The largest prison break in history: 1971 Montevideo
"On September 6, 1971, more than 100 members of the Tupamaros, the Uruguayan urban guerrilla group, carried out the largest prison break in history. This is episode 65 of Stories of Resistance.
Itâs past midnight on September 6, 1971.Â
Across the prison, dozens of men slip out of their beds. Bricks slide out from the walls of their cells. Bodies slip out silently. They move into a tunnel that has been chiseled and dug slowly and silently for eight months, and they creep one by one underneath the prison.
It is the stuff of movies. Or of legends. Or of cartoons. The only sound is the ruffle of their prison uniforms and the occasional scrape of knees and hands on the ground.
A total of 111 men escape from the Punta Carretas prison that night. The prison break was known as âEl Abuso.â The abuse. Because thatâs exactly what the prison guards felt by the escape.
This is episode 65 of Stories of Resistanceâa podcast produced by The Real News. Each week, weâll bring you stories of resistance like this. Inspiration for dark times."
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Chat writes the plot! Time for more đđ˛đ KotD!
obi-wan has made a wish of the dragonfish king. maul intends to grant it. this can only serve his interests. what happens next?
titanic sea creatures collapse the cave! maul moves them to a tropical islandđď¸
finally, a sea creature hears obi-wan's call and comes to help him escape đ
maul hunts for tea and honey to grant the jedi's wish (and returns with it) â
maul goes in search of tea, but finds the jedi looking for obi-wan đđ â
obi-wan's life starts to fade. to save him, maul risks trying to change him đ˛đ
maul nurses obi-wan back to health, and they go exploring together (a date!) đŚ
Voting ended onJan 1, 2024
đĽđĽ don't forget to reblog tysm! đĽđĽ
Want to be on the tag list? -> Comment with 'tag me!' Have an idea for next chapter or clicked the wrong option? -> Reblog about it! Check the bottom for the Ao3 link. Latest chapter is below the cut!đĽ
~King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 18~
Obi-Wan wakes himself up with a powerful sneeze. He groans, long and low. The sudden jerk of it sends a flash headache searing through his skull like a forest fire. As the pain fades, he realizes that everything aches, and his respiratory system feels scratchy from the back of his throat down into his chest.
Oh bother. He's caught a bug, one potent enough to overcome a jedi's natural immunity to illness. Or, equally likely, he's just that worn down.
The only good part of waking, relatively speaking, is that he's alone and somehow⌠on a mattress..?
Obi-Wan rolls his head to look at the situation. His vision lags behind the turn of his eyes, making him nauseous, and moving makes his scalp flare in warning. He closes his eyes and breathes for a moment, drawing the force to him in the same way a weaver might run their fingers through freshly sheared wool. It flows through him, and begins bolstering his body against the sickness.
Settled a bit, the jedi opens his eyes to try again. Carefully.
He is still in Maul's private chambers, but that doesn't change the fact that beneath him is a futon mattress, like he'd seen on daybeds in fancy guest rooms. It was thicker than his own pallet in the temple, and zipped up in a soft, removable cover. This is what he lays on.
Obi-Wan has the stray thought that it really needed proper sheets. He sets a hand on his face, and sighs at himself. No, wrong, what it needed was to go back where it came from, just like him.
Cautious, slowly, the jedi master sits up and looks around. He is nonplussed to see his clothes are gone, and confused but interested to notice a literal bottle of water set beside the bed. What he does not see is a sith lord turned deep sea creature.
The memory of claws comes to him, deadly sharpness trailing down his back in the gentle touch of a prospective lover. Obi-Wan droops where he sits. Unfair. This is all utterly unfair.
Maul had become something out of a fantasy. The idea of him, deep under the sea, pining for years to take his revenge, only to change his mind at the sight of his mortal enemy, and instead kidnap them away to be lovers? It was a the plot of a one credit bodice ripper novella, and the force hasn't even seen fit to give him a bodice to wear while, apparently, living it.
Blast it, where are his clothes?
Obi-Wan stares down at his calloused fingers, each digit a little paler than usual. They're dry and cracked from repeated dunks in salt water. The texture of his own fingertips distracts him.
âI might be disassociating a bit,â the stewjoni thinks to himself while rubbing his thumbs and forefingers together. âIâve stumbled into somewhere between nightmares and dreams, and my options to deal with it are so few.â
He sighs softly, being open and forgiving with himself.
âI want to have sex with the man that killed Qui-Gon,â he mulls wryly, âif I make it out of here alive, I think that merits a trip to the mind healers for a guided deep dive of my psyche.â
Obi-Wan chuckles a little, but stops quickly when even that makes a flash headache shred at his brain.
âIndeed, a good long look. In the meantime⌠IâŚâ
The jedi draws his knees up, feeling them tremble with fatigue, until he can set his head against the sailcloth over his thighs. He leans there, bonelessly.
Obi-Wan feels cold, but is he actually? Is it emotional cold, fever cold, brisk air on naked skin, or true chill?
Blast it, but he wants Maul to come back. And that is a terrible sign.
Obi-Wan shivers a bit where he sloughs against his legs, just accepting the fact that he wants to be held and petted and treasured and doted on by his own personal monster. It is, most likely, a completely normal reaction to being ill, to want those things. Yes, it really is, isn't it? He exhales heavily, and just lets the truth of it be.
Obi-Wan refuses to cross that line, to consummate this foolhardy preoccupation with his own jailor, but, these feelings are still valid and reasonable.
He feels better for acknowledging it.
Now onto matters of the physical.
Gingerly, the sick jedi eases himself over to get a hold on the water bottle, drawing back and cracking it open. He sniffs it, questioning the water's potability. It's stale, but clean tasting. To his scratchy throat it's a little painful, and a little soothing. He dearly wishes it was tea with honey and lemon.
The jedi drinks half, then recaps the bottle and sets it aside in favor of lowering himself back down onto the futon. If asked, Obi-Wan would swear that he merely closes his eyes for but a momentâŚ
He blinks muzzily, and comes around to fingers carding through his hair. Claw tips slide back over his scalp, so gently it almost tickles.
âKenobi,â the sith calls, soft and singsong, âKeno⌠bi~.â
âMmnnnh,â he replies, feeling the length of Maul's tail pressed against him under the covers. He is dry, sleek scales like rounded glass. One of his pelvic fins rests on Obi-Wan's hip, lightly holding on to him, while the silky upper caudal fins that trail the sith are draped over his legs under the sail cloth and tarp. They're soft. Smooth. When Maul shifts they flutter against the skin of his ankles pleasantly.
Obi-Wan is, once again, wrapped up in the arms and fins of the very same âdragonfish kingâ he was sent to kill. With an incredible amount of âfuck itâ energy, he noses forward under Maul's chin.
âI'm a bit sick,â he admits.
âHnnn⌠your flushed cheeks and reddened eyes told me so already,â the other man says, still toying with his hair.
âI want tea,â he sighs, âwith honey and lemon. My throat hurts.â
Maul makes this⌠incomprehensible noise. Not human, not zebrak. In the force he feels⌠pleased?
âMaking wishes of me now?â the sith murmurs, âI suppose I could share one or two, seeing as I have three but do not need any of them.â
...what?
Obi-Wan pulls away to look at him with all the skepticism his dizzy self can muster. Maul smiles back, a cruel twist of lips framed by the most charming dimples imaginable.
He is stunned. This is Obi-Wan's excuse for why he doesn't move away when the sith captures his lips, biting oh so gently at him with his needle-like teeth, then licking his way across and inside.
Obi-Wan lets it happen, eyes drifting closed as he reciprocates slowly. Oh. Kissing makes his head feel better. Whatever chemistry that's about, it's working.
âThat's it, jedi mine,â the sith croons to him, âtaste me in return, and I will bring you tea.â
Well if it's for a good cause.
Tentatively, Obi-Wan licks at Maul's lips. They're thin but plush, utterly normal if wider than before his transformation. The other man hums, encouraging, the tip of that long pink tongue flicking playfully against his.
Obi-Wan chases it as the slick muscle recedes, finding the pointed tips of Maul's new teeth. He explores them with care, finding out which of his experiences with making out can and cannot apply.
He finds a good angle and pumps his tongue into that wet heat, slickness sliding against slickness. Obi-Wan's head twinges with the movement, but he's a bit too enthralled to care.
Maul makes, just, the sweetest little noise. Begging. Needful. Obi-Wan feels himself stiffening, his cock pressed to Maul's belly where skin fades to scale.
Oh dear. Now that is quite enough of that indulgence.
With one light kiss of the traditional sort, Obi-Wan pulls back and relaxes onto the mattress with a sigh. He watches yellow-green eyes blink open, pupils blown and slow to focus.
âVery good,â the sith tells him, trailing the backs of his fingers down Obi-Wan's face. âYou will learn that I keep my promises, Kenobi.â
âIf you bring me bread of some kind that hasn't been drowned in salt water, I'll do that again.â
Maul chuckles, sliding out from under the makeshift covers. âYou see? Gifts are a good way to show favor.
The jedi would roll his eyes if he wasn't a hundred percent certain it would feel like an icepick in his brain to do so.
On March 5th 1790, Flora MacDonald, the Jacobite heroine, died.
Flora is still one of the most romanticise figures in Scottish history, much has been written about her helping Charles Edward Stuart after his escape from Culloden when he was the most hunted man in Scotland.
Flora Macdonald was born at Milton, on South Uist, where you can still see the ruins of her childhood home. She grew up in the household of the chief of the Macdonalds of Clanranald, who firmly supported the Jacobite cause. When Bonnie Prince Charlie escaped following the Battle of Culloden in 1746 he went into hiding, depending on supporters to shelter him and hide him from his Hanoverian pursuers led by the Duke of Cumberland. At length, he arrived on the island of Benbecula, where it was decided that he should move on to Skye.
The island was under travel restrictions, and the prince could not take the risk of being spotted. A Jacobite supporter and distant kinsman named Captain Conn O'Neill asked Flora to help Charles escape. Macdonald herself did not support the Jacobite cause, but she was moved by the plight of the Jacobites after the Battle of Culloden, and at length she agreed. She later said that she acted from charity, and would have helped the Duke of Cumberland had she found him in a similar situation.
She obtained permission from Hugh Macdonald, commander of the local militia and her stepfather, to leave Benbecula. She was allowed to take two servants, and a crew of six sailors. Bonnie Prince Charlie was dressed as an Irish spinning maid named Betty Burke, and in that guise he sailed with Flora to Skye on 27 June 1746.
Unlike the scene made famous in the popular âSkye Boat Songâ, the Prince did not leave baffled foes standing on the shore, and managed to make the crossing unchallenged. From Skye, he made his way at length to Moidart, where he boarded a French ship and escaped to refuge in Europe.
When Flora Macdonaldâs role in the escape came to light she was arrested and imprisoned in the Tower of London. Though she had committed treason by helping Bonnie Prince Charlie, the public, even staunch Hanoverians, regarded her as a heroic figure, primarily because she was a woman, I have little doubt if it had been a man that helped the Prince in a similar way, he would have been executed.
She was released from the Tower in 1747. She married Allan Macdonald of Kingsburgh in 1750 and settled at Flodigarry on Skye, where she raised a family. In 1774 the couple and their 5 children emigrated to North Carolina. Her husband Alexander joined a regiment of Royal Highland Emigrants in the American War of Independence, where he was captured. He was released in an exchange of prisoners and took up a command in Nova Scotia.
In 1779 Macdonald returned to Scotland, braving an attack by privateers on the way, and settled on Skye where her husband joined her after the war was over. She died in at Kingsburgh in 1790 and was buried in the graveyard beside the 16th-century church at Kilmuir. Tradition says that she was buried in a shroud made from a bed-sheet used by Bonnie Prince Charlie.
Given her popularity as a Jacobite heroine, it is not surprising that a large memorial was erected by her grave, which became a popular destination for tourists. The original monument to Macdonald was destroyed in a gale in 1871. It was replaced by a new memorial designed by Alexander Ross in 1880. Rossâs design includes a 28 foot high Celtic Cross of granite, rising above a slender rectangular chest tomb, also of granite. A marble plaque was added in 1922.
The epitaph reads, 'Her name will be mentioned in history and if courage and fidelity be virtues, mentioned with honourâ. It was written by Dr Samuel Johnson of dictionary fame, who met her during his famous tour of the Hebrides with James Boswell.
In 1884, just 4 years after the monument was erected, the Skye Boat Song was published, and the popular ballad ensured that Macdonaldâs fame would not fade.
Here is a less well known song about not just Flora by Brian McNeill, you can tell through the song that Brian has not got a high opinion of the Prince, but holds Flora in the highest esteem as a strong woman.
Pics are of Floraâs grave and the statue of the lady herself at Inverness Castle that I took in 2014.
Thereâs a moment of your story
That has always haunted me
When you set out in yon open boat
To help the poor man flee
Was Charlie Stuartâs future
Already plain to see
Did you know heâd be a waster on his days
If you did, Iâd give the world to find
A single tear you cried
From the Cuillins tae the Carolinas
You showed us one and all
The courage you could call
From the tears that would not fall
From your eyes
And after thirty years
After all that youâd been through
us been marriede havenâ been a
Just a memory to rue
As you watched your husband putting on
His coat of scarlet hue
To go and fight for German Geordieâs crown
But you never tried to hide behind
The dreams of days gone by
From the Cuillins tae the Carolinas
You showed us one and all
The courage you could call
From the tears that would not fall
From your eyes
And thereâs times I think I see you
When I find that kind of face
When a womanâs independence
Has kept a womanâs grace
Where confidence and pride
Refuse to know their place
Or hide behind the easy tricks of beauty
For to me your lights are like the chimes
Across the stormy skies
From the Cuillins tae the Carolinas
You showed us one and all
The courage you could call
From the tears that would not fall
From your eyes
From the Cuillins tae the Carolinas
Strong women rule us all
With the courage that they call
When the tears refuse to fall
From their eyes.
It's official! The preorder for Rebels and Queens is live on the Zon. The eBook is set to release on August 8th, 2023 and the paperback will release some time in September.
Itâs official! The preorder for Rebels and Queens is live on the Zon. The eBook is set to release on August 8th, 2023 and the paperback will release some time in September. (My family will be in the middle of a move during this time so I have no address to send a proof copy hence the delay on the paperback.)
The eBook will be available for purchase but also available in Kindle Unlimited and allâŚ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Deadly Escape Spanish dime, MĂĄscara Negra (El Vengador) (Black Mask The Avenger) No. 35, circa 1925, "Desafiando a la muerte" (Challenging Death), anonymous, cover by Niel (Daniel Masgoumiery i Pena). "It was inevitable that before that accident the abyss loomed."
"BBC documentary series. In the final episode, Dr Sam Willis looks at urban crime, fraud and corruption in the 18th century, uncovering a fascinating roguesâ gallery of charmers, fraudsters and villains. Charmers like thief and serial escaper Jack Sheppard, so notorious that almost a quarter of a million people turned up to witness his hanging. Almost as controversial in her lifetime was Mary Toft, a fraudster who managed to convince no less than King George I and his surgeon that she had given birth to rabbits, making her, perhaps, the original 'con' artist."