of radical classical liberalism, combined with;traditional classical conservatism, which is willing to use federal power to keep order, but not inherently against social programs. These factions can be said to become;allies;the conservative coalition mentioned above, although the establishment of both parties tends to favor aspects of traditional classical conservatism.

TIP: When either party uses government power, they are traditional conservatives, when either party deregulates and lets the private market and individuals handle it, they are classically liberal. More than one ideology uses classical liberalism, and more than one uses classical conservatism, as all political ideologies grow out of these foundational ideologies.

Why Did The Democrats Lose The South Bringing New Data To An Old Debate

In 1960, all 22 U.S. Senators from the South were affiliated with the Democratic Party. Today, all but three are Republican.;For decades, historians and other researchers have debated what drove the exodus of white Southern voters from the Democratic Party. Were they turned away primarily by economic self-interest? Or did they abandon the party because they came to view it as too progressive on issues of racial equality?

One reason researchers have failed to find consensus on this central question of American political economy is that data limitations have hampered their efforts. To study views on civil rights, specifically, researchers need quality public polling data. Until recently, consistently worded survey questions on racial attitudesfrom both before and after the major Civil Rights victories of the 1960swere not widely available.

Fortunately, thats no longer the case thanks to the Roper Center at Cornell University, which has made available a wealth of Gallup polling data that pre-dates the Civil Rights movement.;

Below are some of the main findings and key points from the tudy.

The turning point for white southern Democrats can be narrowed down to the Spring of 1963.

White voters in the South left the Democratic Party at much higher rates than other white voters because of their racially conservative views.

Almost none of the political shift can be explained by income growth among white Southerners or voters positions on other policy issues.

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What Was The Difference Between Lincolns And Johnsons Reconstruction Plans

Johnsons plan wasnt as willing to give as much freedom to newly free slaves as Lincolns was. Johnson wanted to give the land back to the south unlike the RR. Johnsons plan gave less protection to freed slaves then the Radical Republicans plan. Unlike the 10% plan, the plan they had wanted to punish the south.

How Republicans Made Common Cause With Southern Democrats On Economic Matters

Roosevelts reforms also brought tensions in the Democratic coalition to the surface, as the solidly Democratic South wasnt too thrilled with the expansion of unions or federal power generally. As the years went on, Southern Democrats increasingly made common cause with the Republican Party to try to block any further significant expansions of government or worker power.

“In 1947, confirming a new alliance that would recast American politics for the next two generations, Taft men began to work with wealthy southern Democrats who hated the New Deals civil rights legislation and taxes,” Cox Richardson writes. This new alliance was cemented with the Taft-Hartley bill, which permitted states to pass right-to-work laws preventing mandatory union membership among employees and many did.

Taft-Hartley “stopped labor dead in its tracks at a point where unions were large, growing, and confident in their economic and political power,” Rich Yeselson has written. You can see the eventual effects above pro-Democratic unions were effectively blocked from gaining a foothold in the South and interior West, and the absence of their power made those regions more promising for Republicans’ electoral prospects.

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The Parties Change Course

After the war, the Republican Party became more and more oriented towards economic growth, industry, and big business in Northern states, and in the beginning of the 20th;century it had reached a general status as a party for the more wealthy classes in society. Many Republicans therefore gained financial success in the prosperous 1920s until the stock market crashed in 1929 initiating the era of the Great Depression.

Now, many Americans blamed Republican President Herbert Hoover for the financial damages brought by the crisis. In 1932 the country therefore instead elected Democrat Franklin D. Roosevelt to be president.

The Democratic Party largely stayed in power until 1980, when Republican Ronald Reagan was elected as president. Reagans social conservative politics and emphasis on cutting taxes, preserving family values, and increasing military funding were important steps in defining the modern Republican Party platform.

Chuck Cooper Becomes First African American Selected In Nba Draft

The Dixie Democrats seceding from the Democratic Party. The rump convention, called after the Democrats had attached President Trumans civil rights program to the party platform, placed Governor Strom Thurmond of South Carolina and Governor Fielding L. Wright of Mississippi in nomination.

Up until the post-World War II period, the partys hold on the region was so entrenched that Southern politicians usually couldnt get elected unless they were Democrats. But when President Harry S. Truman, a Democratic Southerner, introduced a pro-civil rights platform at the partys 1948 convention, a faction walked out.

These defectors, known as the Dixiecrats, held a separate convention in Birmingham, Alabama. There, they nominated South Carolina Governor Strom Thurmond, a staunch opposer of civil rights, to run for president on their States Rights ticket. Although Thurmond lost the election to Truman, he still won over a million popular votes.

It was the first time since before the Civil War that the South was not solidly Democratic, Goldfield says. And that began the erosion of the southern influence in the Democratic party.

After that, the majority of the South still continued to vote Democratic because it thought of the Republican party as the party of Abraham Lincoln and Reconstruction. The big break didnt come until President Johnson, another Southern Democrat, signed the Civil Rights Act in 1964 and the Voting Rights Act in 1965.

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The Fifth Party System And The The New Deal And Conservative Coalitions

Now that we have clearly illustrated the above factions and ideologies, we can move on to the last round of changes which happened from roughly the 1930s, to WWII, to the 1960s, to the 1990s as the FDR supporting Progressive Social Liberal New Deal Coalition faced off against the Socially Conservative anti-New Deal Conservative Coalition .

From the 1930s to the 1990s, from Hoover to Goldwater, to Nixon, to Reagan, to Bush, the Conservative Coalition;drew southern solid southDixiecrat conservative Democrats out of the Democratic Party via their southern strategy. By the 1990s, this resulted in the modern American social conservative and sometimes classical liberal;Republican party. Likewise,;the New Deal coalition,;which opposed the conservative coalition, drew progressives into the Democratic Party and out of the Republican party under FDRs New Deal, LBJs Great Society program, and Clintons New Democrats. This resulted in;the modern American social liberal, and thus necessarily traditionally classically conservative in terms of authority;party during the same time.

Although the tension between these two factions starts in the 1930s with the New Deal, it comes to a boiling point over issues like States Rights, the Second Red Scare, and;Brown v. the Board of Education following WWII in the late 40s and 50s.

We have undertaken a new order of things; yet we progress to it under the framework and in the spirit and intent of the American Constitution. FDR

Why Did Parties Switch Platforms And Members

PragerU’s “Why Did the Democratic South Become Republican?” FACT CHECKED!

The common thread of each major switch, aside from war, was civil rights. Or maybe we could more fairly say, state-enforced social and economic justice versus individual liberty;as is illustrated by;the charts on this page.

Civil rights aside, since before the first party was formed, our founding fathers have fought each other tooth and nail over the direction of the country. The biggest issues have been:;big business versus small business, big government;versus small government , big government versus small government , whether or not to have;a central bank, and;how much;local and foreign credit and debt was the right amount.

We can see how some of the above;values are consistent for a given quadrant of the political sphere, but not for a specific party in a two party system or even a faction or member of a party at a given time!;We can also see how specific groups have shifted their interpretation of these things over time, and how some groups simply pay lip-service to the overarching ideals.

The;planks and platforms of each opposing group have;changed over time, as specific stances on these issues were taken, and as public opinion changed with the times.

Recommended Reading: Will Any Republicans Vote To Remove Trump

A Cross Section Of Black People

Nevertheless, a broad cross section of blacks made it to the Freedmens Conventions. There were many uniformed veterans of the Union army, who had fought against the Confederacy to win their peoples freedom. There were ministers, teachers, and tradesmen as well as plantation workers. The earliest conventions were dominated by free blacks , but as time went on an increasing number of former slaves took part. African Americans took considerable pride in the sight of black people meeting in such numbers, for such a serious purpose. Commenting on a convention held in New Orleans, Louisiana, in early 1865, a black newspaper editor, as quoted in Been in the Storm So Long: The Aftermath of Slavery, called it a great spectacle, and one which will be remembered for generations to come.

Among the most prominent black leaders at the conventions, some were Northern blacks who had come South to work as agents of the Freedmens Bureau , including Tunis G. Campbell and Martin R. Delany . South Carolina native Francis L. Cardozo had escaped slavery to become a minister in Connecticut. Leaders from among the ranks of the former slaves include such notable figures as Robert Smalls , whose bravery during the Civil War had made him famous, and Prince Rivers , a former coachman who had served as a sergeant in the Union army.

Progressive Era And The New Deal

As the 19th century drew to a close, the Republicans had been firmly established as the party of big business during the Gilded Age, while the Democratic Party strongly identified with rural agrarianism and conservative values.

But during the Progressive Era, which spanned the turn of the century, the Democrats saw a split between its conservative and more progressive members. As the Democratic nominee for president in 1896, William Jennings Bryan advocated for an expanded role of government in ensuring social justice. Though he lost, Bryans advocacy of bigger government would influence the Democratic ideology going forward.

Republicans again dominated national politics during the prosperous 1920s, but faltered after the stock market crash of 1929 and the onset of the Great Depression. In 1932, Franklin D. Roosevelt became the first Democrat to win the White House since Woodrow Wilson.

Read Also: Why Some Republicans Are Feeling Shame

Whigs And The Slavery Issue: The Compromise Of 1850

A primary conflict between Democrats and Whigs revolved around Californias admission to the union as a free state, which would upset the sectional balance of power between free and slave states in Congress. The result was an arduous legislative battle between Southern and Northern representatives, with the South arguing that Congress and the states did not have the authority to legislate against the territorial expansion of slavery. Realizing that this sectional divide could split the country, Whigs and Democrats came to a compromise that they hoped would prevent secession. The ensuing Compromise of 1850 allowed California to be admitted as a free state, but strengthened the Fugitive Slave Law and made no provisions for how other territories could address the slavery issue.

The Whigs were unable to effectively address the slavery issue after 1850. Nearly all of their Southern members owned slaves, while the Northeastern Whigs were largely businessmen who sought national unity and a strong national market but cared little about the institution of slavery. There was no compromise that could keep the Whigs united, which contributed to the partys demise in the 1850s.

President Millard Fillmore: Millard Fillmore, the last Whig President.

A Faction Of The Democratic Party Started The Civil War

Opponents of slavery extending further into America;founded the Republican Party. They elected President Abraham Lincoln in 1860, in response to escalating tensions around slavery after the Kansas-Nebraska;Bill of 1854threatened the balance of slave states to free states.

Southern states, primarily led by Democrats, initiated secession proceedings and launched the Civil War. But historians say the party is not to blame.

The short answer is that the Democratic Party did not start the Civil War, Hunter said. The war was initiated by Southern slaveholding states seceding from the United States.

Jon Grinspan , the;Smithsonians National Museum of American History;curator of political and military history, agreed.

A splinter of a splinter of a Democratic Party really contributed to the;secession and the coming of the war, he told USA TODAY. It would be wrong to say the Democratic Party started the Civil War. It would be right to say some Democrats really contributed to the start of the Civil War.

Grinspan pointed to the small group of Northern;Democrats;that fought for the Union as evidence that the Civil War was not Democrats versus;Republicans.

Fact check:Joe Biden’s great-grandfather didn’t own slaves, fight for Confederacy

Also Check: How Many Republicans Voted For Obama In 2008

A Response To The Claim Welfare Is Equatable To Slavery

In the 1850s, inequality in the Northern big government cities, northern immigration in the big cities , and African slavery in the small government south all existed side-by-side. and in ways, so it is today . Northern cities still favor bigger government, and they still have problems of racism and inequality, Rural South still favors small government . This does not make the North of today equatable to the slave economy of the South of yesterday however.

There is this idea that welfare is equatable to slavery in this respect, as in both cases a societal structure is providing basic essentials for a class of people . This argument, often presented in tandem with the claim the parties didnt switch/change is essentially a red herring that misses the nuances we describe on this page .

The southern conservatives who held slaves and fought for the Confederacy essentially switched out of the Democratic party starting in the 1960s, and even continuing to the modern day , in response to LBJs welfare programs . In other words, if the southern conservative had wanted to oppress a class of people with welfare, one would logically assume they wouldnt have switched out of the Democratic party over time in response to welfare programs.

Today it is a Southern Republican who flies to Confederate flag, today it is a Republican who champions small government in America. Yesterday, it was a Southern Democrat.

Republican Voters Turn Against Their Partys Elites

The Tea Party movement, which sprang into existence in the early years of the Obama administration, was many things. It was partly about opposing Obamas economic policies foreclosure relief, tax increases, and health reform. It was partly about opposing immigration when Theda Skocpol and Vanessa Williamson;interviewed Tea Party activists across the nation, they found that “immigration was always a central, and sometimes the central, concern” those activists expressed.

But the Tea Party also was a challenge to the Republican Party establishment. Several times, these groups helped power little-known far-right primary contenders to shocking primary wins over establishment Republican politicians deemed to be sellouts. Those candidates didnt always win office, but their successful primary bids certainly struck fear into the hearts of many other GOP incumbents, and made many of them more deferential to the concerns of conservative voters.

Furthermore, many Republican voters also came to believe, sometimes fairly and sometimes unfairly, that their partys national leaders tended to sell them out at every turn.

Talk radio and other conservative media outlets helped stoke this perception, and by May 2015 Republican voters were far more likely to say that their partys politicians were doing a poor job representing their views than Democratic voters were.

Recommended Reading: How Many Jobs Bills Have The Republicans Introduced

[hectorinhistoryclass-blog]

Lyndal Roper, “Prostitution and Moral Order”

p. 90-91 “The inspectors ensured that the brothel-kepper was fulfilling his obligation to provide the city with ‘suitable, clean and healthy women.’ These three adjectives encapsulated the Council’s concerns: the women should be free from disease (syphilis was clearly one its anxieties), should be of age, and should be sounds specimens.” This quote demonstrate that there were certain laws and guidelines that the profession of prostitution had to follow. 

p. 94 “From the prostitutes’ point of view, the civic brothel might appear to be an institution which accorded them both respect and protection.” It was thought that prostitutes were a necessary evil, and with laws in place to protect them, it could be thought that women turned to prostitution to earn an income where they would feel protected. 

p. 98 “Prostitutes were required to wear a broad green stripe on their viel, forbidden to wear wreaths like maidens, and were not allowed to wear silk cloth or rosaries.” Stigma symbols! 

p. 106 “At the same time, a dramatic series of trials of prostitutes who confessed their dealings with clergy, and told how one young virgin had been hawked around to various clerics, fuelled the tendency to identify priests as the polluters and women-stealers of the town.” Prostitution came with its controversies! 

p. 112 “The Discipline Ordinance of 1537...The ordinance does not mention prostitution by name, but speaks instead of those who commit fornication and adultery...Now any sexual relationship outside marriage was counted sinful and any occasion on which the sexes mingled, such as dances, might lead to sin.” Although it does not mention prostitution, the ordinance could create more negative stigma towards prostitutes. 

p. 116 “Maternal influence over the daughter was supposed to relate directly to sexual matters--the mother, rather than the father, was chided for the loss of her daughter’s virginity...” When it came to sexual chastity, the mothers were supposed to pass down social ideas about women’s purity. The father, it is implied, was not so involved in these manners. 

p. 126 “Though all these men faced very heavy fines, and though the Council was determined that even when particians were found guilty, ‘it should be done this time as it is done to other in such cases’, men were not in fact as severley punished as women.” Smells like misogyny....

p. 129 “The most distinctive characteristic of late medieval prostitution was that it was understood and sanctioned as a phase in a young man’s life, part of his induction into manhood and marriage.” 

p. 131 “The Reformation, which seemed at first to offer a sexual ethic identical for men and women, and appeared to bestow a new dignity on the married wife, suspected all women, single or married, of being ever ready to surrender themselves to their lust for debauchery.” 

[researchkraft19]

Sailing Ropes Market 2020 Analysis, Size, Share and Players to 2027

The Global Sailing Ropes Market has enlisted a noteworthy CAGR during the most recent decade. It is relied upon to arrive at higher yearly development in the imminent years. Strength, hearty monetary framework, crude material opulence, taking off worldwide Sailing Ropes request are boosting market advancement. So also, mechanical headways, advancements, expanding industrialization, and urbanization in the creating and created areas are probably going to maintain the Sailing Ropes market income during forecast 2020-2027

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Market Research Explore distributed a broad investigation of the worldwide Sailing Ropes market thinking about different significant components of the market. The exploration study includes precise and credible evaluations of the past just as the future pace of the market. The report contains indispensable assessments dependent on creation, deals volume, income, and yearly development rates. The report likewise expounds on current market contention, industry condition, fragments, and driving rivals in the worldwide Sailing Ropes market. It helps key players, partners, industry specialists, analysts, and friends authorities in increasing profound understanding of the market.

The worldwide Sailing Ropes advertise has been separated into a few essential sections, for example, item types, applications, areas, and end-clients. Moreover, it investigates locales including North America, Europe, South America, the Middle East, Asia, and the remainder of the world while performing provincial examination. The division investigation helps key players correctly focusing on the real market size and choosing suitable sections for their Sailing Ropes organizations.

The most significant players coated in global Sailing Ropes market report:

Marlow , Gottifredi Maffioli , Gleistein , Samson , FSE Robline , Alpha Ropes , Corderie Meyer-Sansboeuf , English Braids , COUSIN TRESTEC , Liros , Magistr SIA , Lancelin , Langman Touwfabriek , JSC Hampidjan Baltic , Ropeloft , Donaghys , Yale Cordage , Ropers Enterprises , Lankhorst Ropes , Dynamic Products Corporation , Kord Iplik San Ve Tic

Types is divided into:

Double Braid

Single Braid

Others

Applications is divided into:

Control Lines

Sheets

Halyards

Bowlines

Shockcord

Low Stretch

Global Sailing Ropes Market Regional Segmentation:

North America (U.S., Canada, Mexico) Europe (Germany, U.K., France, Italy, Russia, Spain, etc.) Asia-Pacific (China, India, Japan, Southeast Asia, etc.) South America (Brazil, Argentina, etc.) Middle East & Africa (South Africa, Saudi Arabia, etc.)

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Additionally, the report reveals insight into the market competition circumstance and execution of driving Sailing Ropes makers. The report has contemplated ongoing advancements performed by driving makers in the worldwide Sailing Ropes indusrty which incorporates item exploration, developments, and improvement. Their vital moves were likewise inspected in the report, including mergers, adventures, associations, item dispatches, and brand advancements that helped organizations extend their administration zones.

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[jenniferfaye34]

#Giveaway + Excerpt ~ Roping Christmas by Shanna Hatfield... #books #romance #readers

On Tour with Prism Book Tours

Roping Christmas (Rodeo Romance #8) By Shanna Hatfield Contemporary Romance, Western, Holiday, Clean and Wholesome ebook, 335 Pages October 22, 2020 by Wholesome Hearts Publishing

A focused cowboy, a distracted executive, and a hilarious quest make for an unforgettable holiday . . .

Wyatt Nash is a professional tie-down roper, a good ranch hand, and not too shabby when it comes to attracting women. But according to his five-year-old niece, he needs to work on both his roping skills and his dating game. His sister thinks he needs to settle down. And don’t get him started on the advice he gets from well-meaning friends. When his rodeo sponsor, billionaire Jon Sinclair, asks for his assistance in tutoring a clueless city girl about Sinclair Industries, Wyatt doesn’t feel like he can say no. Then he discovers he’ll be teaching none other than the one woman on the planet who wants nothing to do with him.

Ashley Jarrett would do almost anything to turn her small publicity firm into a huge success. When Jon Sinclair expresses interest in working with her, she readily agrees to his crazy idea to have her learn about his company through hands-on projects. Not only is she forced far outside her comfort zone, but the man documenting every bumbling misstep she takes is an infuriating cowboy she’s determined to ignore.

Packed with small-town charm and the wonder of falling in love, Roping Christmas is a sweet holiday romance sure to bring laughter and infuse hearts Christmas cheer.

(Linked to an Amazon affiliate link.) Goodreads | Amazon

Find out more here.

Excerpt

Chase settled his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side in a brotherly hug. “You know we love to have you anytime you can visit.”

“I do know that and am grateful for the standing welcome.” Ashley smiled up at her cousin while a tiny tornado swept into the kitchen.

Corkscrew curls the color of straw bounced in every direction as the little girl launched herself at Wyatt. He swung her into his arms and kissed her rosy cheek. The little one looked like a miniature replica of Sarah.

“Hi!” the child greeted with a broad smile that showed off a missing space in her front teeth.

“Hi, Livy.” Jessie smiled at the little girl. “Are you keeping your Uncle Wyatt busy while he’s here?”

“Yep! We watched a movie last night about the bear ’cessities. It was awesome! But Uncle Wyatt said he’s missing some of the ’cessities. I told him he needs a wife and babies.” Livy wiggled against Wyatt, so he set her on her feet.

She rushed over to Ashley and took her hand in hers. “Hi! I’m Livy. Wyatt’s my uncle, and that’s my mama, Sarah. My daddy is washing up, then we can eat. I’m starving to death! You’re pretty and smell nice, too.”

The little imp turned toward Wyatt. “Did you smell her, Uncle Wyatt? She smells good. Maybe she’d be your wife, and you could have babies, Uncle Wyatt.”

Other Books in the Series

About the Author

USA Today bestselling author Shanna Hatfield is a farm girl who loves to write. Her sweet historical and contemporary romances are filled with sarcasm, humor, hope, and hunky heroes. When Shanna isn’t dreaming up unforgettable characters, twisting plots, or covertly seeking dark, decadent chocolate, she hangs out with her beloved husband, Captain Cavedweller.

Website | Goodreads | BookBub | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Newsletter 

Giveaway

ENTER THE GIVEAWAY HERE

[vileart]

Bingo Dramaturgy: Anita Vettesse & Johnny McKnight @ Stellar Quines

 Grid Iron and Stellar Quines present 

Bingo!

A new musical comedy. An unforgettable night at the bingo.

“Have you ever done a bad thing, like really bad?”

“Yeah. I started Breaking Bad when our Davey was on the night-shift.”

A new musical comedy focusing on lives of six characters and one fateful night at the bingo. 

Bingo! tours Scotland in March and April 2018.

Every week more than 2 million women pour into local bingo halls across the UK, each one hoping that all elusive HOUSE will change their fortunes forever. Daniella’s one of those women. Except she isn’t just hopeful. She’s desperate. She needs Lady Luck to smile down on her tonight. She’s done a bad thing. No, a really bad thing and if her card doesn’t have those winning numbers, she’s going to have to resort to desperate measures to take home that prize money.

Tour dates: Assembly Hall, Edinburgh: 6-7 March 7.30pm (previews) and 8-17 March 7.30pm (not Sunday 11th), 10 & 17 March 2.30pm (matinees) Macrobert Arts Centre, Stirling: 22-23 March 7.30pm, 23 March 2.30pm (matinee) Ayr Gaiety Theatre, Ayr: 27-28 March 7.30pm The Brunton, Musselburgh: 31 March at 2pm and 7.30pm Tron Theatre, Glasgow: 12-14 April at 7.45pm Eden Court, Inverness: 19-21 April 7.30pm, 21 April 2.30pm (matinee)

What was the inspiration for this performance?

A: We were commissioned by Stella Quines and Grid Iron to write a play/ musical about Bingo.  So that was out starting point.  Then we just sat and talked and talked about what Bingo meant to us and our associations with it and then developed our story and characters from there.

Is performance still a good space for the public discussion of ideas? 

 A: Totally. There’s nothing nicer hearing audiences leave a theatre and be in debate or arguments over what they’ve just seen. It starts conversations.

J:  Theatre transports you in a way I don't think TV or cinema does.  The sweat is there in front of you, the live experience has jeopardy, anything can (and sometimes does) go wrong.  I think that intensity of watching cant help but make you think and feel on a deeper level, with that comes discussion, debate, rage, empathy. 

How did you become interested in making performance?

 A: For me I wrote as I needed to be able to create work on my own (having been an actor for 20 years) and relying on other people to give me work. Also I was of an age that I felt I needed to try something new and terrifying.  Which it was and still is.

J:  It became a necessity for me.  I was cast in quite a few camp light parts when I graduated.  I decided I'd do my own camp instead.   It started with devising in a group but, after a while, that started to feel like a compromise to what I wanted to say or investigate (or maybe I just got more anti-social as I got older!?!?) 

Is there any particular approach to the making of the show?

 A: We both know one another really well so approaching this show was lots of chatting and story sharing and we begun with characters and then put them in a scenario we thought they’d work well in. The story changed from first draft – but the characters remained the same…we just wanted in second draft to make life harder for them and see how they coped.

J: there was a lot of post-it notes.  A lot of coffee.  A lot of telling stories about people we knew and things that made us laugh.  I think this was a completely different thing for us both, we've never written as a team with anyone else before, we're so used to being the solo voice.  Surprisingly it took a lot of the angst and dread out of writing, that fear that can cripple you at times, it wasn't there for this one.  It felt like you'd let the other person down if you weren't firing on and trying to make them laugh, or move them. 

Does the show fit with your usual productions?

 A: This is a first musical for me. A first at co-writing as well. I’ve loved working with Johnny but I think that comes from years of being pals we have a shorthand. I think the themes and the humour is quite similar to things we’ve explored before…but the story / music is different.

J: I think yes and no.  Anita and me are good friends and we have a lot of similar tastes and view the world through similar lenses, so I think anyone familiar with either of our work will still see us indidually in the piece.  However two minds can only be better than one so we've really looked at it from a hundred possible angles.  Personally, working with another person has pushed me harder – make it funnier, brighter, shorter, be economical, fight for your ideas.  Its like working with a dramaturg on your own material all the way through the process. 

What do you hope that the audience will experience?

A: A good night out firstly. A tear too and to leave the theatre feeling they want to organise a night with their pals and go to the bingo!

J:  I want them to fall in love with theatre, to forget its crap weather outside, to laugh with wild abandon, and to remember the power

With cracking original songs, a lot of banter and cheeky humour, Bingo! is co-written by Anita Vettesse & Johnny McKnight, with music by Alan Penman and directed by Stellar Quines’ Artistic Director Jemima Levick.

Cast of Bingo! includes stars of British stages and television such as Louise McCarthy (Daniella) of BBC’s Scot Squad and Two Doors Down, Wendy Seager (Mary) who played Susan inKilling me Softly and featured in Still Game, Barbara Rafferty (Joanna), star of River City, Brave New World, Rab C Nesbitt and The Last King of Scotland film, Jo Freer (Ruth) who starred in Dundee Rep’s Sunshine on Leith as well as River City, Darren Brownlie (Donny) known from Dundee Rep’s Witness for the Prosecution and BBC Scotland’s Scot Squad as well as Tron Theatre’s pantomime and Jane McCarry(Betty), Still Game’s Isa and Scottish pantomime star who also played Dolly in Tony Roper’s The Steamie and featured in Rab C Nesbitt.

Bingo! reflects the current state of affairs for many people living in the UK, for whom a visit to a bingo hall is both a night out and a financial plan. Brought to Scottish stages by two award-winning Edinburgh-based theatre companies: site-responsive specialists Grid Iron and Stellar Quines, who celebrate the diversity of women and girls, Bingo! promises to be a show that entertains and provokes.

Bingo! receives its world premiere at Assembly Hall in Edinburgh. The show then goes on tour to venues around Scotland, including Stirling, Ayr, Musselburgh, Glasgow and Inverness.

Jemima Levick, Artistic Director of Stellar Quines said: “As one of Scotland’s longest serving touring companies, Stellar Quines’ work is created to inspire women & girls, and the men that know them.  We realise that women and girls come in different shapes and sizes and with a variety of tastes and expectations, so our programme of work aims to respond with broad appeal.

Every time I read Bingo! or hear it read aloud, I am reminded of just how brilliant women are.  It’s a play about comradery, friendship, parenthood, and strength in numbers, but also about hope, and ‘that’ fantasy that we all have – of how our lives might change with that big win.  It’s a play that never fails to take me by surprise, it makes me laugh and cry. 

We are particularly delighted to be co-producing alongside our long-time colleagues, Grid Iron.  It’s a collaboration that’s based on many of the qualities of this play, so we’re thrilled to be on that journey with them.”

Judith Doherty, Co-Artistic Director of Grid Iron said: “Grid Iron have been talking to Jemima about Bingo! for quite some time so, when she took over the helm at Stellar Quines, it seemed the perfect opportunity to bring together two Edinburgh companies who share a mission to provide strong roles for women on and off stage.  Anita and Johnny have written a truly cracking script and I would bet on it that we’ll hear people humming Alan’s music as they head down the street after the show.

Although Grid Iron are best known for site-responsive work, this is far from the first time we’ve toured work for the stage and indeed, isn’t our first musical either. We’re really looking forward to taking Bingo! out on the road and are delighted to be travelling with Stellar Quines.”

Sharon Burgess, Assembly Managing Director said: “Assembly are thrilled to be working with two such prestigious Scottish Theatre Companies to present work at Assembly Hall out with the month of August. We very much look forward to hosting the world premiere of Bingo! in March next year.”

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