#steet food | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amphibious-thing · 1 month

Text

Oh! the Roast Beef of Old England: Roast Beef, English Nationalism, Effeminacy and Epilepsy (ft. Lord Hervey)

While today if asked what the national dish of England is some might say bangers and mash, Yorkshire pudding or chicken tikka masala in the 18th century the answer was roast beef.

It was roast beef that was the star of the patriotic 18th century song The Roast Beef of Old England. Originally written by Henry Fielding for his play The Grub-Steet Opera (1731) and then reused in Don Quixote in England (1734) the more popular version was written by Richard Leveridge who set it to a catchier tune and added five new stanzas:

When mighty roast Beef was the Englishman's Food, It ennobled our Veins, and enriched our Blood; Our Soldiers were brave, and our Courtiers were good. Oh the roast Beef of old England, and old English roast Beef. But since we have learn'd from all-conquering France, To eat their Ragouts, as well as to dance, We are fed up with nothing, but vain Complaisance. Oh the roast Beef, &c. Our Fathers, of old, were robust, stout, and strong, And kept open House, with good Chear all Day long, Which made their plump Tenants rejoice in this Song. Oh the roast Beef, &c. But now we are dwindled, to what shall I name, A sneaking poor Race, half begotten-and tame, Who sully those Honours, that once shone in Fame. Oh the roast Beef, &c. When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the Throne, E're Coffee, or Tea, and such Slip-Slops were known, The World was in Terror, if e'er she but frown. Oh the roast Beef, &c. In those Days, if Fleets did presume on the Main, They seldom, or never, return'd back again, As witness, the vaunting Armada of Spain. Oh the roast Beef, &c. Oh then they had Stomachs to eat, and to fight, And when Wrongs were a cooking, to do themselves right; But now we're a-I could, but good Night. Oh the roast Beef, &c.

Leveridge's version espouses the masculine qualities roast beef making Englishmen "brave", "robust," and "strong". Fielding's version from Don Quixote in England contrasts this English masculinity with the non-roast beef eating "effeminate Italy, France, and Spain". (Edgar V. Roberts, Henry Fielding and Richard Leveridge: Authorship of "The Roast Beef of Old England")

[Politeness, print, after 1780, published by Hannah Humphrey, after John Nixon (1779), via The Metropolitan Museum of Art.]

A common element of English nationalist propaganda was to contrast the masculine beef eating Englishman with the effeminate frogs legs eating Frenchman. The satirical print Politeness compares the masculine John Bull to a stereotypical effeminate Frenchman. John Bull is depicted as a plainly dressed man, holding a pint of beer, with a Bulldog at his feet and a cut of beef hanging behind him. The Frenchman in contrast is depicted as foppishly dressed, holding a snuff-box, with an Italian Greyhound at his feet and a bundle of Frogs hanging behind him. John Bull says "You be D_m'd". The Frenchman responds "Vous ete une Bete". The caption narrates:

With Porter Roast Beef & Plumb Pudding well cram'd, Jack English declares that Monsr may be D------d. The Soup Meagre Frenchman such Language dont suit, So he Grins Indignation & calls him a Brute.

In 18th century English print culture the butcher became somewhat of a stock figure representing English masculinity. There was a series of prints in which a masculine butcher is depicted assaulting a fop. Often with bystanders cheering him on. Some of these prints identified the fop as a Frenchman (such as The Frenchman in London by John Collet and The Frenchman at Market by Adam Smith) but others either don't identify nationality or indicate that the fop is English.

[The Beaux Disaster, print, c. 1747, via The Wellcome Collection.]

The Beaux Disaster depicts the aftermath of an altercation between a butcher and a fop. The butcher has hung the fop up by the back of his breeches on a hook next to cuts of meet. A crowd of passersby point and laugh at the fop, enjoying his misfortune. The caption narrates:

Ye smarts whose merit lies in dress, Take warning by a beaux distress. Whose pigmy size, & ill-tun'd rage Ventured with butchers to engage. But they unus'd affronts to brook Have hung poor Fribble on a hook, While foul disgrace! expos'd in air, The butchers shout and ladies stare. Satyr so strong, ye fops must strike you How can ye think ye fair will like you, Women of sense, in men despise The anticks, they in monkeys prize.

[Docking the Maccaroni–or the Butcher's Revenge, print, c. 1773, published by Carington Bowles, via The Metropolitan Museum of Art.]

Docking the Maccaroni–or the Butcher's Revenge depicts a butcher cutting off a macaroni's queue. Fashionable men in the late 1760s and 1770s would wear elaborate hairstyles sometimes with hair tied back into a 'club'. This hairstyle is a common element of macaroni satire (for a more flattering rendering of the style see George Simon Harcourt by Daniel Gardner). The caption narrates:

A Spruce Maccaroni whose Hair and whose Clothes, Were the envy of Fops, and the Patterns of Beaus; Looked with Scorn on a Butcher; in passing the Street, And turnd up his Nose, at the sight of the Meat. Says the Butcher you Pig, if you'd eat such as that, You'd credit your Country, and grow plump and fat. Greasy Brute cry's the Fop! then the Butcher enrag'd, Snatch'd a Knife, & to punish the Coxcomb engag'd: Then seizing poor Mac, who began to look pale, He docked his Fools noddle, and cut of his Tail: Now Now cry'd the Butcher the People may stare. At a Skull without Brains, & a Head without Hair.

The macaroni was often portrayed as a traitor to English culture not only for his love of french fashion but also his love of Italian pasta. The fabled 'macaroni club' was a reference to Almack's Assembly Rooms at 50 Pall Mall. (see Pretty Gentleman by Peter McNeil p52-55) The Macaroni and Theatrical Magazine (Oct 1772) explains that the origin of the word macaroni comes from:

a compound dish made of vermicelli and other pastes, which unknown in England until then, was imported by our Connoscenti in eating, as an improvement to their subscription at Almack's. In time, the subscribers to those dinners became to be distinguished by the title MACARONIES, and, as the meeting was composed of the younger and gayer part of our nobility and gentry, who, at the same time that they gave into the luxuries of eating, went equally into the extravagancies of dress; the word Macaroni then changed its meaning to that of a person who exceeded the ordinary bounds of fashion; and is now partly used as a term of reproach to all ranks of people, indifferently, who fell into this absurdity.

(Cited in Catalogue of Prints and Drawings in the British Museum edited by Frederic George Stephens and Edward Hawkins, vol.4, p.826)

Foppishly dressed men were blamed not only for the popularisation of pasta in England but also the growing disfavour for roast beef. A letter written to The Connoisseur in 1767 complains:

By Jove it is a shame, a burning shame, to see the honour of England, the glory of our nation, the greatest pillar of like, ROAST BEEF, utterly banished from our tables. This evil, like many others, has been growing upon us by degrees. It was begun by wickedly placing the Beef upon a side-table, and screening it by a parcel of queue-tail'd fellows in laced waistcoats.

(Volume 1, Edition 5)

With both his dress and diet the fop had betrayed English masculinity for French and Italian effeminacy.

Passed down by Lady Louisa Stuart* as an example of the "extreme to which Lord Hervey carried his effeminate nicety", when "asked at dinner whether he would have some beef, he answered, "Beef?— Oh, no!— Faugh! Don't you know I never eat beef, nor horse, nor any of those things?" Stuart was somewhat skeptical of this story wondering "Could any mortal have said this in earnest?"

*anonymously. Stuart wrote the introductory anecdotes included in the 1837 edition of The Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.

While it's anyone's guess as to whether Hervey said these exact words it is true that he didn't eat beef. Not because he "courted" effeminacy with the "affected and almost finical nicety in his habits and tastes" as John Heneage Jesse suggests (in Memoirs of the Court of England from the Revolution in 1688 to the Death of George the Second) but for his health.

Lord Hailes explained:

Lord Hervey, having felt some attacks of the epilepsy, entered upon and persisted in a very strict regimen, and thus stopt the progress and prevented the effects of that dreadful disease. His daily food was a small quantity of asses milk and a flour biscuit : once a-week he indulged himself with eating an apple : he used emetics daily.

(The Opinions of Sarah Duchess-Dowager of Marlborough edited by Lord Hailes, p43)

Lord Hervey's doctor George Cheyne believed that "a total Milk, and Vegetable Diet, as absolutely necessary for the total Cure of the Epilepsy". (The English Malady, p254)

In An Account of My Own Constitution and Illness Hervey explains that he followed such a diet for three years on Cheyne's prescription eating "neither flesh, fish, nor eggs" but living "entirely upon herbs, roots, pulse, grains, fruits, legumes". (p969) However after three years he reintroduced white meet. He explains his diet in a letter to Cheyne, written on the 9th of December 1732:

To let you know that I continue one of your most pious votaries, and to tell you the method I am in. In the first place, I never take wine nor malt drink, or any liquid but water and milk-tea ; in the next, I eat no meat but the whitest, youngest, and tenderest, nine times in ten nothing but chicken, and never more than the quantity of a small one at a meal. I seldom eat any supper, but if any, nothing absolutely but bread and water ; two days in the week I eat no flesh ; my breakfast is dry biscuit not sweet, and green tea ; I have left off butter as bilious ; I eat no salt, nor any sauce but bread sauce. I take a Scotch pill once a week, and thirty grains of Indian root when my stomach is loaded, my head giddy, and my appetite gone. I have not bragged of the persecutions I suffer in this cause ; but the attacks made upon me by ignorance, impertinence, and gluttony are innumerable and incredible.

Intriguingly in An Account of My Own Constitution and Illness Hervey focuses more attention on colic than epilepsy, dismissing his seizures as rare, but admits he had "two this year". This leads to the impression that his diet was prescribed to treat colic rather than epilepsy and Cheyne did prescribe a milk and vegetable diet in cases of "extreme Nervous Cholicts". (p167) Perhaps it was prescribed to treat both. But why downplay epilepsy in an account of his own illness?

While some enlightenment doctors approached epilepsy with a more scientific approach, superstitions still remained. Some believed epilepsy was a form of lunacy that was controlled by the moon (the word lunatick coming from luna). In An Historical Essay on the State of Physick in the Old and New Testament Dr. Jonathan Harle claimed that "people in this distemper are most afflicted at full or change of the moon." (p124)

Many believed epilepsy was caused by possession and this belief was supported by the bible. Mark 9:17-27, Matthew 17:14-18 and Luke 9:37-43 tell the story of a man who brings his possessed son to Jesus who "rebuked the unclean spirit, and healed the child". The boy's symptoms resemble those of an epileptic seizure and these bible verses are cited by Dr. Jonathan Harle as "an exact description of one that is an epileptick (had the falling sickness) or lunatick". (p124) Harle claimed that was "a truth as plain as words can make it" that some people with epilepsy were "possess'd by the devil". (p22)

Epilepsy was also believed to be caused by sexual depravity. The popular anti-masturbation pamphlet Onania: or, the Heinous Sin of Self-Pollution claimed masturbation caused epilepsy (p23). Onanism: or, a treatise upon the disorders produced by masturbation, or, The dangerous effects of secret and excessive venery claimed that a 14-year-old boy "died of convulsions, and of a kind of epilepsy, the origin of which was solely masturbation". (p19)

With the stigma surrounding epilepsy its no wonder that Hervey kept his seizures secret only telling a select few. One of the people he trusted with this secret was his lover Stephen Fox. Hervey describes having a seizure while at court and keeping it hidden from the Royal Family in a letter to Fox written on the 7th of December 1731:

I have been so very much out of order since I writ last, that going into the Drawing Room before the King, I was taken with one of those disorders with the odious name, that you know happen'd to me once at Lincoln's Inn Fields play-house. I had just warning enough to catch hold of somebody (God knows who) in one side of the lane made for the King to pass through, and stopped till he was gone by. I recovered my senses enough immediately to say, when people came up to me asking what was the matter, that it was a cramp took me suddenly in my leg, and (that cramp excepted) that I was as well as ever I was in my life. I was far from it ; for I saw everything in a mist, was so giddy I could hardly walk, which I said was owing to my cramp not quite gone off. To avoid giving suspicion I stayed and talked with people about ten minutes, and then (the Duke of Grafton being there to light the King) came down to my lodgings, where * * * I am now far from well, but better, and prodigiously pleased, since I was to feel this disorder, that I contrived to do it à l'insu de tout le monde. Mr. Churchill was close by me when it happened, and takes it all for a cramp. The King, Queen, &c. inquired about my cramp this morning, and laughed at it ; I joined in the laugh, said how foolish an accident it was, and so it has passed off ; nobody but Lady Hervey (from whom it was impossible to conceal what followed) knows anything of it.

#not sure how to tag this?#food history #lord hervey

33 notes · View notes

yes-i-write-fanfiction · 6 months

Note

Remember my old ask about an TFA O.C former Decepticon scientist who renounced his faction and the war to become a food truck to the humans of Detroit, using his knowledge of science and applying it to gastronomy to serve up tasty items to eat.

What would be the Decepticons reaction to finding out that this former scientist is not only alive but lives on Earth serving humans?

While surprised, Megatron is actually thrilled to see them alive. Were they anybody else, he would have immediately killed them for renouncing the decepticons. But this isn't just any scientist, this one was one of his favorites, one of his best. Their inventions are still actively being used by his forces and giving him the upper hand against the autobots. It would be such a waste to just kill them. So, he gives them an opportunity to rectify this mistake. Come back to the decepticons and the punishment won't be too severe. He even promises that if they come willingly then they will get their old lab and assistants back. However, if they refuse, then he won't hesitate to use far more unpleasant methods to get what he wants.

Starscream is disgusted with what they've become. A sustenance provider for organics? How low they've fallen. Once upon a time they had lackeys, power, influence. Decepticons gazed upon them in awe and autobots shook in terror at the mention of their name. And now? They stand parked on the steets, selling organic fuel to humans. Disgraceful. Starscream just don't get them.

While outraged by the fact that they turned their back on the decepticons, Blitzwing is more confused as to why. Why give up everything they had worked so hard to achieve just to flee to some backwater organic planet? Curious about their reasons and wants to learn the truth.

Lugnut is furious. There's only one thing he loathes more than autobots and that's traitors. This bot turned their back on the decepticons, on lord Megatron, and that is unforgivable. He wants to punish them, crush them slowly so that they can spend those last painful seconds regretting their choices. But Megatron wants them alive, at least for now, and if he's even considering letting them come back then Lugnut won't do anything just yet. That doesn't mean he's not giving them a death glare anytime he sees them. If he were to say anything positive about them it would be that at least they didn't defect to the autobots because if they had then Lugnut just might have not been able to stop himself from executing them right then and there.

Blackarachnia never got to meet them before they abandoned the decepticons but she knows a great deal about them. She's read about their research, intrigued by their brilliant mind and the possibility that their work might help her own research. Hearing about them from other bots she had created this image of them in her head as an imposing, ruthless genius. So when she finally meets them she can't help but feel a tad disappointed at first.

Shockwave always had an inkling that they might still be alive out there somewhere but never had any concrete proof. He had a million different ideas about what they were doing and why they had left but never could he have imagined that this is what they were doing. Disappointed in them and finds it a pity that they are wasting their intellect like this.

#transformers imagine #transformers animated #megatron #starscream #blitzwing #lugnut #blackarachnia #shockwave

55 notes · View notes

workersolidarity · 1 month

Text

[ 📹 A Palestinian youth is stunned and horrified, speechless after Israeli occupation air forces bombed his friend's family home in the Gaza Strip in the early morning hours of Saturday, March 16th, 2024.

"I pulled out one of them, but two were left," the youth tells reporters. Asked what his message would be to the world, the youth responds by saying, "we are alive, and not dead. I don't know what to say..." before he is overcome by emotion at his loss.

Another man searches the rubble for his two children, his father, mother, brothers and sisters and their children, all missing in the debris of the ruined building.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🚀🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

SCORES OF CIVILIANS KILLED IN ISRAELI BOMBING AND SHELLING ON THE 162ND DAY OF ISRAEL'S GENOCIDE IN GAZA

On the 162nd day of Israel's ongoing war of genocide in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 7 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of at least 63 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, and wounding another 112 others over the previous 24-hours, according to Gaza's Ministry of Health.

The Israeli occupation continued its bombing and shelling across the north, central and southern Gaza Strip, killing at least 80 Palestinians and wounding scores of others as part of an unprecedented bombing campaign well on its way to causing 150'000 casualties since the beginning of the current round of Israeli occupation aggression.

While bombing and shelling intensified in the Gaza Strip, Zionist occupation Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu announced on Friday that the Israeli occupation army has approved a plan for ground operations in the city of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, which the Hebrew media described as a "stick Jerusalem continues to hold over the terror group in efforts to reach a hostage release."

Netanyahu currently claims that four battalions of Hamas Mujahideen fighters remain in Rafah as the last major stronghold in the Gaza Strip under Hamas control.

The Netenyahu government has previously said that a ground offensive into the southern Gazan city is "necessary" to achieve the war's goals, adding that it wasn't a question of "if" but "when" the Zionist entity would have to enter the city.

Meanwhile, in a new horrific war crime, Zionist air forces bombed a 7-story residential building filled with displaced Palestinian families, not far from Al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza City, killing dozens of civilians and wounding many others.

Similarly, occupation warplanes bombarded a civilian residence in the Al-Tuffah neighborhood, north of Gaza City, resulting in the deaths of at least five civilians and wounding dozens of others.

Meanwhile, Israeli fighter jets bombed another residential home, this one on Al-Jalaa Street in Gaza City, martyring and wounding dozens of Palestinians, while another strike targeting a civilian home in the Al-Nasr neighborhood of Gaza City also resulted in several casualties.

Occupation Forces also shelled the area near the Al-Kuwaiti roundabout, at the intersection of Steet 10 and Salah al-Din Street in Gaza City, where starving Palestinian families wait for food aid trucks to arrive. The Israeli shelling killed at least one civilian and wounded a number of others.

Local Civil Defense teams also announced recovery efforts to rescue several killed and missing Palestinians after IOF fighter jets bombed a residential building on Al-Lababidi Street in Gaza City.

Elsewhere, Zionist artillery forces shelled two residential homes, west of the Nuseirat Camp, including a residential home belonging to the Tabatabi family, in the central Gaza Strip, slaughtering at least 36 civilians and wounding a number of others, while intense Israeli shelling also targeted the Al-Shati Refugee Camp, west of Gaza City.

Earlier, occupation warplanes bombed a number of civilian residences the Nuseirat Camp, which resulted in the martyredom of seven Palestinians and the wounding of several others, while an additional airstrike targeting the Abu Dawabeh family home in the village of Al-Masdar killed at least one civilian and wounded multiple others.

Heavy bombing and shelling also concentrated on several areas of Beit Hanoun, in the northeastern Gaza Strip, while simultaneously, Israeli occupation forces fired banned phosphorus shells into the town, lighting up the sky during operations there.

Zionist occupation forces didn't spare the southern Gaza Strip with its intense bombing and artillery shelling campaign, which turned its ugly attention towards Rafah where Israeli forces shelled an inhabited civilian home, resulting in a number of casualties.

In another tragic atrocity committed by the Zionist army, three civilians with the Dhahir family were martyred after IOF artillery shelling targeted them on their way to the local mosque in the Al-Adas neighborhood of Rafah city.

As a result of Israel's ongoing war of genocide in the Gaza Strip, the infinitely rising death toll now exceeds 31'553 Palestinians martyred, more than 25'000 of which being women and children according to the United States Pentagon, with an additional 73'546 civilians wounded since the beginning of the current round of Israeli aggression beginning on October 7th, 2023.

#source1

#source2

#source3

#source4

#source5

#source6

#source7

#videosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

25 notes · View notes

th3-0bjectivist · 7 months

Text

(Steet) Art in Asheville, NC 01OCT23

I’ve been in North Carolina for nearly a year.

I've asked people repeatedly where it’s prettiest around here.

Nearly everyone told me Asheville, NC so I went to check it out.

I was able to walk through downtown in twenty-five minutes.

Small city, but lots of character.

I wish I could share the drinks and food I had with you (amazing).

Instead, I opted to share some pics of the local street art.

There’s a decent artist presence in the area, and it showed.

Been trying to find where to connect to nature AND art in NC.

Found it! Meanwhile... I’m on vacation.

#photo set #street art #asheville nc #small city #mountain city #a walk in asheville #art in asheville #aesthetics #beautification #photography #city life #walking city

44 notes · View notes

heywoodvirgin · 11 months

Text

Javier Velasquez

Nicknames : V, later : NC Angel - White Ghost (depends on which side you are)

Street Kid

Age : 25 in 2077

Height : 1m80

Birthday : Feb 10th * Aquarius

Jobs : Mercenary - previously construction worker, vendor, deli guy, cook, barman, host.

Parents : He’s Jackie’s second cousin’s son, from his mother side. Born and raised in Vista Del Rey.

Traits : Kind, poised, logical, hardworker, secretive, soft spoken, organized, ambitious.

Forte : Hacking , negociations. Charm without flirt, stealth.

Favorite food : Rice salad with a generous heft of Tuna and sweet red peper.

Hobbies : Dancing, cleaning, Yoga.

Sexual orientation and romantic status : The author is as clueless as you, pst, he’s SECRETIVE.

Trivia :

His scar is a work accident, as he was taking construction jobs at age 18 , a steel sharp edge cut his cheek and left an angry scar .He didn't have the eddies to see a ripper back then, but after he got well, he didn't want to make it disappear. He wears it proudly as a memory of honest hardwork.

Loves cleaning, it's his hobby of choice, all his apartments are super tidy, even the poorest spots. He's very obsessed with hygiene, willing to spend his last eddies on detergents even if this means to starve for three days. He still insist on doing it himself, always refusing to have domestics.

Just like his distant cousin, he has a pronouced taste for money and fancy things, as jackie says : “ mano, your place ain’t the steets, but the clouds”

He’s a huge fan of blues and Jazz and can’t understand the city’s taste for loud “pig noise” as he calls it.

#oc: Javier #street kid #masc v #male v #v #cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #cp77 #oc #oc sheet #virtual photography #my screenshots #videogame

29 notes · View notes

geocait0815 · 2 years

Note

So for a prompt: it's been 6 months since Hannah was found and Jake and MC meet for the first time. It was not a planned meeting they just happened to be in the same place at the same time and written entirely in Jake's POV.

I absolutely loved this prompt! I hope you enjoy reading my take on it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

There is some minor spice. So anyone uncomfortable with this or to young to be subjected to it is hereby warned ;)

Sirens Call

I made it ouf the mine just in time. I stopped briefly to catch my breath when I suddenly heard an explosion behind me. This was not close, but the rumbling that followed told me, that more mine shafts have collapsed now. But there was another sound. “Fuck.” I had seen MCs message waring me about the arrival of the FBI. They had come to capture me. But I would not make it that easy for them.

Just as I dove behind a few fallen tree trunks, a helicopter flew by, almost grazing the tree tops. Its search light briefly illuminated the forest floor just a few meters ahead of me.

My luck was not going to last forever. I had to get out of here. Choosing a path through dense growth would provide me cover, but would also hinder my escape. Given that I am not very familiar with the surroundings, I decided to take the same path I came here, hoping to reach the motorcycle I had hidden, before steet blockades went up.

There was just one more thing I had to take care of before concentrating on my escape. I could not put this off any longer, as much as it hurt me. I pulled out my phone and initiated a script, an emergency plan I had set up already a while ago. This would strip all phones, I had been in contact with over the past couple ofd weeks, of all evidence of my existence. All chats, screenshots, calls and files were being deleted. Also MCs phone was being wiped. “I'm sorry, MC. I promised to never dissapear on you again. But this is for your safety and the safety of your friends and my sisters.” I said to noone in particular. Once I'm certain that my script did its job, I disassembled my phone, took out the SIM card, and wiped this phone as well. I'd be getting rid of both later.

“Farewell, my love.”

------------------

Six months later

Frustrated, I lean back in my chair, staring at the screen in front of me. Another lead that took me exactly nowhere. I get up and pace through the small room I am currently staying in, stretching my limbs.

During the last few months I have settled back into my old life, the way I was before MC came into my life. I went back into hiding, never staying in the same location for more than two weeks. By now I have crossed several country borders. These days I am staying in a small room in Budapest.

Every waking hour I spend escaping my pursuers while looking for the evidence that could clear my name. Occasionally, I check on the status of the investigations around Hannah and Richy. MCs name does not appear in any of the reports, to my surprise and great relief. I wonder if this is Alans doing.

Stepping to the window, I notice that the street outside is packed with people. This is not just the usual flow of tourists. Right, the receptionist had mentioneds a celebration earlier, there would be fireworks launched from boats on the Danube later thonight. Now is probably a good opportunity to go out and blend into the crowd to get some fresh air and clear my head. I might as well stock up on food and water.

Minutes later I am walking down a side street lined with small restaurants and bars. It is still early evening and the air is finally turning mild after a scorching day. I am heading towards the large Market Hall. At a corner I stop to observe the people around me for a moment, as they are enjoying their lives, celebrating the summer, drinking and dining. This feels alien to me now.

“MC, hurry up!” Am I hallucinating now? The call came from a blonde woman standing in front of one of the restaurants. She seems annoyed. I cannot spot who she was talking to. This is just a coincidence. I decide to move on and turn around.

And there she is. MC is hurrying in my direction. I should get away from there, even though she has no idea what I look like. But all I can do is stand like I'm glued to the pavement, staring at her in awe. She is even more beautiful in real life than on any the fotos I saw on her social media profiles. She wears a light summer dress and the way it accentuates the shape of her perfect body could drive me crazy. Her long hair flows freely down her back. MC walks right past me, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume and it almost knocks the air out of my lungs. Only when she disappears through the door of the restaurant, I realize that I am standing around in open public, staring like a moron.

I force my feet to get moving again. Of all the places in the world and with the myriad of tourists in this city, I still had to run into her like this. How often have I fantasized about finally meeting her and holding her in my arms. Now the moment came and I let it pass. I had to let her pass. My situation has not changed. She would still be in grave danger being with me. Not to mention that she probably hates me now. After I deleted everything and just left, she must think that I abandoned her. Or worse.

I need a drink. Against any better judgement I walk into the next best bar and sit down in a corner. I order a beer and spend about an hour internally arguing with myself. I have to get back to my room, pack up and get the fuck out of this city. But I don't want to. Her being so close to me affects me more than I could have imagined. There is one thought that keeps ricocheting through my head: I won't survive loosing her a second time.

By the time I step back out on the street, the daylight has dimmed. Despite all, my rational side has won and I am turning back towards my motel. Of course my plan is shattered into a thousand pieces again when I see MC standing at the side of the street. She is looking at the phone in her hand, seemlingly deep in thought. Suddenly, she takes a step forward not noticing a taxi speeding towards her.

“NO, MC!” I call out and sprint towards her. But I am too far away. Luckily, she looks up in the last second, stumbling back. I catch her, stopping her fall. MC looks up at me with a flustered expression. “Oof, thank you. I am such a klutz.” she says. “Hey, did I just hear you call my name?” a frown forms on her face. “What? No.” I help her back up and turn around to walk away.

“Jake, is that you?” I hear her say in a low voice. This stops me in my tracks. God, her voice is like a sirens call to me. Slowly I turn around again but I don't dare to look at her now.

A few awkward moments later I feel her hand on my cheek. "It really is you, isnt it?" I look up to meet her gaze. I could drown in those eyes. "MC.." my voice trails off, because I have actually not the slightest idea what to say right now. This is so much easier behind the screen. But now, with her standing right infront of me, my brain blanks. I wonder if she sees a blue screen in my eyes.

Then she hits me. "Where the fuck have you been?" Her question is emphasized by her swatting my chest. "Why did you just disappear? You promised me to meet, but instead you disappear into thin air! We were worried sick! Noone knew if you even made it out of the mine alive!" I let it happen until I notice bystanders starting to stare. To avoid more attention, I catch her wrists and press them to my heart. Tears are flowing down her cheeks. "MC, I am sorry I hurt you. But I had to vanish to escape from the FBI agents looking for me. I never intended to hurt you, but this was also for your safety." "Safety my ass! I've been waiting for you. You had every chance to at least let us know that you were safe."

"We can't discuss this here, out in the open." It is becoming more and more difficult for me to keep a calm voice. "Then let's go somewhere private. Lead the way." The look on MCs face blights any further discussion. So we get moving.

------------------

My eyes fly open. My motel room lies in darkness now. The sheets around me are in complete disarray. But I am alone. Was this all just a dream? What would be the odds of us actually running into each other here, in this city full of tourists. But why do I still smell her perfume?

I roll on my back and take in my surroundings. When my gaze reaches the slightly illuminated window frame, I see her and a wave of emotions rolls through me. Relief that she is still with me. Guilt over the tears I had to watch her spill because of my betrayal. Gratitude for her actually forgiving me. And then there is this warm, tingly sensation spreading through me when I think back to the things we did afterwards.

Our clothes are scatterd all over the floor. I spot her panties. This tells me that she is standing there at the window facing the main street wearing one of my shirts and nothing else. As quitely as possible I get out of bed and go to stand behind her. I put my hand on her thigh. Her skin is warm and oh so soft. I let my hand wander upwards slowly and sneak under the shirt, caressing her hip, then her belly. Continuing upwards, I cup her right breast, take her nipple between my thumb and index finger and gently pinch and roll it between them. MC sighs. God, that must be the sweetest sound I have heard. The way her nipple hardens between my fingers puts a smile on my face.

She leans back into me and I use my other hand to stroke her hair aside to gain access to her neck, where I start to nibble and kiss up and down. "The fireworks are about to start." She breaks the silence. "Mmmh?" I had completely forgotten about the events outside. I'm about to start a firework in here.

"Jake?" "Yes?" "What happens now?" I sense a sadness and concern in her voice. This tells me that she is not inquiring about the further activities of our night. She turns around, not breaking the contact between us and looks up into my eyes, waiting for a reply. "With all the attention we drew to us today, I can't risk staying here for much longer. I need to get moving very soon." The thought of parting ways with her hurts me.

Her next words catch me by surprise. "I want to come with you." "You can't be serious. I am on the run. You have a life to get back to." "I don't give a shit about my life back there. I haven't in a long time. I'm ready to leave everything behind." She states this calmly and it becomes clear to me that she is not saying this on the spur of the moment. There is no doubt that she put a lot of thought into this. "I'm sure you could find someone to provide us with new identities in this dark web of yours." she continues. I can't help it but chuckle briefly. "MC, I fear you are romanticising my lifestile a little." But she does not back down. "I'm serious, Jake. Let's just run away together and start over in some remote place. It does not mastter to me where we end up. As long as we end up there together."

It takes me a moment to mull over the words she just said. Bringing my hand to her cheek, I stare into her beautiful eyes. Her face is illuminated by lights changing colors from red to orange to blue and purple. People outside are cheering.

I know damn well that a decision like that should not be made in the heat of the moment. But what I am about to say is going to catapult both of our lives into an entire new orbit.

#duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood fandom #duskwood prompts #jake duskwood #duskwood jake x mc #jake x mc

126 notes · View notes

nierthesheepdestroyer · 2 years

Text

How Many Characters did Jeff Blim Play Die? (Temporary Deaths, Offscreen, Presumed by Fandom, Dissolved Into the Black and White, and Zombie included)

Holy Musical B@man - Sweet Tooth (1/3 Characters excluding Joe Chill and Aquaman)

Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Vizier - Aladdin (1/2 Excluding Man in the Steet)

The Trail to Oregon! - Father Buffalo, The Ox Who Couldn’t Grow a Sail, Jack Bauer Dikrats- temporary (3/4 excluding Fast Food Rabbit)

The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals - Ken Davidson, Rude Customer, Barry Swift, Sam Sweetly, Dancing Man in the Street, John MacNamara, Greg (7/7)

Black Friday - Barry Swift, John MacNamara, Student at Northville High, Ken Davidson (4/5 Excluding Sniggle Jeff)

The Hatchetfield Ape Man/Watcher World - A Day on Which No Jeffs Die (0/4 Excluding Chumby, Papa Sniggle, Barry Swift, Jeff’s a Cowboy Again)

Forever and Always/Time Bastard - Bartender, Andrew Kilgore (2/5 Excluding Barry Swift, T’Noy Karaxis, Ken Davidson)

Jane’s a Car - Today Every Jeff Lives (0/2 Excluding Voice on Tape and Random Voice)

Honey Queen - Sam Sweetly (1/3 Excluding Trent Monroe and the Sea Captain)

Perky’s Buds/Abstinence Camp - Gabe (1/1)

Daddy/Killer Track - Barry Swift (1/2 Excluding Skud)

Yellow Jacket - If Jeff Dies We Riot (0/1 Excluding Announcer)

My personal opinion is because Jeff is really good at being a dead body. He’s just fainted here. Don’t worry.

He’s really good at dead goat faints and lying unnaturally still. My point is Jeff might be the most killed off Starkid.

#jeff blim #holy musical b@man #twisted the untold story of a royal vizier #the trail to oregon #nightmare time #hatchetfield #Starkid #starkid productions #the guy who didn't like musicals #TGWDLM #Black Friday

31 notes · View notes

kirstielol · 2 years

Text

food log for september 28th 2022

38 calories - coffee

240 calories - chocolate protein drink

450 calories - couscous topped with roasted cauliflower, brussles sprouts, carrots, onion, shredded chicken breast, and a dressing made from hummus and fresh lemon juice. also a lil fresh grated old cheddar on top

230 calories - wild blueberry and custard danish... this bakery just opened down the steet from us and it's amazing

550 calories - 8 chicken + veg potstickers, with sauteed onions and mushrooms on top. soy sauce for dip and a side of pretzel sticks

daily total - 1,508 calories

#on the higher end of what i'd like to hit but i did have a pastry so...#fitblr #food log #weight loss #cico #calorie counting

13 notes · View notes

roguelioness · 2 years

Text

for a moment (it feels like heaven)

Fandom: Wayfarer Pairing: (pre-relationship) Zayah Medrash/Aeran Kellis Rating: G Words: 1410 (read on AO3)

It’s raining again.

Edgewater’s dilapidated buildings take on a pallid grey hue, the dull pewter of the heavy rainclouds reflected in the myriad puddles dotting the steet. Zayah’s long given up on any attempt to keep dry - she keeps her head bowed as she strides purposefully towards the ramshackle apartment she and Aeran call home.

The sight of Mulch Lane has her sighing with too many emotions, disappointment and relief at the forefront. It deepens her sense of failure, highlights the many ways her life has declined over the years. Ever since the Spire… don’t think about that, she chastises herself as she carefully picks her way up the wet and slippery stairs. There’s no point in dredging up old, painful memories. Exhaling in a huff, she manages to balance the worn wicker basket against her hip as she opens the door.

The air inside is stale and smells of mold. In this weather, the damp rot is more pronounced, near-cloying even with the window open. Zayah wrinkles her nose, sets the basket on the ground, and gets to work building a small fire in the chipped, stained brick hearth.

It takes a few tries, but soon an orange glow half-heartedly fills the fireplace. She takes a moment to observe the flicker and sway of the flames. It’s a simple kind of pleasure to watch them and let the rabid, frenzied thoughts drift away from her, the troubles of being penniless and in the web of a powerful, dangerous man momentarily forgotten.

Aeran is out somewhere, still searching for clues. Usually they’d stand in the line to the soup kitchen, but not today. Today, they’ll eat well - she’ll make sure of it. Humming to herself, she pulls out the two cod she caught with her shabby fishing pole. Standing on the pier had gotten her some strange looks, but she’s a wayfarer - strange looks are all she knows.

She scales and debones the fish with ease, a fond smile on her lips as she thinks of Hymah. The family chef had taught her a great deal about cooking, lessons that Zayah uses to this day. Of all of those who inhabited the Medrash villa, Hymah had been the wisest - she had foreseen a rough path for the family’s unwanted magianis daughter and had tried to prepare Zayah accordingly.

There will be a day, Hymah’s words play in her mind, when you will not have access to the luxuries you are granted now, Zayah. When that day comes, knowing how to cook using the barest scraps will be the difference between life and death. Now come and tell me which of these onions are truly spoiled.

A chuckle breaks free at the memory, as she trims away the bruised and discolored bits from the assortment of vegetables she’d been able to salvage from the market. In Rona, where every third person went hungry, even spoiled food has value. It had taken every last bit of her charm and persuasion (and even some flirting, which had amused and flustered Aeran) to get some of the vendors to set aside some of their damaged produce for her.

Onion, chopped. Garlic, minced. (She may have snagged some when the vendor wasn’t looking - she’ll find a way to make it up to them later). Four maybe-too-green potatoes, three squishy, overripe tomatoes, zucchini and bell pepper that have seen better days. Ale from the Slippery Weasel… and she also nicked some spices from the cook there, dill and thyme and peppercorns and four precious, precious bay leaves (he wasn’t using them properly had been her defense when Aeran gave her his disapproving look).

She hangs the pot over the campfire, a dented, blackened thing that Thelkar had (reluctantly) donated, adds the last of the oil she’d bought from Emari.

The onions sizzle in the heat, their scent driving away that of the decaying wood. The garlic adds to the aroma. In go the vegetables, and as she stirs them about the tomatoes release their juices. She adds the herbs, debating over whether or not to break the bay leaf in half before she shrugs and tosses the whole thing in. Finally, the fish, ale, and a generous mug of water, some cracked pepper and salt to taste, before she covers the pot and lets it simmer.

A heavy tread outside tells her Aeran has returned. He gingerly opens the door, the curly mop of his hair plastered to his scalp, a frustrated twist to his features.

“Any luck?” she asks as he steps in.

“No,” he shakes his head like a wet dog, droplets of water flying everywhere. “Had to pay Yarrow a crown to get her to keep an ear out.” He gives the air an experimental sniff. “Something smells good.”

“I got lucky,” Zayah points at his muddy boots and frowns. Aeran obediently takes them off and leaves them near the door. “Caught two cod off the docks. There’s fish stew in the pot.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have this,” Aeran grins, and digs through his pack, triumphantly pulling out something wrapped in wax paper.

“What is that?”

“My share of dinner,” he’s still grinning, the corners of his eyes crinkled up in genuine delight. His damp curls form pretty ringlets, and she has the momentary urge to curl a finger around one and give it the gentlest of tugs. He’s so pleased with himself, so happy about whatever it is he’s holding, that she wants, desperately so, to go to him and kiss his cheek. “I got some bread!”

She gasps theatrically. “Fresh bread?” Her smile threatens to take over her face.

“Fresh bread,” he confirms, unwrapping the loaf and displaying it as though it were a sacred trophy.

“How did you manage that?”

He winks at her. Her cheeks heat up, and she prays he doesn’t see the flush tipping her ears. “That’s my secret, Zee.”

“Go on, dry yourself off and then we can eat.”

Aeran nods, and starts to pull off his armor. She keeps her back turned to him to offer him a semblance of privacy, though it’s more for her sake than his. She’s seen him without clothes plenty of times - hell, they’ve seen each other naked - but she knows if she peeks, there’s a good chance she might be able to stop herself from staring. He’s your friend, give him some respect, dammit.

It’s easier said than done, though. Especially when she has those ribbons of want and desire curled around her heart.

He comes to sit by her side, hair freshly toweled, wearing a dry tunic that reveals those muscular arms. He’s so close to her, and he smells faintly of sweat and the scent she associates as Aeran; his arm presses up against hers and their knees bump in the space that forms their little bubble. He rolls his shoulders with a groan, the action drawing attention to his tattoos. Zayah smiles at the sight of that familiar pattern, those three lines that are also part of hers. “Is it done yet? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, I think so,” she lifts it from the hook and places it on the floor. When she opens the lid, fragrant steam pours out like a roiling fog, filling their tiny apartment with a cozy ambiance.

Aeran tears the loaf, and hands one half to her. Without further ado, he dunks the soft, sweet, yeasty bread into the stew and bites into it, his eyes fluttering closed as he savors the flavor. “This is so good, Zee. You’re a genius.”

She laughs. “You’re easily impressed,” she retorts, dipping her own piece of bread to sample her cooking. It’s nowhere close to Hymah’s cooking, but that’s okay. It tastes of comfort and offers satisfaction and satiation. It is warm food, good food, and she made it for them, and they’re eating it together, and there is contentment in the act of sharing.

The rest of the meal is enjoyed in affectionate camaraderie, filled with fond teasing and warm memories. The storm worsens outside, rolls of thunder accompanying the heavy, pelting rain. Somewhere out there is a Count searching for a chalice and a contract that needs to be fulfilled. The world, cold and callous, will always be waiting to tear them down. Here, however, in this moment, nothing matters more to Zayah than the taste of fresh-baked bread and food made with care, shared with the man she loves.

#wayfarer fic #aeran kellis/wayfarer #aeran kellis/zayah medrash #wayfarer #roguelioness writes

19 notes · View notes

animnerd · 2 years

Text

Happy birthday steve!

Fluff, soft Steve!

Nat. Wanda, Tony, Steve, and bucky (stuckysteve wants a quiet birthday.

A/n this year I wanted to do something soft for his birthday. It maybe rushed I apologize and mistakes are my own.

One warm summer day Steve was in his room sleeping. Intill the light from the sun woke him. He flutters his eyes open and realize what today is. He rolls over trying to go back to sleep. But that fails he hears the doors open and a soft voice "Stevie are you awake?" He hums his yes. The door creaks opened more ans in walks his beloved bucky. He leans up on the bed and smiles at bukcy. While rubbing and stretched. "Hmm good morning bucky!" Bukcy stops and watched Steve his heart melts at the cuteness he just saw. "Good morning sleepy head!" Has he puts down a tray of Steve's favorite food. "Happy birthday stevie!"

He looks down at thr food amazed! "You cooked all thus for me!" "Yep! Bucky said proudly. Steve laughs "and without burning down the tower?" He gives bucky a look. Because the last time he cooked he almost burned down the kitchen and Tony was furious with him. "Nope I didn't I did most of the cooking but I did get help from Nat." Steve smiled at that. "I'll have to thank her later." He leaned in and kissed bucky as a thank you. He dug into the food leaving little sounds of contentment in his wake as he eats. Bucky watched and smiled. He leaned over and moved a strand of hair away from hid face.

"I got big surprises for you today Stevie!" "What kind of surprises buck?" Steve looks up at him as he finishes the food. "Well for one a small party with all of our friends at the tower for your big day! Also, fireworks afterwards! Before that take you to the places we use to go to back in the 40s." As bucky continues to ramble on about the plans Steve removes the tray and crawls back under the steets after everything bucky talked about doing. After the last item on the agenda was said bucky was confused where his beloved went. "Stevie where did you go? Do you like the ideas?" He looked around the room and didn't see steve anywhere untill he noticed the lump on the bed. "Steve?" As he feels the lump and noticed it moved. "Stevie?" He removes the blankets and cradles his beloved. "What's wrong stevie?' Steve sighs and leans back and looks up at bucky. "I love that you planned all this for me bucky but I hate to disappoint you it sounds like you really had everything planed out! It's just that I kinda wanted this year to be just us and relaxing day. I'm sorry to disappoint you bucky…." Leans his head on buckys left shoulder.

Bucky leaned back and lifted Steve's chin so he was looking at him. He kissed him "no Stevie if you want a relaxing day on your big day then i will give it to you." "Really?" As he looks hopeful into bucky's eyes. He laughs "yes my love." They kiss, after they part "The team still thinks we are having a small party will you want to go and spend a little time with them? You always say it's important to have team time. Your words not mine." Steve laughs "I do say that…. I do want to set a good example…." As he bit his bottom lip in thinking. "Sure let me get my clothes on." He kissed bucky again deeply showing all his love for the guy then gets up and goes puts some clothes on and gets ready for the day.

After Steve got ready he and bucky went into the common room of the tower. Once they got to the room nat and wanda was in the kitchen cooking while Tony was sitting next to the table working on an invention, Bruce was eating cereal, sam was talking to the girls while helping them. They looked up to see steve. "Happy birthday stevie!" He blushed "thank you everyone!" He walks over and sits down at the end of the table while his friends set the food around him. He smiled after everyone sat down. They started eating enjoying the food. Nat got up and left the table table to

Grab something and come back and layed the gift in front of Steve. "Happy birthday steve!" Steve moved the plate and looked at the gift then at nat back to the gift. He had tears in his eyes.

As he opened the gift it was a photo album. He was curious and opened to see photos of his childhood, his time in ww2 with the Howling Camandos, then pictures with his new family. Tears rolled down his face. Bucky wrapped him in a hug. He hugged him back and nat too. "What's wrong stevie?" Asked bucky "I'm just over joyed by the gift nat its just that. I am not a big fan of my birthday since all my family passed that's why I wanted a low key birthday just with you guys. I feel like you guys are my family though." "You are our family too steve!" Nat and everyone said.

@saiyanprincessswanie

#avengers #steves birthday #stucky

4 notes · View notes