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imgae-insertshockedgasps-16 · 5 months

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humans are space orcs

imagine someone with chronic joint pain, whose dream their whole lives has been to go to space and meet the aliens and be a scientist and learn

so they look up the requirements as a kid and go "fuck."

they wouldn't make the cut.

their dreams are dashed. hopes ruined. lifelong dre destroyed.

except....

they've never really said a whole lot about their pain. they don't particularly like doctors, and they think that they've been managing just fine, so they never saw the point.

so maybe... maybe if they just don't say anything, they can make it to space.

they spend all of their time training. doing physical therapy exercises so that their joints aren't so loose, soaking up as much scientific and mathematical knowledge as they can, teaching themselves to push through the worst of it in pursuit of their dream.

and they make it.

they make it to space! it was gruelling, tortuous work, but they made it!

their first mission is an exploratory one, with a diverse crew which only has one other human.

they're thrilled.

they have dozens of alien friends and acquaintances. they spend hours learning and researching alien planets and cultures. it's everything they've ever wanted!

but

it's exhausting.

they're in more pain than they've ever been, more frequently than they ever have.

they keep up their exercises as best they can, but even those are often too much.

they smile when asked if they're alright, tell everyone that "i'm fine! just tired."

but they need a break. they can't imagine going or being sent back to earth, this is their home now, with these people, on this ship. but they don't know how much longer they can take this.

one day, on their day off, a fellow researcher comes and knocks on their door.

"are you here?"

"not today islith."

"but we've been called! there are some exciting new discoveries that need further cataloging and investigation, and carlmoth thought you would enjoy the task!"

"i can't today, islith."

"are you ill?"

"...kind of? but i'll be right as rain tomorrow. it's my day off anyhow."

"nonsense! you should go down to medbay!"

"i'm alright, i promise."

"you get out here right this minute or i'll report you to medbay myself!"

"no!" there's a series of crashes and thumps, and then they open the door.

"oh, you look awful. come on, you really must need medbay, what if you're contagious." islith tries to grab them but they shy away.

"i'm not contagious, i promise."

"how can you possibly know that? what if you picked it up from a sample, or, or, garfon has been sick recently! humans can't survive cerian sicknesses-"

"i didn't catch something from garfon, islith," they sigh and open the door wider. "come in and let me explain."

"alright, but if i think you should go to medbay afterwards then i'm taking you there."

"sure, islith."

islith enters, notices the piles of clothes, rumpled bedsheets, the lights are off and the port window shut.

"what's wrong?"

they sigh again, "my body doesn't work like it's meant to, islith."

islith is wildly alarmed, "and you said there was no need for medbay?!? come with me right now and-"

"no! i can't, islith, you don't understand."

"then explain it to me."

"i've... always been this way, although it's gotten worse as i've gotten older. my body, it just isn't built quite right, there's something wrong with it that makes it not work properly and hurt often."

"you're right, i don't understand. why can't you go to medbay?"

"i'd... be thrown off the ship."

"what?!?"

and so they tell islith a story about a young child whose dream was to touch the stars.

"and now, it's too late. i'd get in huge trouble for lying to the government, especially for so long."

"well- but- but humans are so resilient! you hear all the stories!"

"not every human is the same, islith. some of us are born disabled, and some of us get hurt in accidents, just like any other species."

"well, then, well there must be something we can do?"

they look up in shock, "we?"

"of course we, you ridiculous creature," islith said with a fond sigh. "you didn't think i'd leave you to suffer, would you?"

"but, you could get in so much trouble!"

"that's alright, i don't mind. what else are friends for? and, anyway, we don't have to tell your government, we can tell mine."

"but i'll-"

"we don't have any rules like that. any of us who are disabled can still manage in space just fine with the right support, and i bet you could too."

"i- islith- i don't-"

"don't worry, we'll all back you when it comes down to it. you're out teammate, our family. no one on this ship wants to watch you leave because of something you can't control. now come on, let's talk to glidlep in medical, she'll understand."

and for years, things continued on that way, until eventually it was an open secret that the human with the exosuit was disabled and not technically allowed onboard.

and down the line, when nasa found out and was furious, the entire ship and more stood by their side.

#anyway i need to go cry now #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are deathworlders #humans are space australians #disabled #disability #disability in space #chronic pain #chronic illness #chronically ill #joint pain

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deadwasteland-dazaisfan · 4 months

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₊˚⊹ᰔ Valentine's day! ˖ ࣪ . ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

𐙚Synopsis: Valentine's day special!; 𐙚Pairing: fem!reader×dazai osamu&chuuya nakahara (separately) 𐙚Contain: headcanons, drabbles (?), sfw+nsfw, comfort, MDNI, hint of sex, rough sex, gentle sex, stimulation, oral sex, fingering, aftercare; 𐙚Author's note: (died after what is written above💀)... I tried to write this, but I don't know how well I did it. So... Once again, happy Valentine's Day to everyone! I'm a little late with this (っ- ‸ - ς)

DAZAI

•THIS MAN ADORES YOU

•Considering that in the past he had a great, great experience of various communication (and obviously not only) with girls, you are the luckiest in the world (or maybe not ...)

•Dazai is a man of different moods. You never know what will come over him at the most random moment. You even jokingly call him "Mr. Mystery," and he takes it as a compliment.

•He ALWAYS gives you gifts. Regardless of the situation. Regardless of whether it's a holiday today or not. Regardless OF WHETHER HE EVEN HAS MONEY (bruh, we all know that he has it; a former member of the Port Mafia without money? nope)

•His presents on ordinary days can be very diverse. But on holidays, he takes a particularly responsible approach to choosing gifts.

•Valentine's Day? RUN. HE WON'T LET YOU GO ALL DAY.

•He belongs to the type of men who like to do everything for show. HE BREAKS INTO THE AGENCY AND GRABS YOU, HUGGING YOU LIKE A PLUSH TOY

•You literally have to HIDE MONEY FROM HIM so that he doesn't buy up ALL THE FLOWERS IN THIS CITY.

•But it still doesn't help; HE STILL COMES WITH A HUGE BOUQUET, SMIRKING SMUGLY

•Usually he gives you white lilies, sometimes he can afford to buy roses or chrysanthemumsIn addition to flowers, you receive from him a gentle kiss on the cheek / forehead and a box of interesting sweets that you have never tasted

•Able to stay at home on holidays when you go to work. AND ALL JUST SO THAT IN A COUPLE OF HOURS HE COULD SPECTACULARLY APPEAR ON THE DOORSTEP OF THE AGENCY AND GIVE YOU A GIFT

•At such moments, he comes in a fashionable suit for a spectacular appearance

•You're always embarrassed, but he doesn't seem to care at all; JUST HAVE TIME TO ASK HIM NOT TO KISS YOU IN FRONT OF OTHERS, OH, HE'LL DO IT (just an idiot, what kind of man...)

•On February 14th, he congratulates you in the morning; if he is not a lazy ass, he can cook you a delicious breakfast, for example, toast, inside of which a heart is neatly cut out and fried eggs are filled it

•He tries to do everything for you as on ordinary days, and on this holiday (he just becomes even more clingy and cute)

•He will be too lazy to make you a valentine, but since everyone knows that you are a couple, everyone will congratulate you on the holiday, and Osamu will just (as mentioned earlier) give you a bouquet of flowers and sweets.

NSFW

•TURNS INTO A PERVERT AT 0:00 (okay, he always was and always will be)

•He will definitely go to the lingerie store, choose the most DEPRAVED UNDERWEAR (it will be open lace or something that will cover only the crotch and nipples)

•He'll give it to you in the evening

•No matter how embarrassed you are, trust me, he'll find a way to get you to wear it.

•When you find yourself in this depraved outfit, he will admire you for a long time until he finally breaks down

•There are two options for the outcome of events: HE WILL FUCK YOU OFF SO THAT YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO WALK FOR SEVERAL DAYS (not funny, it really is)

•Or it will be too, too gentle, will make everything carefully and too pleasant for you

•It all depends on his mood and the degree of excitement! Well, or for how many days have you refused his requests

•Anyway, in the end, he'll clean everything up, put you to bed, and fall asleep with you, cuddling you against him.

CHUUYA

•Loves and protects you like a diamond

•Grateful to you for everything, especially for being with him despite his dangerous work

•Does everything for you, just like for his favorite doll and princess

•He'll start congratulating you in the morning

•If it's a day off, you go to a nice restaurant where he will order you the most delicious dishes, a glass of wine and a dessert in the shape of a heart

•If it's a working day, he'll apologize for being busy and try to make you breakfast. If he doesn't make it, he'll at least order you something.

•GIVES YOU A LOT OF FLOWERS

•I SWEAR THESE ARE THE BIGGEST BOUQUETS IN ALL OF YOKOHAMA.

•These can be either burgundy, blood roses, or the most delicate and light flowers

•In addition, he will either leave you his credit card with a lot of money so that you can buy everything you want, or he will go shopping with you; If you can't go yourself, he will definitely find out what you want and buy it himself

•You like different shoes (almost all your shoes are heels)

•Therefore,he never skimp on buying you another pair (the HUNDREDTH PAIR)

•He even bought you a separate closet for your shoes.

•He's definitely not giving CHEAP shoes.

•They all cost as much as the agency's budget; on Valentine's Day he will give you something in this style; hearts and red!

•He will buy your favorite wine or open something from his collection

•At work, during a break, he will try to make you an origami heart, something like a valentine

•He'll leave work early to spend more time with you

NSFW

•GET READY.

•He'll kiss every inch of your body

•He will leave bites and hickeys on your neck, thighs, chest, even your stomach

•He'll really enjoy your moans

•He'll be very gentle, unless you ask him to be rude.

•He will do everything slowly and carefully, as if he is afraid that he might harm you.

•You're like a fragile doll in his arms.

•Passionate, sensual kisses are provided for you

•He knows how to please you, so he will use his tongue and fingers

•He will torment you slowly, pressing you against his back, while he gently massages your clit, listening to you whimper

•He enjoys the feeling of you trembling from his touch

•He will tease you and push you to the limit, and then stop abruptly; but it won't last long, and he will give you your sweet release

•Will make you cum first from his fingers and then from his tongue

•He will make sure that he has prepared you well by slowly inserting and removing two fingers from your wet hole

•He'll fuck you very gently

•If you don't ask him for anything, then yes; but if you ask him to be rougher, he will squeeze you into the mattress, face into the pillow, when he fucks you hellishly fast

•After any option, he will do everything necessary for you and him, and then you will fall asleep in an embrace

______________________________________

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probablyasocialecologist · 2 months

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Gaza, that ancient city on the eastern shores of the Mediterranean, has come to be the political and moral compass of the entire world. Despite the pervasive destruction, Gaza stands not as a place in need of lessons. Instead, it is itself the poignant lesson of our modern age – a litmus test for humanity. As the death toll continues to rise, it becomes increasingly challenging to conceive of a violence more profound than that inflicted by machine guns and aerial bombardment. However, Israeli colonial violence – both in Gaza and Palestine more broadly – has historically manifested at various scales. It extends from the confines of a bedroom to encompass a neighbourhood, a whole city, and stretches to the scale of a regional geography. Understanding the destruction of Gaza calls for a dual perspective. It requires zooming in on the intimate scales of violence while also being aware of these broader manifestations. At the core of Israeli colonialism in Palestine is the logic of partition, a paradigm fundamentally at odds with the land, its people and its history. Gaza has long been a nexus of interconnected worlds: for millennia, it served as a vital crossroads, connecting Palestine to Egypt and bridging the continents of Asia and Africa. The roads from Gaza to Bir al‑Sabe’, Jaffa and Jerusalem have witnessed the passage of visitors, merchants and pilgrims from diverse corners of the world. The city’s social, cultural and economic prosperity has been woven into its geographical openness, a defining feature in Palestine’s long history. Any thought about Gaza and Palestine’s future is bound to reckon with this history. The enduring imprints of Gaza’s geographical openness are discernible in both its social and built fabrics. This ancient city has witnessed the rule of various empires and civilisations, including the Egyptian Pharaohs, Greeks, Romans, Byzantines and successive Islamic dynasties – each contributing to the rich tapestry of the city. Gaza is home to historic treasures such as the Anthedon Harbour, the port that linked the city to the Mediterranean world in the Roman era; the Great Omari Mosque, one of the most significant mosques in Palestine; and the Church of Saint Porphyrius, believed to be the third oldest church in the world. These historic landmarks, among residential buildings, universities, museums and cultural institutions, have not escaped the intentional targeting and destruction inflicted by Israel. In essence, these sites embody all that Gaza stands for and Zionism doesn’t – geographical openness and historical continuity. In historical terms, the 75 years of Zionist domination in Palestine represent an anomaly, as Gaza and other cities have perennially thrived on cultural diversity and interconnection.

#palestine #israel #gaza #zionism

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lilacargent · 6 months

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At it again, from another angle this time.

‘Old’ weapons. Or at least redundant, as a species traverses into space the new technology makes an old gun or even older sword/arrow/spear and so on useless and nearly powerless. The new weapons are ‘ray this’ and ‘beam that’ ‘plasma so and so’ .

Ofcourse this makes sense, the energy based weapons are far less wasteful and lighter, easier to carry and easier to handle. No need to sharpen weapons with a plasma blade and even then, why use close quarters weapons if you have access to stun, kill or poison rays and many more.

On top of that many civilisations prefer to forget their less then stellar past and make analog weapons obsolete. When the humans joined the council many expected them to do the same. They didn’t, production stopped yes, but interested people could still partake in lessons and the old fashioned ways were shown off in museums. Training to be part of a spaceship crew still included lessons in their old weapons as an opportunity to be prepared for going to “newer” worlds.

So with that in mind i have a few little vignettes ideas and for ease’ sake its gonna be on the same ship, the Serpentine.

Important crew:

Primoz, captain -Limoyh a four armed species-

Krag, second in command (brother of Primoz)

Kit, dokter -avian, bird like, she has feathers like a swallow-

Ortez, ASR (all species resources, human resources in space) -kiltak, insectoid species, think ants but exoskeleton-

Lugea, helmsperson (does the steering) -rock like alien-

Artex, engineer/mechanic 1 -also Kiltak-

And then our humans:

Kamari, navigator -Eritrean woman- (has cat named Sidra)

Markus, weapons expert (knows how to use them and upkeep, also shields) -Swedish man-

Petrus, mechanic/engineer 2 -Italian man-

Lilly, administrator/note keeper (learns languages for fun)-english woman-

Yes i know all of this could have also been accomplished by saying they are all from America… nope this is more fun. This is under the assumption that to get into the joint academy for space faring you need to be able to speak and write English.

Obviously there are more people on the ship but these are most important

~~~~~~~~

1. Sparring

Ortez was having a good day, the serpentine had left port and was making good progress toward their next destination on w-kl-18, referred to as deltax by it’s residents, for a routine drop off.

In port on Unity (the planet where the council resides and the universal court is) they picked up the final crew members among who a ‘team’ of humans. Pre bonded humans were supposed to be less chaos inducing and easier bonded with the rest of the crew. Ortez was rather happy the captain listened to him on this matter.

The humans had been more diverse than he expected and were currently what they called ‘settling in’. He was on his way to the rooms they had.

‘Stop it please we’ve been here less than 4 hours!’ The soft voice he recognises as Lilly’s is barely audible over the loud clanging sounds. Rounding the corner Ortez sees a terrifying scene. The two human males locked together with two sticks made of metal baring teeth at each other, with a push the olive skinned man, he remembers is called Petrus, breaks the hold and goes in low swiping at the tall mans legs making Markus fall over.

Ortez is about to intervene when without a sound the dark skinned leader of the group seemingly appears without a sound behind him and runs into the fray with a similar stick.

Whacking Petrus stick away from Markus’ throat she steps inbetween “stop it. You’re scaring our ASR. We want to make a good impression remember.” The men look right at him and both put down the sticks, Markus puts his hand up in a ‘wave’ “sorry about that, Ortez it was right? We were just sparring.’ Moving further into the room he uncurls his front two claws tapping at the metal poles “sparring with this? We usually only do body to body training, this seems rather old.” Petrus speaks up to that “ah yes those are old earth weapons, we like keeping up a bit of skill with several kinds as a side activity. Don’t worry tho, we train with blunt weapons.”

Not entirely appeased the insectoid looks to the imposing woman, who seems entirely at ease even though two people had been fighting. When she caught his eyes, she smiled that terrible toothy grin “truly don’t worry, like Petrus said they are blunt and it is a way for us to let of some steam and keep in shape. But next time we’ll do it in the training rooms… right boys?” Pinning the two men with withering stares they nodded quickly.

Ortez did not know humans released steam, but he felt right now was not the moment to go into that. Saying his goodbye he skittered to inform the captain.

This was bound to be interesting.

~~~~~~~~~~~

2. “The Roman empire”

“So you are telling me that at any given moment you could be thinking about a several thousand years old society that no longer exists and it would surprise nobody?” Artex was perplexed, when he and Petrus were working on the reactor core Lilly had wandered through and mentioned this old civilisation sparking heated debate. She thought the greeks were far more interesting but Petrus had been unmoved by her arguments. The other man speaks while pushing some buttons “well yea, the empire made great strides and amazing structures, Lilly just prefers the mythos of the greek while i enjoy the focus on millitary prowess.” Shrugging he looks up “don’t you guys have something like that?” Artex stretches his legs, all 6 of them in a wave like motion “not really, when change happened the history books were changed to make it seem like it was always that way” the human makes eye contact “wait so how do you know how to play -old civilisation- as a kid? We play fought with wooden sticks, wooden swords and branches we cut to look like guns…” that horrofied the insectoid, raised with violence like it was a normal thing.

Almost like they never left their dark ages

~~~~~~~~~~~~

3. Whats in a name (bit off topic but the idea just kinda happened)

Te very first time the humans were introduced to their new crew there was a bit of a hiccup. When Kamari introduced herself they looked up a bit confused but went further down the row. After Lilly they came back around and referred to Kamari as moon. Now Kamari recognised the strange look, they had translators that only had basic human translation, which means that her name “Kamari” which comes from Arabic and is a word for moon/soft glow of the moon, is translated fully but not as name so when they speak to her it translates out of their language to English which would be moon. This is luckily easily fixed with an update, but it was something that stil spoke of how new the human race was to the cosmos.

Her cat Sidra made them laugh as that means Star so she was the moon with her star.

(Random thought about how multiple human languages could screw with translations)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soooooo kinda had a 4th story that is pretty sad but also bad ass, but this is getting too long already

Imma write that in a new post over the coming days

Hopefully people like this, if you have prompts you’d like to see with this crew feel free to ask.

#humans are space orcs #humans in space #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #humans are space australians #humans are insane #humans are deathworlders #humans are space fae #humans are space capybaras

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smol-sirens-garden · 3 months

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@diverse-hearts-ocs Has Asked: “If I could dance with you again I'd kiss you as the lights went out.” - Sabriel and Mori

He did his best to smile for her, holding her close and keeping a hand to her wound.

"Shhhh. We will dance again my love. It's okay. Just hang in there. I just need to get you someplace with better light that's all."

The mission wasn't suppose to go like this. It was suppose to be simple. How did it go so downhill so fast. He was careful as he did his best to tourniquet the wound until the could get someplace safer.

"You are going to be fine and waking up to a worried Garth in no time. You'll see."

His own denial talking.

#diverse hearts: Sabriel #Muse: Ogai Mori #Mori Verse: Royalty of the Port Mafia (Mori X Sabriel)#OTP: Royalty of the Port Mafia (Mori X Sabriel)#Away From the Garden: Queue

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smol-sirens-garden-tobemoved · 1 year

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@diverse-hearts-ocs Has Asked: “This, us, was a fucking mistake and I should have known the second things went further than planned.” - Sabriel / Mori

“That’s the way you see it. I’m surprised you have come to that conclusion.”

He was tired and this fight they were in was getting tiring. They seemed to have been at it for hours too, going back and forth. He shook his head, putting some papers away and going to sit on the couch with a soft sigh.

“If you want to argue that then we have to go back and ask what exactly the plan was because my dear I think your instructions we’re unclear. You were told to take me out were you not? Technically you did succeed in doing just that.”

There was a playful smirk on his lips. He knew he was probably going to be in even more trouble for saying that but he was trying to lighten the mood just a little.

“Neither of us are perfect. Don’t doubt that I do care for you though. We have both made worse mistakes”

#diverse hearts: Sabriel #Muse: Ogai Mori #Mori Verse: Main #Mori Verse: Royalty of the Port Mafia (Mori X Sabriel)#OTP: Royalty of the Port Mafia (Mori X Sabriel)#Away From The Garden: Queue

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frozcnlight · 3 months

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@diverse-hearts-ocs said: it just shut behind me! - Garth

Oh no.

"And it doesn't open anymore?", she asked again, trying to pull and shove on the shut door. But there was absolutely no movement coming from it - only rattling noises, "Is something blocking the door? We just went in. Could this be... a prank?".

But who of the Mafia would pull something like this? "Are there any windows? Ah... but we are pretty high up, aren't we? I doubt we are able to crawl from one window to another, in order to get into another room without falling into our deaths.".

Miran wasn't strong, plus a real lightweight. So there was seriously nothing she could do, in order to help with this problem. In situations like this, she wished she had a more useful ability.

"Okay, we just need to stay calm, right?", she talked more to herself, rather than to Garth. Taking a deep breath, brushing over the skirt of her dress, as if trying to get rid of any unwanted wrinkles. It was more of a nervous gesture however, same when her hands went to the top of her head to brush through her own hair, starting to pace around.

"We need to stay calm and just... think.".

#{ Shatters of light within the darkness ( Port Mafia )}#diverseheartsocs #diverse-hearts-ocs

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604to647 · 20 days

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Scherzo (a Barón Tovar Takes a Wife one-shot)

3.1K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader

Scherzo - a short composition – sometimes a movement from a larger work such as a symphony or a sonata

Summary: Your husband takes care of you when you get hurt during your travels.

Warnings: None! All fluff, though reader gets cheeky with her husband cause I mean, it's Pero? Protective!Pero, Soft Husband!Pero (I NEED HIM). A little bit of violence is described where reader gets physically hurt, nothing graphic.

A/N: This was written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna challenge; please see #jettsflora&faunachallenge for all the other amazing works by some wonderful authors (I didn't do much with the meanings of the flowers, was just going for ✨vibes✨ - hope it's okay!). I tend to always miss my babies after I complete their series, and can't help but write little one-shots for them to see what they're up to. This is our Regency couple from Barón Tovar Takes a Wife, but you don't need to read it (although it would be cool if you did - I'm kind of proud of this one 😭) - just know our happy Barón and Baronesa are doing what they love the most, which is travelling on the high seas together.

Beautiful Bridgerton inspired dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Truth be told, Naples is not one of Pero’s favourite places to visit in Italy; the Barón much preferred the rolling vineyards of Tuscany or the cultural diversity of Milan. At least it will be a short stay, too short to even arrange for lodging in the city; it was much easier for everyone on the ship to remain staying in their onboard quarters while he oversaw some Royal fleet business with the Italians. It would be just three short weeks before they're set to raise the sails again, this time charting a course up the western Italian coast to the Civitavecchia Port of Rome. He realizes the last time the two of you were in Rome had been when you said your final goodbyes in his youth, parting ways and not meeting again for over ten years; Pero looks forward to strolling the cobblestone streets together once more, this time with you as his bride.

In the meantime, he would try to expedite the matter before him – if the Italian dignitary sitting across from him would acquiesce, perhaps he can still save enough of the day to take you to do some sightseeing before nightfall. Just as the stout man’s mustache twitches at something he’s read on the document Pero gave him, someone bursts into the office, violently banging open the door.

Recognizing one of his trusted footmen, Pero exclaims, “Miguel, could this wait? Signor Romano and I are in the middle of something.”

“No!” cries Miguel, alarmingly, “My apologies, Barón! It is the Baronesa...”

Pero reacts with blinding speed, his chair knocked to the ground from the force with which he stands, “What has happened?!”

“There was a commotion in the square, my lord. Your wife was hur-”

Pero is already out the door, running as fast as he can towards the city square where he knows you and your lady's maid, Lucia, had planned to do some exploring while he was away at meetings. Wind rushing past his ears, he can hear behind him the faint thundering footsteps of Miguel the footman trying to keep up with his master.

When he gets to the square, Pero is stunned to find it in a mild state of chaos – several shops have been vandalized and an overwhelming number people seem to be in a state of mild panic, crying. He scans the crowd and when he finally spots you, he nearly falls to his knees. You’re sitting on the ground next to Lucia who is crying loudly, comforting her the best you can; and while Lucia is clearly emotionally distraught, she appears to be physically unharmed - the same cannot be said for you. Your dress is torn in several places and covered in blood; whose blood Pero does not know, but he realizes, stomach dropping, that some of it at least must be yours when he sees the long bleeding cut down your left forearm. Your beautiful face has at least one messy scrape across your cheek that he can see even at this distance and your lip looks like it’s starting to discolour and swell.

You spot Pero when he is a but few steps away and instantly feel a wave of relief wash over you at the sight of your strong, handsome husband (though you do hate to see the look of panic and terror on his face). Dropping down to your side, Pero immediately cups your face in his warm, bear paw hands, careful not to disturb any of your injuries, “Dulce! How are you?”

You don’t want to tell Pero that your heart is still beating fast from how scared you had felt during the stampede, or how the cuts on your arm and face sting and that your sides and back have started to ache. You know that doing so will only make him feel worse - but you’ve never lied to your husband in all the years you’ve known him so you simply say, truthfully, “Better now that you’re here, Pero.” Melting into the soft tender kiss he presses to your mouth, you try not wince when his soft lips meet your bruised ones but fail miserably. Trying not to shatter in front of you when he hears your pained whimper, Pero wills himself to pull back with a silent reminder to handle you with more care; as he starts to check over your injuries, he asks delicately, “What happened, mi amor?”

One of the sailors who had joined the footmen in accompanying you and Lucia starts to explain before he’s silenced by a glowering look from your husband; Baronesa Tovar is not a woman who needs others to speak for her.

You give the poor sailor a reassuring smile before drawing Pero’s attention back to you and recount for him what happened in the square earlier. Noticing that the Barón's hands have been cold in the mornings as of late, you had headed out today with a mission to purchase your husband some gloves made with the fine leather craftsmanship that the Italians are known for. While admiring the buttery softness of a pair of large leather gloves handed to you by a lovely stall merchant, a fight had broken out across the square between a mob of over twenty large and angry Italian men. The fighting horde continued their bout while moving across the square, barreling into families and unsuspecting people just trying to go about their day. Caught unawares, the pedestrians scattered and ran panicked in an effort to get out the way of the oncoming melee. The fleeing crowd had ran in your direction and you and Lucia could not get out of the way fast enough – pushed down to the ground, in your attempt to shield Lucia as the two of you tried to crawl to the side of the street and away from the mob, your dress had been torn by the flurry of feet as runners stampeded, your body kicked more than once. At one point, someone had produced a pistol and shot at several buildings; and while that effectively ended the fight, several windows had shattered and some of the errant glass had fallen and cut your arm.

Pero feels absolutely sick at the picture his mind conjures of you being physically pushed and kicked, imagining how scared you must have been; he wants nothing more than to sweep you into his arms and comfort you, but without knowing the extent of your injuries, he settles for pressing his forehead to yours and whispering that everything will be okay now. You believe him.

With some difficulty, Pero helps you stand and brings you back to the ship; both of you agreeing that when the doctor is called, it should be to the safety and comfort of your own quarters. Though ever gentle with you, the fearsome scowl on Pero’s face clears a path from the square down to the docks – the deep furrow of his brow accentuating the faded scar over his left eye, as if to challenge anyone who would get between his wife and her safe haven. Calling out for medical supplies and hot water as soon as he’s onboard, Pero leads you to your chambers and sits you on your shared bed before falling to his knees in front of you. Slumping, tension in his strong frame finally dissolving, Pero lays his head in your lap and lets a few tears fall at the relief of finally getting you back home, safe. You stroke your husband’s soft curls lovingly, understanding all of him and letting his devotion wash over you - it brings you a calm that you haven’t felt for several hours now.

In silence, you let Pero tend to your cuts and scrapes, eyes never leaving his handsome face as you watch him concentrate on being gentle with his big, sometimes clumsy hands. Pero washes your face and hands, wiping away all evidence of the time you spent on the hard stone streets of the square, then takes care to thoroughly clean your injuries. When you hiss at the sting from the salve he applies to the cut on your arm, Pero murmurs, “Be good for me, Baronesa,” and distracts you momentarily from the pain with that sweet smile of his that he knows makes you melt.

Finally comes the point that Pero has been dreading; he undresses you carefully to tend to the injuries on your body, hoping none will be too serious. Once he has you stripped to the barest of your undergarments, he takes in the bruising that’s starting to show on your legs, hips and back and thinks he might cry again; his beautiful wife, so brave and strong – he cannot believe you sustained these injuries and still allowed him to move you about as he has without complaint. As if reading his mind, you run a finger through your husband’s scruff that you love so much and try to lighten his mood; nodding towards your discarded dress on the floor, you joke, “I do not think I will be wearing that dress again.”

Half serious, Pero replies, “I think I will bring it to the Polizia tomorrow, when I demand answers for how they allowed what happened in the square to transpire.”

“Pero.”

“Or we throw it over the side of the ship,” he shrugs, a little bit a light returning back to his eyes when he sees your good humour is unscathed; permitting himself to hold you close, Pero breathes his first calm breath since Miguel interrupted his meeting, inhaling your soft perfume. Seeing Pero in a better mood instantly lifts your spirits, and while in the safety of his loving arms, you give him a playful little wiggle and press your barely clad body to his.

“Dulce,” he warns, voice dipping low at your giggles. To show him it’s just a little bit of teasing, you straighten up immediately and allow Pero to run the warm cloth over your body and finish cleaning you up before dressing in your most modest nightgown without any more shenanigans.

The doctor who is called leaves a short while later, declaring that both you and Lucia will be fine and that a few weeks of lightened activity and rest should heal your injuries without issue. It’s not something you’re looking forward to, but you agree with Pero that for the remainder of your time in Naples, it would be better if you recovered from the safety of the ship.

For the first few days, you enjoy the calm and quiet of your vessel, many of the sailors and staff taking the opportunity to enjoy some leave while docked. But as the days go on, with Pero away for most of the day on business, you find yourself getting restless. You read your books and write your letters. You play your piano and even entreat Lucia and whomever remains onboard to play cards with you. From the ship’s deck you can still see much of the city, and even though you have no particular wish to return on this trip (your experience in the square still too fresh), it unfairly beckons to you like a siren. You’re bored. And despite loving your ship, you’re starting to feel cooped up.

Pero does his best each day to finish up his work as quickly as possible so he can return to you, enjoying the warmth of your company and checking for himself that you’re recovering properly. The Barón brings home delicious treats and pretty trinkets for his wife everyday, leaving no doubt that you’re ever on his mind even when apart. And while you love your husband dearly for his thoughtfulness, you cannot help, while enjoying his gifts from within the boundaries of a ship that once represented freedom to you, feeling a bit envious at being unable to go out and procure them for yourself. Pero can tell that you’re feeling a bit out of sorts, not your usual cheerful self; he so hates to see the wings of his pretty dove clipped – it saddens him just as much to see you try to hide your melancholy from him. And although he cannot agree to lift the current restrictions on your movements, he deeply wishes for a way to make your so-called confinement as pleasant as possible.

The morning that marks the start of your last week in Naples, you wake to an absolute ruckus coming from the ship deck; for a moment you feel a stab of fear, unused to such loud noises and voices without having been given some forewarning. You must still be feeling some effects of your recent scare, you think; upon listening a bit more carefully, you relax to the realization that the voices are primarily instructive and even calm. But it’s still much too early for this level of activity from the deck – the footsteps and voices you hear must be from at least double the amount of people you would normally expect to be up at this time of day. Also unusual is that you’ve woken up to an empty bed; every day following the incident in the square, you’ve woken up to your husband curled around you, arms and legs thrown over your body like protective amour. You don’t think you particularly like today’s change, but it makes sense – you can’t imagine whatever is going on outside to be taking place without your Pero’s permission. Not especially looking forward to another day of doing the same things again within the same confines of the ship, you lay in bed for a while longer, at least until the noises start to die down and your curiosity gets the better of you.

The sight that greets you as you open the door to the deck nearly knocks you off your feet. Somehow, it’s not a wooden ship’s deck that you’re now gazing upon, but a colourful and enchantingly idyllic scene, something that could have been painted by a great master of the arts. For a moment, you have to pinch yourself, is this a dream?

You step through the doorway from the ship’s hold into an ethereal garden – blooming flowers have overtaken every inch of the ship’s deck: thick braided garlands of roses, violets, and peonies wrap wondrously around every one of the ship’s railings, big bright pots of lilacs, azaleas and irises line the sides of the ship and surround a makeshift sitting area where some garden furniture you’ve never seen before has been arranged. Even the mast has been decorated to look like a spring maypole, intertwining vines of clematis and jasmine crisscross all the way down from the crow’s nest so tightly you can barely see any of the dark wood that normally centres your great vessel. Every bow is positively dripping with wisterias, reminding you for a moment of your beloved Bridgerton House. You walk slowly through the dreamlike scene, weaving between the lush plants and the fresh, bold flowers. Brushing your hand over the railing as you meander, your fingertips flutter at the soft feel of the blooming petals and your eyes brighten at the rainbow hues that paint every perimeter inch of the ship. Your nose breathes in the sweet and intoxicating floral scent that now dances lightly in the air. You close your eyes and inhale. Your eyes open again with a soft exhale. Repeat.

You’re turning around slowly, trying to take in the entirety of your magical surroundings when your eyes land on your beaming husband, standing like a handsome faerie king holding an exquisite bouquet of your favourite peonies in his hand, waiting for his pretty queen to take in all his hard work. Despite the residual pain you still feel a bit in your sides, you launch yourself into Pero’s arms, throwing your own around his neck and passionately press your lips to his. Mouth opening, you let Pero lick in and explore, before pulling yourself up onto your toes and suck on his tongue eagerly. Pero pulls you in tightly and when he feels your tongue stroke behind his teeth, lets loose a deep vibrating hum of want that reverberates through you, straight to your core. With a quick nibble to your bottom lip and a few chasing flutter kisses, Pero reluctantly pulls away; he’s sure there are curious eyes all over the ship deck, even if they are currently concealed by the splendid greenery that’s overtaken the space.

When he steps back look at you, the expression on your face almost gives Pero enough reason to throw modesty and decorum out the window, grab at your enticing curves and throw you down amidst the lush fauna he’s brought onto the ship to have his way with you. Almost. Your eyes shine bright and twinkle, there’s a fresh glow to your cheeks, and your smile is the widest that he’s seen in weeks: you’re alive again.

“Pero,” you cry in bliss, “what is all this?”

The Barón gently cradles your head in his hand and reverently strokes the soft hair of his beloved Baronesa, “Mi amor, I could tell that staying confined to the ship has not been agreeing with you. If you cannot go out to explore and play in the wide world, then I will do my best to bring the wide world to you. Now, instead of a cold, dreary ship deck, I hope you will enjoy the remainder of the week before we set sail in your own private garden.”

You could cry – what did you ever do to deserve the love and devotion of your perfect husband? He forever thinks of your comfort and the wellness of your heart – but he does so much more than just take care of you or do things that make you happy, he’s the reason for your joy, for your very being. You cannot stop murmuring, Thank you thank you thank you, into his chest as he holds you close, not only to him but for him.

The flowers last a week which is precisely how long you need them to last. During those final days before your fleet sets sail, you find yourself soothed every time you enter or sit in your personal secret garden; second, by the tranquility and peacefulness of your botanical hideaway, and first, by the knowledge that you have the love of the kindest, sweetest man on earth.

Leaning now along the once again bare wood railing, with the salty sea wind blowing through your hair, you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist. The patchy facial hair of your husband tickles your cheek as he presses a sweet kiss to your temple and whispers in your ear, “Happy to be on our way, Dulce?”

Turning in his arms, you snuggle into his safe hold; tucking yourself under his chin, you sigh into Pero’s neck, “Just happy, mi amor.”

#jettsflora&faunachallenge #pero tovar #regency!pero tovar #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #bridgerton au #pero tovar series #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #no y/n

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gothhabiba · 6 months

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loving your falafel research saga and just wanted to ask - something I remember hearing about falafel is that while Israeli culture definitely appropriated it, the concept of serving it in pita bread with salads, tahini etc. is a specifically Israeli twist on the dish. I wonder if you found/know anything about that?

The short answer is: it's not impossible, but I don't think there's any way to tell for sure. The long answer is:

The most prominent claim I've heard of this nature is specifically that Yemeni Jews (who had immigrated to Israel under 'right of return' laws and were Israeli citizens) invented the concept of serving falafel in "pita" bread in the 1930s—perhaps after they (in addition to Jews from Morocco or Syria) had brought falafel over and introduced it to Palestinians in the first place.

"Mizrahim brought falafel to Palestine"

This latter claim, which is purely nonsense (again... no such thing as Moroccan falafel!)—and which Joel Denker (linked above) repeats with no source or evidence—was able to arise because it was often Mizrahim who introduced Israelis to Palestinian food. Mizrahi falafel sellers in the early 20th century might run licensed falafel stands, or carry tins full of hot falafel on their backs and go from door to door selling them (see Shaul Stampfer on a Yemeni man doing this, "Bagel and Falafel: Two Iconic Jewish Foods and One Modern Jewish Identity," in Jews and their Foodways, p. 183; this Arabic source mentions a 1985 Arabic novel in which a falafel seller uses such a tin; Yael Raviv writes that "Running falafel stands had been popular with Yemenite immigrants to Palestine as early as the 1920s and ’30s," "Falafel: A National Icon," Gastronomica 3.3 (2003), p. 22).

On Mizrahi preparation of Palestinian food, Dafna Hirsch writes:

As Sami Zubaida notes, Middle Eastern foodways, while far from homogeneous, are nevertheless describable in a vocabulary and set of idioms that are “often comprehensible, if not familiar, to the socially diverse parties” [...]. Thus, for the Jews who arrived in Palestine from the Middle East, Palestinian Arab foods and foodways were “comprehensible, if not familiar,” even if some of the dishes were previously unknown to most of them. [...] They found nothing extraordinary or exotic in the consumption, preparation, and selling of foods from the Palestinian Arab kitchen. Therefore, it was often Mizrahi Jews who mediated local foods to Ashkenazi consumers, as street food vendors and restaurant owners. ("Urban Food Venues as Contact Zones between Arabs and Jews during the British Mandate Period," in Making Levantine Cuisine: Modern Foodways of the Eastern Mediterranean, p. 101).

Raviv concurs and furnishes a possible mechanism for this borrowing:

Other Mizrahi Jewish vendors sold falafel, which by the late 1930s had become quite prevalent and popular on the streets of Tel Aviv. [...] Tel Aviv had eight licensed Mizrahi falafel vendors by 1941 and others who sold falafel without a license. [FN: The Tel Aviv municipality granted vending license to people who could not make their living in any other way as a form of welfare.] Many of the vendors were of Yemenite origins, although falafel was unknown in Yemen. [FN: Many of the immigrants from Yemen arrived in Palestine via Egypt, so it is possible that they learned to prepare it there and then adjusted the recipe to the Palestinian version, which was made from chickpeas and not from fava beans (ṭaʿmiya). Shmuel Yefet, an Israeli falafel maker, tells about his father, Yosef Ben Aharon Yefet, who arrived in Palestine from Aden [Yemen] in the early 1920s and then traveled to Port Said in 1939. There he became acquainted with ṭaʿmiya, learned to prepare it, and then went back to Palestine and opened a falafel shop in Tel Aviv [youtube video].]*

But why claim that Yemeni Jews invented falafel (or at least that they had introduced it from Yemen), even though its adoption from Palestinian Arabs in the early days of the second Aliya, aka the 1920s (before Mizrahim had begun to immigrate in larger numbers; see Raviv, p. 20) was within living memory at this point (i.e. the 1950s)? Raviv notes that an increasing (I mean, actually she says new, which... lol) negative attitude towards Arabs in the wake of the Nakba (I mean... she says "War of Independence") created a new sense of urgency around de-Arabizing "Israeli" culture (p. 22). Its association with Mizrahi sellers allowed falafel to "be linked to Jewish immigrants who had come from the Middle East and Africa" and thus to "shed its Arab association in favor of an overarching Israeli identification" (p. 21).

Stampfer again:

On the one hand (with regard to immigrants from Eastern Europe), [falafel] underscored the break between immediate past East European Jewish foods and the new “Oriental” world of Eretz Israel.** At the same time, this food could be seen as a link with an (idealized) past. Among the Jewish public in Eretz Israel, Yemenite falafel was regarded as the most original and tastiest version. This is a bit odd, as falafel—whether in or out of a pita—was not a traditional Yemenite food, neither among Muslims nor among Jews. To understand the ascription of falafel to Yemenite Jews, it is necessary to consider their image. Yemenite Jews were widely regarded in the mid-20th century as the most faithful transmitters of a form of Jewish life that was closest to the biblical world—and if not the biblical world, at least the world of the Second Temple, which marked the last period of autonomous Jewish life in Eretz Israel. In this sense, eating “Yemenite” could be regarded as an act of bodily identification with the Zionist claim to the land of Israel. (p. 189)

So, when it's undeniable that a food is "Arab" or "Oriental" in origin, Zionists will often attribute it to Yemen, Syria, Morocco, Turkey, &c.—and especially to Jewish communities within these regions—because it cannot be permitted that Palestinians have a specific culture that differentiates them in any way from other "Arabs." A culinary culture based in the foodstuffs cultivated from this particular area of land would mean a tie and a claim to the land, which Zionist logic cannot allow Palestinians to possess. This is why you'll hear Zionists correct people who say "Palestinians" to say "Arab" instead, or suggest that Palestinians should just scooch over into other "Arab" countries because it would make no difference to them. Raviv's conclusion that the attribution of falafel to Yemeni immigrants is an effort to detach it from its "Arab" origins isn't quite right—it is an attempt to detach it, and thus Palestinians themselves, from Palestinian roots.

"Yemeni Jews first put falafel in 'pita'"

As for this claim, it's often attributed to Gil Marks: "Jews didn’t invent falafel. They didn’t invent hummus. They didn’t invent pita. But what they did invent was the sandwich. Putting it all together.” (Hilariously, the author of the interview follows this up with "With each story, I wanted to ask, but how do you know that?")

Another author (signed "Philologos") speculates (after, by the way, falsely claiming that "falafel" is the plural of the Arabic "filfil" "pepper," and that falafel is always brown, not green, inside?!):

Yet while falafel balls are undoubtedly Arab in origin, too, it may well be that the idea of serving them as a street-corner food in pita bread, to which all kinds of extras can be added, ranging from sour pickles to whole salads, initially was a product of Jewish entrepreneurship.

Shaul Stampfer cites both of these articles as further reading on the "novelty of the combination of pita, falafel balls, and salad" (FN 76, p. 198)—but neither of them cites any evidence! They're both just some guy saying something!

Marks had, however, elaborated a little bit in his 2010 Encyclopedia of Jewish Food:

Falafel was enjoyed in salads as part of a mezze (appetizer assortment) or as a snack by itself. An early Middle Eastern fast food, falafel was commonly sold wrapped in paper, but not served in the familiar pita sandwich until Yemenites in Israel introduced the concept. [...] Yemenite immigrants in Israel, who had made a chickpea version in Yemen, took up falafel making as a business and transformed this ancient treat into the Israeli iconic national food. Most importantly, Israelis wanted a portable fast food and began eating the falafel tucked into a pita topped with the ubiquitous Israeli salad (cucumber-and-tomato salad).

He references one of the pieces that Lillian Cornfeld (columnist for the English-language, Jerusalem-based newspaper Palestine Post) wrote about "filafel":

An article from October 19, 1939 concluded with a description of the common preparation style of the most popular street food, 'There is first half a pita (Arab loaf), slit open and filled with five filafels, a few fried chips and sometimes even a little salad,' the first written record of serving falafel in pita. [Marks doesn't tell you the title or page—it's "Seaside Temptations: Juveniles' Fare at Tel Aviv," p. 4.]

You will first of all notice that Marks gives us the "falafel from Yemen" story. I also notice that he calls Salat al-bundura "Israeli salad" (in its entry he does not claim that European Jewish immigrants invented it, but neither does he attribute it to Palestinian influence: the dish was originally "Turkish coban salatsi"). His encyclopedia also elsewhere contains Zionist claims such as "wild za'atar was declared a protected plant in Israel" "[d]ue to overexploitation" because of how much of the plant "Arab families consume[d]," and that Israeli cultivation of the crop yielded "superior" plants (entry for "Za'atar")—a narrative of "Arab" mismanagement, and Israeli improvement, of land used to justify settler-colonialism. He writes that Palestinians who accuse "the Jews" of theft in claiming falafel are "creat[ing] a controversy" and that "food and culture cannot be stolen," with no reflection on the context of settler-colonialism and literal, physical theft that lies behind said "controversy." This isn't relevant except that it makes me sceptical of Marks's motivations in general.

More pertinent is the fact that this quote doesn't actually suggest that this falafel vendor was Yemeni (or otherwise) Jewish, nor does it suggest that he was the first one to prepare falafel in pitas with "fried chips," "sometimes even a little salad," and "Tehina, a local mayonnaise made with sesame oil" (Cornfeld, p. 4). I think it likely that this food had been sold for a while before it was described in published writing. The idea that this preparation is "Israeli" in origin must be false, since this was before the state of "Israel" existed—that it was first created by Yemeni Jewish falafel vendors is possible, but again, I've never seen any direct evidence for it, or anyone giving a clear reason for why they believe it to be the case, and the political reasons that people have for believing this narrative make me wary of it. There were Palestinian Arab falafel vendors at this time as well.

"Chickpea falafel is a Jewish invention"

There is also a claim that falafel originated in Egypt, where it was made with fava beans; spread to the Levant, including Palestine, where it was made with a combination of fava beans and chickpeas; but that Jewish immigration to Israel caused the origin of the chickpea-only falafal currently eaten in Palestine, because a lot of Jewish people have G6PD deficiencies or favism (inherited enzymatic deficiencies making fava beans anywhere from unpleasant to dangerous to eat)—or that Jewish populations in Yemen had already been making chickpea-only falafel, and this was the falafel which they brought with them to Palestine.

As far as I can tell, this claim comes from Joan Nathan's 2001 The Foods of Israel:

Zadok explained that at the time of the establishment of the state, falafel—the name of which probably comes from the word pilpel (pepper)—was made in two ways: either as it is in Egypt today, from crushed, soaked fava beans or fava beans combined with chickpeas, spices, and bulgur; or, as Yemenite Jews and the Arabs of Jerusalem did, from chickpeas alone. But favism, an inherited enzymatic deficiency occurring among some Jews—mainly those of Kurdish and Iraqi ancestry, many of whom came to Israel during the mid 1900s—proved potentially lethal, so all falafel makers in Israel ultimately stopped using fava beans, and chickpea falafel became an Israeli dish.

Gil Marks's 2010 Encyclopedia of Jewish Food echoes (but does not cite):

Middle Eastern Jews have been eating falafel for centuries, the pareve fritter being ideal in a kosher diet. However, many Jews inherited G6PD deficiency or its more severe form, favism; these hereditary enzymatic deficiencies are triggered by items like fava beans and can prove fatal. Accordingly, Middle Eastern Jews overwhelmingly favored chickpeas solo in their falafel. (Entry for "Falafel")

The "centuries" thing is consistent with the fact that Marks believes falafel to be of Medieval origin, a claim which most scholars I've read on the subject don't believe (no documentary evidence, + oil was expensive so it seems unlikely that people were deep frying anything). And, again, this claim is speculation with no documentary evidence to support it.

As for the specific modern toppings including the Yemeni hot sauce سَحاوِق / סְחוּג (saHawiq / "zhug"), Baghdadi mango pickle عنبة / עמבה ('anba), and Moroccan هريسة / חריסה ("harissa"), it seems likely that these were introduced by Mizrahim given their place of origin.

*You might be interested to know that, despite their Jewishness mediating this borrowing, Mizrahim were during the Mandate years largely ethnically segregated from Eastern European Zionists, who were pushing to create a "new" European-Israeli Judaism separate from what they viewed as the indolence and ignorance of "Oriental" Jewishness (Hirsch p. 101).

This was evidenced in part by Europeans' attitudes towards the "Oriental" diet. Ari Ariel, summarizing Yael Raviv's Falafel Nation, writes:

Although all immigrants were thought to require culinary education as an aspect of their absorption into the new national culture, Middle Eastern Jews, who began to immigrate in increasing numbers after 1948, provoked greater anxiety on the part of the state than did their Ashkenazi co-religionists. Israeli politicians and ideologues spoke of the dangers of Levantization and stereotyped Jews from the Middle East and North Africa as primitive, lazy, and ignorant. In keeping with this Orientalism, the state pressured Middle Easterners to change their foodways and organized cooking demonstrations in transit camps and new housing developments. (Book review, Israel Studies Review 31.2 (2016), p. 169.)

See also Esther Meir-Glitzenstein, "Longing for the Aromas of Baghdad: Food, Emigration, and Transformation in the Lives of Iraqi Jews in Israel in the 1950s," in Jews and their Foodways:

[...] [T]he Israeli establishment was set on “educating” the new immigrants not only in matters of health and hygiene, [77] but also in the realm of nutrition. A concerted propaganda effort was launched by well-baby clinics, kindergartens, schools, health clinics, and various organizations such as the Women’s International Zionist Organization (WIZO) and the Organization of Working Mothers in order to promote the consumption of milk and dairy products, in particular. [78] (These had a marginal place in Iraqi cuisine, consumed mainly by children.) Arab and North African cuisines were criticized for being not sufficiently nutritious, whereas the Israeli diet was touted as ideal, as it was western and modern. […] [T]he assault on traditional Middle Eastern cuisines reflected cultural arrogance yet another attempt to transform immigrants into “new Jews” in accordance with the Zionist ethos. Thus, European table manners were presented as the norm. Eating with the hands was equated with primitive behavior, and use of a fork and knife became the hallmark of modernity and progress. (pp. 100-101)

[77. On health matters, see Davidovich and Shvarts, “Health and Hegemony,” 150–179; Sahlav Stoller-Liss, “ ‘Mothers Birth the Nation’: The Social Construction of Zionist Motherhood in Wartime in Israeli Parents’ Manuals,” Nashim 6 (Fall 2003), 104–118.]

[78. On propaganda for drinking milk and eating dairy products, see Mor Dvorkin, “Mif’alei hahazanah haḥinukhit bishnot ha’aliyah hagedolah: mekorot umeafyenim” (seminar paper, Ben-Gurion University, 2010).]

**On the desire to shed "old, European" "Jewish" identity and take on a "new, Oriental" "Hebrew" one, and the contradictory impulses to use Palestinian Arabs as models in this endeavour and to claim that they needed to be "corrected," see:

Itamar Even-Zohar, "The Emergence of a Native Hebrew Culture in Palestine, 1882—1948"

Dafna Hirsch, "We Are Here to Bring the West, Not Only to Ourselves": Zionist Occidentalism and the Discourse of Hygiene in Mandate Palestine"

Ofra Tene, "'The New Immigrant Must Not Only Learn, He Must Also Forget': The Making of Eretz Israeli Ashkenazi Cuisine."

#sorry for this but you should've known better than to ask me about falafel at this stage in my life #falafel research saga

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crimson-veil-rpg · 5 days

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C R I M S O N . V E I L forum rpg urban fantasy de type créatures et gangs avec concept de doubles identités secrètes (tw : violence, sang, chasse) ¨:·. .·:¨ ¨:·. ☾ .·:¨ ¨:·. .·:¨ ¨:·. .·:¨ ¨:·. ☾ .·:¨ ¨:·. .·:¨ Scarborough. Il y a quelque chose dans ce nom qui écorche la langue en y laissant sa marque, raclant la gargue pour s'extirper presque douloureusement des lèvres. Ici, les apparences sont trompeuses, se fardant d'un monticule de faux semblants au cœur de la station balnéaire britanique. Les jours d'été sont doucereux, idéaux pour flâner naïvement le temps d'un après-midi à sombrer dans l'oisiveté. Puis, il y a la sorgue qui tombe, ne laisse qu'un empire des lueurs artificielles devenues floues sous une brume dominante, sertie d'une âcre fragrance d'iode.

Alors les ombres sortent, sournoises chimères aux babines avides dégueulant de crocs affutés qui entament leur ballet nocturne. Les masques tombent jusqu'à l'aube naissante et plus rien ne paraît alors rassurant. Les bêtes grouillent, se dévoilent, se croisent à l’abri des mires aveugles d’êtres humains pour qui elles ne sont que des histoires fantaisistes que l'on conte aux bambins. Les griffes se ferment sur les chairs et les disparitions vont bon train. Enfin jusqu'à-ce que les projectiles filent, tentant de protéger les pauvres égaré.es de leurs funestes étreintes. Parce qu'il y a toujours eu les proies, toujours eu les traqueurs en un jeu sempiternel. Si bien qu'on ne sait plus vraiment qui sont les prédateurs et qui sont les proies.

Peut-être que dans tout ça votre charmante voisine vous offrant d'alléchantes pâtisseries n'est autre qu'une chasseuse de monstres aguerrie une fois le crépuscule tombé, que votre collègue de bureau se révèle être un bestiau assassin faisant bonne figure afin de mieux se fondre dans la masse, que cet aimable facteur fait partie d'un organisme secret mettant à mal l'humanité lorsqu'il ne livre pas le courrier.

Et vous, au fond, qui êtes-vous réellement ? ¨:·. .·:¨ ¨:·. ☾ .·:¨ ¨:·. .·:¨ ¨:·. .·:¨ ¨:·. ☾ .·:¨ ¨:·. .·:¨

Encore un énième univers porté sur les bestioles et pourtant, Crimson Veil vous proposera quelque chose en plus pour pimenter le jeu. Le forum possèdera un concept d’identités secrètes, où seul le staff connaîtra la véritable espèce ou rôle au sein des organisations de chaque personnage. Le but sera évidemment de jouer le jeu, d’en dévoiler le moins possible, laisser des indices s’échapper de temps à autre et dissimuler les crasses sous quelques balises hide bien placées. Les membres d’une même organisation ou d’une même espèce, pourront se reconnaître entre eux bien entendu, à comploter paisiblement à l’abri des regards dans des zones secrètes. Bien sûr, le forum demande pas mal d’aménagements pratiques afin que les mystères soient viables au maximum, les réponses quant à l’organisation des choses arriveront en temps voulu.

Et ça ne risque pas de vriller city tout ça ? Et bien mon petit Philibert, le jeu sera agrémenté de plusieurs espèces non jouables sous forme de PNJ capables de semer le trouble et donner du rebondissement entre les diverses intrigues. Même les créatures les plus hostiles pourront se faire croquer par plus gros qu’elles.

Le nom de Scarborough, petite ville côtière du Yorkshire, en Angleterre, vous est peut-être familier. En effet, une partie de l’univers reprendra le lore et quelques petites choses à son forum grand frère, Noctivagus, ouvert en septembre 2020 et qui a fermé ses portes en 2023. De nombreuses choses seront cependant intégralement revues et adaptées (nombre et types de créatures, gangs, système de jeu, codage et design, etc.). Reprendre cette base et réhabiliter ce forum sous une toute nouvelle forme permettra également de gagner en temps et en énergie durant la construction (big brain mouve). À bientôt donc pour une toute nouvelle aventure.

#forum rpg #forum francophone #french rpg #forumactif #forum fantastique

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