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steam-beasts · 5 months ago

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E2 Escapades - A short TAB rewrite

It was February 9th, 1924 on the Northwestern Railway, on the Island of Sodor; a little island just off of Barrow where railways thrived.

Down at Knapford, the railway's director, Richard Topham Hatt stood at the shunting yards. He had been standing there for about 35 minutes, occasionally checking his pocket watch. He let out a sigh, tapping his foot as his patience began to wear thin, but he tried not to show it. He looked at his pocket watch again – it was nearly 8 o'clock. They said on the phone that it would be here by now.

He then heard a whistle and looked around, only to be slightly disappointed when he saw Edward puffing along the track, shunting a particularly cheeky truck. "Teapot! Teapot!" It chanted before Edward gave it a biff "That's enough" he replied firmly, eliciting a yelp from the truck, which ceased the cheeky backtalk.

As Edward was about to see to the next truck, he noticed the Fat Director standing near the track. Curious, he took a moment to reverse and switch on to the track closest to the man.

"Good morning, Sir!" Edward whistled cheerfully. The Fat Director gazed up at him with a small smile "Ah, good morning to you too, Edward. Keeping the trucks in line as usual, I see" he replied observantly. The Larger Seagull chuckled "Yes, Sir. All the usual..."

A moment of silence passed before Edward spoke up again "Erm... pardon me for seeming intrusive here, Sir. But why are you standing here in the yard?" He asked. The director let out a sigh "No, no... it's quite alright, Edward. I'm simply just waiting for the new engine to arrive" he said. Edward's eyes widened at the words "new engine".

"The new engine, Sir?" Edward repeated, raising his eyebrow "Are you referring to the one that...well...was supposed to be here last year in November?"

"Indeed...Edward, you're a hardworking engine, and I appreciate you taking time out your schedule to shunt the coaches and trucks. But i have to acquire a new shunter at some point, you know" the stout gentleman said. Edward hummed in acknowledgement "I know, Sir. It hasn't been easy around here... especially since...Glynn went missing" he said, his tone more solemn.

The Fat Director grimaced at the mention of his first engine. Glynn was an engine the Fat Director made with his own bare hands back when he was a boy. Glynn was the original No.1 of the NWR, but just after No.5 was bought, he went missing one morning. They searched and searched, but eventually had to move on. The Fat Director soon had to begin a search for a new shunter, much to Edward's disappointment.

The stout man sighed sadly "I...I know, Edward. But it's been months and we must move on. I can't always have you or James being the temporary station pilot"

"Of course, Sir, I–"

"Did you call me, Sir?" A new voice suddenly called. Just then, up along the track beside Edward came a rebuilt L&YR Class 28 tender engine

He had an extended running board, a pony truck and was painted in a sleek black with red stripes. As the tender engine came to a screeching halt beside Edward, sparks flew from his wheels causing him and the Fat Director to wince.

"Honestly, James! Stop braking so harshly!" Edward hissed, still wincing a little. James rolled his eyes "Nonsense, Edward. My brakes are as fit as a fiddle!" He proclaimed smugly.

"Edward is right, James. Your brakes may be fine, but your brake blocks are not"

James stammered "But Sir! It's not MY fault that me and my brothers were made with wooden brake blocks!" The Fat Director groaned at James's excuse. Was James wrong? No. But the director did want to make a point on replacing those wooden brake blocks with metal ones. The screeching they made was awful.

"Anyway, when will the new engine be here? I'm getting tired of shunting those coaches!" James asked, quickly changing the topic.

The Fat Director lightened up "Well, from what I've been told, the engine is on its way. That is why I am standing here, after all"

Another thought flew into Edward's funnel "What type of engine is it, Sir? You never said what is was"

The Fat Director proudly smiled "Well, I decided that this railway needs a tank engine for a change! So that's why I've ordered an E2" he explained. He once again checked his pocket watch and coughed "Ahem! I'll be back, my boys. I'm just going off to check if the E2 in question is on his way" and with that, he turned heel and walked off. It was just Edward and James now.

"Huh...an E2. Never heard of it, what about you?" Grunted James. Edward hummed thoughtfully "Hmm, I have heard of them, but I've never seen one myself. They're very big tank engines from what I've been told. A bit bigger than a Gresley locomotive"

James guffawed "Wha- bigger than Gordon?!"

"Again, from what I've been told, yes"

Edward's fireman chimed in "Don't know if getting an E2 is a good idea though. I've been at the L.B.S.C.R and E2s are pretty bad at braking and struggle at getting around corners and bends..." He said with uncertainty.

James groaned at this "Great! As if we need another engine as useless as Henry!"

Edward scowled "James, Henry's not..."

Edward quickly fell silent as a sudden shrill whistle echoed in the air. It was a whistle neither engines recognised. If Edward had a physical heart, it would've skipped a beat. Just then, around the corner came an engine that neither engines had seen before. It HAD to be the new engine.

"Hello! Is this Knapford?" The engine called. The engine was about a mile away, but the K2 couldn't help but notice how fairly young the engine sounded. The young engine was puffing towards them at a fast pace, a little too fast for his liking.

"Is that supposed to be the Fat Director's new tank engine? He's quite small if you ask me" James remarked. The tank engine was getting close, and didn't seem to be stopping. Edward's driver was observant of this "He's getting pretty close, shouldn't his driver be putting on the brakes?" He murmured. It was only when the tank engine was just metres away when panic began to arise.

"Woah, wait– why isn't he stopping?! Stop! STOP!!" James cried. Is it a good time to mention that the engine was on James's track?

"STOP!!" James yelled out, frantically trying to reverse. The tank engine finally noticed what was happening and yelped "Ah! Wait! Driver, help!" He cried to the driver, looking frantic. At this point, even Edward was backing up. The engine looked frantic, seeming to forget how his own body worked.

The Larger Seagull knew enough was enough "Oh for Lady's sake, PUT ON YOUR BRAKES, BOY!!" He shouted sharply. The young tank engine quickly did as told and the sounds of his brakes screeching pierced the air. His brakes only slowed him down by a bit, he was still going at a fast pace "I can't stop!" The engine groaned.

That was it. In that moment, Edward decided to take matters into his own wheels. Coming up behind him were switch points. He looked over at the signalman and whistled "POINTS!"

The points were swiftly changed, which resulted in Edward reversing on to the same track as James and the engine.

Edward stopped, then began going forward, towards the engine. Within moments, he and the tank engine's buffers collided. At the same time, Edward put on his brakes, and that definitely seemed like a good move. In minutes, he managed to slow the new engine to a stop.

The tank engine and Edward took a moment to gather their breath, just gazing at each other. Their respective crews climbed out their cabs to catch their own breathes, giving Edward a moment to exams the new engine's appearance.

the tank engine was unexpectedly smaller than Edward thought he'd be, even smaller than him. The tank engine had six small wheels, a short, stumpy funnel, a short, stumpy boiler and a short, stumpy dome. He was painted in a dark teal livery, with white lining and his railway's initials on his side tank, along with his number on his bunker. The tank engine gave Edward a nervous smile "Um...hello!" he said sheepishly. Edward gave him a kind smile in return "Well...hullo' to you too"

The tank engine kept his nervous smile as he backed up a little to give him space "Sorry about that, i–"

"What was THAT about? You could've crashed into me!" James suddenly yelled, switching on to the next track. The engine was taken back, guilt in his eyes "I-I'm sorry! It's just that my brakes don't work well when I go fast, and–"

"Ahem!" Someone coughed. Everyone snapped their gazes and froze when they saw the Fat Director approaching them with his two assistants "What was all the noise about? I couldn't hear the stationmaster over all the screeching!" He boomed. The three gulped anxiously. But when the Fat Director's turned his attention to the new tank engine, he immediately forgot what he was mad about "Ah, my new tank engine! I see you've finally arrived!" He said, walking over to the tank engine.

The teal tank engine put on a smile "Hello...um...Sir" he greeted the director as he looked him up and down. However, the Fat Director's happy look soon turned into a confused one "Hmm..."

James raised an eyebrow "What's happening?"

"I don't know...something must be wrong" Edward whispered, glancing at the director's puzzled look. The tank engine became worried "Is something wrong, Sir?"

"To put it bluntly, yes... i ordered an L.B.S.C.R E2 tank engine. I didn't order any modified Jintys" he said, scratching his chin. The tank engine's eyes widened "What..? But I am an E2" The engine proclaimed, becoming confused.

"Well, I can't exactly agree with you until I know that there wasn't a mix up" The Fat Director then approached the crew "Now, you two. Is he lying?"

The driver shook his head "No, Sir. He's being truthful" the Fat Director's eyes narrowed as he glanced back at the supposed E2. He still wasn't fully convinced "Does he have his blueprints with him?"

"Yes, Sir. They're in the cab"

"Go get them"

The fireman nodded and dashed towards the engine's cab. A few minutes later, he climbed back down from the cab and handed the blueprints to the director. As soon as the Fat Director got to look at the blueprints, an awkward silence fell over them all. The director's eyes narrowed, then slowly widened.

"Well, I'll be damned. You ARE the E2 I ordered..." He said incredulously "You were designed by Lawson Billinton, correct?"

"Yes, Sir! Though, I've never seen him myself" the E2 replied earnestly

Edward and James gasped softly "Oh dear...i think Sir might've been tricked again.." the K2 thought dreadfully. Edward's fireman soon jogged over to get a look himself.

"Do you mind if I take a look, Sir?" The stout gentleman grunted and gave him the paper. After a moment of looking, the fireman looked as confused as the Fat Director "That can't be right... I've seen an E2 before, this blueprint design isn't even accurate... it all looks rushed"

The Fat Director hummed thoughtfully and glanced at the E2's driver "Pardon me, but who gave you these blueprints?"

"One of the workers. They were one of the guys who built him" he replied "He was completed not too long ago. Only a few months" the driver explained. Edward and James were shocked "Goodness, he's incredibly young" Edward muttered.

"I see..." the director hummed. After a moment of thought, the Fat Director looked back up at the tank engine and smiled "I apologise for the misunderstanding, um....?" He gestured for the engine's name.

"No problem, Sir. I'm Thomas" Thomas smiled, trying to ignore what just happened. The Fat Director chuckled "Alright then, Thomas. My name is Richard Topham Hatt, but you, as you know already, are to address me as 'Sir'. Understood?" He said.

"Yes, Sir. I will"

"Very good, now...how well do you fare at shunting, Thomas?" The stout gentleman asked. Thomas beamed "I'm getting good at it, Sir"

"Alright then, sounds splendid! Now, i must get back to my office. I am a busy man, you know. I'll let Edward show you around" said the Fat Director as he wandered up to Edward "Edward, can you also teach him while you're showing him around? I think Thomas needs a bit more experience... especially around Gordon" he whispered. Edward quietly agreed "I will do my best, Sir"

Thomas watched quietly as the railway director finally disappeared from view before looking back at Edward and James, who were staring at him. He raised an eyebrow "What? Do I have soot on my face or something? Why are you two staring?"

Edward's face flushed with embarrassment as he averted his gaze "Oh, um– pardon me, Thomas. It's just that you're...well...not as big as we thought you'd be. You're small, smaller than any of us"

Thomas took offense to this and wheeshed "Puh! Sorry for not reaching your expectations. But believe it or not, I was big enough to do my job at Brighton!" He replied snarkily. He wasn't expecting to meet more arrogant big engines so soon. He switched to another track and puffed away, huffing.

Edward's eyes widened "No, wait! That's not what I meant!" Edward said as he reversed to catch up with Thomas "I just meant you're not as big as we were told you'd be. It's alright if you're small! Look at me, I'm the smallest tender engine on this railway!"

Thomas's expression softened "Well, I may be small, but I'm very hardworking!"

Edward smiled softly "I'm sure you are. My name's Edward, by the way. But the director already mentioned that, didn't he?" he chuckled. Thomas chuckled "Nice to meet you, Edward. You're a lot kinder than all the other tender engines I've met. They just boss me around as soon as they see me!"

"...and I'm James!" Greeted the other tender engine.

“It’s nice to meet you both…I was told that I was going to be a station pilot here?”

Those words made Edward recall the director’s words “Ah, yes. Thomas, come with me. I’ll show you around the yards and the station. I’ll even show you our roundhouse shed up at Tidmouth, I’m sure that’s where you’ll be sleeping” he promised. Thomas whistled eagerly to that and followed Edward as he went to get himself turned around. James watched as they did so.

From that day on, Thomas showed everyone that even the littlest engines can be Really Useful.

#thomas and friends #thomas the tank engine #ttte thomas #ttte edward #ttte henry #ttte james #ttte sir topham hatt #ttte the adventure begins #short rewrite #ttte glynn

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charthurlover · 5 months ago

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What perfume/cologne would the Van Der Linde gang wear

hi!! this is my first tumblr post, and i don’t exactly know how to do this or work the app, so forgive me if this is horribly worded or confusing.

anyways, this is my opinion on what colognes or perfumes the gang would wear. horses and cain included, since they are technically a member of the gang!!

Abigail -

something woodsy, maybe like the forest or a campfire, cedar wood, trees, plants.

examples:

- G-Water

- Tam Dao

- Snoqualine

Arthur -

tobacco, scent of alcohol, mud, outdoors.

examples:

- Jasmin et Cigarette

- Rien

- Earthworm

Baylock -

ashes, grease.

examples:

- Tobacco Blaze

- Garage

- La Yuquam Homme

Bill -

any popular male fragrances, or like gunpowder and fire.

examples:

- 9mm Ballistic Therapy

- High Noon

- Campfire Nights

Boaz -

dynamite, money.

examples:

- Wall Street

- Don Xerjoff

- 1805 Tonnerre BeauFort London

Branwen -

oatcakes, apples, water.

examples:

- Lostmarch Lann-Ael

- Be Delicious

- Cavalli Acqua

Bob -

blood, gunpowder, sweat.

examples:

- Vena Cava

- Richard Dark Side

- Secretions Magnefique

Brown Jack

pomade, alcohol, blood.

examples:

- Classic Fragrance

- Heeley Agarwood

- Molotov Cocktail

Cain -

dog, mud, grass.

examples:

- La Panthere Edition Soir

- Grass

- Zoologist Bat

Charles -

light florals, nature, clean fur.

examples:

- Coach Floral

- Super Cedar

- Coyote

Dutch -

blood, metal, tears.

examples:

- Vassago

- Spacewalk

- Rainy Season of Dresden

Davey -

snow, wood, fire.

examples:

- Waltz of the Snowflakes

- Tobacco Vanille

- Inquisitor

Enis -

whiskey, beer, grass.

examples:

- Tom Oud

- Stout ‘n Smoke

- Dune Road

Grimshaw -

sulfur, metal, cinnamon.

examples:

- Bloody Smoke

- Vanille Absolu

- Jupiter

Gwydion -

birds, leather, salt.

examples:

- Seemannn

- Black Saffron

- Millésime Impérial

Hosea -

moonshine, stew, metal.

examples:

- Moscow Mule

- Starfish & Coffee

- Santal 33

Jack -

water, horse, corn oil.

examples:

- Petrichor

- Cuir de Russie

- Seems Legit

Javier -

mahogany, cotton, musk.

examples:

- Redwood Leaves

- Lazy Sunday Morning

- Urban Musk

Jenny -

snow, wool, wood.

examples:

- Redwood Mist

- Battaniye

- Grey Vetiver

John -

sweat, musk, grease

examples:

- Flores Negras

- Silver Musk

- Cristina La Veneno Ni Puta Ni Santa

Kieran -

blood, grass, oats.

examples:

- Hora de la Verdad Sombra

- Figuier Eden

- Harran

Karen -

beer, guns, whiskey.

examples:

- Beguile

- Wicked John

- Kutay

Lenny -

blood, books, bullets.

examples:

- Seems Legit

- Diamonitirion - elixir atonit

- Moon Child

Mac -

metal, bullets, kerosene.

examples:

- Craft

- Iron Duke

- Nuvolari Rubini

Maggie -

dirt, stone, bog.

examples:

- Le Sillage Blanc

- During the Rain

- Swamp elixir

Mary-Beth -

books, ink, gold.

examples:

- Bibliophilia: Love of Books

- Supreme Vanilla

- Royal Blood

Micah -

rot, corn, mold.

examples:

- Saint Louis Cemetery #1

- Funerie

- French Kiss

Molly -

roses, grass, trees.

examples:

- Roses Musk

- Leila Lou

- Colors de Benetton

Nell II -

sweat, cows, pig.

examples:

- Amyi 3.17

- Cuir de Russie

- Hyrax

Old Belle -

carrots, beer, hay.

examples:

- Carotte

- Sónar

- Basilico & Fellini

Old Boy -

musk, tears, cow.

examples:

- Another 13

- Ozone

- Osmanthus

Pearson -

meat, vegetables, crawfish.

examples:

- Gino: Steak Scented Eau de Parfum

- Eau de Cuisine

- Wild Carrot Oud

Reverend -

whiskey, incense, coffee.

examples:

- 7 Loewe

- Bourbon e Fava Tonka

- Black Opium

Sadie -

blood, tears, gunpowder.

examples:

- Bull’s Blood 2nd Edition

- Cool Glacier

- Rendez-Vous!

Sean -

whiskey, sweat, bullets.

examples:

- Malt Akro

- Monochrome

- Amour Nocturne

Silver Dollar -

fire, wool, metal.

examples:

- Encens Pyro

- The Sheepfold, Moonlight

- Rosenrot

Taima -

deer, blood, meat.

examples:

- Ma Bete

- Trinity Blood

- Good Girl Gone Bad

The Count -

sugarcubes, peaches, pears.

examples:

- Pixie Dust

- Allure Eau de Parfum

- First Base

Trelawny -

doves, rabbits, silk.

examples:

- Ruğa Sablo

- Wet Garden

- Baklava Musk

Tilly -

bullets, baby powder, swamps.

examples:

- 266ts Pontiff’s Harley

- Cashmere Mist Eau de Toilette

- Haxan

Uncle -

manure, horse, cow.

examples:

- D’zing

- L’heure Fougueuse

- Zoologist Cow

again, this is my first post so i’m very sorry about it being bad or isn’t looking right for tumblr. so sorry.

#rdr2 #van der linde gang #arthur morgan #john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #micah bell #red dead redemption 2

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pleistocene-pride · 9 months ago

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Happy 200th birthday Megalosaurus! Megalosaurus is an extinct genus of theropod dinosaur which lived throughout what is now Europe during the middle Jurassic period some 174 to 163 mya. Although it now only exists in drawings what is thought to be the first fragment of Megalosaurus consisting of a partial femur was discovered in‭ ‬1676 from a limestone quarry in Oxfordshire by professor Robert Plot,‭ ‬who due to the unprecedented nature of the find,‭ ‬declared it to belong to a biblical giant. In‭ ‬1763‭ ‬the bone was given the name‭ '‬Scrotum humanum‭' ‬by Richard Brookes,‭ ‬due to the rather crass yet accurate appearance of the end of the bone to a human scrotum.‭ ‬This name/description was never formerly accepted by any scientific body, but did prompt Rev.‭ ‬William Buckland to begin amassing various other remains from that same Oxfordshire quarry including a piece of a right lower jaw, a thigh bone, ribs, some pelvises, a foot bone, and several vertebrae. After years of study Buckland realized that these specimens all belonged to the same species of giant reptile which he named Megalosaurus meaning great lizard on February 20th 1824. Megalosaurus was 1 of 3 genera which Richard Owen used to found the Clade Dinosaur, marking Megalosaurus as the first non avian dinosaur to be formally described. Over the following centuries over 50 species would be classified as Megalosaurus however nearly all have been determined to belong to other taxa, leaving only the original Megalosaurus bucklandi as valid. Reaching around 20ft in length and 1,500lbs in weight megalosaurus was amongst mid-Jurassic Europe’s largest predators. It had a long tail, strong stout legs, a robust body, short yet muscular arms, and large head, equipped with long curved teeth. In life Megalosaurus would have inhabited tropical forests, wetlands, and coastlines feeding upon fish, invertebrates, amphibians, aquatic reptiles, and other dinosaurs in the island chain that at the time constituted Europe.

Art used belongs to the following creators

Megalosaurus: Julius T. Csotonyi

Megalosaurus through the ages: Nix Draws Stuff

Megalosaurs 200th Anniversary: NazRigar

#pleistocene pride #pliestocene pride #mesozoic #jurassic #megalosaurus #dinosaur #paleoart #200thanniversary #megalosaurus 200th birthday

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amphibious-thing · 8 months ago

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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

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brw · 5 months ago

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What drew you to Beast as a character? As someone who's been into various X-Men through the years, he's been on the periphery for me until very recently, so I'm interested in hearing from someone who's been a fan for (what seems to be) a while.

Oooh so to be completely honest I didn't get into Hank proper until I became focused on Wonder Man. I always sort of appreciated Hank, but I think I found it easy to take him and his place in the X-Men for granted. He's almost always there, because he's such a staple character of the team, so it was easy for me to be like oh, there's Beast! My friend Hank! But not actually think much about him. I remember sort of accidentally reading some solo comics he was in (there was this X-Men Unlimited issue I read where he and Kitty go to the opera I remember very clearly), and I enjoyed those but I never purposefully sought him. He seemed fun but at that point I was already quite attached to Hank Pym and Reed Richards and I figured he'd be like Bruce Banner to me, where I liked them but never enough to seek out their comics.

This changed when I became really interested in Wonder Man, both because those two are best friends and you can't read Wonder Man without greeting Beast, but also because Simon really does love Hank as a person and you kind of start to appreciate what Simon seeks in Hank as his friend. I knew in abstract that Hank McCoy was a kind person who wanted to be there for his friends, whose character bit was that he looks like a scary cat-ape but actually speaks like an English professor, who despite appearances is a romantic, a comedian, a scientist and a very loving person, but it was different seeing those traits play such a fundamental part in Simon's character trajectory. Simon really needed a friend like Hank when he was reintroduced into the comic canon, and interestingly Hank really needed a friend like Simon for where he was at in the Avengers. It was just really interesting seeing these two get closer and closer, from stout friends to low-key (high-key) a gay love story compounded by the fact they were an actual item in an au. And when you read Hank McCoy as a very repressed bisexual man, who is scared of ever acknowledging this part of him because of his own unexamined fear of himself because of his animal nature and features, who is in love with his equally repressed gay friend... well, that's just an interesting character!

I don't necessarily think I wouldn't have gotten into Hank without Simon, because he more than stands up as a character in his own right, but I think Simon really got me to see Hank in a new light because of how important he is as a person in Simon's life. He is without a doubt one half of the most healthiest, happiest, most stable relationship in Simon's entire character history. Which isn't to say they're necessarily a healthy and stable dynamic in of themselves (Hank has a very rose tinted glasses perspective on Simon, unable to acknowledge the edgier sides of him, and Simon in turn for better or for worst always sees the best in Hank even when sometimes he shouldn't), but both Simon and Hank have such messed up relationships with so many of the people around them that when they're around each other it's somehow the best relationship of their lives.

Anyway, there are a lot of things I like Hank for. He's misunderstood, both out of universe and in universe. He's someone hopelessly dedicated to his loved ones, often at the expense of his own happiness and wellbeing. He's brutally aware of the fact that he's wasting his life for the X-Men, for their lives and what keeps them alive and happy, and both resents them for taking up so much of his time but resents himself too, for thinking that way about the people that gave him so much. He sings Frank Sinatra in the bathroom and enjoys French cinema. He doesn't know left from right. The one thing in the world he's most scared of is becoming the animal the world sees him as, becoming the animal he thinks he might be underneath all his diplomas and achievements. He flew all the way from Scotland when he heard his best friend was alive on a one way ticket and bought red roses to match his eyes for the occasion. He loves his parents and he has an undiagnosed mood disorder. He's a strange blue man and I love him!

#thank youuuu for asking :3 #Hank McCoy the man that you are.....#ch: oh my stars and garters!#asks

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soulmusicsongs · 1 year ago

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youtube

Love Is A Hurting Thing - Richard Stoute (Love Is A Hurting Thing / Any Day Now, 1973)

#Soul #Soul Music #Soul Music Songs #Music #Music Songs #Richard Stoute #Love Is A Hurting Thing #1973 #Wirl #Youtube

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nakeddeparture · 1 year ago

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Bridgetown, Barbados. What’s in your news for Sunday, November 26, 2023.

https://youtu.be/rXK-o2l7l5o

youtube

Death of an icon. Schools and teacher sick outs. Patty Cheltenham. To trust or not to trust Bajan attorneys. Advocating for the abused. Racism. The Obits. And more. Naked!!

Like. Share. Subscribe. Comment on YouTube.

#naked departure #barbados #what’s in your news #Richard stoute #Cheltenham #Youtube

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isaacforalpha14 · 1 year ago

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Imagine # 115 Sam and Dean Winchester

A/N: This has been in the works for a while. I absolutely have loved Supernatural since the show started. I love both Sam and Dean and it’s so hard to choose which is my favorite. So, this is a selfish write just to get me back into the swing of things. It’s going to be a mini-series. I am not sure how long it’ll be but there will be different things to choose from on how you get an ending for Sam or Dean.

Pain; the emotion rippled throughout his system like a poison. Released from his heart in a bittersweet continuous trickle, infecting each nerve in his system as warm tears blurred his vision. Bobby Singer is dead; for real this time, no resurrections or ghostly visitations, just dead. To say it was difficult to let him go is an understatement; he thought he'd done it the first time yet as the vibrant flames enveloped the flask, contorting the metal into a liquid mound, it hurt just as much as when he watched the life leave his body in that hospital bed. Richard ‘Dick’ Roman, the leviathan leader extraordinaire, seared a target on his forehead the minute Bobby took his final breath. The Winchester brothers would never stop until the leviathan paid for his death. They’re distraught; torn into pieces by the death of a man that was closer to them than their own father. However, if there was anyone that felt this loss harder than Dean, it was definitely you; Bobby Singer’s only blood relative, his child. How could he ever fix this for you?

“I am so sorry.” Dean’s soothing baritone reaches your ears in a whisper, warm breath tickling the flesh of your tear stained cheek as his calloused fingertips brush a strand of hair behind your ear. He wraps your trembling frame in a sympathetic embrace, nuzzling his stubbled face into the softness of disheveled hair as your fingers clutch at his cotton shirt in tight fists. “I am here for you.” He places his forehead against yours, nudging you like a loving kitten before he continues. “I’ll always be here for you when you need me.” Dean’s body releases an involuntary shutter, goosebumps spreading across his limbs, thankfully hidden underneath his smoke gray button up, as your warm breath mingles with his due to the close proximity. He knows it’s terrible timing, he shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea, but he wants to tell you how he feels. He wants to be honest, to pour out his heart, in case the plan doesn’t work and this kills him. You had to feel something for him, right?

“Y/N.” The somber tone of Sam Winchester’s voice interrupts the moment, pulling away from Dean, your lower lip quivers as you meet the younger man’s gaze. He’s heartbroken by the sight; the impish glisten to your beautiful eyes is replaced with sorrow, tear stains reflecting off of your soft cheekbones, supple lips quivering as you fight the sob from creeping up your throat. He furrows his brow in concern, opening his arms in a silent invitation to seek comfort from him. Dean coughs, ignoring the pang of sadness that causes his chest to ache the moment you crash into his younger brother’s arms and sob against his brown plaid shirt. He’s cradling your head in the palm of his hand, threading his fingers through the soft tendrils of hair as he gently shushes you, mumbling words of comfort into your ear that his brother can’t quite hear.

Sam glanced over his shoulder, Dean’s tattered boots retreating up the cellar stairs without a word, his stout footsteps the sole interruption of your sniffles and sobs against Sam’s clothing. He knew something was bothering his older brother, obviously not just the loss of Bobby again, but something he wasn’t sharing. Maybe it was a mixture of grief and anger, he knew that Dean wanted revenge against Dick Roman but there was just a hint of something else that lingered in the air when he was around. He blinks away the thought, forcing himself to focus on the moment so he could be present for you. You needed him. “You want to go for a drive?” He offers in the faintest whisper, almost as if he raised his voice you’d shatter like delicate glass.

“Y-Yeah.” You stammer, sniffling as your fingers clutch at the sleeve of the plaid rolled up to his elbow. “Can we get a coffee from town?” Your pitiful tone made his heart skip, a smitten smile quirking his mouth as he nodded and placed an affectionate kiss on your forehead.

“Of course, we can, princess.” The nickname brought a sad smile to your face, butterflies tickling your abdomen as you grasp his much larger hand in yours, intertwining your fingers. There’s always been a place in your heart for the Winchester brothers, a magnetic connection you’ve shared with both of them, and yet, despite moments like these you could never be certain if either of them possess feelings for you on more than a platonic level. Neither had ever gone further than smitten glances and flirtatious banter. To say it’s difficult to love someone when you don’t know if they feel the same is an understatement, but it’s even worse when you’re in love with two people and you have no idea how either feels about you.

Everything went wrong in the worst way, the ‘plan’ appeared to work but before there was even a chance at feeling satisfaction in the win, the happiness that might’ve been just disappeared. Kevin Tran had told you and Sam about Dick Roman’s ‘creamer’ that would wipe out thinner people. He made you guys promise to blow up the laboratory before leaving the building, you three had just burst through the lab doors when you spot Dick Roman with the specialized bone weapon in his neck; Dean standing before him watching as he gurgles and struggles to maintain his meat suit facade, Castiel standing behind him watching the scene as he prayed they’d succeeded and it’s when the sounds stop and a weird ripple pulses from Dick Roman that you knew something was about to go wrong. Sam’s breathing is labored as he begins to back away, broad frame pushing you back into Kevin as he tries to gesture for you to retreat. The atmosphere around the monster’s silhouette begins to ripple in stronger waves, you were about to scream for Dean to back away when his concerned willow irises met yours, he mouths something you don't quite understand before Sam’s arms wrap around your body and he shields you from the sudden explosion.

There’s Leviathan goo covering the entire lab, the tar blood dripping off the walls onto the pristine floors. Peeking around Sam’s broad shoulders, you can feel your stomach drop as you’re met with nothing. Dean and Castiel are just gone. You’re frozen in shock, ignoring the exchange between Sam and Kevin as the hunter tries to figure out what’s happened and Kevin just tries to urge you to leave. Crowley appears and you can feel yourself losing it, you’re trembling, mind racing, throat unable to form words as you purse your lips feeling the bile rise from the pit of your stomach. Just like that, Crowley exchanges a few select words with Sam before he snaps his fingers, Kevin disappears with a couple of demons and then he himself just vanishes.

“Breathe, just breathe.” Sam’s soothing voice murmurs, warm palms cradling your cheeks as his charming hazel eyes meet yours in a concerned gaze. He knew about the panic attacks, Bobby had confided in him years ago about how you’d been on medication for anxiety ever since your mother’s death. Sam is no stranger to comforting others in times of distress but he’s never been present for an episode like this. He vaguely remembers reading about panic attacks, he’s desperately trying to wrack his brain for anything that could help you in this situation. He lands on distracting you; or maybe it was his subconscious urging him to finally be honest with you about how he’s always felt now that he had you and you alone.

The sound of frazzled breathing dissipates, instead being replaced by a gasp as Sam’s delightful mouth meets yours in a tender and cautious kiss. With a subtle groan, your body instinctively relaxes, pressing yourself painfully close to his broad muscular frame as your fingers grasp at his chestnut hair and you find yourself kissing him in return with the feelings you’ve tried to hide over the years. Sam sighs through his nose, the kiss becoming more heated as he gets caught up in the moment. He’d definitely succeeded, you were distracted, but now so was he. The distant splat of leviathan dripping from the lab walls onto a surface somewhere in the room is what had brought you both back to reality.

“We should... w-we should go.” Sam offers in a murmur, clearing his throat with a deep cough, warm pink hue brightening his cheekbones in the most adorable manner. “We can figure out what happened to them. Someone has to know something, right?”

Wrong; it’s been four strenuous months since that fateful night at Richard Roman Enterprises. There hasn’t been a sole indication that whatever happened to Castiel and Dean wasn’t- fatal or reversible. Sam found himself toeing the line between losing himself to the pain of his brother’s absence and the paralyzing need to keep a suffocatingly tight grip on you in fear of losing the only person he has left. Sam’s need to be protective seems to have worsened as his feelings for you became like a tsunami tide; his heart was lulled into the calm waters of the affection he’s held for you since he can remember, only to be devoured and swept into a chaos of domestic dreams and a relentless wave of love that crashed into his heart with no warning. He’s always been smitten with you, but now, he was hopelessly in love. He remembered the promise he made to Dean vividly, if anything happened to either of them then the other was to live a normal life. An apple pie life. He’s never considered the promise before but now, with you, everything is different.

“C-Can I ask you something?” Sam clears his throat, rubbing the palms of his hands against his jean clad knees as you place a cold beer bottle on the battered motel coffee table, a dulled thud interrupting the tension filled silence. There’s something strange about his demeanor, something that spreads a hollow nerve in the pit of your stomach as you offer him an unsure nod. “Will you sit here with me, please?” His warm voice trembles, gesturing to the empty space on the sofa with his signature puppy eyes.

“Sammy.” There’s a beat of silence as you gnaw on your lower lip and contemplate how to broach the remainder of your thought. “Is this about Dean? I-Is he..”

“No.” He rushes, placing a comforting hand on your thigh as he meets your gaze. “I m-mean, I don’t know if he’s-” He pauses with a pained expression, before scooting closer to you and brushing his calloused fingers across the delicate flesh of your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Dean and I made a promise to each other. If anything were to happen to either of us, the other is to find a way to be happy. Move on and try to live a normal life.” There’s a coy smile that quirks his mouth, warmth creeping up his neck as he intertwines your fingers before continuing. “I want to do that with you.”

“Give up hunting?” There’s confusion in your tone as your heart hammers against your chest. Were you hearing him right? Give up on helping people? Give up on Dean?

“No more hunting.” He swallows the nerves, heartbeat drumming in his ears as he hopes to God that you’ll agree. “Just me and you, we can settle down somewhere. We can find a house, a normal nine to five and maybe-maybe, i-in the future, we could get married?” It’s impossible to ignore the startled expression on your face, he’s uncertain whether it’s leaning toward a yes or a no, so he hopes pleading his case can sway you. “I am in love with you.” His confession is tender, voice so gentle that you feel a warmth spread through your chest as you meet his beautiful hazel eyes. “And I think that you know that. I’ve been in love with you since we were kids but I never thought you’d feel the same. So I kept it to myself, continued being the best friend that I could be to you and just enjoyed the time we spent together.” His massive hand squeezes your thigh, the other playing with your fingers as he continues. “Things have been teetering on the line between friendship and more with us since our kiss,” He hesitates, cradling your face as his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “I finally felt like you might’ve had feelings for me too. If I am wrong, and you don’t, if I am just reading too much into this, tell me now.” The sofa releases a squeak as he shifts his weight, leaning dangerously close as his forehead meets yours.

"Sammy." The lighthearted giggle and dazzling smile caused Sam's heart to skip a beat, the contagious laughter coaxing an amused chuckle as he wrapped his lean muscular arms around your waist, pressing your back against his toned stomach. "We're never gonna make it to the lease signing if we don't choose a color."

"I am content with whatever you choose." He mumbles in your ear. "I just want you to be happy, baby."

"Samuel William Winchester, you promised." The adorable pout directed over your shoulder softened his expression, heart skipping as he met your gaze with a smitten smile. He released a sigh, reaching toward the paint chips in your hand and plucking the card with a gray hued blue.

"This." He murmurs into your hair as he wraps his arms around you once more. "There, the promise fulfilled."

"Thank you." It's almost impossible to keep from smiling, the terms of endearment still felt fresh and made your heart flutter. He's always called you princess but since that day in that stale half dilapidated motel when he expressed his love for you, he's really taken to calling you sweet names like babe, baby, love and honey. There was a sole instance that he'd called you sweetheart and something in you broke. He instantly noticed you tense and a sadness glistening in your watering eyes that broke his heart. He didn’t want to admit it then but he knew the reason; Dean. So he’d silently promised himself he would never call you that again. Sam never wanted to be the reason for your pain, even if it was unintentional.

“Have you put any more thought into the lease time frames?” Sam questions, releasing you from his tight hold to push the shopping cart toward the next aisle. There’s hesitation in your response, he can sense the tension that looms in the air as the squeaking from the shopping cart wheels goes silent and he’s watching you with a curious tilt to his head. “Baby?”

“Sorry.” You whisper, gnawing on your lower lip. There’s still no answer to his question and it’s starting to worry him that maybe you’d changed your mind altogether; you didn’t actually want this, want him. He leaves the shopping cart, fingers tugging the soft cotton sleeve of your peach cardigan as he urges you to come closer to him. The emotion reflecting in his hazel eyes causes you to frown and place the palms of your hands against his stubble covered cheeks. “I know that look, Winchester. Don’t do that. It’s nothing you did, I promise.” Pressing an affectionate kiss to your delicate fingers, he nods with a sigh of relief, ushering you to the shopping cart to continue the journey to the registers. “I was thinking about my dad and I just didn’t want to ruin our trip.”

“It’s perfectly okay to miss him.” He responds with an empathetic smile in your direction before greeting the cashier and placing the items on the conveyor belt, fishing his wallet out of his jean pocket. “I miss him too.” The remainder of the shopping trip was silent, it wasn’t that you thought Sam would judge you for thinking of your father but you didn’t want to have to admit that you were afraid of returning home. That’s why you’d agreed to rent a house with Sam about two hours driving distance of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. There’s a piece of your heart that yearned to return home, like being on the junkyard property line would help you feel like a part of your father was still here with you. Yet, the wounds were still fresh and it was hard to grasp that he really is truly gone.

“Are you okay, baby?” Sam’s concerned voice is barely heard over the rumbling of the Impala engine, his fingers interlacing with yours as he lifts your clasped hands to his mouth, pressing an affectionate kiss upon your knuckles.

“Mhmm.” There’s a subtle squeak from the leather seats as you scoot closer to his massive frame, nuzzling into his side as you enjoy the ride to the place you’d be calling home for a while. The cassette tape peeking out of the radio catches your attention, there’s an uncomfortable knotting in the pit of your stomach, a pain you’d often get when you focused on reminders of Dean. Sam is humming, you’re uncertain of the song but it takes everything within yourself to keep from pushing the cassette tape in and turning the radio on. Neither of you have been able to bring yourself to turn it on since Dean’s been gone. Swallowing the sadness, you try again, as you have each day since their disappearance, to pray to Castiel. It still hurts each time that the prayer is answered with radio silence. Sam makes you that happiest you’ve been in a lifetime but with Castiel and Dean still missing it feels like pieces of your heart have just vanished. The most painful part of the ordeal is the unknown; are they in pain? Are they in danger? Are they dead?

Sam Winchester could never have envisioned this; feeling comfortable enough to let someone in wholeheartedly, to allow himself the pleasure of falling hopelessly in love and nourishing the dream of a happily ever after. This is everything he’s ever wanted; this is perfection. The morning sunlight radiates from the bedroom window, revitalizing warmth descending upon the bare and exposed flesh sprawled across the mattress. The muscles in the hunter’s tanned arm were roused as he twirled a strand of hair around his finger, the movement provoking a content sigh as your foot grazed his leg in a gesture of instinctual fondness. There’s sleep evident in his movement as he savored the astounding happiness that devours his heart, his enamored hazel eyes hypnotized by the serene expression on your face. You’re beautiful; he’s always thought so however in this intimate sense of domestic bliss, bare skin wrapped in the floral print sheets, conquered by peaceful slumber due to the previous night's love making, he couldn't help himself from equating you to a goddess of celestial perfection. Aphrodite; in flesh and bone gracing him with the blessing of her presence. Then a realization hits him in the depths of his stomach as his heart skips; he’s ready. He wants this to be the rest of his life. This has been the best year of his life and everything in him is aching to spend the rest of it with you by his side. He’s going to propose.

#supernatural #supernatural imagines #supernatural imagine #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester imagine #dean winchester imagine #sam x reader x dean #sam winchester x reader x dean winchester

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