After lunch at Brothers Dhaba, we went shopping through Hall Bazaar. Our goal was to look for Phulkari embroidery and also jutti, a Punjabi type of shoes. We succeeded. We found shawls of Phulkari “flowerwork,” gorgeous and in all kinds of bright colors. We caused piles and piles of jutti, as we attempted to discover our Indian shoe sizes and choose a pair that was beautiful and in our price range. In the end I got two pairs. One, the more expensive, wasn’t quite fitting; my left foot shoe was too big, my right too small, and I was going to have to leave them behind. Then the shopkeeper switched the shoes on my feet. A genius move that we should have thought of ourselves. It was a fun day of shopping. We’re going to really miss Amritsar.


Punjabi Jutti is a type of footwear common in North India and neighboring regions. They are traditionally made up of leather and with extensive embroidery, in real gold and silver thread in olden days. Even with changing times juttis have remained part of ceremonial attire, especially at weddings, the unembellished juttis are used for everyday use for both men and women in most of Punjab.”

anonymous asked:

Can you do a Whirl ask for fluffy relationship headcannons where he's finally happy? Then some tragic angst like his s/o forgets him and he has to get them to fall in love with him all over again and he doesn't know what to do. This is Transformers-4-life I got bored and needed my Whirl fluff angst.

So I decided to do headcanons followed up by a very small drabble.


~He’s kind of unsure of himself, even as your relationship grows.
~He just doesn’t want to hurt you, that’s all.
~Even your reassurances don’t make him less nervous about you and him.
~He does love you though and he does his best to show it.
~He’s really good about just bumping his helm onto pretty much your entire body and knocking you over.
~Will laugh when you pout up at him, the fragger.
~He really likes nuzzling, but be careful cause he’ll knock you over doing that too.
~He’s a cuddler, he’ll never admit to this, ever, not once, but damn does he love to have you pressed to his helm or chassis.
~Will join for movie night only if you’re going and you ask him. Otherwise, he’s uninterested.
~It’s best not to invite him though, he’ll get you both kicked out for pda.
~He will constantly get you to laugh, no matter how he has to because he loves the way you laugh.
~He likes having you either across his tittie gun or on his shoulder. It means you’re safe and he knows where you are.
~He likes kisses on the little jutty bits by his optic, he thinks it’s cute and it also tickles a bit.

He had just gotten something good in his life, had just started to think maybe he could allow himself to go back to being just a little normal. He wouldn’t fall apart, he’d have you. And some of that other sappy junk about how he could conquer his hate and angry because love trumps all or something. Whatever it didn’t fragging matter anymore.

The moment you sat up in the medbay and looked at him and asked, “Who are you?” was the moment he lost everything he thought he had. He didn’t know what he was going to do now, start over? What if it didn’t work out a second time? He couldn’t possibly get that lucky twice. And what if he did start over? Was he supposed to just… Forget everything he’d already been through with you?

He was driving himself crazy and others were starting to tell. He was on a downward spiral into himself and everyone was afraid of where this would end up. It was Cyclonus that ended up knocking sense into him, literally. After quite the all out brawl that ended only because Tailgate started crying Cyclonus firmly told Whirl he was acting like a sparkling.

Whirl, of course, had to prove Cyclonus wrong. From then on it was him giving it his all to remind you that he loved you and still does and that you loved him and hoping you would love him again.

Sherlock’s Speech from Henry V

(Sherlock recites the parts in bold)

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;

Or close the wall up with our English dead.

In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man

As modest stillness and humility:

But when the blast of war blows in our ears,

Then imitate the action of the tiger;

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,

Disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage;

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;

Let pry through the portage of the head

Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it

As fearfully as doth a galled rock

O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,

Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.

Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,

Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit

To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.

Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!

Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,

Have in these parts from morn till even fought

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:

Dishonour not your mothers; now attest

That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you.

Be copy now to men of grosser blood,

And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,

Whose limbs were made in England, show us here

The mettle of your pasture; let us swear

That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;

For there is none of you so mean and base,

That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,

Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot:

Follow your spirit, and upon this charge

Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’”

~ William Shakespeare