#AND THE CHARITY SHOP *BURNED DOWN* BY THE END OF THE INCIDENT REPORT

[countdown-til-sanders-take-over]

So hows it going 😀

TMAGP 7 is a WILD ride

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

idk whether you'd want like, lois lane-esque stiles or not to go with superman!derek but what about an au where derek flirts with stiles by "saving" him from everyday mishaps ??? if you hate that i can send another lmao c:

Sorry it took so long! And sorry if it’s a little rushed! (also on ao3!)

Being Superman meant that Derek was almost constantly saving people. Whether it was rescuing a family from a burning building or fighting one of his superpowered enemies, he was saving people.

At this point, it was simple habit to help people, something that had been ingrained in him since childhood. Growing up in a small town, in the midst of a tight-knit farming community, he had quickly learned the importance of helping others.

Throughout grade school, he had always been the first one to volunteer to help his teachers with everything from cleaning the chalkboard after a lesson to passing out papers to other students. It had earned him the moniker of teacher's pet, which he had heard other students whisper behind his back, not that he had cared much.

He had made a concerted effort to make friends with new kids who transferred in to school, offering to sit with them at lunch or show them around so they wouldn't get lost. He had even made it a habit to share his lunch with students who couldn't afford to buy school lunch and didn't have enough food at home to spare for a bagged lunch.

In high school, he had organized food drives and baking sales, doing everything in his power to help in whatever way he could. And when he bought his first car, a beat-up old Chevy pickup that wasn't much to look at but was his, he had taken it upon himself to offer rides to school whenever it rained so others didn't have to get soaked while waiting for the bus.

His almost compulsive habit of helping continued throughout college where he had founded more than a few student organizations that offered support for marginalized students and acting as the designated driver for dozens of parties he never would have attended otherwise. And it had never gone away.

Which is why when Derek started developing a rather embarrassing crush on one of his co-workers at the Daily Planet, he immediately fell back on his only method of flirting: saving him.

Stiles Stilinski was the Planet's newest hire, a fact checker slash reporter who was almost worryingly unafraid in the field. He had a penchant for getting himself into trouble no matter where he was, like the time that he had wound up as a witness to bank robbery while cashing his first paycheck from the Planet.

He had also stumbled upon a local chop shop in the city when he brought his precious Jeep in for an oil change only two months into his stay in the city. He had written a scathing expose about the business that had earned him a few death threats and had made Derek go on constant alert.

But Stiles hadn't been the slightest bit worried which only made Derek worry even more. And start his own personal brand of flirting which mostly consisted of 'saving' Stiles from everyday mishaps.

It started with simple things, ones that no one in their right mind would construe as flirting. He would inform Stiles when his shoelaces were untied, saving the extraordinarily clumsy reporter from tripping over his own feet and braining himself on the edge of his desk.

Stiles had just rolled his eyes and continued on his way to Mr. White's office. Of course, Stiles had ended up tripping and nearly smacked his head against the wall as he let out a shocked, high pitched cry.

It may have been an abuse of his powers and his mother probably wouldn't have approved but less than a second later, Derek had been at Stiles' side, righting him with a hand on his elbow. Stiles had brushed off Derek's concern with another eye roll as he bent to tie his shoes, though his cheeks were decidedly more red than before.

Another time, while leaving the office for the night, he had ended up walking to the parking garage with Stiles who was too engrossed in typing something on his phone to notice the steep drop off of the curb. Before Stiles could tumble off the sidewalk and break his ankle or worse, Derek had darted to his side, setting a guiding hand on the small of Stiles' back as he warned, "Watch your step."

Stiles had thanked him with a bright grin, making an offhand comment about the game on his phone he was playing, something about a Poochyena or something of that ilk. Derek never pretended to be very pop culture savvy.

A few weeks after the curb incident, Stiles was goofing off at his desk as he proofread his latest article about the local police department's annual charity ball, rocking back in his swivel chair. While grumbling about how much his eyes hurt from the hours of editing he had been putting in, he had leaned back much too far in his chair.

Before he could fumble backwards, bringing the chair with him, Derek, who had been walking by on his way back to his own desk, caught the back of his chair. Steadying the chair, he smirked at Stiles who gaped up at him, upside down, brown eyes wide.

"Careful," Derek had teased as he set the chair upright, the momentum rocking Stiles a bit. He couldn't resist puffing out his chest when Stiles' flushed a blotchy red to match his flannel shirt.

"My hero," Stiles had quipped, flashing Derek a bright grin as he turned back to his computer, nimble fingers flying over the keys. Derek had continued on his way to his desk with an extra spring in his step.

Things went on like that for quite some time. Stiles would do something reckless and clumsy and come dangerously close to bodily harm and Derek would swoop in like a white knight and save him from embarrassment and head contusions.

The pattern continued for weeks until Erica, one of the Planet's best photographers, decided to throw an impromptu office party. Derek wasn't even sure what exactly the point of the party was but he would have to be a fool to miss out on the champagne cupcakes Erica baked for every special event.

Apparently, neither could Stiles.

Though it was technically Stiles' day off, Derek heard the hum of his Jeep's engine as he approached the office building. As Stiles drew closer, Derek could hear the familiar pattern of his heartbeat, rabbit fast from caffeine and Stiles' jog into the building.

Stiles was in his usual state of dishevelment, wearing a dark blue flannel over a heather gray t-shirt and a pair of black jeans, his hair a complete mess. He had a paper cup of coffee from his favorite café in his hand, the scent of vanilla and caramel filling the room when he entered.

"Who's getting married?" Stiles asked as he made his way over to the table of various desserts where Derek was lingering, taking a break from editing his most recent article. His eyes flitted over the array of treats, from Erica's perfectly frosted cupcakes to the delicate chocolate cream puffs Boyd had bought from a nearby bakery.

Derek laughed into his own cup of coffee as Stiles licked his chops like a hungry puppy. Handing Stiles a paper plate to let him gorge himself to his heart's content, he asked, "Why do you think someone's getting married?"

"There's free food at work," Stiles pointed out, loading up his plate with as many cupcakes and mini eclairs as he possibly could. He glanced up at Derek as he popped a cream puff into his mouth, chewing with his mouth open in an oddly endearing way as he explained, "And not the shitty donuts that creep Daehler usually brings in. Must be a special occasion."

"Good point," Derek agreed, reaching over to grab an eclair from Stiles' plate. It earned him an affronted cry from Stiles who reached over to swat Derek on the arm.

"But no one's getting married," Derek informed him, taking a bite of his stolen eclair. Stiles shrugged, still loading up his plate with as much food as he could carry. "Erica just wanted to throw a party."

"Sounds like her," Stiles commented, raising his cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip. And because Stiles was quite literally the clumsiest person that Derek had ever met, the simple act of drinking coffee turned into a fiasco when he tipped the cup back too much and nearly spilled it all over himself.

Luckily, Derek was there to reach out and right Stiles' coffee cup before he could scald himself. But where Derek would have expected gratitude or a bit of embarrassment, as per usual, he only found suspicion as Stiles squinted at him.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, his voice low, curling up at the end. He narrowed his eyes a bit more as he gave Derek a quick once-over, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

"What do you mean?" Derek stammered, trying to appear as innocent as possible. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, Stiles following the movement with a raised brow.

"I mean," Stiles started, setting his plate of treats down on the table so he could point an accusing finger at Derek, "You keep doing stuff like that. The sidewalk, the chair, my shoelaces. What is this? Some kind of white knight syndrome or are you just flirting with me?"

Derek nearly swallowed his own tongue. He could feel his cheeks flush with heat, sure that he was turning bright red, his capillaries traitorous little bastards.

He shoved his free hand into his pocket, trying to look as casual as he could. But if Stiles was the clumsiest person ever, Derek was the most awkward.

Stiles clearly agreed as his eyes widened with realization as he stared at Derek, his jaw actually dropping like he were an animated character. Still pointing at Derek, he squeaked, "Dude, really?!"

Fully aware that he had never been very good at lying to Stiles --- save for the whole secret identity slash superpowered alien thing --- Derek just sighed. Chewing his bottom lip, he nodded, bracing himself for the inevitable rejection.

"That's awesome!" Stiles announced, breaking Derek out of his insecure little stupor. A wide smile had replaced his slack-jawed expression, his entire face lit up like the sun.

And like the sun, it made Derek feel utterly invincible. Invincible enough to swallow his hesitation and shove his awkwardness aside enough for him to ask, "So, uh, do you maybe wanna go out sometime?"

"Sometime?" Stiles echoed, tilting his head to the side like a floppy-eared puppy. Meeting Derek's eyes, Stiles smiled almost coyly and suggested, "What about right now?"

Derek beamed back at him, enthusiastically agreeing, "I think that sounds super."

[cordlock7-blog]

August 1901: All Hell Breaks Loose on Locust Street

Damage Done on the North Side of Locust Street (Philadelphia Inquirer, August 7, 1901)

August 6, 1901. “With an appalling roar that made buildings quake a quarter of a mile away, an explosion demolished five houses on Locust street between Tenth and Eleventh, last night. The extent of the death and disaster spread by the catastrophe could not be estimated—probably twenty were killed, and the burned and maimed reach scores.”

“Residents of the neighborhood…say that the first flash emanated from MacClemmy’s store, at 1014. The block stretching from Alder street to Warnock comprises six brick houses, all three stories in height, with dormer windows. Following the first flash came an all-pervading roar, a burst of flame from other shops and the whole block, all but the two dwellings at the Alder street corner fell a mass of brick and mortar. Houses on the opposite side of Locust street had windows and doors blown in.”

The massive explosion occurred just as the city was settling down for the summer evening. The cause: a tank of gasoline stored in the basement of MacClemmy’s grocery store.  “In an instant the block of buildings was in flames. So great was the force that two woman’s bodies were blown clear across the street, and the dormer window of 1018 Locust was thrown upon the opposite roof. Telegraph and trolley wires were destroyed and windows were broken as far away as Ninth street and Eleventh street.”

“Locust street . . . was instantly a mass of flaming debris, and men and women ran screaming hither and thither, entirely unable to control themselves. Mothers were calling their children, wives for their husbands, husbands for their wives. None seems to know, and everybody fears that some near and dear one was among the injured—or dead.”

“Lizzie Watkins, as she appears in her cot at the Pennsylvania Hospital (Philadelphia Inquirer, August 7, 1901).

Twenty injured survivors were taken to the nearby Jefferson Hospital and at least eleven more to Pennsylvania Hospital. Among them: Lizzie Watkins, who rescuers dug out from the debris nearly five hours after the incident.

“It seemed as if the world had come to an end,” Watkins told an Inquirer reporter from her hospital bed. “I went upstairs to my room in the rear of the third floor over Gale‘s restaurant, at 1012 Locust St., about 9 o’clock. It did not take me long to get to bed, and when the explosion came I was sound asleep.

“The first I knew I saw blinding flash of light and then the walls of my room begin caving in. In an instant I felt myself falling, falling, and could see bricks and broken glass flying all around me. All it wants I came to a stop in my flight downward. But the bricks and timbers, which I could see plainly, did not stop, and not knowing what else to do, I threw up my arms to protect myself. Whether or not this did any good I don’t know. All I know is that while the lower part of my body felt as the lower part of my body felt as if it was being crushed by the bricks and other things, my head and shoulders were free from weight.

“I laid in the position for a year, it seemed . . .when I heard voices above me. Then I heard a sound as if axes were chopping at timbers.  I kept looking up, and all at once I could see sky. The next thing I heard a voice asking me if I did not want something to drink.

“I replied that all I wanted was to do was get out of where I was. I have hardly gotten the words out of my mouth when a class of liquor was handed down to me, with instructions to drink it. I did as I was told, and then laid back, waiting for them to take me out.

After the Explosion – Locust Street, west of 10th Street [August 1901] (PhillyHistory.org)

“Blind? No, thank God. I can see. I am badly burned on the right side of my face, and the lower part of my body is sore and bruised. But I guess I will pull through all right. Lucky? Well, I guess I am. . .

Indeed. Early on the morning of August 15, Lizzie Watkins was well enough to make her way to Broad Street Station to board the chartered charity train reserved for 400 city children and 75 mothers hosted at the Seaside Home at Cape May, courtesy of the charity Children’s Country Week Association.

A different fate awaited grocer George M. MacClemmy, the man whose actions paved the way to the fatal explosion. The city coroner charged MacClemmy with “criminal negligence in the storage of gasoline in his store, 1014 Locust street.” Only four months earlier, City Council had criminalized the unregulated storage of gasoline in quantities more than a gallon.

Officials put the injured MacClemmy, who wasn’t expected to fully recover, under house arrest in his home near 46th Street and Baltimore Avenue.

[Sources: “Ordinance Prohibits Storage of Gasoline,” Inquirer, August 7, 1901; “Many Killed and Injured in Locust Street Explosion,” Inquirer, August 6, 1901; “Lizzie Watkins Tells of Her Experience,” Inquirer; August 7, 1901; “Mc’Clemmy Put Under Arrest,” Inquirer, August 14, 1901]

Source: https://www.phillyhistory.org/blog/index.php/2018/08/august-1901-all-hell-breaks-loose-on-locust-street/