#jobs in Gulf region

[estalvisadvisor]

Top Manpower Consultancy Services in Kolkata for Gulf Job 

When it comes to seeking after career openings within the Gulf locale, choosing the proper manpower consultancy in kolkata for gulf is pivotal. Kolkata may be a key center for work searchers looking to work within the Inlet, with a few trusted agencies specializing in Inlet work arrangements. Estalvis Advisors stands out among these consultancies, advertising master direction and personalized administrations to assist candidates secure their dream occupations within the Gulf region. 

Why Select Estalvis Advisors as the Best Manpower Consultancy in Kolkata for Gulf? 

Estalvis Advisors has earned a stellar notoriety for interfacing skilled experts with the best managers within the Inlet. With a long time of involvement and profound information of the Inlet work showcase, Estalvis Advisors is known for its proficient and client-focused approach to enrollment. 

Master Direction for Inlet Work Searchers- Estalvis Advisors offers proficient exhortation custom-made to your career objectives. Whether you are a talented laborer, healthcare specialist, design, or back proficient, their master experts give important bits of knowledge into the Inlet work advertisement. They help candidates to explore the work application, prepare and get it the requests of different businesses, guaranteeing the most excellent conceivable work matches. 

Access to Select Inlet Work Openings– One of the major benefits of partnering with Estalvis Advisors is to get elite work openings within the Inlet. Through its well-established organization of bosses, Estalvis Advisors has got positions which will not be accessible through other channels. This elite gets to enormously improve your chances of securing a part in a competitive showcase. 

Hassle-Free Visa and Documentation Help- Exploring the visa and work to prepare for Inlet nations can be complex. Estalvis Advisors is known as the leading manpower consultancy in Kolkata for gulf who makes the move simpler by advertising comprehensive visa help. From work visas to residency grants, their group guarantees all documentation is in order, making a difference you dodge pointless delays and guaranteeing a smooth travel to your modern work overseas. 

Skill Over Different Segments- Estalvis Advisors initiates for a variety of businesses, advertising openings in development, healthcare, neighborliness, IT, fund, building, and more. Whether you're looking for an administrative position or a specialized part, Estalvis Advisors has the mastery to coordinate your aptitudes with the proper work in the Inlet, expanding your chances of long-term career victory. 

Custom-made Continue and Interview Coaching- A solid resume and interview execution are essential to securing Inlet work. Estalvis Advisors gives continuous composing and interview arrangement administrations that assist you stand out. They work closely with you to optimize your resume and give you coaching, ensuring you’re fully arranged to inspire potential managers within the Inlet. 

Commitment to Moral Practices- Estalvis Advisors work with a tall level of keenness, guaranteeing a straightforward and moral enrollment handle. They are committed to putting candidates in authentic, fulfilling occupations whereas dodging any out of line hones or covered up expenses. Their ethical approach has earned them the belief of both work researchers and bosses within the Inlet. 

Conclusion 

In the event that you're looking to extend your career by securing a job in the Inlet locale, Estalvis Advisors is the perfect consultancy to direct you. Their comprehensive administrations, which incorporate master exhortation, select work openings, visa help, and custom fitted continue back, guarantee a consistent and fruitful enlistment experience. With Estalvis Advisors by your side, you will be one step closer to your Gulf career goals. 

Get in touch with Estalvis Advisors, the most searched manpower consultancy in kolkata for gulf today to explore the most excellent Inlet work openings and take the following step toward a brighter future! Contact now. 

[nasa]

Ways NASA Studies the Ocean

We live on a water planet. The ocean covers a huge part of the Earth's surface – earning it the name Blue Marble.

The ocean is one of Earth’s largest ecosystems and helps moderate Earth’s climate. NASA scientists spend a lot of time studying the ocean and how it is changing as Earth’s climate changes.

In the last few years, NASA has launched an array of missions dedicated to studying this precious part of our planet, with more to come. For World Oceans Month, which starts in June, here are new ways NASA studies the ocean.

1. Seeing the colors of the ocean 🎨

A new NASA mission called PACE will see Earth’s oceans in more color than ever before. The color of the ocean is determined by the interaction of sunlight with substances or particles present in seawater.

Scheduled to launch in 2024, PACE will help scientists assess ocean health by measuring the distribution of phytoplankton, tiny plants and algae that sustain the marine food web. PACE will also continue measuring key atmospheric variables associated with air quality and Earth's climate.

2. Surveying surface water around the globe 💧

The SWOT satellite, launched in late 2022, is studying Earth’s freshwater – from oceans and coasts to rivers, lakes and more – to create the first global survey of Earth’s surface water.

SWOT is able to measure the elevation of water, observing how major bodies of water are changing and detecting ocean features. The data SWOT collects will help scientists assess water resources, track regional sea level changes, monitor changing coastlines, and observe small ocean currents and eddies.

3. Setting sail to understand interactions between the ocean and atmosphere 🚢

With research aircraft, a research ship, and autonomous ocean instruments like gliders, NASA’s S-MODE mission is setting sail to study Earth’s oceans up close. Their goal? To understand ocean whirlpools, eddies and currents.

These swirling ocean features drive the give-and-take of nutrients and energy between the ocean and atmosphere and, ultimately, help shape Earth’s climate.

4. Building ocean satellites the size of a shoebox 📦

NASA’s HawkEye instrument collects ocean color data and captures gorgeous images of Earth from its orbit just over 355 miles (575 kilometers) above Earth’s surface. It’s also aboard a tiny satellite measuring just 10cm x 10 cm x 30 cm – about the size of a shoebox!

5. Designing new missions to study Earth’s oceans! 🌊

NASA is currently designing a new space-based instrument called GLIMR that will help scientists observe and monitor oceans throughout the Gulf of Mexico, the southeastern U.S. coastline and the Amazon River plume that stretches to the Atlantic Ocean. GLIMR will also provide important information about oil spills, harmful algae blooms, water quality and more to local agencies.

6. Taking the ocean to new heights ⬆️

The U.S.-European Sentinel-6 Michael Freilich satellite is helping researchers measure the height of the ocean - a key component in understanding how Earth’s climate is changing.

This mission, which launched in 2020, has a serious job to do. It’s not only helping meteorologists improve their weather forecasts, but it’s helping researchers understand how climate change is changing Earth’s coastlines in real time.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[theclairvoyage]

Mermaid Purse - Part 1 of 3

AO3 | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Marine Biologist!Reader x Joel Miller

Summary: Summertime in Clearwater, Florida means no school, which means instead of teaching Marine Biology at a local university, you're bartending at The Rusty Sawfish, a bar located on the marina of Clearwater Beach. The owner's friend, who happens to be a sexy, suarthy Texan contractor, moves to town to start over and help his friend with a project, stumbling across you in the process... and you thought summer in Florida couldn't get hotter.

Warnings for Part 1: Minors DNI! adult language, alcohol consumption, sexual tension, reader is female, reader is able-bodied, unspecified age gap, allusions to smut, kissing, groping, mentions of threesomes. Please lmk if I missed anything!

WC: 9k

If Florida was good at one thing besides starring in strange headlines, it was bringing the heat.

Summer had its bags packed and was ready to leave Clearwater Beach. Not soon enough, you thought, as the humid, subtropical heat of late July in Southern Florida drenched your skin in sticky sweat. The salty breeze from the Gulf of Mexico made it bearable, as did the marine life.

You had loved animals as long as you can remember.  Growing up in the Midwest, you became acclimated to the four-legged ruminates and vast birds of the region. The closest thing you had to the ocean were stinky, dirt-sand beaches tucked away near state parks and curled highways. Oh, and the occasional zoo. Then grew your zeal for the ocean and the creatures that called it home.

That is, until you moved to Florida to study marine biology at the University of Florida, when that zeal exploded into full-on wonderment.

Some of your fondest memories of university were spending innumerable mornings out on the open sea, tagging sharks, rays, and skates for research. As you learned more about these gorgeous creatures, known in the scholarly world as the elasmobranchs, a feeling of protection grew.

And as always, the more you learned about animals, the more you learned about humans.  Some species of sharks have been fished to near-extinction, and over the course of your four years in undergrad, you bore witness to and swore to change that.

Now, as a Professor of Marine Biology at a new college in Clearwater devoted exclusively to the study of marine life, you do your best to imprint that mindset in your students.  Though in summertime, when the students are absent, you’re a full-time bartender at a local marina.  The double income in the summer is cushy, and it’s a nice change from teaching—not to mention the people watching.

That’s where you’re headed now, at 3:00 PM on a Friday—The Rusty Sawfish.  The name is what drew you in, obviously, but the ease and satisfaction of the job are what keep you.  The owner, Gil—another marine pun-slash-name—loves having you around, even if it’s only in the summertime.  He calls you during the school year to see how life is, and if you can pick up a random shift here and there.  A former Air Force pilot from Chicago, Gil spent a good chunk of his midlife in Southern Florida and opened The Rusty Sawfish after retired life bored him.

You turn onto Clearwater Memorial Causeway, a long bridge that connects mainland Florida to Clearwater Beach Island, where the bar is located.  You’ve not once grown tired of the view—beautiful, blue-green waters, white sand beaches, swaying palm trees, and endless sunshine.  Sometimes, you’ll catch an occasional shark dorsal fin cruising along calmer waters or a bottlenose dolphin breaching at the surface.

The Rusty Sawfish lies in Clearwater Municipal Marina, surrounded by several restaurants, hotels, other bars, and tourist spots.  Like many Southern Florida beach cities, the population is a revolving door.  You don’t mind it, though it’s not the same close-knit community as your hometown in Nebraska.

You park on the street and stroll up to the bar, shooing some laughing gulls from the sidewalk.  The tourists here love to feed them, and they feel comfortable in human spaces.  You check your watch—two minutes to spare before you’re “late”, though Gil would never call you out.  He’s just happy you’re there.

The bar is one of the few out here that has large, glass garage doors that can open and enclose the place, which gives it an advantage in case of bad weather.  The inside is modern, unlike many marina bars that are filled with worn wooden floors and hut-like roofs.  The natural lighting inside is beautiful, no thanks to the big windows flanking the front.  The long u-shaped bar has enough comfortable space for 4-5 bartenders at once, which is sometimes doubled on busy summer days.

You step in and walk directly to the back office to drop your purse and clock in.  Gil, perched in his old desk chair and staring at his ancient computer in the stuffy office, looks up from the screen, readers glasses threatening to slip from the edge of his nose.  You chuckle.

“Afternoon, kiddo,” he greets you, smile crinkling his tan, leathery face.

“Afternoon, Gil.  How’s it been today?”

“Same shit.  Big group of fishermen stopped here earlier and are still here.  May need to cut ‘em off soon if they haven’t started laying off the booze,” he groans, scribbling something on his legal pad.  A pencil and paper guy, Gil would still be using an old-fashioned book balance if it weren’t for you.  Though he understands that electronic bookkeeping is a lifesaver, he’s skeptical of computers—and terrible at using them.

“Sounds good.  Just me for a while?” You ask, setting your things in one of the desk drawers and punching in on the time clock.  You can’t remember who was at the bar when you walked in.

“Georgia is here, and we got 2 more coming in for the evening.  Shaping up to be a great night,” he says, returning to stare dead-faced at the computer.  Stifling a chuckle, you nod and exit the office.

Georgia, the lone bartender, is quite happy to see you as she wipes off the countertop of the bar.  She’s a close friend of yours—you two met here at the bar several years ago and share a love for the ocean and its creatures.  She’s a fresh college graduate and a few years your junior.

“Hey! So glad you’re here!” She squeaks, giving you a quick hug.  She’s always been a touchy-feely girl, unlike you—though it doesn’t bother you.

“Rough lunch shift?” You tease, checking the ice bins and refrigerators for stock.  She comes up close to your ear and lowers her voice.

“Those fucking old men have been ruthless.  I made Gil take care of their last couple rounds because I can’t deal with the catcalling,” she hisses.  Before you can scan the bar to eye the table, she stops you.

“Don’t,” she warns, “They had a field day when you walked in.  I’m shocked you didn’t notice!”

Curbing the urge to roll your eyes, you nod.  “Where are they seated?  Maybe we should just give Gil the entire table,” you suggest.

“Underneath the big TV.  They insisted on sitting there so they could play Keno and watch baseball,” she groans.

“Ah, yes.  America’s favorite pastimes,” you quip.  Georgia cackles.

“I’ll stock quick.  Need any of the taps changed?” you ask her, grabbing a sticky note and pen by the POS system.  Bar preference is to have each new shift stock everything once they clock in, which makes the rest of the day a breeze.  Georgia nods.

“I know we’re running low on Miller—that damn table has been guzzling it all day,” she gripes.  You giggle.

“I’ll be back shortly,” you say, heading to the back to grab bottles, cans, and change the Miller tap.  It’s quick work for you and you’re back behind the counter in ten minutes.

“You ready for a break, Georg?” You ask her, preparing your side of the bar with clean glasses and towels.

“Not yet, maybe in about an hour once Gil is done trying to fill a single spreadsheet on Excel,” she jokes, making both of you laugh.  “Plus, I am not leaving you out here alone with those weirdos.”

“Is that one coming up here now?” You tilt your head toward a pudgy, middle-aged, sunburnt man with a ratty Budweiser shirt and an awful sunglasses tan approaching the bar.  He’s not stumbling, but the dumb grin on his face indicates that he’s feeling pretty good.  Georgia confirms with an annoyed grunt.

“Lovely ladies, can I get a refill of Miller?” He chirps, leaning against the bar countertop and propping his glass up.

“Sure.  I’m gonna give you a new glass, though,” Georgia responds, taking the dirty one and putting it in the black bin for used dishes.  Budweiser Man groans.

“Aw, I was tryin’ to help you, sweetie,” he says, loud voice enough to curdle cold milk.  He snaps his eyes to you.

“Wow.  Two gorgeous girls running the bar?  I think we’re in trouble,” he jokes, punctuating his sentence with a belly laugh.  The urge to rip his ratty shirt off his potbelly and embarrass him floods your system momentarily.  You settle for a fake smile instead.

“Sounds like you could use some water,” you joke, still fake smiling at him.  Languidly, he tries to pout at you, but the buzz makes the shift in facial expressions difficult.

“Trust me, sir—a day out in this sun, you’ll want water with each drink,” you add, getting a glass ready for him.

“Then what’s the point of the beer, hunny?” he whines.  Pet names drive you mad, especially from drunk old men.  Patience diminishing by the second, you inhale deeply and fill the glass with water with the soda gun.

“Just making sure our patrons are safe, sir.  Want to make sure you’re able to come back,” you respond, handing him a water as Georgia hands him a full pint of Miller.

“Sure thing, gorgeous,” he says, winking at you.  Gross.  The number of middle-aged men that have flirted with Georgia and you from the other side of the bar is probably pretty high, but most don’t give you the creeps.  Georgia waits until he’s back at the table before sneering.

“Jesus, what a fucking creep,” she seethes.  “I’d love to spit in his drink.”

“Easy, Georg.  Don’t lose it over Porky Pig,” you quip, followed by a boisterous laugh from her.

The night is busy, but smooth.  A weekend fishing tournament at the beach brings in tons of salty, sunburnt folks.  Two other bartenders, Mike and Rand, come in around 7:00 PM to help with the dinner rush.  They’re college kids that double as bouncers, which would’ve been helpful earlier.  The annoying table of anglers left around 5:00 PM after Gil warned them that he’d give them the boot if they didn’t start drinking water.  Porky and his crew left reluctantly, though not before coming up to give you and Georgia big tips and his phone number scrawled on a receipt.

Just in case you two like to tag team, it said.  Both of you suppressed a wave of nausea after reading that.

The bar closes at 2:00 AM most nights during the summer, and from 10 PM-1:30 AM, the bar is hopping.  Lots of anglers and tourists flock to the bar for the big TVs and fancy drinks, many of which you helped Gil curate.  Around 11:00, you finally get a chance to take a break.  Feeling sluggish, you walk over to the nearby convenience store to grab a coffee—caffeine doesn’t do much for you, but it’ll give you the boost you need to reach close.

A can of double shot espresso with cream calls your name, and you’re eager to crack it open.  Forgetting to look before leaving the aisle, you bump into something tall and hard.  The can falls and busts open on the floor, spraying coffee everywhere.  Fuck.

“Oh shit,” you say, realizing that you slammed into some guy.  “I’m so sorry!”  Quickly, you crouch to pick up the fallen can from the cold linoleum floor.

The voice that responds wakes you up more than any espresso could.  “S’alright, miss.  You alright?”

You look up from the puddle of coffee and see a good-sized, handsome-as-fuck stranger standing above you.  Middle-aged; curly, brown hair with flecks of gray; tan, muscled arms; big hands; warm, calming chocolate eyes.  He looks so good that you’re frozen, unable to reply.  He cocks an eyebrow at you before a small grin etches his face.

“Uh, yeah—sorry.  I’m in a hurry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.  I should’ve paid attention,” you respond, panicked.  You scan the aisle for paper towels or something to clean up the mess.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll go get an employee to clean this up,” the man assures you, his silky, Southern voice placating you.  You stand slowly, too embarrassed to meet his eyes.  A slow burn creeps up your neck and cheeks as his gaze sweeps over you.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises, and you look up at him just before he turns away.  Fuck, he’s gorgeous.  His irises are lined with specks of amber, like gold flakes.  He almost looks worried.

A few moments later, he returns with an older lady dressed in a convenience store uniform, sporting a fluffy white towel.  She smiles warmly at you.  Hyper focused on not looking at the handsome stranger, you smile back at her and hold your hand out.

“I’ll clean it, I made the mess.  I’d want the same if someone made a mess where I worked,” you offer.  Both the employee and the man laugh.  She tilts her head at you as if she’s trying to recognize you.

“You work at The Rusty Sawfish, don’t you?” She asks, watching you wipe up the puddle of coffee.

“Guilty.  I’m on my break right now, though I seem to have wasted it being an idiot,” you say, and the two strangers chuckle again.  The man’s deep, rumbly laugh makes your stomach flip.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, sweetie.  You deserve a break!  Let me finish and take a can on the house,” she says.  Her kindness mirrors that of most residents here—always helping others, stranger or not.

“Oh, I couldn’t.  Unless you came to the bar for a free drink.  Both of you,” you add, forcing yourself to make eye contact with the handsome stranger.

The way he stares at you makes you writhe.  His gaze is captivating.  His eyes circle around your eyes and your lips, unmoving—like you’re the only person in the room.  Time pauses as you both exchange stares.  He’s the first to speak.

“I’ll be there,” he says, half-smirking at you.  You forgot about the convenience store employee until she speaks again.

“Late night here for me, but I’ll stop by this weekend!  Have a great night, sweetie!”

“Thank you both,” you say, grabbing a new can and waving as you walk backward toward the exit.  You don’t miss the way Sexy Stranger watches you leave, but you miss the way his eyes traverse your frame when you turn around.

Shivers blitz your spine as you walk back to work, thinking of how he looked at you.  He was one of the most attractive men you’d seen here, which says a lot.  Southern Florida beach cities are ripe with hot men from all walks of life.  His accent was Southern, but not Floridian—more mainland, like Oklahoma or Texas.  Before you can think on it further, you trot back into the bar.

Thankfully, there isn’t a huge rush of patrons.  Georgia, Mike, and Rand are moving around behind the bar.  You hurry and step behind the u-shaped area, smoothing your hair out of your face.  Georgia approaches you, grinning.

“Sorry—I made a complete fool of myself at the convenience store and spilled coffee everywhere, even ran into this sexy guy in the aisle,” You lament, redoing your now sweaty and frizzy updo. She laughs.

“Did you get his number, though?” Georgia asks. “Also, how sexy are we talking?”

You widen your eyes and whistle lowly.  “Georg—I’m telling you, he was sexy as fuck.  Southern type—tall, dark, and handsome.  He said he was coming here.”

She claps her hands together giddily.  “Hell yes.  Surprised he didn’t follow you right then and there,” she adds with a wink.  You roll your eyes.

“Nah, but I’m sure he’ll do that to you when he sees you,” you hypothesize.  Georgia is beautiful—typical tan, blonde Florida beach babe with a killer body.  She’s bubbly, too, with a personality that matches the Clearwater sunshine, and she’s smart.  She shushes you, frowning.

“Um… have you seen yourself?  You’re a fucking knockout. How many guys have tried to get us to do a threesome with them? That should tell you everything,” Georgia reminds you. You shrug, unsure how to answer—she’s right.

“That’s what I thought, Miss I Don’t Know I’m Beautiful.  Now shut up and help me get the drinks ready for this table,” she says, giving you an air kiss on the cheek.  Georg knows how to cheer you up—her sunshine personality is contagious.

Several cocktails and minutes later, you head back to the cooler to restock the bar fridges.  When you return, a seat at the bar is occupied with a familiar curly-haired man peering up at the television behind the bar.  He’s not facing you, thankfully—the way you froze was embarrassing enough.  Coolly, you hoist the bin of alcohol on your shoulder and stride toward the bar.  The fridge you need to restock doesn’t face him, so you have some time to plan a greeting while you refill the beers.  Georgia pokes your side as she walks up to him, informing you that she knows it’s your sexy mystery man.

“Welcome in!  Have you been here before?” She chirps, handing him a menu.  He shakes his head and scans the sheets quickly before folding it up and handing it back to her.

“No, ma’am.  Was advised to come here by one of the employees,” he croons.  You feel his stare boring a hole in your head and decide it’s time to acknowledge him.

Standing up, you face him and hope your cheeks don’t burn bright red.  He’s smiling at you, and fuck, that smile is something you won’t forget.  Pearly whites on full display, crinkled but twinkling eyes, a salt and pepper beard, and tan skin complement the face staring at yours.

Speak, you idiot.

“Hi again.  Glad you made it.  I wondered where the coffee smell came from.”  Your wit pulls a boisterous laugh from him, one that does something tingly to your insides.  Georgia interrupts.

“I’ll take over the stocking while you help this gentleman,” she says, pinching your side as she walks away.  The man’s eyes don’t follow her, which surprises you—they’re glued to you.  Words exit your mouth before you can ruminate further.

“What can I get you? I take it you’re not a fruity cocktail kind of guy,” you tease, smirking at him.  He shakes his head and chuckles.

“Correct, ma’am.  Is the whiskey here all you’ve got?” He nods to the shelves behind you.

“Not quite.  The owner is a whiskey aficionado and has some reserve bottles in the back that he saves for special customers,” you say, putting a hand next to your mouth as you fake whisper.  The lopsided grin returns on his face, sending your pulse into overdrive.

“Would gettin’ spilled on by an employee qualify me as a special customer?” He wisecracks, arching a brow at you.  You slump your shoulders in mock defeat.

“I suppose. What’s your favorite?” His jaw ticks back and forth as he ponders.

“Too hard to say.  Not a picky guy. Been cravin’ some Eagle Rare,” his velvet voice replies, the soundwaves tickling the hair on your ears.

“I’ll go ask the boss.  Be right back.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sexy Stranger replies, watching you leave.  Undiscovered by you, he’s turned to watch you walk to Gil’s office, his pulse picking up at what he sees.

He won’t lie to himself—he’s drabbled in some younger women over the years, many of whom were nothing but a one-night stand, a pretty young thing to slip inside and make him feel younger for a few hours.  But you’re different.  Stunning, yes.  Charming, funny, and mysterious, too—like you’re looking at the world from a different dimension.  He senses a force field around you, though, one he worries you won’t let him invade.

You step out of Gil’s office with a dusty bottle of Eagle Rare, aged ten years.  Gil was astounded that someone requested this, and had he not been contemplating ways to destroy his computer, he’d have joined the Sexy Stranger for a glass.

As you return to the bar, you admire the man’s full head of brunette curls, and the random spots kissed with gray locks.  His shoulders are brawny and expansive, pulling taut the flannel fabric between his scapulas.  Atop them is a thick, ropy neck, with a jutting Adam’s apple and tan flesh you’d like to sink your teeth into.  He was tall, but not overtly so—just enough to complement his muscly build.

The way he leans back in the chair and sees his surroundings exudes a calm tenacity, but the way his eyes smolder suggests a tendency to be ravenous.  You wonder if that duality is something he wants to show you.  Warmth surges through your veins as you fantasize about a complete stranger, wracking your core and igniting thoughts and feelings you haven’t had in a long time.

Certainly, you’d been with men since moving to Clearwater, and though the options were vast, the likelihood of something lasting was minimal.  Thus, you chose to keep interactions with men somewhat superficial, an imaginary arm constantly protruding from you to forbid anything further than flirtatious banter.  This attractive, swarthy man, however, had his wrist wrapped around that arm and was threatening to rip it from you—the thought frightened and excited you.

Momentarily, you ignore the rush of adrenaline as you return behind the bar and into his view.  Like  a magnet, he latches onto you at once, eyes burning your face and figure.  Using a damp towel behind the counter, you swipe dust off the bottle and set it in front of him.

“Here you are, sir.  One dusty bottle of Eagle Rare.”  Sexy Stranger smiles at the bottle, wrapping a large hand around the base and examining the label.

“’S the good stuff,” he murmurs, voice dropping deeper than you thought possible. The pitch twists your insides.  In an effort to subdue your racing mind and pulse, you force a smirk and start wiping off the counter.

You feel the man’s eyes snap to you, melting your resolve with a fiery intensity.  Suddenly, you’re unable to continue moving the towel, and resign to meeting his eyes.  Smoldering is the only way to describe the way he’s looking at you.

That familiar rush of heat wraps around the base of your throat and underneath the fabric of your now-suffocating, loose tee shirt.  Instinctively, you fiddle with the collar and pull it down slightly, trying to let out some of the hot air trapped inside, unaware of the fact that you’ve exposed some skin to him.  In any other situation, it would’ve been a harmless gesture, but here, it only spurs on his imagination.  His pupils dilate ever so slightly at the sight of your collarbone, complemented with a silver pendant necklace.

“What’s that necklace you got there?” Sexy Stranger asks.  Involuntarily, your fingers latch onto the shark charm and twiddle it back and forth.  He’s still watching.

“Oh, it’s a shark.  Can’t remember the last time I took this thing off—I forget about it,” you say, surprised that you can form coherent sentences right now under his hot gaze.

He makes eye contact with you and raises an eyebrow.  “Why a shark?”

“The short version is that it’s my favorite animal.”

He tilts his head at you, jaw ticking again.  Your eyes latch onto the strong muscles moving it back and forth, flexing underneath his temples.

“And the long version?”

You cock an eyebrow, mirroring him, and grab a short glass, placing it on a coaster in front of him.  “Before I delve into that, how do you like your whiskey?”

He chuckles, deep and rumbly.  “Neat, sweetheart.”

The pet name eviscerates your stomach.  You gulp without meeting his gaze, aware that he’s staring at you still.  You pour him a perfect glass of bourbon neat and push the coaster toward him.  As you let go, he reaches for the glass, fingertips brushing the tops of your fingers.

As if you touched the metal prongs of a plug, you whip your hand back.  The feeling of his skin on yours was nothing short of electric.  He misreads your reaction.

“Sorry ‘bout that, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says, brown eyes no longer smoldering but concerned.

“Oh no, it’s not that, just wasn’t expecting it,” you stammer, not wanting to give him the wrong idea.  Ironic.  He lets it pass, for now.

“So—the long story?” He takes a generous sip of the amber liquid, swishing it around his mouth as he watches you.  You place your palms down on the counter and smile at him.

“Long story is I’m a Professor of Marine Biology at a local university here.  I’ve been studying sharks for a long time now.  They are beautiful, brilliant creatures that have evolved to near perfection.  I do what I can to protect them—they have been fished relentlessly.”

Sexy Stranger is in awe of you, struck by your eloquence, intelligence, and beauty.  He takes another sip, never dragging his eyes from yours.

“Wow,” he says, raising both eyebrows as he sets the glass down.  “Just one question.”

You raise an eyebrow at him.  The two of you are getting good at this nonverbal communication.

“You consider that the long version?”

His humor catches you off guard and a goofy, boisterous laugh escapes you.  For the second time now, he flashes a full smile at you.  He likes that sound.

Suddenly, a phone rings nearby.  He frowns and fishes a small, old iPhone from his front jeans pocket and squints at the screen.  He grimaces as he stuffs it back, shifting uncomfortably in the chair to make it fit.

“Sweetheart, I need to run.  Lemme settle up for the glass,” he says, the pet name stimulating your pulse again.

“Sure thing.  Gil said to come back any time—the bottle is basically yours,” you say, winking at him as you print his receipt.  His heartbeat does some racing of its own at the gesture.  He tears his eyes from you to fish for his wallet and throw some bills on top of the receipt.

“Will do.  I’ll see you around, darlin’,” Sexy Stranger says as he stands, giving you a small wink as he leaves.  You watch him leave before realizing you didn’t cash him out.  You grab the cash and receipt, noticing what looks like writing on the back side.

A phone number is scrawled on the back.  Underneath is his name.  Joel.

Your heart stops as you stare at the small white paper.  When did I even give him a pen?  I didn’t notice him writing.  Georgia startles you with an elbow to the side.

“That was quick,” she teases.  Bashful, you fold the receipt up and shove it in the pocket of your jean shorts.

“Shut up, Georg.  He was just being nice. Probably wants tips for shark watching or something.”

She stares at you incredulously.  “Girl… he’s so fucking into you.  Everybody in this building felt that tension.”

Heat creeps up your spine once again.  You check the POS system for the time and see that it’s almost 2:00 AM.  Time to close and do it all again tomorrow.

“Let’s get something to eat.  Wanna crash at my place?” Georgia asks.  You nod, finding that you’re hungry—but something tells you it’s not food you’re craving.

Sunlight bounces off the white walls of Georgia’s apartment just before 7:00 AM.  A light groan escapes you as you stretch out on the plush sectional in her living room before settling back into the burrow of blankets.

Georgia lives a quick five-minute drive from the marina, in a lofty one-bedroom apartment with an ocean view.  Her family is generationally wealthy and based in Sarasota, Florida—hence the high-rise apartment and a nice Mercedes SUV.  She escaped the clutches of her uptight family to explore her passion—surfing.  She got a job at The Rusty Sawfish to supplement her allowance and pay for surfing gear and tournaments, something her parents refused to do.  You two clicked immediately and have been friends since.

Pulling your hoodie up over your head, you check your phone quickly before deciding whether to go back to sleep.  It’s still early, and you didn’t get to sleep until after 3:00 AM.  Your stomach backflips when you see a message from an unknown number pop up.  The nerves turn to giddiness as you remember that the number belongs to Joel, the sexy stranger you met at the convenience store last night.  You messaged him when you got to Georgia’s apartment last night asking if he made it home alright, certain he wouldn’t be awake to respond.  You swipe down to read the message.

Joel: Morning sweetheart.  I made it home just fine.  Was hoping you’d text sooner so I could ask the same.  :)

Kicking your feet like a child, you contemplate a response.

You: Sorry I texted so late!  I didn’t make it back to my friend’s place until close to 3.

Joel is quick to respond.

Joel: Surprised you’re up.  Figured someone as pretty as you would need at least 8 hours of beauty sleep.  By the way—your friend told me your name.  I hope that’s OK.

Grinning at your phone, you shake your head slowly.  The man is as charming over text as he is in person.

You: You flatter me.  I was just going to go back to sleep given that I currently look like a hobbit—guess 8 hours is exactly what I need ;)

You: And yes, that’s okay.  Sounds a lot like my friend.  She’s a good wingman.

Joel: I highly doubt you look anything less than gorgeous.  Get some rest.  We’ll talk later today.

Pretty.  Gorgeous.

The grin doesn’t leave your face as you drift back to sleep.

Later that evening, you’re behind the familiar u-shaped counter of the bar with paper-thin patience and a penchant for kicking out a rowdy group of college age anglers from the tournament.

“Look, I have a legit ID and I’m an adult, I can drink however many beers I want!” A gangly blonde trust fund-looking kid from the group whines at you.  You narrow your eyes at him briefly before responding, like a snake ready to strike its prey.

“Not how it works.  It’s the bar’s best practice to avoid overserving and keep this a safe place for everybody.  Drink some water and we’ll revisit,” you reply, voice stern.  You squeeze the towel in your hand for stress relief.

Though Florida has a dram shop law that prevents bars from being sued by an intoxicated patron that ends up drunk driving and getting hurt, Gil has always mandated a no overserving policy.  Spending all day out in the ocean and then drinking heavily is a dangerous combo.  The older patrons have no qualms about it, but the younger, rowdier crowds differ.  Blonde kid sticks his index finger on the counter and leans in close to you, bloodshot eyes fixated on yours.

“I want your manager,” he spits, breath reeking of booze.  Still somewhat level-headed, you stare directly in his eyes.

“You got it,” you respond, emotionless.  Gil’s not one for overserving, and he’s not one for rude patrons harassing his bartenders.  This dumb kid has a lesson coming.

Stone faced, you drop your towel and tell Georgia you’ll be right back before cruising to Gil’s office.  The door is wide open, and to your surprise, Joel’s sitting in the chair next to Gil, the two of them chuckling and conversing.  Your heart falters momentarily before you remember why you came back here.  You knock lightly on the open door and both men look up at you.

Gil frowns immediately.  He’s seen that look before.

“Not a good sign when my best employee has that look on her face.  Where is he?” Gil asks, standing and removing his readers.  Feeling Joel’s eyes burning holes in you, you do your best to ignore them right now.

“Up front.  Blonde kid with the frat group.  Pissed off that I won’t pour him a 5th vodka red bull.  I told him about our policy, and he asked for the manager,” you recite, tight-lipped.  Gil nods, squeezing your shoulder lightly as he walks past you to the bar.

Thankful that Gil is handling it, you close your eyes and exhale heavily before remembering you’re not alone.  Your eyes open quickly to find Joel staring at you.  His eyes look concerned, though there’s that damned lopsided smile on his face.

“Guy’s got some balls on him,” he jokes, standing and taking a step closer to you.  Your pulse quickens.  Laughing, you roll your eyes and wave him off.

“Everybody does when they’re drunk.”

Joel rakes a hand through his stubble and nods, studying your face.

“I reckon I wasn’t totally honest with you last night,” he says, face falling slightly.  Raising an eyebrow, you try to quiet the thousand thoughts that rush through your mind—is he going to say that he’s married?  Fresh out of prison?  Gay?  Well… the last one is unlikely.  He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he continues.

“I’ve known Gil for a long, long time.  S’why I knew there’d be Eagle Rare here,” he says.

Relief rushes through you.  “Jesus, Joel.  I thought you were gonna tell me you were married.”

A hearty laugh escapes him as he shakes his head fervently, throwing his hands up in surrender.  “Hell no.  Haven’t been married since I was in my early 20s, which was about a million years ago.”

You wipe your brow exaggeratedly, signaling your relief.  Joel chuckles again.

“So, what brings you to Clearwater, then?  Or have you always been here?”

“No, no.  I’m from Texas.  Been here several times but moved here last month.  I’m a contractor and Gil and I have worked on some projects together.  He wants my help f’another one.”

It all makes sense—the flannel shirt, the muscles, the demeanor, the accent.  A question pops up in your mind.

“Does he know you gave me your number last night?” You ask him, tilting your head inquisitively.

“Yes, ma’am.  We’re good friends.  He’s protective of you, but I made it clear t’him that I ain’t tryin’ any funny business with you,” he admits, smoldering eyes affixed to yours.  His expression and tone gives you the impression that he’s telling the truth, like lying to you would be worse than anything.

“Are you saying… you don’t often give your number to bartenders that spill coffee all over you?” You chide, flashing a smile at him.  His pupils dilate imperceptibly.

“No, ma’am.  Don’t make that kinda thing a habit,” he responds, taking a step closer to you.  Your breath catches in your throat at his proximity.  He’s within arm’s reach, and the magnetic field between the two of you is sending your internal compass off the rails.  He opens his mouth to say something, but Gil interrupts the moment, oblivious to the two of you.

“He’s taken care of.  Thanks for dealing with him,” he sing-songs, saying your name warmly.

Still staring at Joel, you reply to Gil.  “Appreciate it, Gil.  I’ll return to my post.”

Joel laughs quietly, eyes twinkling at you.  You smile coyly at him before leaving the office, needing to cool off before you explode internally.  The sexual tension between the two of you is almost too much to handle.

Before you can check if he’s following you, Georgia flags you down behind the bar.  A devilish smile plays on her tan, freckled face.

“So… he’s back,” she teases, waggling her eyebrows. “You taking him home tonight or what?”

Jaw dropping in mock shock, you tilt your head at her.

“Are you suggesting that I sleep with him?  Georg—I don’t know him!”

She guffaws.  “Gil knows him very well, though.  Isn’t that enough to tell you he’s safe? I bet they watch boring carpenter shows together and spend all their money on fancy old man bourbon.”

Good point.  Joel seems safe—for now.  But you’ve been out of the game far too long to half-ass a night with a man like him.  He seems… experienced.  And the glint in his eyes when he sees you is enough to make your heart jump out of your chest.

“I don’t know.  I’m interested.  I’ll keep an open mind.  Sounds like he’s in Clearwater for good… plenty of old beach babes to take him on,” you joke, winking at her.  She punches your arm.

“He doesn’t even look at anybody but you, dipshit.  If you say something like that one more time, I’m gonna tell him,” she threatens half-jokingly, pointing a polished finger in your face.

“Fine.  We’ll see where it ends up,” you surrender, checking the fridges for a routine restock.

The remainder of Saturday night at The Rusty Sawfish is busy, but not overwhelmingly so.

Georgia, Mike, Rand, and you man the bar, which had no empty chairs the entire evening.  Business was booming from the fishing tournament, and even Gil stepped out of the office to pour some drinks.

Joel made himself comfortable at the end of the bar.  Gil dumped stacks of blueprints in front of him, and he got busy reviewing them while nursing glasses of neat bourbon.  You couldn’t count the number of times you two exchanged glances and shy smiles, and he couldn’t count the number of times he caught himself staring at you.  He was entranced by the way you moved at the bar—commanding the flow of customers, making drinks at lightning speed, being friendly with the customers, and looking damn good while you do it.

Closing time rolls around yet again, and he’s still scanning blueprints, sketching on pages here and there with his carpenter’s pencil.  Every so often, he’d tuck it behind one of his ears, mussing some of his curls in the process.  You found yourself studying his mannerisms, trying to get to know him without speaking.  He’d tick his jaw back and forth as he read, and the corner of his lips would twitch each time he marked the page with his pencil, salt and pepper mustache hairs grooving along with them.

You learn from the way he holds the page out three feet in front of him to read small text, brow furrowing as he deciphers the letters, that he’s stubborn and not ready to buy reader’s glasses.  You catch yourself giggling at it, making damn sure he doesn’t see.

You learn that he was likely a former athlete by the way his hips sway when he walks to the bathroom, his gait controlled yet energetic and limber, the denim of his very-worn jeans hugging his strong legs.  The jeans indicate that he’s not much of a shopper and is loyal to what makes him feel comfortable, like a pair of faded, almost-torn bootcut Wranglers molded to his frame and creased leather cowboy boots.

You learn that his body is still in wonderful shape as he folds his arms behind his head and arches his back to stretch his aching body, revealing a sliver of soft-looking skin above the denim waistband and a trail of dark hair leading from his belly button down beneath.

You learn that he enjoys hearing your laugh with each time he tries to prod it out of you with a silly joke or a wisecrack about one of the customers.  Given the manner and frequency with which his eyes travel up and down your frame, he also likes your body—from the subtle shelf of your breasts underneath your tank top, to the shape of your ass in your frayed jean shorts, to your smooth legs.  But he likes your face, too—evident by the way his amber eyes travel over your features, landing frequently at your eyes and lips.

Now, you can tell Georgia she’s right—that he fancies you, more so than any other woman that glanced at him twice during the night.  And boy, there were plenty.

Most of all, though—you learn how much you want him.  If not obvious by the butterflies bouncing off the walls of your abdomen and chest as he speaks to you, it is clear when you take a bathroom break of your own and find dampness in your panties.  Your nerves are in overdrive at the possibility of finding out what his hands feel like on your skin, what his lips feel like meshed with yours, what his strong frame feels like flush against yours.

Needing cool relief, you soak a paper towel in cold water and place it on the back of your neck, shivering at the stray droplets that roll down your spine.  You stare at yourself in the mirror and start to realize that maybe Georgia is right about you, that you are beautiful and worthy of feeling that way.

You exit the bathroom to find that it’s now past 2:00 AM, and customers have left—all but Joel.  He’s standing now, elbows leaning against the counter.  He notices the air pressure change from the bathroom door opening and turns to stare at you as you approach him, eyes sweeping up and down your figure once again.

“Sir, we’re closed.  Have you paid your tab?” You ask, half-smiling at him.  He laughs as he fishes his wallet out of his jeans pocket.

“Gettin’ there, sweetheart,” he says, grunting as it finally comes out of its enclosure.  The wallet is about as worn as the jeans, faded and bent at the corners.  He hands you several twenty-dollar bills, a few too many for his sixty-dollar tab.

“I’ll get your change,” you say, muscle memory taking over.  He puts a hand up.

“No, keep it.  You deserve it,” he murmurs, tucking the wallet back in his pocket and gathering the blueprints for Gil.

“Joel, it’s too much for what little work I did tonight,” you protest.  He looks at you, eyes smoldering once again.

“No, darlin’—you did a lot more than you think.”  The tone suggests he’d been imagining you the same way you did him, sending a zing of shivers up your spine.  You know your cheeks are reddening, but you ignore it as you balance the drawer for the evening.  Joel trots back to Gil’s office to return the papers, resurfacing after a few minutes.

Georgia, Mike, and Rand have finished cleaning and their closing duties.  They stop by the register to check in on you.

“Hey—there’s a party at Mike’s neighbor’s house.  You in?” Georgia asks, knowing full well you’re not going to agree.  You can tell she’s trying not to smirk.

“No, thanks.  I’m exhausted,” you reply, dividing up the tips.  “Here you go, tips for tonight.  Great job.”

“Well, you better come to the one next week—you can’t use this excuse again,” Mike teases you, elbowing you lightly.

“I’ll be there, just not feeling it tonight.  Thanks, guys,” you say warmly, hugging Georgia as they prepare to leave.

“Oh, we rode together—are you good taking an Uber?  I was going to ride with these guys,” she asks, loud enough for Joel to hear.

“I can walk to my car.  It’s only a few minutes.”

Joel interrupts.  “I’ll take ya.  I’m sure y’feel safe out here, but it’s late and dark.”

Georgia takes this as her cue to leave.  “See you tomorrow, love!”  You wave as the three exit, leaving Joel, you, and the magnetic sexual tension between you.

“You sure about this?  Really, it’s not that bad of a trek,” you ask him, not wanting to be a bother.  He raises an eyebrow at you.

“I’d feel better f’you let me make sure you’re safe, and y’just said y’were tired,” he says lowly, voice dropping in decibels to match the now-quiet atmosphere of the bar.

“If it helps you sleep at night, sure,” you joke, winking at him.  A yawn interrupts your comedic routine, to which Joel raises his eyebrows.

“How ‘bout I just drive you home, sweetheart?” He suggests.  A wave of fatigue hits you as you finish yawning, and you surrender.

“Good idea.  Let me get my stuff.”

You emerge from the office after retrieving your purse and saying goodbye to Gil, who has resumed trying to figure out Excel.  Joel watches you approach him, rubbing his beard distractedly.

You lead him out of the bar, the nervous energy between you making your legs feel restless.  Joel places a hand on your lower back as you push the doors open.  Once outside, you expect him to move it, but he doesn’t.  It stays warm and firm on your back as you two walk down the marina to the street parking area.

The sound of the waves crashing into the shore placates your nerves a bit.  You peer at them as you walk, bewitched by the rays of moonlight dancing on the subtle peaks.

“S’a beautiful night,” Joel murmurs, closer to your ear than you realized.  You jump a bit, and he chuckles quietly, rubbing his hand softly on your lower back.

“Sorry, didn’t mean t’scare ya,” he apologizes.  The cool beach breeze blows by, and goosebumps grow on your bare skin.  You rub your arms instinctively.  A few moments later, Joel places his flannel over your shoulders, squeezing the tops lightly before letting go.  The warm gesture makes those butterflies in your stomach ricochet like pinballs.

“Thanks.  It’s cooler than normal this evening,” you say, watching your feet as you continue walking.  The scent of his shirt engulfs your senses, slowing your pace momentarily.  It’s an alluring mix of earthy and musky, like sandalwood, pine, and sweet bourbon.

“This is me,” Joel says, stopping next to an older, beatdown Chevy truck.  He opens the passenger door for you.

“Didn’t realize you were such a gentleman, Joel,” you tease him.  He shuts the door lightly, smirking and shaking his head at you through the window.  You glance at your surroundings.

His truck is spotless, save for some stains on the floor.  There’s a cup of carpenter’s pencils in one of the cupholders, which makes you smile.  The radio is ancient, with a small, thin screen for the time and big black buttons, which are a bit dusty.  The only button that’s clean is the power button/volume knob duo.  Not much of a music guy, you think.

The driver’s door squeaks open, and Joel plops down on the seat with a grunt. He shoves the key in the ignition and turns it over a few times before the engine roars on.

“Where to?” he asks, cranking the truck into reverse and pulling out of the spot.  You direct him to your apartment, which is 10 minutes from the marina.

The ride to your place is quiet, but not awkwardly so.  Joel turned on the music and kept the volume low, asking you questions here and there about Clearwater and you.

“Your family here?”

“Nope.  I’m from the Midwest.  They’re all in Nebraska and Iowa.”  He whistles lowly.

“Bit of a drive.  Why Florida?  Lemme guess—the ocean?”

“That’s part of it,” you reply, staring out the window, watching the palm trees flash by.

“Take it y’also wanted to get away from your family,” he says, tone rhetorical.  You snort and turn to face him.  He’s got one hand on the wheel, the other perched on the back of your seat.  There’s a half-smirk on his moonlight-painted face.

“Am I that obvious?” Your tone is half-incredulous, half-rhetorical. He chuckles in place of responding.

Soon, you arrive at your apartment complex.  Joel opens your door and follows you to the building.  Hesitant, you stop just before entering and turn to him.  The tension is thick, like a hazy cloud between the two of you.

“Do you want to come inside?”

He clenches his jaw, staring at you before replying.

“Sure.  Y’gonna take advantage of me?” The witty remark catches you off guard.  You burst out laughing and the contagious, melodic sound makes him laugh.

“Only if you want me to,” you reply, holding your keys up to the pad and opening the door.  You swear you hear him growl behind you, but he doesn’t reply.

Luckily, you’re on the first floor.  You don’t think you could stomach walking up the stairs in your daisy dukes with Joel behind you.

Once inside your place, you open the fridge and grab two bottles of beer as Joel surveys the apartment.  You place one on his bare forearm, the sudden chill startling him.  He swipes the bottle from your hand as you giggle, giving you a threatening look.

“Want to sit outside?  I have a little futon out there,” you offer, realizing you still have his flannel on.  The sleeves are a little long, touching the base of your knuckles.  He nods.  You grab a blanket from the couch and lead him to the sliding glass door in the kitchen.

Your patio is small, but it’s your favorite spot, overlooking the beach.  The apartment building is on a small hill, which is great for days when the sea level rises.  The waves are still crashing quietly onto the shore, bathed in silky moonlight.

You sit first, crossing your legs underneath the warm blanket.  It’s chilly without it.  Joel sits next to you with what you now know is his trademark old man grunt, denim-clad leg touching your knee.  He takes a swig and brings the base of the bottle to eye level to study the label.

“Sorry—no bourbon,” you lament jokingly, taking a swig of your own.  He smirks and takes another sip.

“Didn’t strike you as the type, anyway.”

“Is it the lack of facial hair?” Joel spits out his beer laughing.

“Jesus, you’re somethin’ else,” he coughs, wiping his mouth and beard with the back of his hand.

“In Joel speak, I think that’s a compliment, yes?”

He laughs again, staring at you as you watch the ocean.  His hand moves to rest on your kneecap, thumb circling the soft skin lightly.  Your heartbeat picks up twofold.

“Gil was right about you,” he murmurs.  Confused, you look at him, surprised to see a wanton expression on his face.

“What about me?”

He scoots closer.  Your hands squeeze the beer bottle nervously.

“Don’t remember exactly what he said,” he croons, face getting closer to yours, “somethin’ about you bein’ a special person.”

The sexual tension between the two of you has reached a new level of heavy, sucking the air out of your lungs and igniting your core.  Joel grabs your beer from your hand, setting it and his down on the concrete floor of the patio.  He stares into your eyes, looking for hesitation as he leans closer to you.

Clearly, he finds none, because his lips are on yours, light and soft.  The hand that was on your knee is on the back of your neck, thumb pressed against your cheek.  His other hand grips your hip and pulls you closer to him.  You take the opportunity to climb on his lap, pulling a surprised yet satisfied grunt from him.

His lips move slowly, gently against yours.  Rough, warm hands caress the tops of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their path.  He tastes smooth, like the Eagle Rare he sipped on this evening, a rich contrast from the rough scratch of his mustache and beard against your face.  You comb fingers through his thick curls, tugging lightly at the base of his head. Another satisfied grunt travels from his throat to your mouth.

The passion overheats you, and like he’s reading your mind, he pushes his shirt off your shoulders, mouth still latched to yours.  His hands slip under your tank top and caress your abdomen, fingertips dancing along the underside of your breast.  He groans again when he realizes you don’t have a bra on.  You tilt your head back and his lips caress your neck, nipping softly at your pulse.  The soft moan that leaves your lips spurs him on, and his teeth move higher, tugging on the flesh of your earlobe.

He reaches for the hem of your tank top and slowly lifts the fabric over your head.  His eyes burn holes in your skin, pupils dilated so much so that his eyes look black.  He reaches up and palms both of your breasts, kneading the flesh and rolling your nipples between his fingertips as he admires your body.

“Christ, you’re perfect,” he breathes before sucking a nipple into his mouth.  You wrap your arms around his strong neck and tug his curls back to envelope his mouth with yours.  He lifts you from his lap effortlessly and stands, murmuring something about going back inside into your mouth.

Still kissing you, he carries you to your bedroom and tosses you on the bed before caging you in his arms, continuing what you started on the patio as the sound of the ocean and the cicadas fill the background.

Taglist: @burntheedges, @tuquoquebrute, @syd-djarin, @danaispunk, @anoverwhelmingdin

Read Part 2 here!

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

I first caught wind of this piece on Monday, and I'm still in awe of that last paragraph. Actual real-life human beings are trying to give Jimmy Carter more credit for the fall of the Soviet Union than President Ronald Wilson Reagan. What do you even do with that? Do you bother to offer a critique or just laugh hysterically?  I suppose my job is to do the former so it should be noted that Carter was most responsible for the rise of the Mullahs in Iran, having completely undercut the Shah. He also spent his presidency establishing a Palestinian status quo that has led to numerous wars and countless deaths. To suggest he "brought more positive change to the Middle East than any president in the decades before or since" is one of the most insane things I've ever seen a news outlet write. Further, his coddling of Islamist dictators while continually knee-capping Israel (many suggest he was outright antisemitic) laid the groundwork for the chaos in the region that persists to this day. As to the Soviet Union, it was ascendant when Carter left office, running roughshod in multiple parts of the world. The SALT II treaty was also signed under Carter, which served as nothing more than unilateral disarmament by the United States while the Soviets didn't comply. It took Reagan's peace-through-strength strategy to bring the Soviets to their knees because, if anything, Carter was helping preserve the Soviet Union's power with his naive half-measures and deal-making.  Keep in mind that we are only talking about Carter's foreign policy record at this point. His domestic record was arguably worse, though I won't dive into that here.  With that out of the way, let's get to Scott Jennings, who was faced with pro-Jimmy Carter talking points multiple times on CNN following the former president's passing. Instead of shying away from controversy, which would have been easy to do given the circumstances, he struck hard and set the record straight. 

JENNINGS: In the run-up to the Persian Gulf War, he wrote letters to all of our allies and to Arab states, asking them to abandon their cooperation and coalition with the United States of America. If it's not treasonous, it's borderline treasonous, and so I hear what you're saying about the humanitarianism, but when you're an ex-president, and you have served in that office, I think you have a duty to the United States and only to the United States, and when he did that and other instances, to me, it showed that he cared more about his own legacy than he did about the country, and I think that is wrong.

Jimmy Carter was a terrible president and not that great of a person either. Don't let the evil media rewrite history because you want to be respectful and not speak ill of the recently dead.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Caroline Glick

Hezbollah’s missiles destroyed hundreds of homes, devastating farms and livestock. They have torched forests and nature preserves, causing environmental devastation. And they targeted and hit sensitive military installations along the border.

Over the summer, Hezbollah escalated its assaults. The number of projectiles increased, reaching 50 to 120 per day. The range expanded to the lower Galilee and the Gulf of Haifa.

Clearly, Iran had decided to transform Lebanon into the new center of gravity in its multifront war against Israel after Israel successfully decimated most of Hamas’ military power and seized control over the international border between Gaza and Egypt, preventing Hamas from rebuilding its forces.

Instead of waiting to be invaded again, Israel chose to win the war.

And for the past two weeks, it has been doing just that.

Instead of discussing another cease-fire that will leave Hezbollah intact on the border and in control of Lebanon, Israel has begun to destroy the most powerful terror army in the world — an army controlled by Iran with tentacles that extend throughout Europe, North America, South America and Asia.

If Israel wins, not only will it secure its own borders and citizenry, it will secure the stability of the region and protect the entire world from the scourge of Iranian-backed Islamic terrorism.

If Israel falters, if it wobbles under US pressure and accepts a premature cease-fire, it will remain in mortal danger.

The region will be destabilized and the infrastructure of American power in the Middle East will crumble as every Arab state rushes to make deals with Iran — and with its allies, China and Russia.40

It’s obvious why Israel needs to win. Its survival and the lives of its 10 million citizens are on the line.

What is hard to understand is why the Biden administration refuses to back that existential victory.  

[thethirdromana]

So Mina later says:

"Lucy is to be married in the autumn, and she is already planning out her dresses and how her house is to be arranged. I sympathise with her, for I do the same, only Jonathan and I will start in life in a very simple way, and shall have to try to make both ends meet."

Could this indicate that Mina also has spent hours planning out dresses and arranging the house, and maybe likes that stuff (but cannot go as all out because she and Jonathan have to "start life in a very simple way")? Note I am not very good at English.

Yes, that's exactly it. She's making the same kind of plans about her future life as Lucy is, only on a much more modest scale.

That said, I'm inclined to read more differences into this. I picture Lucy - with a household income that could be in the region of £5,000 or more - doing this a bit like she's making a pinterest board. Her dresses (plural!) surely can't need all that much planning, and "how her house is to be arranged" is surely also a bit up in the air - is she planning on rearranging Ring? Are they going to rent a house in London, and if so, does this mean Lucy is mentally decorating and furnishing a house that doesn't yet exist?

Whereas at this point Mina anticipates living off a fraction of that income; Jonathan would be doing very well to be earning £300 annually at this point. Any planning she might be doing is surely of the more practical kind, of what kind of house they might be able to afford to rent and what that means for their grocery and clothing bills. Because Mina will have to quit her job on marriage (teachers weren't allowed to be married), her lifestyle isn't going to improve on marriage and she might even feel worse off in practice.

I find it quite sweet that Mina is happy to see their situations as alike at this point in time, given that there's such a gulf between them.

[secretmellowblog]

Javert has always seen himself as a cog in the machine of the law—- but his final realization is that he hasn’t been a “bad cog,” he’s been a perfect cog in a bad machine. Javert hasn’t been a bad cop— he’s been a perfect cop in a system where his job is to enforce laws that are bigoted, evil, unjust, and cruel.

Javert’s entire life and soul was built on authoritarianism, on mindless bootlicking deference to the people above him in the social hierarchy. He had no desires outside of serving authority, and no joy outside of gaining its approval. He literally refused to think because he considered “independent thought’ a form of rebellion against authority!

But now he’s finally forced to realize that the authority he’s destroyed himself to serve is hollow, that the things he worshipped all his life are meaningless.

Derailed begins with Javert furiously interrogating himself for his failure to arrest Jean Valjean, for his failure to perform his duty to to the government….but as he continues thinking he’s eventually forced to come to the realization that the failure is not just coming from below, but also from on high. He’s not just failing to follow orders, he’s been given horrible orders that it would he immoral to follow, and his greatest failure was his lifelong refusal to recognize the hollowness of the higher powers he’s been serving. The authorities he’s been serving are poor arbiters of morality. There is a “gulf on high.”

I especially love these passages towards the end of his emotional breakdown self-reflection:

To be obliged to confess this to oneself: infallibility is not infallible, there may exist error in the dogma, all has not been said when a code speaks, society is not perfect, authority is complicated with vacillation, a crack is possible in the immutable, judges are but men, the law may err, tribunals may make a mistake! to behold a rift in the immense blue pane of the firmament!

(…)

Up to this point, everything above him had been, to his gaze, merely a smooth, limpid and simple surface; there was nothing incomprehensible, nothing obscure; nothing that was not defined, regularly disposed, linked, precise, circumscribed, exact, limited, closed, fully provided for; authority was a plane surface; there was no fall in it, no dizziness in its presence. Javert had never beheld the unknown except from below. The irregular, the unforeseen, the disordered opening of chaos, the possible slip over a precipice—this was the work of the lower regions, of rebels, of the wicked, of wretches. Now Javert threw himself back, and he was suddenly terrified by this unprecedented apparition: a gulf on high.

What! one was dismantled from top to bottom! one was disconcerted, absolutely! In what could one trust! That which had been agreed upon was giving way! What! the defect in society’s armor could be discovered by a magnanimous wretch! What! an honest servitor of the law could suddenly find himself caught between two crimes—the crime of allowing a man to escape and the crime of arresting him! everything was not settled in the orders given by the State to the functionary! There might be blind alleys in duty! What,—all this was real! was it true that an ex-ruffian, weighed down with convictions, could rise erect and end by being in the right? Was this credible? were there cases in which the law should retire before transfigured crime, and stammer its excuses?—Yes, that was the state of the case! and Javert saw it! and Javert had touched it! and not only could he not deny it, but he had taken part in it. These were realities. It was abominable that actual facts could reach such deformity. If facts did their duty, they would confine themselves to being proofs of the law; facts—it is God who sends them. Was anarchy, then, on the point of now descending from on high?

Thus,—and in the exaggeration of anguish, and the optical illusion of consternation, all that might have corrected and restrained this impression was effaced, and society, and the human race, and the universe were, henceforth, summed up in his eyes, in one simple and terrible feature,—thus the penal laws, the thing judged, the force due to legislation, the decrees of the sovereign courts, the magistracy, the government, prevention, repression, official cruelty, wisdom, legal infallibility, the principle of authority, all the dogmas on which rest political and civil security, sovereignty, justice, public truth, all this was rubbish, a shapeless mass, chaos; he himself, Javert, the spy of order, incorruptibility in the service of the police, the bull-dog providence of society, vanquished and hurled to earth; and, erect, at the summit of all that ruin, a man with a green cap on his head and a halo round his brow; this was the astounding confusion to which he had come; this was the fearful vision which he bore within his soul.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Canary Media:

Three days before President Trump took office, an undersea-cable company abandoned plans to build a plant that would employ up to 350 people in Somerset, Massachusetts. Media outlets were quick to spotlight the loss as a specter of what’s to come for the offshore wind industry that Trump put on ice with the stroke of a pen last week.

It’s a reminder that Trump’s attempts to kill the offshore wind industry threaten not just the decarbonization plans of a few states, but job opportunities for a wide array of Americans. In fact, over 64% of the offshore wind manufacturing and supply-chain investments made or announced are in Republican congressional districts, according to data from industry group Oceantic Network.

The 64% statistic describes mostly private investment into offshore wind but also includes some public investment, including money flowing in from the Inflation Reduction Act, the Biden administration’s cornerstone climate law and a favorite target of Trump. In total, $3.4 billion has either been invested in or pledged to Republican districts to build a domestic offshore wind supply chain.

“Who’s benefiting? It’s the entire United States,” said Liz Burdock, president and CEO of the group, which previously went by the name Business Network for Offshore Wind.

But Trump last week signed an executive order that paused the approval of leases, permits, and loans for both offshore and onshore wind energy pending a federal review. The freeze will likely impact projects in earlier stages of development while the nine commercial-scale offshore wind projects that already have federal permits in hand appear safe.

It could also ripple throughout the emerging U.S. offshore wind supply chain. Developers have signed nearly 2,000 supply-chain contracts with manufacturing firms in 40 states, including some that are hundreds of miles from a coastline, like Ohio and Wisconsin.

For example, said Burdock, Italian shipbuilding firm Fincantieri is building customized offshore vessels in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin, which is part of a Republican congressional district. And in Houston, Texas — which she called the ​“engine” of offshore wind manufacturing — multiple companies are adapting technologies used for the region’s offshore oil operations to accommodate offshore wind.

America currently has 73 gigawatts of offshore wind capacity in various stages of development, according to the latest data collected by the American Clean Power Association. Before Trump returned to office, the industry group estimated that offshore wind would support 56,000 jobs by 2030. About a third of those would be operation and maintenance jobs while the vast majority would be direct construction jobs, at least in these early years of the sector.

Only one commercial-scale U.S. offshore wind project is in operation today, but at least five more are under construction, all off the coastlines of Northeastern states.

In addition to the money flowing to manufacturing projects to support these installations, Oceantic reports that offshore wind has spurred $1.8 billion worth of direct investments into updating 21 shipyards and across 12 states, like the St. John’s Ship Building shipyard in Palatka, Florida, which sits in a district that’s been represented by a Republican since 1989.

Thousands of workers are also helping to update 25 ports across the East, West and Gulf coasts that will store massive wind components and safely load them onto vessels that can then carry them miles out to sea for installation. Oceantic reports that a recent revitalization project at a Connecticut port created 400 construction jobs and sourced components from Texas.

[usafphantom2]

1991: The Top 10 Music was meh… but I discovered old Styx music in Saudi and that was because Iraq invaded Kuwait, Freddie Mercury died of AIDS and a great voice was lost forever and that psychotic nutcase Jeffrey Dahmer was arrested. Not really a good year looking at it this way.

Meanwhile in Saudia Arabia: AIRMAN Thomas Owings, the assistant crew chief for a KC-135 Stratotanker aircraft, cleans the aircraft's windscreen prior to a flight to the Persian Gulf region in support of Operation Desert Shield.

I’ve been interested in posting more maintenance personal because those guys are not only the best, but we couldn’t do our jobs without them and they didn’t always get the respect and accolades they deserved. I mean, come on, it’s not like you can clean the window after your airborne. Plus, you can tell, this guy is doing his job with attention!

Tanker from Eaker Air Force Base Arkansas

Desert Shield/Storm AOR, Sgt Jordan, January 11th 1991

@tcamp202 via X

[emiplayzmc]

Aghjh I can't be arsed to finish Cassidy and Samuel and Page and Gabriel and Cooper at the moment so *yeets only two of my Paranormal AU characters at you*

The main characters of the Paranormal AU! Tourmaline 'T' Addison and Benjamin Ignacia ^-^

And their monster forms - a siren and a presagillo (or 'moth-person'), respectively!

T and Benjamin are paranormal investigators living in the odd little town of Elderwood in Northern Maine, United States. It isn't their MAIN jobs (diner waiter and tailor / small-time designer, respectively), but they're quite good at what they do. Even though they're an unlikely pair - an easily distracted omen of disaster and a luring spirit - they're the best of friends, living together in their shared house. :D

Base information about the AU under the cut :>

-Elderwood, Maine, is a HUGE hotspot for paranormal activity. Think Portland, Oregon in the Grimm TV show mixed with Gravity Falls. The human residents there know about this, but it's not really a problem for anyone as long as they're not causing issues.

-The town has its own unique flora and geological materials in it, making up a huge amount of interest for Benjamin's habit of journaling and studying everything they spot as well as T's jewellery side-gig.

-Benjamin Ignacia is a presagillo - aka, the species I made up for this AU that gives Mothman an entire species! It comes from the Spanish words 'presagio,' or 'omen,' and 'polilla/polillo,' or 'moth.' They're omens of disaster that get messages about major events and are sent to warn other people at the site and save people if they're able to.

-Ben... does not like getting summoned to these events. They get very quiet and tense before and after going to them.

-Presagillo can have two types of lifespans - one more akin to a cryptid, so close to 200, 300 years, or one where they can only live to 16, closer to the short lifespan of a moth. Technically, Benjamin was supposed to be the latter lifespan, if it weren't for the fact that T ended up saving their life. As of now, they're 33 years old.

-Signs of a presgillo's impending death include dreaming of Will o' the Wisps, being compelled to chase after them like a moth to a flame even though they're always just out of reach. If / When they ever catch up to one, then it's lights out.

-Moth-people are also very easily entranced by light sources - Benjamin, specifically, loves fires and Christmas decorations.

-Benjamin likes to use little bits and piece of magic to hide their wings and antennae when they're out in a public area where it'd be a disruption, or when they just don't want to deal with accommodating for their moth-like features in general.

-Benjamin's always been very perceptive to textures and sizes in their clothes, so they got into tailoring and designing young so they could make their own clothes more comfortable. When they got older, they started making that their primary job and source of income when they and T moved to Elderwood - tailoring clothes and making clothes for people. Including cosplay outfits, their favourites to make besides Victorian era clothing ^-^

-Aside from a clothing nerd, Benjamin's also a HUGE fan of nature, and frequently spends a lot of their time out in the woods collecting flowers and mushrooms and plants that they find around the town, making medicinal things out of the herbs that they find, and just generally exploring. There's a large tree outside of town that's connected to a mycelium network of mushrooms surrounding it that emit a lot of unsavory gasses (ones that WILL literally knock a person out, as Benjamin has learned), but it also sprouts a LOT of different types of plants on and around the area, so Benjamin wears a mask whenever they go into that area to keep from passing out.

-There are different regions of proper sirens over the globe, five regions around America - northwest, southwest, Gulf of Mexico, northeast, and southeast - T is a siren of the northeast, which typically have longer hair and more grayish skin-tones in their cryptid forms.

-Technically, T - or Tourmaline, as was his birth name, T is just a nickname - is a half-siren, born to a human father and siren mother. However, he inherited most of his mom's siren heritage rather than human heritage, and since his dad wasn't the greatest anyway... he considers himself just full siren.

-T and Benjamin both grew up in the same area (which wasn't Elderwood, closer to Connecticut) - they met when T was 12 and Ben was 10 on the way to the zoo / aquarium in their town in the summer! At first, Ben's parents didn't trust T nor his mother because they were sirens (aka luring spirits - and moths are very, VERY wary of those), but Ben and T kept hanging out anyway - T's mom was kind of indifferent to it since she didn't think anything would really HAPPEN if she kept her already in a rebellious stage kid from wanting to be friends with Ben when the latter was clearly harmless. Ben's parents only trusted T after he went out of his way to save Benjamin's life.

-T works as a waiter at a diner in downtown Elderwood that he will CONSTANTLY sing his praises about... for their quality of food and cleanliness of course, not just because he's biased and his manager is attractive (cough cough HUMAN AU VERSION OF SWATCH NAMED SWANN cough cough). His secondary job is jewellery just like his Addison counterpart, using gems and stones that he cleans and cuts himself from around town and whenever he, Benjamin, and their third roommate Cassidy go on road trips. He and Benjamin both sell their clothes and jewellery at a market every Sunday in the town center!

[thozhar]

Gulf migration is not just a major phenomenon in Kerala; north Indian states also see massive migration to the Gulf. Uttar Pradesh and Bihar accounted for the biggest share (30% and 15%) of all Indian workers migrating to GCC1 countries in 2016-17 (Khan 2023)—a trend which continues today. Remittances from the Gulf have brought about significant growth in Bihar’s economy (Khan 2023)—as part of a migrant’s family, I have observed a tangible shift in the quality of life, education, houses, and so on, in Siwan. In Bihar, three districts—Siwan, Gopalganj, and Chapra—send the majority of Gulf migrants from the state, mostly for manual labor (Khan 2023). Bihar also sees internal migration of daily wagers to Delhi, Bombay, and other parts of India. Gulf migration from India’s northern regions, like elsewhere in India, began after the oil boom in the 1970s. Before this time, migration was limited to a few places such as Assam, Calcutta, Bokaro, and Barauni—my own grandfather worked in the Bokaro steel factory.

Despite the role of Gulf migration and internal migration in north Indian regions, we see a representational void in popular culture. Bollywood films on migration largely use rural settings, focussing on people who work in the USA, Europe, or Canada. The narratives centre these migrants’ love for the land and use dialogue such as ‘mitti ki khusbu‘ (fragrance of homeland). Few Bollywood films, like Dor and Silvat, portray internal migration and Gulf migration. While Bollywood films frequently centre diasporic experiences such as Gujaratis in the USA and Punjabis in Canada, they fail in portraying Bihari migrants, be they indentured labourers in the diaspora, daily wagers in Bengal, or Gulf migrants. The regional Bhojpuri film industry fares no better in this regard. ‘A good chunk of the budget is spent on songs since Bhojpuri songs have an even larger viewership that goes beyond the Bhojpuri-speaking public��, notes Ahmed (2022), marking a context where there is little purchase for Gulf migration to be used as a reference to narrate human stories of longing, sacrifice, and family.

One reason for this biased representation of migration is that we see ‘migration’ as a monolith. In academic discourse, too, migration is often depicted as a commonplace phenomenon, but I believe it is crucial to make nuanced distinctions in the usage of the terms ‘migration’ and ‘migrant’. The term ‘migration’ is a broad umbrella term that may oversimplify the diverse experiences within this category. My specific concern is about Gulf migrants, as their migration often occurs under challenging circumstances. For individuals from my region, heading to the Gulf is typically a last resort. This kind of migration leads to many difficulties, especially when it distances migrants from their family for much of their lifetime. The term ‘migration’, therefore, inadequately captures the profound differences between, for instance, migrating to the USA for educational purposes and migrating to the Gulf for labour jobs. Bihar has a rich history of migration, dating back to the era of indentured labor known as girmitiya. Following the abolition of slavery in 1883, colonial powers engaged in the recruitment of laborers for their other colonies through agreements (Jha 2019). Girmitiya distinguishes itself from the migration. People who are going to the Arabian Gulf as blue-collar labourers are also called ‘Gulf migrants’—a term that erases how their conditions are very close to slavery. This is why, as a son who rarely saw his father, I prefer to call myself a ‘victim of migration’ rather than just a ‘part of migration’. It is this sense of victimhood and lack of control over one’s life that I saw missing in Bollywood and Bhojpuri cinema.

— Watching 'Malabari Films' in Bihar: Gulf Migration and Transregional Connections

[qualcosadelgenere]

A "DESERT LION" NAMES ANALYSIS + name meanings related hcs PT.2

DISCLAIMER: if any of the information reported here is wrong or even just partially incorrect/imprecise, feel free to let me know; as my main sources for this analysis were Wikipedia and baby names sites (lol).

Messer Jassim <English Wiki> (Mansur Jasim/Messa Jassim <alternative dub names>):

Mansur Jassim

Mansur (Messer is apparently a surname and Messa doesn't even exist(?)) is a male Arabic name that means "He who is victorious".

Jassim is an Arabic name/surname. (Couldn't find the meaning.)

Headcanons:

Succeeding in his set goals and dreams is a very essential part of his life. He puts great importance on winning and is generally very competitive. He has a hard time forming long-lasting friendships due to this side of his personality.

His parents, unlike Nasser's, tend to encourage him to be less focused on beating others and more on doing things he actually enjoys for himself. His relationship with his teammate is a conflicted one.

On one hand, Nasser is a pleasant guy to be around, always ready to assist or to share a few jokes with. On the other one though, Messer can't really bring himself to relate to his struggles. He doesn't understand how someone could resent parents whose only wish is for you to be your best version; for you to be ambitious and successful.

He didn't bond with anyone in particular, but he tends to spend most of the time with Far, who happens to be his roommate.

___________________________________________ ___ __ _

Zack Abdullah <English Wiki> (Zack Abdulla <alternative dub names>):

Zakariya 'Zack' Abdullah

Zack is sometimes a given name, but more often it's a short form of the Biblical name Zechariah (in this case probably of the Arabic form, Zakariya) and its meaning is "God/YHWH has remebered".

Abdullah is an Arabic Muslim given name/surname which means "servant of Allah".

Headcanons:

Zack grew up in a large family: his mom, his dad, three sisters, and four brothers (including himself).

Zack's family originally hails from Casablanca, Morocco, but they relocated to Qatar in search of better job opportunities. With some financial assistance from Zack's grandparents and some personal sacrifices, they were able to secure stable employment at a local camel farm. Zack's father, who had experience working with dromedaries in Morocco, found the job to be a perfect fit.

Despite their efforts, they still fall under the lower middle-class category by Qatari standards*. As a result, Zack and his siblings had to start working from a young age to support the family.

Growing up among the animals, Zack spent his free time playing football and caring for them. He greatly admires his father and shares a strong bond with his mother and siblings.

Zack is extremely outgoing, friendly, and open-minded as a result of interacting with people from all walks of life. He easily makes friends and is generally well-liked. However, he often feels the need to hide his feelings of inadequacy behind a facade of happiness and laughs, because most of his friends come from well-off families with high social status, and hanging out is a constant reminder of his own financial limits and racial status.

His closest friends are Bjorn, Majidi, and Djamel. He gets along also with Sulai and Adel, with whom he has more of a love-hate relationship. (Adel once referred to him as impossible to ignore and to this day Zack wonders if it was meant to be a compliment or not.)

*(North African Expats are considered to be racially inferior to Gulf Arabs; with them only coming second to Westerners in the class system, even though they're primarily Muslim and from neighboring regions. The apparent reasons for this are a widespread sentiment of anti-blackness and a general dislike for Africans, more specifically sub-Saharan, immigrants).

___________________________________________ ___ __ _

Majidi Ismail <English Wiki> (Majdi Ismail <alternative dub names>):

Majid Ismail

Technically speaking Majidi is an Iranian surname; the Arabic name equivalent would be spelled as Majid. It means "noble", "glorious", and "magnificent".

Ismail is an Arabic given name/middle name/surname and patronymic, that literally translates to "heard by God". It's also the name of Ibrahim(Abraham)'s son.

Headcanons:

He's a very self-assured little guy, as the only male sibling to four sisters he grew up spoiled and pampered.

Scaring(courting?) girls with the little animals he catches in the desert is his biggest hobby and simultaneously his sisters' biggest pet peeve. They tried everything in their power to stop the ever-increasing toll of his victims but to no avail.

"Why can't you impress girls like a normal person, Majidi?"

Fun fact: the moment he catches a fever his chaotic personality is gone, replaced by the meekest and quietest boy you have ever seen.

His mom knows it sounds bad out loud, but sometimes she wishes he'd get sick more often. It's just so nice to have a little quiet with five teenage children around from time to time.

He considers Zack, Rajab, Nasser, and Bjorn his best friends on the team. He doesn't really get along with Hassan, and even if he'd rather die than admit it, it's most likely due to a tiny, small, minuscule flicker of envy that burns in his gut whenever his teammate effortlessly charms the girls he tried to court(scare?) before.

Hassan, sad but true, couldn't care less.

___________________________________________ ___ __ _

Talal Hamad <English Wiki> (Talal Hamad <alternative dub names>):

Talal Hamad

Talal is an Arabic given name and surname that means "admirable" and "nice".

Hamad or Hamda is an Arabic given name and surname, meaning "to praise" or "one who praises", "much praising".

Headcanons:

Talal is too nice for his own good, always praising others and being kind even when people are not in return.

He's also a little bit of a chatterbox, never really stopping talking, but thank god he has an array of aunties who are more than willing to listen to his latest gossip. They're the ones who instilled in him the dream of entering the Middle East's best TV station.

He'd love to work for Al Jazeera since it's one of two main TV stations in his country and it's also pretty popular on an international level.

He bonded quickly with Sulai and Seiyd. Little Rajab is too nice not to like him and Adel's maternal uncle is one of the managing directors of Al Jazeera, so better to have him as a friend rather than as an enemy, right?

___________________________________________ ___ __ _

Hassan Ahmed <English Wiki> (Hasan Ahmed/Hassan Amed <alternative dub names>):

Hassan Ahmed

Hassan (also Hasan) is an Arabic given name that means "handsome" or "good", or "benefactor". As a surname, instead, Hassan may be Arabic, Irish, Scottish, or Jewish.

Ahmed which is the variant of the name/surname Ahmad, means "Highly Praised”.

Headcanons:

He is widely regarded as extremely handsome.

Throughout his life, he has benefited from an inherent advantage due to his looks (pretty privilege), receiving praise for even the most minor accomplishments. As an only child to a wealthy family, his birth was considered miraculous due to his mother's health-related issues. Consequently, he has been showered with affection and has developed an inflated sense of self-worth, perpetually reinforced by those around him.

He's kind of a narcissist, so he doesn't let people get too close if not solely on a superficial level.

The closest thing he has to a genuine friendship is with Adel; it's a relationship primarily based on mutual teasing and banter (which, according to Zack, borders on flirting 98% of the time, however, both parties disagree.).

___________________________________________ ___ __ _

Khalfan Jibril <English Wiki> (Khalfan Jibril/Halfan Djibril <alternative dub names>):

Khalfan Jibril

Khalfan is primarily a male given name of Swahili origin that means "successor"

Jibril (also Djibril) is an Arabic variant of the name Gabriel (the archangel), therefore meaning "God is my strength", and a common Arabic given name and surname.

Headcanons:

Khalfan can be described as a greatly resilient person, always reluctant to give up what he believes is important.

He comes from a family of artists: his grandad was a famous painter and his daughter, Khalfan's mother, inherited his great talent.

He was not exactly gifted with the same artistic abilities, but he knows a great deal about many art forms and is well aware of their historical and social significance.

He aspires to work in art-related fields and is supported in this dream by his family, particularly his proud grandfather who is moved by his grandson's passion for preserving artworks.

His closest buddies are Musa and Yusuf. He enjoys the latter just a smidge more due to their shared love for tradition and Qatari/Arab culture.

___________________________________________ ___ __ _

Rajab Ismail <English Wiki> (Rajab Ismail <alternative dub names>):

Rajab Ismail

Rajab is an Arabic given name that corresponds to the seventh month of the Islamic calendar which is known as Rajab.

Ismail (see Majid Ismail).

Headcanons:

His parents are very religious, hence, his upbringing was very religion-oriented.

They don't support his passion for writing, especially because some of the social issues he's keen on featuring in his novel stem from exasperated and distorted religious beliefs, and his parents find it very hard to critique such things.

Furthermore, due to his youthful appearance, individuals in his environment such as teachers and family friends tend to dismiss his ideas, believing him to be too young to comprehend the depth of his convictions. Consequently, Rajab frequently feels mocked and ridiculed for his beliefs, leading to a significant struggle with not being taken seriously.

He finds Majid funny and he also gets along well with Zack and Talal. He looks up to Adel and Nasser because he deems the first to be very intelligent and mature for his age and the latter to be reliable and confident.

___________________________________________ ___ __ _

Adel Siddique <English Wiki> (Adel Siddique/Adel Shteik <alternative dub names>):

Adil Siddique

There are two different names that are transliterated as 'Adel' and which one it is depends on the pronunciation:

1.) Adel [ˈɑːdəl] (Germanic given name of ancient European origins, evolved from north-western languages; meaning "noble" "nobility" "elite".)

2.) Adil [ˈʕaːdɪl, ˈʕæːdel] (often transliterated as Adel, is a variation itself of the name Adel; an Arabic male name (common in the Muslim world) that originates from the word "Adl", meaning "fairness" and "justice".)

Siddiq/Siddique is an Islamic term and is given as an honorific title. It means "truthful" and it denotes a descendance from someone named Siddique.

Headcanons:

As his name suggests, Adel has a strong sense of justice paired with (sometimes brutal) honesty.

Even though he comes from a horrendously rich and privileged family, social injustices have always been acknowledged in his family as his father and mother are both very intellectual and intelligent people.

For him, it's important to use the privilege he was born with to fight against inequality and ensure that everyone has equal opportunities in life, and this topic will often come up in his movie productions.

His closest friends are Sulai (best friend) and Hassan. Zack is the equivalent of a human mosquito, but he's passable (when he shuts up). He also respects Rajab a lot for his desire to write about their country's social issues and wishes to be less intimidating in his younger eyes.

I also wanted to mention Adel's self-esteem.

Although he's very confident and capable of standing up for himself, he struggles with his physical appearance. Ever since he was a child, he realized that his darker skin and facial features did not conform to the standard of beauty in his country (I like to think he has Somali ancestry somewhere in his family, perhaps his father's grandad?).

Other children had lighter skin, straighter hair, and less full lips, which made him feel different. Additionally, when he started playing football at a national level, he experienced subtle racism from his own people. Despite fitting in and looking rather Qatari, he didn't feel equally accepted by the Qatari public, making him feel like he didn't fully belong.

That explains his attachment to wearing oversized and dark sunglasses as they somewhat mask his ethnic features and give him an advantage when controlling emotions.

In other words, they help him feel less self-conscious.

[columboscreens]

ive been rewatching columbo eps on prime video (idk where to get the other season after 7 :c) and i'm just done with A Case of Immunity, the one with the Suarian Kingdom and the whitest middle east guy i've ever seen ? And like. I'm not a fan of that episode, but. I feel like i'm missing a lot of political or historical context for that episode ? And I wanted to know if you knew more. Thank u, I'll get back to my little guy show now.

you're not missing much.

the latter portion of original columbo was marked by an increased desire to show him in radically different contexts--between a man on international waters, an arab diplomat, a IRA liason, a CIA agent, and a mexican matador, it suffices to say columbo got around a little more as time went on. and due to the growing US interest in the middle east throughout the 70s (most of europe's imperialist/colonialist tendrils had vacated, cold war alliances were being made, israel, oil, etc.) i suppose they thought people would want to see something topical. they also didn't want to piss anybody off, so the Very Real Country of Suari it was.

the role of hassan salah was originally intended for ben gazzara, but he was scrapped by the network for being too expensive (much to peter falk's consternation). mine too, really, because though hector elizondo did a fantastic job, i think gazzara would've played a better arab. he was sicillian, but i wouldn't be surprised if he had actual arab heritage, as sicilians very often do. his surname is arabic as hell--غزارة is arabic for "abundance", which ended up as a loanward in italian to mean "noisy".

ultimately though, the middle east is an ethnically and geographically diverse region containing a wide variety of looks and skin tones. for one, i and my entire family are lebanese. my skin is rather pale, my grandfather was tan but had pale blue eyes, my aunt is nearly blonde, etc. so elizondo's countenance may not scream "arab" nearly as much as gazzara's, but levant, maghreb, or gulf--he's not all that unbelievable either.

funnily enough, in middle ages arabia, those with blue eyes were associated with duplicitous and untrustworthy behavior....

i guess something that does kinda make me roll my eyes is the treatment of the language. to their credit, the characters do speak and write real arabic in the show, albeit...poorly. obviously it's a 70s tv movie, who cares about accurate glottal stops, but they spent like eight grand to rent a learjet for one of the scenes, and the arabic is real and (mostly) intelligible, so clearly somebody translated it. would it have killed them to hire a dialect coach?

we did get some extremely jewish-sounding arabic out of peter though. so. all is emphatically forgiven

the one thing that truly rubs me the wrong way about the episode is that it's noxiously sympathetic to the american political ethos of the time, which as we well know could do no wrong. watch columbo OWN this EVIL diplomat donned in traditional garb who wants to retain his country's DISGUSTING traditional ways while the new, hip young king who was probably forcefully instituted by american troops in a coup you'll never learn about is COOL and LOVES AMERICA and will lead his oil-filled country on camelback into a beautiful sunset of BEING COOL and LOVING AMERICA. there's NO WAY this could go south. STOP looking at iran NOW

(speaking of which, the state dept. rep who bursts columbo's bubble, kermit morgan, might or might not be a nod to kermit roosevelt jr. who played a central role in the CIA's ousting of iran's mosaddegh in 1953)

...least he's honest

anyway, in retrospect this episode isn't the series' finest moment, but it's a decent watch--and believe me, far and away not the worst treatment of arabs hollywood has thrown at us over the years. i know i'd certainly take a dozen of these over whatever the hell they were churning out post-9/11.

wallahi i could've forgiven the weird culturally inaccurate bowing if they just put columbo in a keffiyeh...

[notwiselybuttoowell]

In the past two years Glasgow has become the first UK museum to repatriate objects to India. Newcastle and the Horniman in south London followed an example set by Aberdeen and Cambridge by returning looted Benin bronzes to Nigeria. Exeter handed sacred regalia to the Siksika Nation in Canada. Oxford returned the remains of 18 indigenous people to Australia.

Earlier this month Manchester completed a landmark return of 174 objects to the to the Anindilyakwa community, who live on an archipelago in the Gulf of Carpentaria, off the northern coast of Australia.

The scale of repatriation – or rematriation as it was proudly labelled by a Scottish national museum returning a totem pole to Canada – is unprecedented but missing from all this, campaigners say, are the nation’s London-based national museums who look increasingly isolated.

“Regional museums are so far ahead of national institutions,” said Lewis McNaught, who runs the not-for-profit Returning Heritage project.

“It has been led by Glasgow and it really just remains for national collections to wake up to the trend which is, actually, now global. The UK is really falling behind quite dramatically.”

Dan Hicks, a professor of contemporary archaeology at Oxford University as well as curator at the city’s Pitt Rivers Museum, said repatriation has become part of the “fake culture wars” with some on the right seeing it as “wokery”.

“What that means, sadly, for our national institutions is that they are being forced into a position of inertia and making themselves increasingly irrelevant with every week that goes by and every restitution that we see from the regions and elsewhere around the world.

“Everyone else is getting on with it.”

The big reasons for the two different narratives is that the London-based national museums are hamstrung by legislation.

The British Museum Act 1963 specifically forbids the museum from disposing of its holdings. The National Heritage Act of 1983 prevents trustees of institutions, including the V&A, Science Museum and others, from deaccessioning objects unless they are duplicates or beyond repair.

Regional museums, whether they are run by local authorities, universities or are regimental museums or private, don’t have the same issue.

But the picture is more complicated, said Hicks, and repatriation is also not a new issue or debate.

“There is a deep and long history to restitution in this country. Edinburgh university was returning human remains two generations ago, never mind one generation … there are scores if not hundreds of stories over the past 40 to 50 years.

“It should be part of what museums do. It’s a part of the job.”

Glasgow is seen as a leader in the repatriation conversation since an agreement in 1998 to return a Sioux warrior shirt acquired at the end of the 19th century from Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show.

The return of the Lakota Sacred Ghost Dance Shirt to the Wounded Knee Survivors’ Association established criteria that have been widely adopted in the museum sector.

Duncan Dornan, the head of museums and collections at Glasgow Life, said repatriation should be seen as a two way process and recalled the joy at the signing ceremony last year for the repatriation of artefacts to India.

“It was a very emotional event and Glaswegians of Indian heritage were very emotional. Their response was that they were very proud of their city.

“We see repatriation as establishing a relationship of equals and emphasising Glasgow as an outward-looking modern city.

“This is about a 21st-century relationship rather than a historic relationship.”

The recent Manchester Museum return of objects was seen as important because they were not giving back things that had been looted. They were everyday objects, including dolls made from shells, baskets and boomerangs.

“We believe this is the future of museums,” said Esme Ward, the director of Manchester Museum. “This is how we should be.”

Unesco hopes that Manchester will be a model for other museums to follow. Krista Pikkat, Unesco’s director for culture and emergencies, said: “It is a truly historic and moving moment. This is a case we have shared with our member states because we felt it was exemplary in many ways.”

The UK government has no plans to change the law that could then lead to movement in some of the most high-profile repatriation debates such as the Parthenon marbles and the Benin bronzes.

Campaigners say the UK is looking increasingly isolated and there is a growing movement for a change in the law.

Lord Vaizey, a former long-serving Conservative arts minister, has said the 1983 act “makes it almost impossible for UK museums to establish themselves as outward-looking, modern institutions fit for purpose in the 21st century”.

There are ways of getting around it. The V&A announced last year that it was returning the Head of Eros, a life-sized marble carving dating back to the 3rd century AD, to Turkey to be reattached to the famous Sidamara sarcophagus.

It made good a promise made by the British government in 1934 but the return is essentially a long-term loan, not an unconditional return.

Across the world, from the US to France to Germany and the Vatican, countries are repatriating objects. “Almost everywhere you look, items are being returned,” said McNaught.

In July, for example, the Netherlands repatriated nearly 500 looted objects to Sri Lanka and Indonesia.

The objects going to Sri Lanka include the famous and fabulous ruby-inlaid Cannon of Kandy dating from 1745, one of six objects from the Rijkmuseum that represented the very first return of colonial items from the museum’s collection.

The Vatican has also voiced willingness to return indigenous artefacts. “The seventh commandment comes to mind: If you steal something you have to give it back,” Pope Francis said in April.

The London-based national museums are undoubtedly hamstrung by law but that does not stop the regular calls for the return of objects.

Some cases are indisputable, say campaigners.

McNaught pointed to Ethiopian tabots that have been in the British Museum’s stores for more than 150 years.

The wood and stone tabots are altar tablets, considered by the Ethiopian Orthodox Church as the dwelling place of God on Earth and the representation of the Ark of the Covenant.

“They have never been exhibited and they never will,” said McNaught. “They have never been studied. They have never been photographed. The only people who can release these items are trustees and they can’t see them either.

“So if you are a trustee and you say, ‘Let me see what all the fuss is about,’ then you can’t.”

[justcrafting]

I always find it funny and infuriating to get confirmations that a lot of schools do NOT care about marginalized families that attend them. Especially schools that were made to "help" said marginalized families.

I work at a school uniform store, because in the southern United States - the Gulf of Mexico region specifically - students in both private and public schools are required to wear uniforms. One of the schools that we sell for is a charter school - which is kind of in between a private and public school, believed to have better education than public schools and also generally made to help teach students of color, especially those whose parents immigrated here and don't speak a lot of English, but are cheaper than private schools. This charter school, when I first started working at my job, had a patch logo for the longest time - a patch logo is a patch that can be iron-pressed and/or sewn onto an item of clothing. These patch logoes were able to be applied to clothing items purchased from our store for free, or for $5 per item (without tax!) if the clothes were brought in from another store. At the beginning of summertime last year, the school decided to switch from the patch logo to a vinyl press-on logo - these resemble the designs on graphic t-shirts, and can only be applied via a logo-press iron. They could not be sewn on. Since it was before school started, the school did not allow a grace period for parents who previously bought the patch logo to continue to wear the shirts with the patch logo on it, all parents had to come in to get new shirts with the press-on vinyl only. While mildly frustrating, it was still okay because like the patch logoes, the vinyls were able to be applied to clothing items purchased from our store for free, or for $5 per item (without tax!) if the clothes were brought in from another store. Then, about a week after school started, the school decided that they didn't like the vinyls anymore, and that they wanted to look more "professional" and switched entirely over to a monogram. We tried to explain to them that this was a very bad idea, and that it would screw parents over, but they went ahead with it anyway. Now, a monogram is something that is entirely stitched into a shirt via a machine. We don't have that kind of machine at our store, so we send it off to a company that we're partnered with and have them do it for us. Because of this, we charge for both our own items and outside items ($9.00 per item for our stuff, not including tax (tax is included for monograms), and $10.25 per item for outside stuff, not including tax). It also takes about 3-5 days to get done, and that's only during our slower months. When we're busy - say, the few weeks before school starts -, it takes weeks because our monogrammers get very backed up with all of the orders they're taking in. And, for whatever reason, the school decided to only give the very briefest of grace period for these parents who JUST bought these uniforms for their kids - dropping about hundred dollars, if not more, on clothes for their children - to purchase entirely new uniforms, which now cost even more. And that grace period lasted about a week or two before WE contacted THEM and they confirmed - after a long time of getting mixed answers because these schools are never organized - that we were not allowed to apply the old vinyl logo and that everything had to be the monogram now. No exceptions. So all of these poor, mostly immigrant families, had to now repurchase their kids uniforms and their kids had to be left without the proper uniforms for days to weeks because the school decided to screw them over with no consideration to all the money that was just wasted. And, of course, while some parents understood that what happened was not our fault, a lot of them berated US for these changes even though we explained that the school was in charge of stuff like this and not us. Also, the monogram is ugly as fuck and garish. It does NOT look good at all. So really, the hell is the point? And no, the school does not get money from this.

[learnwithmearticles]

Renewable Energy - T & SD

One browser search will provide multiple sources with conflicting claims about which U.S. state is leading in the clean energy industry. Two that have made exceptional changes are Texas and South Dakota.

Texas

The Energy Information Administration (EIA) reports that Texas has become a leader in wind energy, accounting for ~16% of the nation’s renewable electricity production in 2023. It’s only behind California in wind production, according to the EIA.

Texas has large expanses of clear land, with a portion of the 360-mile long Gulf Coastal Plains taking up about ⅓ of the state. Wind speeds reach up to 12 mph and transmission lines already span the state to deliver energy produced from the wind farms. This industry, as well as solar, has already supported more than 25,000 jobs in the state, with 73% not requiring a college degree.

Unfortunately, the use of the produced energy is limited. In 2022, the Texas Tribune discussed the fact that the Texas transmission network cannot deliver energy outside of the state. This has caused issues with energy production, storing, and accessibility to consumers.

But there are also distribution issues within the state itself, which in recent years have become apparent multiple times from outages and lack of electricity availability to certain regions. Since a major blackout event in 2021, there have been improvements to make the Texas energy grid more resistant to weather damage. Still, the Austin-American Statesman newspaper emphasizes the need to drastically upgrade the Texas power grid, though they will likely have to fund it without federal help.

South Dakota

South Dakota is also a leader in renewable energy initiatives. The EIA reports that 77% of the state’s electricity production was from renewable sources in 2023. Wind energy makes up 55% of this, while hydropower makes up 21%. South Dakota has slightly less percentage of flat land than Texas, but with wind speeds similarly reaching up to around 12 mph.

In 2022, clean energy jobs accounted for about 12,000 jobs in the state, and that is expected to continue growing. While the South Dakota energy plan is difficult to find, if it exists in solid terms, the federal government is improving policies around renewable energy across the nation.

Additionally, solar energy production is especially expected to increase in South Dakota. This is fortunate because, according to the Clean Grid Alliance, solar prices have dropped 53% since 2012.

South Dakota also produces bioethanol as another renewable product, accounting for 9% of the nation’s production.

Coal, natural gas, and oil now make up less than 20% of the state’s energy production. These will likely take time to completely phase out, as many concerns exist around limiting energy dependency during weather crises. South Dakota has a more reliable electricity infrastructure, but there have been risks of rolling blackouts in recent years.

This page has focused on the progress in New Jersey towards clean energy, but it is far from the most changed state in terms of production. Many other states like Texas and South Dakota have seen benefits of moving towards renewable energy. It has permitted Texas to turn away from natural gas and coal, for example. It has created new jobs, and drawn more attention to the need for improved energy infrastructure.

The move toward renewable energy has been a long fight. It has come with challenges and seen a lot of resistance. Fortunately, it is happening, anyway. The Inflation Reduction Act that provided billions of dollars in tax credits for clean energy initiatives has made a difference. The clean energy goals of the federal government and the states are decreasing our dependence on pollution-producing resources. As much as we hope for swift, effective change, even these spread out changes are measurable and important to recognize.

Additional Resources

1. Texas Energy Production

2. Texas Clean Energy Jobs

3. Texas Transmission Issues

4. Austin-American Statesman

5. South Dakota Energy Production

6. South Dakota Clean Energy Projections

7. South Dakota Production Details