#arizona history museum

[na-smithees-nothinginparticular]

The Mystery Dagger of the Arizona Historical Society

Hi tumblr. Maybe you can help me out with something.

I first saw the dagger while shadowing the curators of the Arizona History Museum. It’s located in the vault of the museum– once the vault of a bank on whose foundations the museum now stands– alongside a cabinet of antique guns, a large quantity of worked silver, and various other objects. The dagger had been sitting atop a filing cabinet, inconspicuous yet conspicuously out of place. Throughout the day, the curators had shown me a number of objects in the museum’s possession that had “Nothing to do with Arizona”, and this dagger, alongside the Hapsburg silver on the museum floor and native-made fishing spears from the Pacific Northwest, numbered among them.

“What’s up with that dagger?” I asked, pointing it out. One of the curators took it down from the cabinet and unsheathed it. The blade made a hellish screech as it rasped free. 

“Huh. I don’t actually know,” said the other curator. And so the mystery began. 

The dagger, as it turned out, had no provenance. That is to say, there’s no record of where it came from. It lacked an item tag, so there was no way tell who had donated it, where it had come from, or when it had entered the museum’s collection. (I later searched the museum’s artifact catalog, and the artifact doesn’t appear to come up in searches for “dagger” or “knife”. Many of the artifacts have no publicly available images, but the curators tell me that the artifact is not in the catalog.) I joked with several friends that the dagger must be cursed, and that I’m probably about to become an H. P. Lovecraft protagonist if I keep doing what I’m doing. But as we left that vault, all I could think was:

“This needs to go on the blog.”

I really wish I could tell you more about this thing. I’ve cross-referenced similar artifacts in the catalogs of the British Museum, the Met, and the Digital Repository of the Museums of India. The most similar artifacts have been 19th century Turkish, Indian, and Arabian blades. In particular, the flared, hammer-shaped pommel seems to be more common in Persian and Ottoman daggers. (Mughal daggers seem to more often have knob- or horse head-shaped pommels.)  It may be a khanjar or a jambiya, or it may be some kind of forgery. The Middle East and North Africa isn’t my area of expertise, but I’m hoping that by putting this out there, I may be able to get some new leads if people recognize this thing. I’ve put all my notes on the dagger below. 

What do you all think?

Notes:

-Object measures about 44 cm from pommel to tip of the bird’s neck. 

- Sheath has split where it would come in contact with the blade of the dagger. There is some slight staining on the fabric.

- Blade itself is about 24 cm long with a recurve shape. A ridge runs down both sides of the blade’s flat.

- Blade appears to be sharpened on both edges.

- Blade displays slight nicks and corrosion

- elaborate floral motif on hilt and scabbard

-Scabbard cloth may have originally been red but has faded to a dirty orange over time

- scabbard features small loop, possibly to secure dagger onto a belt

-long-billed bird’s head ornament on the tip of the scabbard. This design appears to be unique and has not appeared in any of the museum daggers I’ve seen. Species of bird is unknown.

-Parts of the crossguard are decorated with some kind of yellow metal. Gold? Brass? I didn’t have a way to check at the time.

Similar objects:

Jade-handled dagger and cover with silver ornament, origin unknown. Dated c. 19th century. Located at Indian Museum, Kolkata. https://museumsofindia.gov.in/repository/record/im_kol-R-14700-16720

Iron dagger with bone and mother-of-pearl hilt from Mumbai, Maharashtra, India. Date unknown. Located at Indian Museum, Kolkata.

Dagger and sheath set made of steel, copper, gold, bloodstone and ruby. Culture of origin listed as “Persian or Turkish, Ottoman”. Dated 18th-19th century. Located at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

Dagger (Jambiya) with sheath and belt. Materials: steel, silver, wood, leather, iron. Culture of origin listed as “Arabian”. Dated 19th century. Located at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

Dagger (Jambiya) with sheath. Materials: steel, wood, silver, brass, gold, niello (a black compound of sulfur and copper, lead, or silver used to infill engraved metal). Culture of origin listed as “Moroccan”. Dated 19th century. Located at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

Steel, rock crystal, and gold ceremonial dagger. Catalog description reads as follows: “Although intended for ceremonial use, this dagger features discretely carved talismanic inscriptions of the kind found on arms and armor that were designed for battle. The hilt includes gold inscriptions that call upon ‘Ali and Allah.”. Culture of origin listed as “Indian”. Dated 19th century. Located at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

Note: All four Met daggers originate in are credited to the “Bequest of George C. Stone, 1935”. Might be worth following up on?

[lionofchaeronea]

Arizona Landscape, Audley Dean Nichols, 1920s

[creekbed-burial]

Keep Me Safe

Elvis Presley Memorial Chapel at the Superstition Mountain Museum in Apache Junction, Arizona♡

[fatchance]

At the Southwestern Research Station, looking toward Mules Ears. 

In the Coronado National Forest Chiricahua Mountain unit, Cochise County, Arizona.

[rabbitcruiser]

McDonald’s Day 

McDonald’s Day falls on April 15, the anniversary day of when Ray Kroc opened his first McDonald’s restaurant in Des Plaines, Illinois, in 1955. Most, if not all, people around the world know this name, we believe. It’s one of the world’s largest fast-food restaurant chains. Did you know that Ray Kroc was not the founder of McDonald’s? The founders were the McDonald brothers. The current corporation credits its founding to Ray Kroc. So, let’s celebrate this McDonald’s Day in honor of Kroc as well as the restaurant founders, the McDonald brothers.

HISTORY OF MCDONALD'S DAY

The very first McDonald’s restaurant was opened by New Hampshire brothers Richard and Maurice McDonald on May 15, 1940, in San Bernardino, California. The McDonald brothers started by serving slow-cooked barbecue, and the business took off quickly. They later found out that 80% of their sales were from hamburgers, so they closed it for three months. They then remodeled it as a self-service restaurant, where customers placed their orders at the windows. It is said that they simplified their menu to just nine: hamburgers, cheeseburgers, three flavors of soft drink, milk, coffee, potato chips, and pie.

The McDonald’s brothers developed the “Speedee Service System,” allowing them to prepare the food quickly. All their hamburgers contained ketchup, mustard, onions, and two pickles. Although this newly remodeled McDonald’s struggled at first, once the brothers replaced potato chips with french fries and introduced triple thick milkshakes, the business started to grow again. In the early 1950s, they saw their profits double. They then established several franchises in California and Arizona. Ray Kroc, a milkshake mixer salesman, visited them in 1954, wondering why McDonald’s would order eight of his multimixers.

Once Kroc knew about McDonald’s restaurant operation, he saw potential in it. He then bought the rights to franchise the brothers’ restaurant across the country. He opened his first McDonald’s franchised restaurant in Des Plaines, Illinois, in 1955. But, their relationship was contentious due to philosophies that differ on how to run the business. Kroc later purchased the company from the McDonald brothers in 1961. The brothers who lent their name to the business and were pioneers of the business concept gradually faded to the background. They kept their original San Bernardino restaurant until they were out of business eventually.

MCDONALD'S DAY TIMELINE

1940

The First McDonald’s

The first McDonald’s restaurant is opened by Richard and Maurice McDonald in San Bernardino, California.

Early 1950s

Doubled Business Profits

McDonald’s profits double, and the brothers establish several franchises.

1955

The First Ray Kroc’s McDonald’s

Kroc opens his first McDonald’s franchised restaurant in Des Plaines, Illinois.

1961

The Business is Sold

Kroc purchases the McDonald’s company.

MCDONALD'S DAY FAQS

How much is McDonald's worth in 2021?

Reportedly, McDonald’s has a net worth of 36.53 billion U.S.D.

What nationality is McDonald?

It’s Scottish, and McDonald is probably the most famous Scottish clan surname.

How rich is the owner of McDonald's?

Chris Kempczinski is reportedly paid 5.22 million U.S.D. annually as the C.E.O. of McDonald’s, with a net worth of 17.9 million U.S.D.

MCDONALD'S DAY ACTIVITIES

Go to McDonald’s: There’s nothing better than going to its restaurant on its day. Order some Chicken McNuggets for a starter. Then continue with the well-known Big Mac along with the World Famous Fries. To finish up, get Coca-Cola and a Vanilla Cone, or McFlurry, or Hot Fudge Sundae.

Spread the word: Tell your family and friends about this fun day in case you want some company. You can order through McDelivery and enjoy the food and drinks together at home. Or, you may want to bring them to McDonald’s and dine in.

Watch “The Founder”: If you’re home alone, you may want to watch the movie “The Founder.” Watch the story about the famous McDonald’s while you’re munching your Double Cheeseburger and McChicken along with the World Famous Fries.

5 FACTS ABOUT MCDONALD’S HAMBURGERS YOU NEED TO KNOW

The burger cost only 15 cents: In the beginning, a McDonald’s burger cost only 15 cents.

Billions of burgers have been sold: It is estimated that billions and billions of McDonald’s burgers have been sold.

A Big Mac was once 45 cents: The first Big Mac was created in 1967 and cost only 45 cents.

It can be a source of protein: It is said that a McDonald’s hamburger contains 25% of your daily value of protein.

Happy Meals were first introduced in 1979: McDonald’s launched its first Happy Meal worldwide in 1979, and in 2021, McDonald’s announced that Happy Meal’s plastic toys would be phased out.

WHY WE LOVE MCDONALD'S DAY

It’s convenient: McDonald’s can always be an option when you don’t have any idea where to go to eat. They’re everywhere, you know.

It’s affordable: McDonald’s food and drinks are affordable. Not only that, but they are also delicious. They’re worth buying.

It can be a nice place to hang out: If you’re going to hang out with your friends for hours, McDonald’s has got you covered. Sure, they have many selections of food and drinks. Besides that, most of them have spacious dining-in.

Source

[randadrives]

Switching it up today. Just a traveling adventure dog.

In case you did not know, the PIMA Air and Space Museum in Tucson, AZ is a dog friendly museum!

[mudwerks]

(via Arizona's 1st African American history museum opens in Tucson)

the FIRST in AZ?!!?!?

WT actual Fuck

[paranormal-playground-podcast]

The Spirits of Fort Huachuca: Unveiling Arizona's Haunted Fort

Nestled amidst the breathtaking landscapes of southeastern Arizona, Fort Huachuca stands as a testament to the rich history of the American military. Established in 1877, this historic base has witnessed countless soldiers, their families, and civilians come and go, leaving behind a legacy that extends beyond the physical realm. The Spirits of Fort Huachuca are a significant part of its haunted…

[selinastarchild]

Arizona Capitol Museum (part 1)

[blogglgrogan]

Looking Forward Means Looking Back

[headspace-hotel]

I was talking about editing a bunch of wikipedia pages to talk about native americans and farmer family friend was like

"yeah, it's like when we went to Turkey and we visited these historical museums, and the museums acted like the history of the country began when the Ottomans took over. The Hagia Sophia was built in what, 500 AD? And there are Roman ruins everywhere but the 'history' only begins in the 1400s. In this book I'm reading about the history of agriculture in Kentucky the author doesn't even discuss Native Americans before Europeans came. It's a huge oversight."

I've consciously tried to unlearn that shit so many times why does it STILL unlock little doors in my brain when I learn examples of how deeply arbitrary the boundaries of what we see as "history" are.

He also talked about how we have this idea of cave men being our ancestors because the things left by them in caves were more permanent, whereas the structures and things people built above ground would have decayed.

...I really do think about that a lot. How we have evidence of the civilizations that built things out of stone, while civilizations that used materials that biodegraded wouldn't have left as much evidence.

Come to think of it, some of the best known ancient civilizations did live in deserts. But they had contemporaries (like Punt, which we now know was in Ethiopia iirc...)

Farmer family friend also has been to Arizona (Might have been New Mexico? Idk.) and saw these Indigenous rock carvings he told me about that I never stopped thinking about. According to him, there's a rock face that has pictographs carved into it showing the steps of how to plant and harvest corn. "Very simple," he said, "like a tutorial."

And the crazy thing is. There's this nearby rock formation that casts a shadow on the rock face. And throughout the year, as the position of the sun changes, the shadow points to the step in the corn growing tutorial you're supposed to be doing at that time of year.

...I swear this guy has me come over just so he can have someone to talk to while he's doing mind numbing manual labor.

[old-powwow-days]

The first major solo museum presentation of fourth-generation Navajo weaver Melissa Cody (b. 1983, No Water Mesa, Arizona) spans the last decade of her practice, showcasing over 30 weavings and a major new work produced for the exhibition. Using long-established weaving techniques and incorporating new digital technologies, Cody assembles and reimagines popular patterns into sophisticated geometric overlays, incorporating atypical dyes and fibers. Her tapestries carry forward the methods of Navajo Germantown weaving, which developed out of the wool and blankets that were made in Germantown, Pennsylvania and supplied by the US government to the Navajo people during the forced expulsion from their territories in the mid-1800s. During this period, the rationed blankets were taken apart and the yarn was used to make new textiles, a practice of reclamation which became the source of the movement. While acknowledging this history and working on a traditional Navajo loom, Cody’s masterful works exercise experimental palettes and patterns that animate through reinvention, reframing traditions as cycles of evolution. Melissa Cody is a Navajo/Diné textile artist and enrolled member of the Navajo/Diné nation. Cody grew up on a Navajo Reservation in Leupp, Arizona and received a Bachelor’s degree in Studio Arts and Museum Studies from Institute of American Indian Arts, Santa Fe. Her work has been featured in The Barnes Foundation, Philadelphia (2022); Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, Bentonville, AR (2021); National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa (2019–2020); Museum of Northern Arizona, Flagstaff (2019); SITE Santa Fe (2018–19); Ingham Chapman Gallery, University of New Mexico, Albuquerque (2018); Navajo Nation Museum, Window Rock (2018); and the Museum of Contemporary Native Arts, Institute of American Indian Arts, Santa Fe (2017–18). Cody’s works are in the collections of the Stark Museum of Art, Orange, Texas; the Minneapolis Institute of Arts; and The Autry National Center, Los Angeles. In 2020, she earned the Brandford/Elliott Award for Excellence in Fiber Art.

Melissa Cody: Webbed Skies currently on exhibition at MoMA PS1 through September 9nth, 2024

IDs Under the cut

Top to Bottom, Left to Right: White Out. 2012. 3-ply aniline dyed wool. 17 × 24″ (43.2 × 61 cm)

Deep Brain Stimulation. 2011. Wool warp, weft, selvedge cords, and aniline dyes. 40 x 30 3/4 in. (101.6 x 78.1 cm)

World Traveler. 2014. Wool warp, weft, selvedge cords, and aniline dyes. 90 x 48 7/8 in. (228.6 x 124.1 cm)

Into the Depths, She Rappels. 2023. Wool warp, weft, selvedge cords, and aniline dyes. 87 x 51 9/16 in. (221 x 131 cm)

Lightning Storm. 2012. 3-ply aniline dyed wool. 14 × 20″ (35.6 × 50.8 cm)

Pocketful of Rainbows. 2019. Wool warp, weft, selvedge cords, and aniline dyes. 19 x 10 3/4 in. (48.3 x 27.3 cm)

Path of the Snake. 2013. 3-ply aniline dyed wool. 36 × 24″ (91.4 × 61 cm)

[lionofchaeronea]

The Resurrection (from the Ciudad Rodrigo altarpiece), Maestro Bartolomé and workshop, between 1480 and 1488

[usafphantom2]

Where are the SR 71’s today?

They are all on display in America with one exception. #962 is at Duxford, Great Britain. this SR-71 was the one that was the most frequently stationed in Great Britain It’s a permanent loan from the United States to Great Britain with our thanks.

Arizona

#17951 flew on March 5, 1965, and served as a test bird throughout its career. It is currently displayed at the Pima Air Museum, Tucson, AZ.

California

California is home to more SR-71 aircraft than any other state. It houses six of them, listed below:

•SR-71A #17955 - AFFTC Museum, Edwards AFB, CA.

•SR-71A #17960 - Castle Air Museum near Atwater, CA.

•SR-71A #17963 - Beale AFB, CA.

•SR-71A #17973 - Blackbird Airpark, Palmdale, CA.

•SR-71A #17975 - March Field Museum, March AFB, CA.

•SR-71A #17980 - NASA's Dryden Flight Research Center as #844.

Florida

In Florida, specifically at the USAF Armament Museum, Eglin AFB, FL, the SR-71A #61-7959, also known as the "Big Tail," is on display. This nickname dates to 1975, when it was chosen as the platform for a new series of sensors placed in an extension towards the rear of the aircraft . The last flight of this aircraft took place on October 29, 1976

Georgia

At the Museum of Aviation, Robins AFB, GA, the Blackbird SR-71A #17958 is on display. According to various records, on July 28, 1976, this example facilitated a human being (pilot captain Eldon W. Joersz and major RSO George T. Morgan Jr.) to reach the highest speed ever aboard an aircraft.

Kansas

SR-71A #17961 accumulated 1601 flight hours until February 2, 1977, the date of its last flight. It is currently on display between a Northrop T-38 Talon advanced trainer and a life-size replica of the Space Shuttle at the Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center, Hutchinson, KS

Louisiana

At the 8th Air Force Museum, Barksdale AFB, LA, the SR-71A #17967 is on display, one of two examples reactivated in 1995 for USAF service before the program was canceled in 1998. Over the years, this aircraft accumulated more than 2700 flight hours.

Texas

At the USAF History and Traditions Museum, Lackland AFB, TX, is SR-71A #17979, which was used as a reconnaissance aircraft during Operation Giant Reach in the Egyptian-Israeli war.

Michigan

Two trainer variants were built, denoted SR-71Bs. One crashed on approach to Beale AFB on January 11, 1968, while the other, SR-71B #17956, is displayed at the Kalamazoo Aviation History Museum in Kalamazoo, MI. This SR-71 has more flight hours than any other Blackbird, nearly 4000, and is believed to have been photographed more times than any other.

Nebraska

At the Strategic Air and Space Museum near Ashland, NE, SR-71A #17964 is on display. Its first flight took place in 1966, and the last in 1990, when it was delivered to Offutt AFB, NE, to be permanently exhibited

Ohio

The first operational ( Jerry O’Malley and Ed Payne) mission of an SR-71 was carried out by SR-71A #17976 before concluding its career with about 3000 flight hours. It is among the first SR-71s to be permanently exhibited and best preserved. It is displayed at the National Museum of the United States Air Force, Wright-Patterson AFB, OH.

Oregon

Below the right wing of Howard Hughes' H-4 Hercules at the Evergreen Aviation Museum in McMinnville, OR, is the most complete and accurate SR-71, SR-71A #17971, which has accumulated over 3500 flight hours.

Utah

As mentioned, after January 11, 1968, when half of the SR-71 trainer fleet was lost due to the crash of #17957, a replacement trainer was built, designated SR-71C #17981. This aircraft is currently on display at the Hill Aerospace Museum, Hill AFB, UT. Irregular maintenance procedures and aftermarket construction caused constant yaw of the aircraft; therefore, the SR-71C was used on a limited basis between 1969-1976.

Virginia

The state of Virginia hosts two SR-71s:

•SR-71A #17968 is displayed at the Science Museum in Richmond, VA. 2. The #972 at Udvar-Hazy

Chantilly,

Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[historysideblog]

Online History Short-Courses offered by Universities Masterpost

Categories: Classical Studies, Egyptology, Medieval, Renaissance, The Americas, Asia, Other, Linguistics, Archaeology

How to get Coursera courses for free: There are several types of courses on Coursera, some will allow you to study the full course and only charge for the optional-certificate, for others you will need to audit it and you may have limited access (usually just to assignments), and thirdly some courses charge a monthly subscription in this case a 7 day free trial is available.

Classical Studies 🏛️��

At the Origins of the Mediterranean Civilization: Archeology of the City from the Levant to the West 3rd-1st millennium BC - Sapienza University of Rome

Greek and Roman Mythology - University of Pennsylvania

Health and Wellbeing in the Ancient World - Open University

Roman Architecture - Yale

Roman Art and Archeology - University of Arizona

Rome: A Virtual Tour of the Ancient City - University of Reading

The Ancient Greeks - Wesleyan University

The Changing Landscape of Ancient Rome. Archeology and History of Palatine Hill - Sapienza University of Rome

Uncovering Roman Britain in Old Museum Collections - University of Reading

Egyptology 𓂀⚱️

Egypt before and after pharaohs - Sapienza University of Rome

Introduction to Ancient Egypt and Its Civilization - University of Pennsylvania

Wonders of Ancient Egypt - University of Pennsylvania

Medieval 🗡️🏰

Age of Cathedrals - Yale

Coexistence in Medieval Spain: Jews, Christians, and Muslims - University of Colorado

Deciphering Secrets: The Illuminated Manuscripts of Medieval Europe - University of Colorado

Enlightening the Dark Ages: Early Medieval Archaeology in Italy - University of Padova

Lancaster Castle and Northern English History: The View from the Stronghold - Lancaster University

Magic in the Middle Ages - University of Barcelona

Old Norse Mythology in the Sources - University of Colorado Bolder

Preserving Norwegian Stave Churches - Norwegian University of Science and Technology

The Book of Kells: Exploring an Irish Medieval Masterpiece - Trinity College Dublin

The Cosmopolitan Medival Arabic World - University of Leiden

Renaissance ⚜️🃏

Black Tudors: The Untold Story

European Empires: An Introduction, 1400–1522 - University of Newcastle

The Mediterranean, a Space of Exchange (from Renaissance to Enlightenment) - University of Barcelona

The Life and Afterlife of Mary Queen of Scots - University of Glasgow

The Tudors - University of Roehampton London

The Americas 🪶🦙🛖

History of Slavery in the British Caribbean - University of Glasgow

Indigeneity as a Global Concept - University of Newcastle

Indigenous Canada - University of Alberta

Indigenous Religions & Ecology - Yale

Asia 🏯🛕

Contemporary India - University of Melbourne

Introduction to Korean Philosophy - Sung Kyun Kwan University

Japanese Culture Through Rare Books - University of Keio

Sino-Japanese Interactions Through Rare Books - University of Keio

The History and Culture of Chinese Silk - University for the Creative Arts

Travelling Books: History in Europe and Japan - University of Keio

Other

A Global History of Sex and Gender: Bodies and Power in the Modern World - University of Glasgow

A History of Royal Fashion - University of Glasgow

Anarchy in the UK: A History of Punk from 1976-78 - University of Reading

Biodiversity, Guardianship, and the Natural History of New Zealand: A Museum Perspective - Te Papa

Empire: the Controversies of British Imperialism - University of Exeter

Great South Land: Introducing Australian History - University of Newcastle

Indigeneity as a Global Concept - University of Newcastle

New Zealand History, Culture and Conflict: A Museum Perspective - Te Papa

Organising an Empire: The Assyrian Way - LMU Munich

Plagues, Witches, and War: The Worlds of Historical Fiction - University of Virginia

Russian History: from Lenin to Putin - University of California Santa Cruz

Linguistics 🗣️

Introduction to Comparative Indo-European Linguistics - University of Leiden - Coursera version

Miracles of Human Language: An Introduction to Linguistics - University of Leiden

Archeology 💀

Archeoastronomy - University of Milan

Archaeology and the Battle of Dunbar 1650 - Durham University

Archaeology: from Dig to Lab and Beyond - University of Reading

Archeology: Recovering the Humankind's Past and Saving the Universal Heritage - Sapienza University of Rome

Change of Era: The Origins of Christian Culture through the Lens of Archaeology - University of Padova

Endangered Archaeology: Using Remote Sensing to Protect Cultural Heritage - Universities of Durham, Leicester & Oxford

Enlightening the Dark Ages: Early Medieval Archaeology in Italy - University of Padova

Exploring Stone Age Archaeology: The Mysteries of Star Carr - University of York

Forensic Archaeology and Anthropology - Durham University

Roman Art and Archeology - University of Arizona

The Changing Landscape of Ancient Rome. Archeology and History of Palatine Hill - Sapienza University of Rome

[courtforshort15]

Chapter 2

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem reader

Word Count: 5,600

Summary: It's a Wednesday when the sky quite literally opens up above you. The Battle of New York rages around you, and the only thing that gets you through is the stranger standing next to you. Matthew Murdock is more than he seems, keeping you safe in a city that is literally crumbling around you, and even once the dust settles, his hand is the only thing you don't want to let go of.

Trigger warning: violence, some ableism

Chapter Index

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Move to New York, they said. 

It'll be fine, they said.

Well, ten months into your change of scenery and things in New York are most definitely not fine.

You’d never really considered The Big Apple as a place you might end up in. Crime, overcrowding, and living expenses absolutely through the roof were all perfectly good reasons for someone to stay away. You'd visited once, just to say you'd been there, and honestly, you really hadn't expected to come back, much less to come back and stay.

But that visit had been almost ten years ago while you were still in college, and only to visit a friend who had wound up in a school upstate. You hadn't explored the city much, just two days at the end of the trip, before heading back home, wet and cold and thoroughly underwhelmed. You’d all but thrown your laundry in the washing machine and immediately started prepping for finals, throwing yourself into books and late night study sessions, your trip to the east coast easily forgotten. 

You hadn't expected your company to open a new division in New York, and you certainly hadn't expected to apply for the relocation, not fully aware of the changes you'd put in motion until you were submitting your application on a whim. It hadn't seemed real until the moving van was pulling up outside of your home back in Arizona, innocently waiting for you to shove your whole life into a few boxes and load them up.

You'd been practically desperate for a change, broken heart bleeding and ground into the concrete by a heavy boot, struggling to pull itself back together with nothing but pieces of scotch tape and paperclips. And while New York hadn’t been your top choice of places where you’d want to start over, it had been a relatively easy shift in the grand scheme of things. Your job pretty much stayed the same, your apartment was still something small and outdated, and your cat continued to prefer your bathroom sink for her naps instead of the numerous cat beds you’ve bought over the years.

And as for your social life? Well, nothing had changed there either, seeing as you’d not had much of one back in your hometown in the first place.

But New York, you have slowly come to find, is bold and beautiful and vibrant in a way you never thought your life might be, and in little less than a year, you've made it home. Broadway shows entertain visitors and city dwellers alike, offering breaks from lives that are repetitive and stale. Museums and historic buildings detail a history of almost forgotten stories. Hundreds of unique and authentic restaurants on every block, each one a little piece of home from countries and cultures all over the world. 

It just…fits you.

But at this very moment, standing in the middle of a goddamn alien invasion, you've never regretted your move more.

Matt is still extremely agitated as he stands ten feet away from you, head shifting from side to side, his brow furrowed and mouth parted as if there's a question threatening to spill from his lips but he hasn’t yet quite figured out what it’s supposed to be. In your terror, you haven't thought much about how disoriented he must be, sight gone and nothing but his ears to guide himself clumsily into the rapidly changing landscape of New York. You imagine he's just as scared as you, though he's certainly hiding it better, and you can't decide whether or not if he's the lucky one for not being able to see the horror raging around, the destruction and death that's bound to be left behind in a city that is beloved by the millions of people who call it home.

New York City has seen more than its fair share of terror and tears, and you can't help but wonder how it manages to get back to its feet every time another nightmare comes to life on its streets.

Hands twitching at your sides, you glance around the bookstore, eyeing the way it remains relatively untouched, unmarred by the chaos outside, a pristine reminder of the mundane Wednesday that had existed only twenty minutes ago. It's a tiny shop, not much larger than a small town diner, books lovingly placed along the walls and shelves that cut through the middle of the store. 

The large glass windows show a very different world outside, one that has been reduced to nothing less than a hellscape. Debris has found itself a home over the streets and sidewalks, cars irrevocably damaged by things that have fallen on to them, dust and ash floating slowly down, gravity helpless to do nothing but pull them to the ground. It's the middle of the work day, prime time for people walking to and from lunch, but not a single soul has walked by since you entered the bookstore.

You can only hope that it's because people are finding shelter and not because they're losing their lives around the block or down the street. 

It's a terrifying thought to have, really.

The sounds that are coming from outside are one you’d rather not think about. The crashes, the sounds of things exploding, the random blare of a police siren, each and every decibel that makes up the noise echoing on repeat in your head. You try not to think about city blocks that will be forever changed by this catastrophe, and you try even harder to not think about whether or not you’ll be alive to actually see the changes yourself.

Your hands are gross and trembling as you wipe the sweaty palms on your pants, willing them to slow down and at least offer the appearance of being composed. You guess it doesn’t really matter if you appear calm, not with a visually impaired man in the room, but it doesn’t stop you from wanting to look more put together than you are. Maybe, if you could convince your hands to stop fidgeting so fiercely, you’d be able to convince yourself that bits and pieces of this are fine, that you are fine.

But you aren’t. And you’re not sure when you will be again.

Matt’s fingers are dancing over his phone now, growing more and more frustrated as his calls don't go through to whoever he’s trying to get in contact with. Like with September 11th, you assume the cell towers are struggling to keep up with the amount of calls going in and out and around New York, completely overwhelmed with the millions of people trying to get in touch with friends and family. You’d tried to call your dad a few times, but the phone network seemed unable to connect your phone to his, so you’d given up after the fifth attempt.

Your dad doesn’t live in New York. He lives states away, actually, safe and nestled into a home town no one would think twice about, so while you’re nervous and want nothing more than to speak with him, you don’t feel the frantic energy to make sure he’s okay. Matt, however, seems to be in a different situation, absolutely fixated on getting ahold of someone, but eventually even he gives up, shoving his phone into his pocket with an aggravated damn it under his breath.

Outside, a large shadow passes over the street, too dark and too fast for it to be a cloud passing over the sun. You shudder at the thought of what it could be, something about the temporary darkness implying that something massive is flying over the city, eager to destroy and maim as much as it can, and you find yourself squeezing your eyes shut as tightly as you can. When your eyes flutter open reluctantly, the sun is back out, but the light offers no comfort. 

You shuffle your feet, wincing as the movement agitates the blisters on the back of your heels that have long since reopened when you’d been running in blind terror. There's no doubt that your shoes are wet and slowly being stained with blood as the scabs fall off and fail to keep the sensitive layer of damaged skin safe from harm. Bloody heels are a small price to pay for making it to shelter relatively unharmed.

Your eyes drift back to Matt, watching as he buries his head briefly in his hands, raising his face only a moment later, and your mouth decides to cut the silence before your brain can catch up. "What do you do for work?"

His head whips towards yours, lips parted in bewilderment as his hands fall back down to his hips. "What?"

You lean into the question instead of backtracking. "What, uh…what do you do for work?"

Matt’s face continues to look confused as he straightens his shoulders, frame jumping the tiniest bit with every harsh sound that comes from outside. He doesn’t seem to understand the question, or perhaps the motive behind it, if the frown is anything to go by. "Why?"

"Sorry," you say with a grimace, shrugging your shoulders helplessly, eyes drifting so that they slide past his face before you look down at your feet. "I'm trying to not have another panic attack by focusing on stupid shit. You don't need to answer."

He’s quiet for a moment, and you glance back up just in time to see the confusion slowly slide off of his face, mouth dropping slightly in a silent oh. He swallows. "I'm an intern. Or at least I just…interviewed to be an intern."

"An intern," you repeat slowly, briefly grateful that he’s answered the random inquiry. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your head, and you lift a shaky hand to wipe it off. "To do what? Where did you interview at?"

"Uh…Landman and Zack. It’s a law firm."

Your eyebrows raise ever so slightly. “You’re a lawyer?”

For the first time since the moment you saw him, his lips twitch slightly into what you can only assume would be a blinding smile if it were in full bloom, but the look doesn’t last. “Not quite. Graduation is in a few weeks.”

“Ah,” you say with a simple nod of your head. “Well congrats then. I’ve heard law school can be a bitch.”

“It is,” Matt says with a quiet huff of laughter, the sound light and welcome against the havoc still raging outside. You find yourself wondering what sorts of things would make him really laugh, images of his mouth parted open in glee as he tilts his head back and snickers at a joke. “And you? What do you do?”

“I’m in…I’m in advertising. It’s–it’s super boring. But I guess everything is boring compared to…this.”

His mouth twitches again, though you’re sure it’s in some sort of nervous energy rather than actual humor. “Not your dream job?”

Cringing, you shake your head, forgetting that he can’t see the movement and only verbally responding when you notice the way he seems to be waiting on an answer. “Uh, no. Definitely not. It is what it is, though.”

"I'm sure you're not alone in disliking your job."

You shrug non-committedly, and Matt doesn’t keep the conversation going, instead choosing to resume quietly pacing again, footsteps surprisingly light as they move across the carpet. You get the feeling that he’s not someone who likes to stay still, not someone who has it in him to easily contain his agitation, so you let him pace, keeping your mouth shut again for the time being. 

Hands bracing themselves against the wall, you slide down, giving your body a break and allowing it to rest, even as your mind races frantically. The sounds outside aren’t getting any quieter, any easier to digest, and even if your mind can’t stop its overdrive, at least your limbs and bones and muscles can have a slight reprieve. You bury your head in your hands, reluctant to look out the windows to the devastation that exists beyond the glass. 

“Are you okay?” He asks quietly, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out, nor can you help the way it mixes with a tiny, dry sob.

“No,” you say shakily, sound muffled from behind your hands. “Nothing much I can do about it though.”

The man sighs loudly, and you look up in shock when he suddenly slides down the wall next to you just two feet to your left. Matt runs a hand through his hair, unintentionally shaking some of the dust out of the dark strands. “We’re gonna make it. Things will be okay.”

You can’t help but snort this time, even as your eyes well up ever so slightly. The tears don’t drop, to which you are grateful. Crying with glasses on is a bitch, the steam of tears often fogging up the lenses, and you’ve done your fair share of it within the past twenty minutes. “You sound so...sure. I don’t know how you can say that. Things are so fucked right now.”

As if on cue, a loud bang echoes through the street, and your eye catches a quick ball of fire that shoots across the sky. Flinching, you hide your face back in your shaking hands, the frames of your glasses digging into your palms. A hand lands softly on your thigh, the touch coming out of nowhere, and where before you would have viciously shoved someone’s hand off of you should they touch you like that, you can’t find it within yourself to push him off. Instead, in a motion that even shocks you, your hand slowly leaves your face and slides down to your leg, fingers weaving in with his without a word. 

It only takes a split second before he’s fully grasping your hand in his, seeming to take as much comfort from you as he’s willing and able to provide in return.

“You’re right,” he says softly, thumb briefly brushing over the back of your hand. The touch grounds you, reminds you you’re not alone, and it’s suddenly hard to imagine anyone else’s hand in yours but his. He drops your hand after a split moment, pulling his back into his own lap. “I’m not sure. But I’m praying that things will be okay, and I have to trust that they will be.”

Your lips twist into a slight, wry grin, though it’s gone as soon as it appears. “Praying, huh?”

“Catholic,” he says in explanation with a brief shrug of his shoulders. “Praying just sort of…comes with the territory.”

“Ah, gotcha,” you respond as you turn your head back to look forward. The smell of smoke, grainy and gritty, seeps in from underneath the door, no doubt from whatever the hell is happening outside, and you wrinkle your nose before responding. “Well I hope it helps. Or…I hope it at least makes you feel better. About all of this.”

“Do you…pray?” He asks quietly. Out of the corner of your eye you see his face aimed your way, curious and resigned at the same time, the pair not seeming to be mutually exclusive. 

Your own face feels blank, your mind hitting against some sort of glass wall, a sense of grief you can see swirling on the other side while you remain carefully and purposely poised, unwilling to open yourself up to it. “I used to.”

“Why did you stop?”

“My mother died. Didn’t seem important after that.” It’s an old wound, one that continues to fester to this day, some days clawing at you until you can't breathe, other days a faint but present murmur in the back of your head. The tears and the prayers and the pleading hadn’t made one ounce of difference back then, so why would it now?

Matt doesn’t respond for a few moments, the bookstore silent with the exception of the chaos just beyond the windows, and you’re not exactly shocked. People don’t like talking about death. People don’t like talking about putting pets down, terminal illnesses, and dying parents. It makes them uncomfortable, makes them nervous about what to say to someone who is grieving the death of a loved one, dreading the possibility of upsetting or minimizing someone’s pain. 

You didn’t mean to bring it up, not here, not now, and definitely not to a stranger who probably wants nothing more than to focus on surviving and not someone else's heartache. You wait for some sort of apology, some sort of vague sympathetic comment he can give to the person who had grabbed his hand and ran. It would be a comment that doesn’t really mean anything and was only said to fill the empty space, but instead–

“I know that loss, too,” Matt says softly, so quietly that you almost don’t hear him, whispered words sliding over you like balm you hadn’t known you’d needed. “It should have turned me away from God, but I think...I think it brought me closer. Eventually, at least. But I can understand why people experience the opposite.”

Stunned, your mouth opens to speak as you once again twist your head to look at him, needing to see the look on his face that promises to be empathetic instead of sympathetic, feeling the urgency to connect with someone in this sort of shared, twisted intimacy. Death of a loved one is a level that no one wants to connect on, this ledge that you are teetering on so clumsily, but you crave it, especially knowing he just might be the last person you speak to in this life. 

His face has regained some of its color, though the red of his lips and the blood of the scratch on his forehead still stand out vividly, and even in your distress, you find yourself mourning the fact that you hadn’t met the man sooner.

It isn’t every day that a man promises not to leave your side, even with a war raging outside the walls of an unassuming building in Hell’s Kitchen.

But before you can articulate what you want to say, before your lips can form the words, Matt goes tense, his entire body snapping straight like a wire pulled from both sides, ready to snap at any moment. His head cocks to the side, and without warning, he’s scrambling and rushing to his feet, face puzzled and grim. His mouth drops a fraction of an inch, pulling in a deeper breath than necessarily warranted for the moment, and you watch in fascination as he moves even closer to a window he can’t see out of.

“What’s happ–”

Matt’s turning sharply on his heel before you can even finish your question, arms outstretched as he reaches for you and grabs your upper arms, hauling you to your feet and immediately forcing you to walk backwards. Shocked, your hands wrap around his upper arms in return, struggling to maintain your balance as he all but shoves you behind a large bookcase. You can’t help but trip on your feet at the speed with which he’s moving you, and he takes a large portion of your weight and pulls you back into a full upright position.

“What the hell are you–” His hand practically slams itself over your mouth, cutting off any sort of sound coming from you, and your eyes widen at the way his fingers tremble for a brief second. Warning bells go off in your head because whatever he thinks he’s discovered can’t possibly be good.

He may not be able to see, so how he knows there’s something going on outside completely escapes you, but you find yourself shuffling yourself closer to him, as if attempting to burrow yourself in the only sense of safety you can find in this completely fucked up situation. You continue to stare up at him in alarm, mouth moving to ask something even with his hand over your lips, but the look he sends you makes you shut up before a single syllable can ever leave.

“Shh!” It's only a whisper, only a fraction of sound, but it's desperate and harsh, and it leaves no room for arguing.

Matt cocks his head to the side, his face one of intense focus. His eyes are narrowed behind his glasses, mouth open as he breathes harshly in your ear. You reach out to grab at his suit jacket, and he doesn't pull away, instead pressing closer. The side of his face brushes your cheek as he leans further in.

“I need you to listen to me very carefully and not ask any questions, okay? Can you do that?”

“I, uh…what?”

“I need you to do something for me and not ask any questions,” he repeats himself urgently. 

“Okay? What–”

He cut you off immediately. “There is something that is about to turn the corner, maybe thirty yards away from us. I can’t…I can’t tell what it is. It’s moving, and it’s alive, but I don’t–”

“What are you talking about? I don’t understand.” Matt places a hand back over your mouth with a severe look on his face. It is a far cry from the man who, not moments before, had given a small piece of himself away, sharing something you're pretty sure he doesn't speak about often. In this moment, he is focused, almost coldly so, and something about it is both alarming and intriguing. 

“No questions right now,” he hisses in your ear. He pulls his hand away from your mouth, but keeps a finger on your lips. “If we survive this, I will tell you how I know. But for now, I need you to trust me.”

Your eyes are still wide in alarm. “Matt–”

“Can you trust me?”

Despite having only known him for such a short period of time, there's no hesitance in your answer. “Yes.”

The man takes a deep breath and nods before removing his hand from you entirely. “Right. There is something coming up the street. Five of them, I think. They have some sort of weaponry in their hands, but I can’t tell what it is. It’s–it's definitely not a gun. They’re speaking in a language that doesn’t sound remotely like anything from here. I think…I think they might be those things you saw coming from the sky, and what Iron Man was going up against.”

Shaking, you raise one hand to cover your eyes as you struggle to take a deep breath. “O-okay. What are we…what are we supposed to do?”

“I need you to go into the bathroom and not come out until I come and get you. It’s in the far right corner.” You take an automatic step back from him in shock at how quickly and self-assuredly he’s answered. His face is set in stone, and you know there's no room for reluctance, not here, not now.

“Just me? What about you?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. I need you to –.”

“No, I’m not going in there without you. Not when you can’t see what’s going on around you.”

The snort he lets out is confusing to you, but you have barely a second to process it before Matt reaches out for you and begins pushing you towards the back of the store. "There are other ways to see."

"What does that even mean?"

"Don't worry about–"

But Matt doesn't even finish his thought before he goes stiff, hands clenching your arms impossibly tighter. You're about to question it, but you're cut off by a monstrous roar that echoes through the bookstore. Matt is immediately yanking you further behind the bookshelf and down to the ground, knees rubbing harshly against the carpet with the force in which he pushes you. You barely have time to think about the fact that he doesn’t hesitate to cover a large chunk of your body with his as the glass windows explode and shatter, littering the store with shards that cut and slice your exposed skin.

Something had been thrown into the store, some sort of weapon fired, sailing past the place your head had been just a split second before.

A scream tears from your throat, but it's almost entirely consumed by another growl that erupts from somewhere up the block. The sound sends chills down your spine, purely because you've never heard anything like it. Your head, still covered by Matt's arms, is twisted just enough that you're able to see outside, and your eyes widen as something steps in front of the building, fully within sight. The glass windows had been open and large enough that you would have been able to see through them anyway, but this…

You wish you hadn't opened your eyes.

The glass had at least offered some sort of protection, though clear and transparent the windows had been, acting as some sort of thin and fragile barrier between you and the world outside. But now you are completely exposed, completely open and on full display, and the thing that stalks in front of the large gaping wound that had once been a window is actually one of several. 

Your eyes can’t help but count the five of them that are now completely in your field of view, and the dread coiling in your stomach sharpens exponentially when three more drop from out of the sky to join them on the destroyed pavement.

They're large and grotesque, slimy, molted skin wrapping around forms that are bipedal but nothing close to anything that's ever been found on the planet. These are the things that had entered the Earth's fragile and delicate atmosphere like they were a warm knife cutting through softened butter. A strange sort of body armor stretches across their forms, and your flesh has never felt more pathetic and inadequate before, the sensitive skin cells binding around a body that can be easily shredded and swept aside.

Your life has become a horror movie, and your mind jumps to the question of whether or not you’ll be among the first to die, or if you’ll be the forever traumatized survivor who's lucky enough to make it out alive.

As if Matt can sense the racing of your heart, he presses himself more closely into you, and a hand slowly moves to cover your eyes. You might have fought him before, morbidly curious and horrified to see what stands just thirty feet from your frozen frame, but you can't think of a single moment in your life where you've ever felt more grateful for the dark.

"Don't look," he whispers in your ear, sound low and mouth not half an inch from the side of your face. "Just focus on me and don't move."

It's not hard to follow his instructions, every atom of yours as immovable as the ice of a glacier, despite the warm temperature of spring. There's splintered wood from a bookshelf digging itself into your hip, piercing the skin and causing blood to trickle out, but even the pain isn't enough to make you drag yourself away.  You’re helpless to do anything but lay there, body molded underneath his and unwilling to move. 

The loud crunching of stone, glass and concrete resonates somewhere to your right, your body laying parallel with where the glass had been less than a minute before, and it occurs to you that the beings are still walking along the street, weapons poised and feet heavy. They're talking to each other, it seems, the sounds garbled and harsh, randomly drowned out by the other atrocities happening in the city. Each step seems to be coming closer and closer, and the sound of glass digging into the sidewalk startles you. The being is no doubt stalking around to find something or someone to further terrorize.

It takes everything in you to not open your mouth in another scream, and the only thing that holds you back is the near-silent "Shh!" that Matt all but hisses in your ear. Your first tightens into a fist at your side, the only indication of your fear outside the racing of your heart.

It's only two seconds, though it feels like it lasts eons, before something pulls the being's attention away, loud footsteps and screeches rapidly moving back into the street and away from the store. Your body loosens just a little, but Matt’s body does the exact opposite, tensing into an even firmer line above yours, and it's only a split moment before you find out why.

A roar, one with a power behind it that you've never heard before, echoes through the block, followed by a loud thump that sounds to be not ten feet from the entrance to the building. You can't help but jump at the noise, the same roar you've heard several times throughout the past twenty minutes. It had been thunderous before, each wave of sound seemingly aimed straight at your eardrums, but at this distance, it’s deafening.

Shots are fired, and the weaponry they've aimed and let loose sounds like some sort of mixture between a gun and goddamn laser going off. There's a strange energy that fills the block, and you can feel it whirling through the air, though you know it's not aimed at you, but rather the thing that's invaded and halted their search.

You don't know what it is, other than it's different from the other things that have been stalking through both the air and the ground, but it's no less fear-inducing, each rageful howl one that could leave someone with nightmares for weeks. Its feet are heavier than that of the other creatures, its breath coming in heavier pants, and you can't even begin to imagine what might make those sorts of noises.

However, even though you're not quite sure what it is, you don't think it's the same for Matt. For some reason, the way his body has become more and more rigid makes you think that maybe he knows what has suddenly made an appearance, and it doesn't seem to be anything pleasant.

“I’m going to count to three,” he suddenly says in your ear, voice rushed and lips somehow brushing over the ridge of your cheekbone because of how close his head is to yours. “I’m going to count to three and then we’re going to run into the bathroom back in the corner.”

“I–”

“Do you understand?” 

Voice too shaken to really answer, you nod slowly, flinching as another growl shatters throughout the building, followed by something crashing on the other side of the street. Your eyes follow the sound, flitting around the street that would be in your field of vision if Matt’s hand wasn’t still blocking your ability to see. 

“One.”

Your hands shift slightly, moving to brace themselves against the floor as best as you can, preparing yourself to push off of the ground at his word. Glass digs in, but you ignore the sting.

“Two.”

Air leaves and enters your body slowly, lungs savoring each breath as if it might be their last. Your face hardens, determination flooding through you even as your head tells you it may be a lost cause.

“Three.”

His calloused hand leaves your face as he heaves himself off of you, arms taking most of his weight for just a split second before his legs find purchase and help him push himself to his feet, splinters of wood and glass further breaking under the force. You’re slower, much slower, bloody hands scrambling against the carpet, knees further tearing and shredding at the movement. His hands thrust themselves under your arms, hauling you to your feet as if you weigh nothing, and there’s not a single second wasted between you being upright and him dragging you behind him as you make your way to the bathroom. 

Behind you, it’s an absolute mess as the thing roars again, the screams of the other creatures piercing through the air as they’re thrown violently into buildings like one might throw an ax at a target. The weird shots you'd heard earlier continue to go off, but with an increase in frequency as the savagery grows. The building next to you shakes, rattling the walls of the bookstore, and you’re not quite in a state of mind to process the thought of the building collapsing on you. Glass explodes across the street, bricks and concrete crash to the ground, but your mind does your best to focus on nothing but Matt’s hand in yours.

You don’t question the way he moves, you’re far past that, too grateful to the person who has seemingly taken your life in his hands as he dips and weaves around the mixture of toppled bookshelves and those still standing. He reaches the door to the men’s restroom and shoves it open, but for a split second the world seems to pause, and you turn your head back to the carnage that exists behind you.

Your eyes have no trouble finding the cause of the noise that’s been wreaking havoc on your ears. It stands in the middle of the street, mouth parted and preparing to let loose another shockwave of noise, one that will no doubt be loud enough to seemingly shake the foundation of buildings that exist in a large radius around it.

It's large, and the body is as bold and dangerous and paralyzing as its roar. Teeth are bared, knuckles clenched in front, thighs thick and bare feet digging into the damaged street. But despite the force that lies in its body, power and brute strength radiating through every muscle and bone and artery, the thing that strikes you the most is that…

It's green.

And it's not an it, it's a he.

Shredded jeans that are far too short and small encase his lower half, dark hair sweaty and plastered to the top of his head, odd cuts scattered across its body that ooze a deeper green. Your breath hitches on something resembling a sob, and its head whips towards yours, upper half twisting towards yours with a growl. Green eyes land on you and narrow, and your heart absolutely jumps in your throat.

But before you can open your mouth in a scream, he nods his head in some sort of acknowledgment, and jumps out of sight, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of dust and several dead aliens scattered around him.

You’re yanked into a dark bathroom a moment later, and you stumble unceremoniously into Matt, bone white hand still tightly held in his and a strong arm wrapping itself around your shaking shoulders.