#old map of manhattan

[robertmatejcek]

Borough Bloom  - mixed media - robert matejcek - 2023

“The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and the beauty in the world.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald - The Great Gatsby

tags:

[phoenixyfriend]

People are being so high and mighty about the new NYC subway map

"You're just catching up to the rest of the world" That's not a map. That's a chart with the barest bits of context.

.....okay. This is the old map, which we've been using for almost fifty years. This is the new map. As you can see, the old map was cluttered with words, and the new map is cluttered with lines, and based on the London Tube, as most underground maps are these days.

And I hate it.

To be clear to everyone who is not themselves a New Yorker and hasn't been paying attention because it doesn't matter to their lives at all:

The London-inspired map style is ONLY ever more readable and navigable if you're already familiar with what's above ground; it's not really a map style, so much as a chart style with a very small number of context clues, like There's A River Kind Of Around Here.

If you have directions on hand to tell you EXACTLY which app to get of at, fine, but if you want to look at a map and go 'oh, those two have a much bigger gap between them than I thought, let's not get off early' then the NYC classic is better.

If you're a tourist, also better! You can look at the map on the wall and get an idea of where you are in relation to the rest of the city, at the VERY least in Manhattan.

NYC's previous map was basically like if you took a regular map and overlaid it with the tracks. Not to scale, sure, but easy to see the locations as they relate to both each other and to above-ground locations. If I'm showing around some out-of-towners and want to plot routes, it's much easier to toggle between the old map and a map with locations on it of such things already roughly correspond.

The high contrast colors and added details ALSO HELP. You can see the best entry points for Central Park, the intersections with other transit lines (yes, the LIRR and AmTrak are crucial here, along with things like the Tramway, ferry ports other than Staten Island) that can help you plan for transfers between systems, and major reference points or neighborhoods (The Met, various labeled parks that are on the old map but not the new one, important street names, physical bridges, major neighborhoods), and just generally everything you need in an actual MAP.

This new style makes things uglier, less navigable, and more cluttered due to the entwined lines. I'd liken it to a random animal's circulatory system laid out flat so you have no idea what the relation of two points is unless you already know what animal it is and what it's shaped like. If you plan to ONLY use the subway and know exactly where you're going, great!

The new map's primary strength is that it's good for people who are low-vision and already know what each station correlates to above.

For anyone who was looking for "a map of the city that focuses on outlining where the subway goes" rather than "a subway chart devoid of most context," then the classic map is better.

Trust me, I found the new style, the Tube Classic, to be ugly and difficult and CONFUSING when I was in Japan and London. It showed me a very neat and orderly chart that had little-if-anything to do with what little I knew about the city aboveground.

Also it's one of those things that's kind of woven into the city's identity. It's like your mom making you get a new haircut so you 'fit in at school' by making you identical to everyone else.

[rosebudshifter]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ 𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊, 𝒯𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓇, to my forest of fantasy & fable. ˚𖥔. ᡣ𐭩 ˚.⋆

I am the 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓻 of the girl who dared to dream; who let go of the doubt and embarked on the adventures she always wanted to have. She goes by many names, but her most common is Mary.

Here lies my contents, a map of the forest of such. Peruse to find what you seek. It’s easy to get lost, but don’t be afraid to wander.

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ | ᴘɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ | ꜱᴘᴏᴛɪꜰʏ | ᴛɪᴋᴛᴏᴋ | ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ

⋆｡°✩ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻-𝓓𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓭 𝓜𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓸𝔀 ✩°｡⋆

Through the canopy of trees, beams of light peek through to shower gateways that help others reach different realms. (shifting script templates)

Marvel  |  The Summer I Turned Pretty  |  YouTuber  |  Netflix (hub)  |  Disney+ (hub)  |  Bridgerton | Stranger Things | Fantasy | romantic (aesthetic) | pastel retro (aesthetic) | sci-fi/superhero (aesthetic) | adventure (aesthetic) | + coming soon

The stars are resilient little things, they constantly find new openings in the trees so you never know when you’ll discover another gateway.

ʚїɞ 𝓐 𝓛𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓣𝓸𝓶𝓮 ʚїɞ

In the center of our forest lies the Tome, situated in the trunk of a towering willow. It boasts my efforts as Storykeeper, with detailed accounts of the many adventures of our dear girl.

☽༓☾➵ marvel cinematic universe | masterlist

anisa cook became a founding member of the avengers. after the battle of new york, she now grapples with balancing her new shield responsibilities while maintaining a sense of normalcy, all while falling for the star-spangled man.

☽༓☾➵ fame (actress) | masterlist

world-renowned actress faye nolan makes her triumphant return to hollywood after taking a hiatus at the height of her popularity. she's energized and ready to make history & reclaim her title as the industry's shining star.

☽༓☾➵ f.r.i.e.n.d.s. | introduction

when offered a position on the inaugural team of mattel's new manhattan design office, a young designer packs up in LA and moves to the big apple. little does she know she moved into the same building as an eccentric cast of friends who quickly fold her into the fray.

☽༓☾➵ big bang theory | introduction

a school librarian moves into a new apartment building in pasadena and is consistently roped into the antics of her downstairs physicist neighbors and their colorful cast of friends.

☽༓☾➵ bridgerton | introduction

when the elusive rose betham returns to the Ton after studying in france & italy, she is quickly named the unofficial Diamond of the Season by lady whistledown and receives attention from all eligible suitors – including the dashing viscount bridgerton.

☽༓☾➵ + more to come...

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓘𝓷𝓭𝓮𝔁

scrawled in faded ink, tucked into the final pages of the Tome, are the spells to conjure when you might need an aid to find what you need. the spells are old, and thus are prone to error, but i as the Storykeeper will try to refine what each spell shows to make them as accurate as possible.

#Storykeeper’s Log — reblogs #Storytime — Any type of DR post #Keeper’s Ramblings — Even a Storykeeper needs to step away from the manuscript and rant #Storykeeper Says — Q+A posts + shifting questions #rosebud's ___ dr — a direct spell to find posts related to a specific DR. #portrait gallery — moodboards galore; could be dr intros, de-selves, relationships, etc. #Template Spotlight — a more direct way to see the gateways from the meadow #My Husband — …Mary has an obsession with Steve Rogers/Chris Evans, don't judge

[bagerfluff]

Drugged Love

Percy Jackson x Non-Binary Reader

Prompt - Lost

TW - Nonconsensual Drugging

Percy cursed as he walked through the forest.

Riptide was drawn and Percy was looking around every corner like something could pop out and kill him. Which might happen. Percy wasn’t lost. He just didn’t know where he was or where he needed to go. He was supposed to go on a simple quest.

Really simple.

Just find something and bring it back to camp. That was it. But during a fight Percy’s map got destroyed. Percy thought he didn’t need it anymore.

He would be fine.

But apparently Percy did need it. So now he was wandering through the forest with no idea what he needed to do or go. Percy tried to locate water. If you found a river or the ocean he might find his way back.

But the only body of water he did find was a small lake and a puddle. Plus the sun was setting and Percy was in more danger when the sun went down. Percy walked for what seemed like forever. The only thing he had to drink was the one water bottle in his bag.

He knew that one wouldn’t be enough. Plus Percy had no food left either. The forest looked the same no matter where Percy looked or went. Percy tried to find markers to tell where he’s been but that didn’t work.

For all Percy knew he was walking in circles.

That sounded accurate for Percy. Percy was now wishing that he took up Annabeth's offer. She had offered to go along with Percy if he needed help. Percy had said “I don’t need help. I think I’m old enough to do this simple quest by myself”.

Famous last words.

Percy turned his head as the sound of a twig snapping. Percy lifted Riptide and got ready for a fight. Percy lifted his sword up and almost killed a squirrel. Percy let out a sigh as the squirrel looked up at Percy while eating a nut.

“You’ve got to be careful”, Percy said to the squirrel, “I almost killed you”. Percy waved Riptide up and down, emphasizing on the part where he could have killed the squirrel. Percy stopped moving his sword up and down and stared at the squirrel.

“I’m talking to a squirrel”, Percy was going mad. “I think it’s cute”, Percy’s eyes widened at the voice. He knew that voice. It was sweet and quiet. But demanding and loud at the same time. Percy turned around and looked in the direction where he heard the voice.

There he saw Y/n L/n standing there with their weapon in their hand. Y/n looked the same from the last time Percy saw them. The last time he saw Y/n was during the Battle of Manhattan. No Percy didn’t fight beside Y/n, he fought against them.

Y/n had sided with Luke and Kronos. But after Luke killed himself most of his friends left and never returned. But Y/n did. They were seen multiple times but nobody knew what they were up to.

Maybe they were trying to hide from the Gods and people that wanted to kill them. Percy felt his face heat when he saw Y/n. Their h/l h/c hair was a little messy, but hot messy and not disgusting.

Their e/c eyes were fixated on Percy and they never broke eye contact. Y/n was standing with their arms over their chest and a smirk on their face. They were only a bit taller than Percy. They were only a year older than Percy too. Percy knew that the blush on his face was from fear, and attraction

Percy might have a slight crush on Y/n.

Percy never told anyone. They might have told someone, even Y/n, if they weren’t evil. Y/n was evil, they wanted the world to be destroyed. “What do you want?” Percy sneered at Y/n but Y/n’s smile just grew.

“Come one. Don’t act like you're not happy to see me Pretty Boy”, Percy felt his palms get sweaty at the nickname. Y/n always called Percy that. Percy first thought it was because Y/n might have liked him back, could still be that.

Or maybe they knew it ticked Percy off.

Y/n tried to walk towards Percy but Percy put Riptide in front of him. The tip of his sword only inches away from Y/n’s chin. “Come on Percy. I know you don’t want to kill me”, Y/n pushed the sword away from his chin.

Percy didn’t stop Y/n.

They both knew it was true. Percy didn’t want to kill Y/n. Y/n hadn’t really done anything evil, they never killed anyone. Just helped to kill them.

No.

They were evil.

But they were Percy’s friend. Percy’s fatal flaw was loyalty, they said that it would get Percy killed. But Percy never thought it would be like this. Percy thought it would be him throwing himself in front of something deadly to save his friend, not him refusing to kill a person he has a crush on.

Percy still had a crush on this person. Y/n walked a bit closer to Percy before talking. “What happened? Why are you in a forest all alone?” Y/n never drew their weapon. It was still on their back and their arms were at their side.

Never once moving to the deadly thing on their back. “I got lost on a quest”, Percy said. Percy didn’t know why he didn't just lie. He just told a very dangerous person that he was alone and lost. But Y/n had this calming aura about them.

It was what drew Percy in the first place. When Percy first got to Camp Half-Blood he was scared and lost. But then Y/n came up to Percy and introduced themselves. They made Percy feel calm when he wasn’t, like now.

Percy knew he should move his sword.

One fell swoop and one of the most dangerous people would be dead. More people would be able to sleep peacefully at night.

So why didn’t Percy move?

Why did Percy let Y/n still stand?

Y/n sighed and walked back a bit, rubbing his forehead. “This is why I hate the Gods. Making their kids do their dirty work because they're too lazy to do it themselves”, Y/n looked at Percy in his eyes.

Percy felt his hands get sweaty again and the blush returned to his face. Y/n smirked when they noticed. Y/n had a thoughtful look on their face before speaking. “Why don’t you come with me, Percy? You won't have to worry about anything if you come with me”, Percy’s eyes widened at that.

Percy tightened his grip on Riptide.

Y/n was offering for Percy to come with them. A war criminal was making an offer to Percy, and Percy was considering it. It's not like Percy hadn’t considered betraying the Gods. It’s not like Percy hadn’t realized where Luke was coming from.

It’s not like Percy hadn’t thought about running away. But what about his friends and his mother? He loved them too much to leave them. It’s not like Percy hadn’t thought about Y/n, even after they betrayed him.

Percy knew he shouldn’t do this.

It was wrong and mean. His friends and family would think he’s dead. But he would never have to do anything he didn’t want to even again. He didn’t even want this quest. He wanted to rest and enjoy a year at Camp Half-Blood without life or death situations. Percy thought back to when he was younger, when he first got to camp

He was angry at his father for what he did. He was angry with all of the Gods. But he didn’t want them dead. He just wanted them to stop having kids and sending them to do their dirty work. Just like what Y/n said. That’s why Y/n hated the Gods, and why Luke hated them.

What good were they?

Percy had reasons to stay. Like Annabeth, but Percy never really liked Annabeth. He just spent so much time around her. Percy looked at his sword. Percy moved the sword and placed the cap back on it, turning Riptide back to a pen.

Percy was getting tired, all of the walking and blushing had made him sleepy. Percy felt his eyes get heavy and his mind got cloudy. How tired was Percy?

Percy hadn’t even noticed how tired he was. It was like a sudden wave of drowsiness washed over him like a tile wave.  Percy barely noticed that the sun had set and it was now night.

Y/n smiled and reached up and placed his hand on Percy’s cheek. Percy leaned into Y/n's hand. “I promise that you will never have to worry if you're with me Percy. You will be treated how you deserve”, Percy smiled. That sounded nice. Percy nodded and Y/n smiled.

It was a great idea to put that drug in Percy’s drink.

[smytherines]

To the best of my ability, I have plotted out all the locations in Spies Are Forever. Originally, this started as me just trying to figure out where Agent Curt Mega would be in terms of alcohol withdrawal (see this post) over the course of the story, but (shocker) I got a little bit carried away. I think I have all the locations, distances, and estimated travel times, but its definitely possible I missed something!

A1P1-- Russian Weapons Facility

Songs: Spies Are Forever, The Coldest Goodbye

For reasons I will explain later, I believe this to be a Soviet Air Force base called Smurav'yevo. This is a former "closed city," meaning it did not appear on maps and entrance was restricted to people who worked on the site (think Los Alamos during The Manhattan Project). According to the NRDC, it was both an airfield and a storage facility for nuclear warheads, located in Pskov Oblast, Russia.

I did not calculate distance and travel time between A1P1 and A1P2, because of the four year time skip

A1P2- A1P3-- Budapest, Hungary

Songs: Spy Again, Somebody's Gotta Do It

Assuming that A.S.S. is functionally the CIA, I've put it in Washington DC. Technically the CIA is in Langley, but I think DC is the closest airport?

The distance from Budapest to Washington DC is 4,555 miles, or 7,330 kilometers, with an estimated flight time of 11 to 15 hours.

A1P4- A1P5-- Washington DC

Songs: Eyes on the Prize I, Pay Attention, Barb's Lament

The distance from DC to Monte Carlo, Monaco is 4,195 miles or 6,751 kilometers, with an estimated flight time of 10 to 12 hours

A1P6- A1P8-- Monte Carlo, Monaco

Songs: Eyes on the Prize II, Not So Bad, Torture Tango

The distance from Monte Carlo to Gevena is 181 miles or 292 kilometers, with an estimated flight time of 1 to 4 hours.

(this is driving directions but just to give you a sense of the trip)

A2P1-- Geneva, Switzerland

Song: We Love the Prince

The distance from Geneva to La Désirade is 4,348 miles or 6,998 kilometers, with an estimated flight time of 12 to 15 hours

A2P2-- La Désirade, Guadeloupe

Songs: Prisoner of My Past, Doing This

This is where things get interesting! From La Désirade, Curt and Tatiana travel to the New Democratic Republics of Old Socialist Prussian Sloviskia, which is not a real place. However! If we were to attempt to map it onto a real world location, I have a proposal. I believe a good candidate for the location of Prussian Sloviskia is Estonia

(Eastern Europeans please feel free to destroy me if I mess this up!)

From the name, I think it's safe to assume that Prussian Sloviskia is meant to be a former Eastern Bloc country. That it was once part of the USSR (Union of Soviet Socialist Republics) and has now declared independence. Now leaving aside the fact that in the real world this dissolution didn't start happening until 1989-1990, this means Prussian Sloviskia would be located somewhere in this area

Given that the chase scene in One Step Ahead takes us from Prussian Sloviskia to Russia via motorcycle, boat, and hangglider, I have to assume that it shares a border with Russia. Estonia and Latvia seem like the frontrunners to me. Because of One Step Ahead, we know that somewhere between Prussian Sloviskia and the Russian Weapons Facility, they use boats and cross a body of water, so that indicates Estonia

A2P3-A2P5-- New Democratic Republics of Old Socialist Prussian Sloviskia

Songs: One More Shot, Not So Bad (Reprise)

Estonia's capital, Tallinn, does actually have a weapons museum! However, with the order of motorcycle, boat, weapons museum, hangglider, to get from Tallinn into Russia they'd have to be hanggliding for like 3 to 4 hours (and that's assuming the hangglider is as fast as a car), which seems a bit much

I propose that the capital of Prussian Sloviskia is located roughly around the area of Tartu, Estonia. Curt and Owen do the motorcycle chase from Tartu up to Kallaste. Assuming they follow traffic laws (they don't) that would take about 42 minutes

Someone else in the fandom (I'm so sorry I can't remember who!!) used who Cynthia is talking to in her scenes to prove that the 1961 portion of Spies takes place in mid to late January. I could have plotted a different route where they quickly cross the Narva River, but instead I took them to one of the wider parts of Lake Peipus, because it seems like it has the least chance of being frozen over and unusable by boat

From Kallaste, they speedboat across Lake Peipus, which would be an estimated travel time of 1 hour and 21 minutes, crossing into Russia and ending up in Gdov

A2P6-- Pskov Oblast, Russia

Songs: One Step Ahead, The Coldest Reprise (Staircase Reprise)

If I understand correctly, Gdov is a town in the district of Gdovsky, and at the north eastern end of Gdovsky, we find the Smurav'yevo Air Force base

So for our purposes there would be a fictional International Weapons Museum somewhere between Gdov and Smurav'yevo. Curt and Owen fight, and then they take a short hangglider trip to Smurav'yevo

And finally, the distance from Smurav'yevo back to Washington DC is 4,444 miles or 7,152 kilometers. The closest airport I could find is Moscow, so that leaves us with an estimated travel time of 10 to 12 hours

A2P7-- Washington, DC

Song: Spy Again (Reprise), Spy Dance

I'm just some guy on the internet, and I did the songs by memory, so it's very possible I missed something. But I found this very interesting, so I figured I might as well share it with my friends!

[make-friends-with-the-rats]

Alright y'all, buckle up.

Bad news :( Irving Hall/Irving Place Theatre was not, in fact, the location of the real 1899 newsies rally.

GOOD NEWS! :D I have found that the real location of the rally was the New Irving Hall at Norfolk and Broome Streets.

BAD NEWS!! :( New Irving Hall was not a theater. It appears to have been simply an event hall, meaning that "Medda's Theatre" that we all know and love is not actually historically accurate to the real 1899 strike.

Allow me to explain this revelation.

As far as I'm aware, the stage version of Newsies does not ever provide a name for Medda's theatre other than that it was located vaguely on/in the Bowery. Meanwhile, the 1992 film clearly gives us the name of the theater as 'Irving Hall.'

When you do a google search for Irving Hall or Irving Hall theatre in NYC in the 1890s, the top (and pretty much only) result is Irving Place Theatre which was originally Irving Hall, a venue not a theater, that opened in 1860. Irving Hall/Irving Place Theatre seems to check out as the historical basis for Medda's theatre then. Right? Well...

Irving Place Theatre. Map and photo from my previous post on newsies locations

Over the years, many newsies fans have landed on Irving Place Theatre as being 'Medda's Theatre.' But Irving Place Theatre was located at Irving Place and 15th streets, a far cry from the Bowery as the musical claims. So I did some digging trying to figure out if perhaps the musical had chosen a different theater for Medda, perhaps one that Aida Overton Walker was involved with. But I found something else instead.

Great Meet of Newsboys. The New York Sun, July 25, 1899, page 2.

When you go back and consult primary sources from the real 1899 newsboys' strike, you find that the rally was held not at Irving Place Theatre or Irving Hall on Irving Place and 15th, but that it was held at New Irving Hall at Broome and Norfolk streets.

I went down a rabbit hole trying to find information on New Irving Hall in NYC in the 1890s and came up with almost nothing. But I did go back to my map and found Broome and Norfolk, which I discovered to be much closer to the Bowery (highlighted below in yellow) than Irving Place Theatre was.

Marked in pink, relative location of New Irving Hall in the Lower East Side of Manhattan.

At last, I found a single 2019 article with information on New Irving Hall and found out two important details.

First, that New Irving Hall seems to have been built or at least turned into a hall in the late 1890s and then burnt down in 1907. This narrow timeline could explain the lack of historical resources on New Irving Hall and the predominance of Irving Place Theatre in search results.

New Irving Hall, New York, on fire. Fire and Water Engineering, Volume 41, 1907. The only photo or illustration of New Irving Hall I could find.

Second, New Irving Hall was not a theater. New Irving Hall, like Irving Hall before the year 1888, was just a venue hall or dance hall for events. In it's short history, it was used for fundraising concerts, political and cultural events (the hall had many ties to the local Jewish community in particular), weddings, gang activity, and the newsboys' rally in 1899. But never was it a theater.

To circle back to Irving Place Theatre, the theater was originally called Irving Hall when it was built in 1860 and was rebuilt as a theater in 1888. While I can't back this up with any concrete evidence, I think it may be safely inferred that New Irving Hall, which begins to show up in records in the late 1890s, was possibly built because the original or old Irving Hall was converted from venue hall to theater.

In a 1916 Times article, Irving Place Theatre is referred to as "old Irving Hall," implying that New Irving Hall is/was in fact the new location of Irving Hall.

Union Square Loses Its Old Residences. The New York Times, June 18, 1916.

This potential link between the two might also be the reason why the Irving Hall of Newsies seems to take inspiration from both the Irving Place Theatre and New Irving Hall.

Medda's theatre is a mix of fact and fiction. According the the stage musical, Medda's is located in some connection to the Bowery like New Irving Hall. But the very fact that Medda's theatre is a theater means that Irving Place Theatre is just as likely the inspiration.

In conclusion, the real location of the newsies' rally was New Irving Hall, and New Irving Hall was not a theater. However, the theater in Newsies, Medda's theater, blurs the distinction between Irving Place Theatre and New Irving Hall and likely took inspiration from both places.

Top: Irving Place Theatre (highlighted blue). 1897 map. Bottom: Irving Hall (highlighted blue). 1897 map.

[izzabela]

In the Mafia's Eyes - Lin Kuei Siblings x GN!reader

in which the deadliest mafia group's leader and two brothers have you in their sight

a/n: i was scrolling through and i laid my eyes on the most beautiful fanart EVER, so i asked permission to use it (as you can see, i got permission) BIG UPS TO @moonbay1cn for letting me use their art (i cropped it to fit my blog formats, if you don't mind)

ships: tomas, bi han, kuai liang x GN!reader

warning[s]: mentions of blood, suggested violence, suggestive, you're delusional

p.s. mafia au! the Lin Kuei are based in the U.S. instead of Arctika/China

You should have realized who the men you served were. Every single clue and hint was there, pointing you in the right direction, yet you ignored the obvious flags that waved in your brain.

New York City is insidious: places to be, things to do, dreams to achieve. There's a reason why it's called "the city that doesn't sleep." People are up at all hours of the day and night to do things, and the night was a tad more active than the day. For you, however, the days seemed to blur together. Working at a 24/7 shop isn't rare. What made it rare was that it was a 24/7 tea house/café/eatery.

In the middle of Manhattan.

Upper east side, Manhattan.

In a rundown building that was browner than poop stains and long-deceased rat corpses.

That should have been your first hint.

The building was old, needing constant repairs here and there, yet it was untouched by the most powerful real estate agents, landlords, and other money-grubbing losers that would love to tear the building down to replace it with a painfully sleek and sterile one.

You were grateful for Madame Bo's persistence against this modern era of sad, beige modernness, but were also confused. How did she make so much money to keep them away? And if she had such money, why wouldn't she do the renovations herself? She could easily update the internals and externals of the building if she wanted to.

"Oh dear," she had said, "The charm is in the age of the building."

The second clue to the enigma of the tea house café were the customers.

When you were first hired by Madame Bo, you didn't really notice the patterns of people coming in and out, nor the lackeys that would round the block. Despite how old this building was, it was a popular stop for both the middle class and the privileged snobs residing in the upper east side. Over time, you knew who were regulars and who weren't.

When you worked the day shifts, you made note of four men who would be walking outside the building. On other shifts, they switched it up on you and they were paired with women, posing as couples. However, you knew better than that. Sure, to the untrained eye they would have just been randoms working out, but your gut told you otherwise. They were tall, slightly beefed with muscle, and walked faster than a normal New Yorker- yeah, definitely not normal.

What also peeved you out was the fact you always felt... something on you. You couldn't figure out if it was safety or protection, but what you definitely felt were eyes on you.

It didn't stop there, though.

On the very rare, and desperate, occasions you had a night shift, you kept a mental tab that two people would enter the empty eatery. They would sit on opposite sides of the room, laptops open and untouched. While you didn't judge the work ethics of others, you certainly judged people who had questionable habits of work. Even so, Madame Bo made drinks for them- free of charge!

"My dear," she said to you one fateful night shift, "They do a lot more for us than we know."

The last hint was as obvious as a clown in disguise. Scratch that, it's not even a hint anymore- it's a big red "x marks the spot" on a treasure map. And the "treasure" came in a pack of three hot guys.

Every month since you began working with Madame Bo, three men in luxurious suits and tuxes came to visit the shabby tea house. One of them with gray-colored hair, while the other two matched in black colored hair. You also noted their style of face covering, two of them opting for a face mask while the other remained bare-faced.

Every month without fail, these three men came to visit and sit down for some tea. There were times where they just sat in comfortable silence together, other times they were discussing the mundane in their lives. Most of the time, though, they simply sat together and spoke with Madame Bo, laughing and engaging in hearty conversation.

Every time they spoke with her, you couldn't help but stare at them. Madame Bo and the three mystery men were more different than the poles in a magnetic field, yet they spoke to her with such respect and joy. You thought it was just a rare case of rich people being kind. During a day shift when they visited, you asked Madame Bo for the origins of the three men.

"Oh them? I used to watch them when they were little," she explained to you, Raiden, and Kung Lao, "All three of them are brothers, with Tomas being adopted."

You remembered that you zoned out during the explanation of her ties with them, the only thing you got were their names: Tomas for the ash colored hair, Bi Han to the navy suit, and Kuai Liang in his amber-rust colored suit. As you zoned out, your eyes wandered over to the three.

They were engaged in their own conversation, chuckling quietly as they spoke about their business. While the air within them was pleasant, you felt a bit of fear and excitement. Something about them made you want to straighten up, look presentable, and be on your best behavior. You wanted to give them the best customer service in their lives- actually, maybe more than just "service".

You remembered catching the eyes of Kuai Liang, who briefly looked away from his siblings to catch you staring at them. His gold-black mask covered the bottom half of his face, but the way his eyes wrinkled a bit signaled some sort of smile that lied underneath.

You blushed and turned away, trying to zone back into the conversation with Madame Bo and the other boys you worked with.

"Woah! So like, are they super rich, Madame Bo?" Kung Lao asked innocently.

Madame Bo nodded, stating something about how they own a couple of stores in the upper east side thanks to a family business. You, however, still did not get the memo about who they were until later that day.

This was the answer to your dilemma on who these ferocious and fine men were.

After a night with some of your close friends, you were walking home alone following a sketchy back-path. It was supposed to be a shortcut, provided by the maps app on your phone. However, it died after you forgot to charge it, leaving you wandering the unruly city during its worst. As you walked, you fell into trouble with some sleazy idiots.

You remembered how close they were to you, their alcohol-stained breath and sleazy style of walk. The way they slithered over your shoulder to try and get you to come home with them. Not only were you sober, but willing to fight. You had punched one of them in the nuts to escape, but the grasp of one of the disgusting men was too strong for you.

You remembered four of them surrounding you, and you really thought you'd meet your end in the alley that night. You closed your eyes, but heard gun shots and the sounds of bodies hitting the damp concrete. What once was creepy and dangerous men surrounding you, you found them lying in their own blood, clean shots through the head.

You fell to your knees, threatening to cry, but you saw a familiar color on a suit. Okay, a few familiar colors: gray, navy, and rusty amber. You saw a gloved hand reach out to yours, leading to Bi Han's broad figure. You took it, and he effortlessly brought you to your feet. You noticed his other gloved hand was getting replaced, Kuai Liang replacing the soiled mitten.

Tomas snuck behind you (you didn't even feel him get there) to offer his coat. He gently placed it on your shoulders, his eyes peeking down at your round, doe, startled ones. Despite what happened in front of you, and despite you finally learning who they really were, you weren't afraid.

Each man held something in their eyes that promised you safety, security, and protection. Like a guardian angel, these men made a promise with their eyes to you. A promise saying that no matter where you are, what you're doing, that you'd always be safe.

As the saying goes, "It's in the eyes, chico," and boy they aren't wrong.

=================

It's been a couple of months since that incident, and the games you've played with them and your mind have been infectious. The brother's visits to the café have begun to happen more frequently, they even visit you alone sometimes, which didn't help your brain's delusions.

Every time one of them came to the cafè, you were afraid they would see right through you and into your horny thoughts. Whenever they visited and watched you work, you felt their eyes not leaving you once. It got so bad that you would bring Raiden or Kung Lao to distract you while doing stuff, or simply have Madame Bo make them leave.

Even so, it didn't stop your mind at all.

On the day's Kuai Liang came to the café, his gaze on you was steady and still, like a constant fire during a winter storm. The way he looked at you was full of wanting, desire, and desperation- like he needed you more than oxygen. Your brain imagined that his body was warmer than most, and that he would keep you in a dizzying trance.

Your mind played scenarios in which Kuai Liang would explore every part of you, with no intent of letting you go either. His hands leaving hand-shaped slap marks and bruises, marking every part of you to let the world know that you were his alone to worship. His loyalty to you and your body would leave you overwhelmed, melting under his constant affection and love.

Your mind concluded he'd be a gentleman and a rough lover, and you had to shake the thoughts out before he knew.

When Bi Han came to visit, you didn't have to know it was him at all. While Kuai Liang's presence was warm and welcoming, Bi Han's aura was chill to the bone. Whenever you were working, Bi Han's eyes never left your body. You figured his stares felt more...cold: persistent, chilly, and never-ending. Like a blizzard in the cold tundra of the arctic.

With Bi Han, your mind played vignettes of how he'd take you to bed. He would be rough, not like Kuai Liang. He'd pull your hair, smack your perky behind, and tell you how much of a degenerate you really were- all for him of course. He'd leave hickeys everywhere on your body, a mosaic of pink, purple and red on you to remind you who belonged to who.

Your mind also thinks he'd be great with aftercare. All that rough-housing and such, you needed to calm down and collect yourself. Your brain fills your mind with him putting you in a bath, rubbing your back, shampooing your hair too. He'd whisper "I love you's" in your delusions, peppering each hickey with kisses.

For him, your mind finalized he'd be the roughest of the three, while also caring for your wellbeing post-sex.

Your brain was working in serious overdrive.

Finally, when Tomas came to visit, you always felt sweet with him around. Not only would he stare at you with such love in his eyes, but he'd engage with others around him.

Like a butterfly, he'd go around and spread joy; however, he loved floating around you the most. You found that talking to him was easier than talking to his brothers, so you talked to him about the basics of who you were. When you tried to bring up that night, he told you that it would stay between you four- a private business transaction.

He'd also ask why you spoke to him more, and not his brothers. He assured you that they wouldn't bite, but you simply said it was out of respect.

And to keep your thoughts at bay.

Despite all of this, you weren't fooled by him at all. The way he looked at you, when people weren't present, was filled with a primal hunger, a desire to have you. He was the predator, and you knew damn well that you were his prey- not able to get away from his trapping gaze. His stares were sharp and clear, like a hunter ready for the kill.

And by the elder gods your mind was ready to be hunted.

You imagined his grip on you being tight, like you'd disappear and he'd never find you again. He would be intentional with tour body, exploring every part of you in more depth and detail than his brothers. His touch would make you feel sensitive, flinching at how feathery and flighty his fingers were as he took every part of you for himself.

He'd kiss you like he'd leave forever- full of longing, desperation, and wanting. Your brain thinks he'd need you more than oxygen, that he would love nothing more than to breath your natural scent in like the necessary element.

If Kuai Liang made you dizzy with heat, and Bi Han made you shiver with his chill, then Tomas would have you writhing under him like a poor animal in heat.

You prayed to the elder gods silently, hoping the men wouldn't see your perverse thoughts as they came by the shop.

Unfortunately, your pleas were ignored.

During their monthly visitation, you saw to the brothers yourself and sat them down, took their order, and made their drinks. Tomas took an Earl Gray with a pastry, Kuai Liang with some matcha, and Bi Han with Oolong tea.

You quickly gave their drinks to them, paired with an even quicker "thanks for waiting" and retreated behind the counter.

You watched them only for a bit, your brain playing new scenarios, but you distracted yourself with chores. Deep into them, you didn't even feel them leave until Raiden and Kung Lao tapped your shoulder, money in the latter's and a note in the former's.

"Looks like our prettiest barista got some tip money," Kung Lao teased, "A crisp twenty dolla bill too!"

You gasped, but who could have gifted you with such a generous tip? Raiden hands you a slip of paper, which answers your question and fills your head with more of them.

"Uhh..." he fidgeted nervously, "I am not sure what this means, but it definitely makes me wonder..." he handed the note to you and you flush the deepest shade of red ever.

It's in the eyes, little barista

=====================

once again, big ups to @moonbay1cn for letting me use their beautiful piece of media for this post!

see yall in the next fic ;)

[fishnoodles]

The Drugs, The Strokes, The Future: Albert Comes Clean

Albert Hammond Jr, photographed on 10th Street, Manhattan, August 15th 2013

On the cusp of releasing a new solo EP on Julian Casablancas' label, Albert Hammond Jr opens up to Matt Wilkinson about some very toxic relationships

Mirror of an interview of Albert Hammond Jr by Matt Wilkinson for NME, originally published ~7th September 2013. Photos by Guy Eppel.

I hear Albert Hammond Jr before I can see him. Lying horizontally on a couch by the window of The Strokes' managers' office in Manhattan's East village, he offers an LA-infused drawl of "Hey, maaaaan" from the shadows. When I do clock him, he's surrounded by mementos of former glories - NME Awards, a huge map with loads of pins punched into every continent conquered, gold records, platinum records, framed magazine covers blown up to beyond life-size proportions. Even the coffee mugs here bear the words "The Strokes" in big, bold blockbuster letters. It seems like the perfect place for a bunch of savvy New Yorkers to plot world domination.

But of course, The Strokes haven't been doing much of that lately. As 'Comedown Machine' came and went - perhaps the most low-key album release ever by an active band who still mean anything to anyone - their radio silence spoke volumes, vast tombs of lingering questions left agonisingly unanswered, about the band's personal relationships and their future as whole.

Today, with Albert gearing up to release 'AHJ', a new solo EP on Julian Casablancas' label Cult Records, we get some way closer to the source of that silence. From the off, his enthusiasm for the record is infectious. Produced by long-time cohort Gus Oberg and with Julian offering advice on an almost-daily basis, he's convinced the songs are the best he's ever written on his own. What's more, he's champing at the bit to get back on the road with his solo band - it's what he wants to do "more than anything". What'd top it all off? "I'll play anything, man, literally anywhere," he laughs, adding that a support slot with Arctic Monkeys would do nicely. But perhaps the most arresting aspect of our chat is the 33-year-old's own story. This is his first solo sit-down interview in years, and he's keen to open up.

The funny thing about 'AHJ' is that, just like on Albert's first two solo albums - 'Yours to Keep' (2006) and '¿Cómo Te Llama?' (2008) - most people are likely to overlook the depth of the lyrics. Like all The Strokes' best material, his songs are happy-go-lucky garage-rockers on the surface. But whereas Julian's words are often cryptic, Albert's open up an altogether more confessional front. On 'Strange Tidings', where he sounds uncannily like Tom Petty, he sings, "I can't believe I lost my mind".

In 2009, Albert undertook a well-reported rehab stint, which he discussed to some extent when The Strokes gave interviews around the release of 'Angles', back in 2011. None of them went as far as to detail the true extent of his problems, however. Heroin was mentioned, but then so were exhaustion and relationship woes.

"Around the second album, I'd say, 'I was in a dark place, dude, I was in a very dark place," he says today, jesting at his understatement. "I'm just now being able to understand or speak about that time, and it's been almost four years." He'd "always" done drugs, he says, but from 2006-2009 things got out of control. "It was, like, oxycontin and cocaine at 24, 25, 26. And then I became {addicted to} heroin around then. So from 26, 27 'til 29..."

Today, resplendent in short-sleeved black tee, black jeans, and black Converse, he's teetotal and altogether happier.

"It's not so much that I wasn't in a happy place; I was just... God knows where I was. I was just very high. That's where I was."

How bad did it get?

"I mean, do you want me to get specific? I don't mind, but yeah, I used to shoot cocaine, heroin and ketamine. All together. Morning, night, 20 times a day. You know, I was a mess. I look back and I don't even recognise myself. I did my own thing. I mean, you have moments when you're fine. And if someone meets you, you seem fine. But I remember when I was showing someone music and I was wearing a short shirt and (points to wrists)... there were just purple {track marks} all the way down here. And then they would call someone - 'Did you see Albert, he looks crazy?' That's where I learned to wear long sleeves. I've had these tattoos forever and I {still} have people coming up, "Oh, you've had new tattoos?" I'm like, "No , you just haven't seen me with a short shirt on..."

The Strokes, shot in 2011 while promoting 'Angles'

He laughs as I tell him I thought exactly that when I walked in today. He's recently read and been surprised at NME's Peter Doherty cover feature, where the Babyshambles man described his own failed attempts to get clean.

"I didn't really understand what he was saying. He was like, 'If you reach a certain point and you don't stop, you might as well keep on going.' I thought, 'Huh? No, it makes sense you should stop.'"

With Peter, I reply, I think it's more about keeping him in as safe a place as possible these days.

"I don't want to be that. I don't want to be that. I think drugs were a great way to get out of your head. You enjoy that for a while, it helps you to go to new places. But then it stops you from growing and puts you in a place where you're just not as good as you could be - for me. I'm not judging. I did it hard and for a long time, so I'm in no place to judge, nor would I. Something clicked one day, and I got out of it."

Albert's open to talking about this stuff now, because "I felt like I never got across how I was feeling" during 'Angles'' press campaign. But he's still cautious about discussing what you'd imagine to be a less difficult topic: The Strokes.

"When you're doing your own music that you're excited about, to talk about Strokes stuff - things get sensationalised so easily."

I respond that I can't not ask about The Strokes' that every fan of theirs in the world is wondering what the fuck's going on right now.

"No, of course, but also there has to be an understanding I'm one fifth of something, and I don't want it to come across to our fans that I called this interview to speak about stuff, {as if} I'm taking advantage of {the opportunity}. I hold very dear what we have together as friends. I'm just very careful at how things get said, because I don't want something to be misunderstood and then become the face of saying that stuff."

He doesn't mind chatting about The Strokes, but he won't really talk about them. On their future plans? Nothing concrete, apparently. Touring prospects?

"No comment."

I ask him why the band didn't do interviews around the last album.

"We just made a decision to keep a {lid on it}. We thought it'd be cool to keep a quietness to it, to see what a record would do {if you could only} listen to it."

Fair point, but it jars with what he says about the 'Angles' interview campaign, where the band were painted as being at loggerheads. "Look, I feel like {the press} got everything wrong," he says of that time.

So why not get the five of you together now to put it right?

"But what would be the...? It just seems that... I don't even know the words. It'd just be weird."

Ask him where, figuratively speaking, the five Strokes are at the minute, and he paints a sunnier picture ("We're in a great place!"). He played with guitarist Nick Valensi at a Dylan tribute concert in Dublin recently, has worked with Julian on 'AHJ', is still tight with bassist Nikolai Fraiture and drummer Fab Moretti.

"I hold what The Strokes have as friends very dear" - Albert Hammond Jr

I witness it for myself during NME's photo shoot. We're stood outside the offices on Manhattan's sunny streets with Albert, when at the end of the road we spot the unmistakable figure of a moustachioed Fab. The two men catch a glimpse, wave heartily, and carry on with their business. They'll hook up later, Albert says.

For now, he's keen to get back to the EP. He whips out his phone to show us the artwork, talks animatedly about how he's gotten so into Metallica that he might cover one of their songs, raves about his favourite records (from Adam & The Ants' 'Car Trouble' to Wipers' 'Is This Real?'). He seems relieved he's still here, still playing music, happily sober.

"The first two years you're kind of standing on the edge and watching a river go down, and that's the world," he says of life without drugs. "You're like, 'Why am I not part of this? How do I get in?' But you just can't. You're an outsider."

Albert takes stock for a second when I ask him where he's stood now.

"You know... I feel comfortable with myself, I guess."

-

Cult Status

What's Julian like as a label boss?

Albert: "I'd been talking to Julian about wanting to release something on his label Cult Records since he started it. He was like, 'Let's put out a song.' So I went, 'Alright, I'll start working with Gus [Oberg] and maybe after we do a few songs there'll be one that's fun in there.' I sent him the first, 'Cooker Ship', and he was floored. I got an email back with a million 'yes'-es on it!

It wasn't originally going to be an EP, it was going to be one song, then it was going to be two, then it was going to be three. Julian was like, 'Let's cap it at three.' But then I went, 'Well, I have one more', and he said, 'That one's good, we'll do four.' Then again, I was like, "...I have one more". He goes, "We've got to stop now... but that was your best one!'"

[mleighd94]

Eternal Hunt Chapter Four: Whispers of the Bloodstone

High above the chaos, Dominic Laurent stood in his opulent penthouse, a sanctuary of wealth and malice. Relics and stolen artifacts adorned the room, a testament to centuries of calculated ruthlessness. His piercing gaze rested on an ancient parchment spread across a marble table. It detailed the legend of the Bloodstone Relic, a mythical artifact said to grant dominion over life and death itself.

Dominic’s fingers traced the faded illustration of the crimson stone, the edges of his mouth curving into a dangerous smile. “This isn’t just power,” he murmured to his lieutenant, his voice carrying a mix of awe and greed. “It’s everything. The culmination of centuries of planning.”

The lieutenant hesitated, knowing the cost of disappointing Dominic. “Our men are searching, but there’s an issue. The informant escaped before revealing the relic’s location.” Dominic’s fist slammed onto the table, rattling the priceless artifacts. His calm veneer fractured, revealing the fury simmering beneath.


“Find him. Kill anyone in your way. And make sure she doesn’t get there first,” he ordered, his tone as sharp as broken glass. The lieutenant bowed and left, the heavy weight of his failure trailing behind him. Dominic returned his attention to the parchment, his mind already weaving strategies. The Bloodstone was closer than ever, and he wouldn’t let anyone—human or vampire—stand in his way.

In Manhattan

The detectives huddled in their cluttered office, the air thick with the smell of stale coffee and ink. Maps, photos, and documents covered every surface, a growing collage of Dominic’s tangled web. “Dominic’s been raiding libraries, museums, private collections—anything connected to this artifact.” Han said, holding up a photocopy of a weathered text.

“The Bloodstone Relic.” Seungmin read aloud, his eyes narrowing as he scanned his laptop screen. “Supposedly, it’s ancient, powerful, and—oh yeah—might not even exist.” Han quipped, his tone lighter than the gravity of their discussion. Hyunjin leaned against the table, arms crossed. “If it’s just a myth, why would Dominic burn places to the ground for it?” “Maybe it’s real,” Felix said quietly, his gaze fixed on Dominic’s photo pinned to the evidence board.

Chan nodded, his jaw tightening. “If it’s real, we need to know why it’s so important—and how far Dominic’s willing to go to get it. Because whatever this relic is, it’s worth more to him than anything else.”

An Alley in the City

Y/N drove her dagger into the chest of one of Dominic’s enforcers. His body crumpled, joining the others she had dispatched moments earlier. The faint metallic scent of blood hung in the air, mingling with the damp, rotting stench of the alley. The informant cowered behind a dumpster, clutching a leather satchel as though it could shield him. His face was pale, his hands trembling.


“P-please,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what you want!” Y/N’s crimson eyes gleamed in the dim light, her patience running thin. “Tell me about the Bloodstone,” she demanded, her tone brooking no argument. Terrified, the man fumbled with the satchel and opened it, revealing a fragment of an old map.

The parchment was yellowed with age, its edges frayed. “This is all I managed to take before they found me,” he said, his voice quaking. Y/N snatched the map and scanned the faded lines and symbols. Her eyes stopped on a marked location deep in the heart of an abandoned industrial district.

“They say the relic is waking up,” the informant whispered, as if speaking louder might summon it. “That it’s drawing people to it—like it has a will of its own.” Y/N’s grip tightened on the map. If the relic was stirring, time was running out—for her, the detectives, and anyone caught in Dominic’s path. She cast one final glance at the informant.

“Stay hidden. If they find you again, you’re dead.” With that, she vanished into the night.

The Detectives’ Office

Minho’s phone pinged with an alert. He scanned the screen, his expression hardening. “We have movement,” he said, drawing the team’s attention. “Dominic’s men were spotted in the industrial district. They’re hunting something—or someone.”

“What’s the location?” Chan asked, already reaching for his coat.

Minho pulled up a map and pointed to a red-marked area. “Here. But it’s a maze down there. If they’re looking for something specific, it’ll take time.”

“Then we’d better move fast,” Chan said, determination etched into his features. As the team prepared to leave, Seungmin lingered at the evidence board, his sharp eyes flicking between Dominic’s photo and a grainy surveillance image of Y/N. Her crimson eyes seemed to stare back at him, challenging him to decipher her motives.“What’s your angle, lady?” he muttered under his breath. “And why does it feel like you’re leading us into something we’re not ready for?”

Industrial District

Rain fell in heavy sheets, turning the industrial district into a maze of slick pavement and puddles. Y/N stood on the rooftop of an old warehouse, the map fragment clutched tightly in her hand. Below, Dominic’s men swarmed through the crumbling buildings, their flashlights slicing through the darkness like probing eyes. Her crimson eyes narrowed as she observed their frantic movements. She was close—closer than she’d been in decades.

The whispers of the Bloodstone seemed louder here, an almost tangible pulse that resonated in her chest.

“This ends where it all began,” she murmured, rain dripping from her hair as her grip on the map tightened. “The Bloodstone is mine. And Dominic... your time is up.” The storm grew heavier, the thunder masking her movements as she melted into the shadows, her crimson gaze the only sign of her presence.

[moonyslipstick]

You used to think the world stopped when Ethan touched you.

Lying beneath the shade of that old oak tree by the lake, hidden from the chaos of Camp Half-Blood, it felt like time forgot the both of you. His lap was your pillow, his fingers carding gently through your hair, brushing strands from your face like they were sacred. You’d read to him—sometimes mythology, sometimes novels filled with slow-burning love and painful sacrifices—and he’d listen with a reverence that made you feel worshipped.

Sometimes, he’d kiss the top of your head mid-sentence, as if the affection just spilled out of him too easily to contain.

Those moments felt immortal.

But even demigods learn that nothing lasts forever

You woke with a gasp, heart pounding, skin clammy with sweat.

Cabin One was dark and empty. Moonlight filtered through the slats in the wall, and everything was still. Too still.

You sat up slowly, every part of you aching. The physical wounds had long healed, but the ones in your chest? The ones no nectar or ambrosia could touch?

Still bleeding.

You slipped out of the cabin quietly, careful not to disturb anyone. Your feet moved on instinct, carrying you through the dewy grass and down the hill to the lake. The oak tree stood tall in the distance, a silhouette against the water. So familiar it made your throat tighten.

You sat beneath it, pressing your back to the trunk, fingers trailing over the earth. So many memories were buried here.

You didn’t know that, miles away, Ethan Nakamura sat in a dingy motel room off the I-87, half-drunk on guilt and loss, staring at the ceiling, reliving the same memories in nauseating detail.

Manhattan was a mess.

You remembered the fire. The smoke. The screams that never stopped echoing.

You fought through the chaos, shoulder dislocated, blood spilling from an arrow wound just below your collarbone. You’d killed two dracaenae with one swing of your blade before you even realized you were bleeding.

Annabeth had screamed at you to get back—to retreat—but the only thing you could see was him.

Ethan. Fighting his way through the battlefield, desperately cutting a path toward you.

You collapsed behind a pillar. The world spun. Your fingers trembled as you gripped your weapon, but your body betrayed you. You were fading.

Then hands were on your face, cradling it.

“Baby. Baby, can you hear me?” His voice cracked. “Where does it hurt?”

Your eyes fluttered open. “Everywhere.” You coughed, blood on your lips. “You hurt me everywhere.”

His face broke. “I didn’t mean—”

“Go ahead,” you whispered. “Finish it off.”

“No,” he said, voice raw. “No, no, no. I would never. I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.”

Your vision blurred again, but not before you saw him kiss your forehead—his sword already raised, ready to defend you from the next threat.

You lost consciousness just as he turned, running toward Luke—toward Kronos.

You woke in the infirmary days later, not dead.

Which was, frankly, shocking.

The pain was dull now, your wounds dressed. The smell of poultice and old linen filled the air. The camp was eerily quiet. The war was over.

And then you saw him.

Ethan was sitting beside you, head slumped against the bed, asleep in a chair far too small for someone so battle-worn. His face was gaunt. New scars mapped his skin like lightning. His shirt was torn. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

You almost didn’t want to wake him.

But your body betrayed you again—a groan of pain escaping your lips as you shifted.

His head snapped up, eyes wild. “You’re—oh gods—you’re awake.”

You blinked, throat dry. “I’m not dead?”

He let out a choked laugh, wiping his eyes. “No. No, you’re not.”

You could see the unshed tears trembling at the corners of his lashes.

“You were with Kronos,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I was with you,” he said hoarsely. “When it mattered. I chose you.”

You turned your face away. “You still left. You chose your cause over me. Over us.”

“I thought I could fix something. Make the world fair. For kids like me. For everyone who was never seen. I didn’t think it would cost me—” He faltered. “You.”

Your voice broke. “I needed you. You left me, Ethan.”

He was crying now, truly crying. Hands trembling as he reached for you, but stopped just short. “I’ve never stopped loving you. Not for a second. I would’ve died for you that day.”

“I almost died because of you,” you snapped.

“I know.” His voice cracked. “And I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

The silence hung heavy between you.

“I had to watch you bleed and I couldn’t stop it. I still see it when I close my eyes. Still hear your voice. Still feel your blood on my hands.”

“Ethan…” you whispered, seeing him fall apart before you.

“I fought Kronos for you. I turned my sword on everything I thought I believed in because in that moment, the only thing that mattered was you.”

You let the tears fall. You were too tired to hold them back. “Why’d you come back?”

“I had nowhere else to go. You are the only place I’ve ever felt like I could breathe.”

He pressed his forehead to the side of the bed, sobbing now. It wasn’t elegant or poetic. It was gut-deep and shaking, as if he’d finally broken open.

You lifted your fingers and threaded them into his hair, tugging gently.

He looked up at you, eyes red, swollen.

“Come here,” you whispered.

He crawled into the infirmary bed with you, careful, tentative like you’d shatter under his touch.

But you didn’t.

You wrapped your arms around him and held on tight. He buried his face in your neck and let out a broken sound.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know that too.”

He kissed you then, trembling and raw. It wasn’t a perfect kiss. It was messy. Wet with tears. Too many feelings. Too much time lost. It tasted like blood and grief and finally - peace.

Outside, the camp began to stir. Life resumed.

Inside that room, under sterile lights and threadbare sheets, two war-torn hearts found their way back to each other.

Because love survives war.

And what remains, sometimes, is even stronger than what was lost

[terriwriting]

Possible locations for Gotham, Metropolis, & Smallville

A non-exhaustive list of places to put Gotham, Metropolis, or any other fictional city.

Notes:

Cities need reliable fresh water, transportation, and food.

Wonder Woman doesn't need a city. She already has Paradise Island.

Gotham

I'm more of a Superman fan, so my notes on Gotham are relatively short. Plus Metropolis comes in two variations, while Gotham just needs to be a city that is old enough to have old infrastructure and deep-rooted generational wealth.

Illinois/Indiana:

The Chicago-Gary area is the easiest place to put Gotham if you want to move it away from the East Coast. Hello Kitty Unpretty's Gotham is a Great Lakes city.

New Jersey:

The classic. There are two good places for a fictional city, but the one in the southern area of the state will be noticeably different from canon-Gotham.

The Camden-Rehoboth Bay corridor could be unified by an old canal system. Place Gotham one one end of the canal and Bluehaven (Bludhaven to cynical locals) on the other, according to your preference. Note that the Rehoboth Bay end is mostly mud and silt layered over more mud and silt, so you're probably better off placing Bludhaven here as a smaller city with few major towers. Either end will need extensive drainage (canals, storm drains, aqueducts, and reservoirs), so that's great for the crumbling infrastructure. Remember that if you place Gotham here, Batman's costume needs to be light, not armoured, or he'll be dead in a week from heat stroke.

The New Brunswick-Newark metropolitan area fits the climate we usually see in comics. Maybe throw in Staten Island as a little treat for New jersey.

In either case, the rest of the Justice League calls Batman Tony Soprano behind his back.

New York:

The NYC metro region with no city unification. Gotham is probably Manhattan, plus maybe Staten Island for rich people like Bruce.

Ohio:

A unified Cleveland-Akron-Canton metropolitan area with a higher population, maybe?

Rhode Island

My preferred headcanon: The Newport-Providence metropolitan area as a unified city. Bruce Wayne is old old money, some of the Wayne cousins were involved in the witch trials, and this fits the map published by Mayfair games.

Metropolis

Metropolis comes in two flavours: The more common one where Metropolis is a stand-in for an old East Coast US city, or; The Superman: TAS version where Metropolis is a new city, built under the influence of tech billionaire Lex Luthor. I like both.

If you like Clark and Lex as high school friends, that's not really compatible with a New Metro built by Lex Luthor. There's just not enough time for Lex to build anything more than a small suburb. But Lex could be manoeuvring to take control of Metropolis from his family, or from some other DCU billionaire like Simon Stagg.

Connecticut:

There are two good regions in Connecticut to place a fictional city: The Bridgeport-New Haven region, or; The area between the Connecticut River and Thames River.

The Bridgeport-New Haven version better fits the Old Metropolis version, but can also be used for the New Metro version. If you're going for Old Metro, in reality this area did industrialize before the NYC area (Which was dominated by shipping before it picked up light manufacturing), but the early industrialists didn't invest enough in the trade schools or financial institutions that would have let them keep that early advantage. Have a few mill owners and canal companies invest in engineering schools, have later industrial barons invest in office equipment manufacturing and chemical engineering, and you have your Old Metro. For your New Metro, genius tech billionaire Lex Luthor plants a few factories in the major population centres, buys up golf courses to turn them into company towns with inexpensive mid-density housing, and then uses his political and economic influence to pressure the municipalities to merge into his new Metropolis. This version of the New Metro will have more old architecture, but that's not a bad thing.

The Connecticut River-Thames River region fits either version. For an Old Metro, just have the area invest in trades and technical schools as with the Bridgeport-New Haven region. There are old whaling towns in this area so the region could move into shipbuilding, marine alloys engineering, and later railcars and elevators and escalators. This is an easy place to plant a fictional new city, with a low urban population and lots of farms, golf course, and camp/resort sites to buy out. An ambitious billionaire or group of wealthy investors could start a new urban centre with relative ease.

Delaware:

Most of the Delmarva region is mud. You're not going to build many skyscrapers here. But you could fit some in along the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal.

A Metropolis on the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal would probably be smaller than Metropolis is usually shown as, with maybe two million inhabitants instead of six-eight million. But this is comic books, so go with what feels right to your heart.

This works equally well for New or Old Metro.

New Jersey:

Have Bayonne & Newark industrialize early, deliver Staten Island unto New Jersey, invest heavily in education and financial institutions, unify Bayonne-Newark-Staten Island, and bada-bing bada-boom Lois Lane sounds like Carmela Soprano.

Staten Island isn't necessary, but you gotta put the fancy houses and big parks somewhere.

Works best with the Old Metro approach, but you could also have investors take over the urban area and push a lot of redevelopment.

New York:

There are a couple of good places in New York state for Metropolis.

For a New Metro, try the Chaumont Bay-Guffin Bay region. Access to rail, road, air, and sea shipping, and lots of tradespeople and professionals in nearby cities who are desperate for inexpensive housing.

For an Old Metro, you can't go wrong with a thinly-disguised NYC. Just file off the serial numbers, maybe some new rims, and drive it like you stole it.

Smallville

Generic East Coast:

If you're like me and prefer the feel of Bronze Age Smallville, you might want to keep Smallville as an East Coast town. This is easy. There's no reason for Smallville to be in the same state as Metropolis, so it can be anywhere from Maryland to Massachusetts. Towards the end of the Bronze Age it was generally described as vaguely New Jersey or Pennsylvania. East Coasters can entertain themselves imagining Clark Kent, MetU freshman, trying to order a pork roll and water ice in the Metropolis version of Eisenberg's Sandwich Shop.

Kansas:

The Flint Hills region matches modern continuity and the look of both the Smallville series and Bronze Age comics. Lawrence is a good model.

Special Mention: Susquehanna River

BludBluehaven: Great place for Nightwing to relocate to, regardless of where your Gotham is.

Gotham: Replaces Baltimore and/or Philadelphia as a rail and sea hub.

Metropolis: Great for the New Metro.

Opal City: Gotta go somewhere, and this matches the map DC published.

Smallville: Depends on what version you prefer.

What About The Teen Titans?

Fuck Marv Wolfman, that's what.

[dionysus-complex]

So last night I was reading Wikipedia articles about abandoned NYC subway stations (as one does) and stumbled upon one of the weirdest historical mysteries/conspiracy theories I've ever heard. Buckle in/grab on to the handrail for this:

Unsurprisingly for a 100-year-old, highly complex subway network, there are quite a few abandoned subway stations in NYC. Some of them are famous, like the gorgeous Romanesque Revival City Hall Station, or the Court St station in Brooklyn now in use as the New York Transit Museum. Others are more mundane, like the 18th Street station and the Worth Street station, both of which are disused stations on active subway lines that can be seen out the window of a passing subway car if you're paying attention. But by far the weirdest is the 76th Street station, which may or may not actually exist.

Basically, the IND Fulton Street Line is the line that carries A and C line trains from central Brooklyn to Queens (if you've ever taken an A train from downtown Brooklyn or Lower Manhattan to JFK Airport, that's the one). Just before the Brooklyn/Queens borough line, the line veers slightly north as it changes from a subway under Pitkin Ave (on the Brooklyn side) to an elevated line over Liberty Ave (on the Queens side). But originally, when this line was being extended toward Queens in the late 1940s, the plan was to continue the underground line further into Queens under Pitkin Avenue. Tunnels were dug to the present-day Euclid Ave station and then continued further beneath Pitkin Ave, toward a planned station at 76th Street and Pitkin (just barely over the Queens borough line).

On Nov. 28, 1948, this line is recorded as opening with service to 76th Street station, but almost immediately there was a controversy over whether, when, and how this 76th Street station had actually been built. Some engineers and tracklayers were quoted in the Times as saying they hadn't built anything past the borough line, but maybe someone else had. There was also a story on Dec 2 that quoted a local who noticed a new subway station entrance at 76th and Pitkin that had sprung up seemingly overnight. The Board of Transportation was unable to produce any contracts for construction of this mysterious station, and the line past Euclid Ave to 76th Street is recorded as having closed on Dec 20 after legal threats from unions, which suspected a coverup of non-unionized labor. Thereafter, any reference to the 76th Street station was purged on maps, signs, etc., although the signalboard at the Euclid Ave station evidently still has a taped-over portion which used to show the 76th street station.

Eventually, the line was extended by connecting the subway to the already-existing Fulton Street Elevated line, which is the path used today. A cinderblock wall apparently blocks off the end of the subway tunnel under Pitkin Ave, and a retired transit worker named Steve Krokowski told the NY Times in 2014 that he had tried to dig under the wall and found a track tie but was forced to stop when the hole began to cave in. He also mentioned a retired police officer and other unnamed colleagues who claimed to have seen the fully completed 76th street station, which may or may not have been accessible via a door that may or may not have existed in the cinderblock wall.

The intersection of Pitkin and 76th is now a populated residential area, and it's unlikely that anyone is ever going to excavate it to find the station. As far as anyone can tell, on the surface, there's no evidence (i.e. ventilation tunnels etc.) of a subway station existing beneath Pitkin and 76th. There seems to be one existing picture of the 76th street station from its brief time in service (you can view it here - scroll down almost to the bottom), but despite this, it seems like people are still skeptical that the station exists at all.

Sources/further reading:

-Wikipedia article on Euclid St station, with a section labeled "East of the station"

-Article on the station from Joseph Brennan's page on abandoned NYC subway stations

-NY Times article from 2014 in which Krokowski is quoted

[angelicvee]

anyone else but you chapter 1: intertwined, sewn together

wc: 1.2k

Of all the people in New York, why her?

Why was moving on such a difficult task? Why was it that everytime Annie January walked into her local grocery store alone she just had to skip the apple section? Green apples to be precise. Perhaps this sort of yearning wasn’t normal. Maybe it was just the cruel reminders of her old friend plastered practically everywhere that stopped her from progressing past highschool.

Hughie was a great guy. No he wasn't quite perfect but.. He made her happy. Although, Vicky made her happy too. Happier than she had ever been. FUCK! When did food shopping become such a depressing task?

The blonde felt a little silly, actively mapping out the best way to skip the apples and tapioca snack packs. Victoria loved tapioca. She couldn't bring herself to enter any New York bodega. Not without M.M or Hughie with her. God the only thing she could still face was probably weed and whiskey.

Why was it that Hughie had pursued a career in supernatural affairs? Of all the job’s in New York he just had to choose that one. Really Hughie? Annie had never really mentioned her past with Victoria. It was something she wanted to forget. Well not really but if she lied to herself enough maybe, just maybe she could believe herself.

The night she found out was like some fucked up fever dream. The mention of simply her name sent emotions rushing forward. A pit forming in the blonde’s stomach. She couldn’t get Victoria’s face out of her mind. Annie could practically feel the woman’s silky brunette hair running over her fingers. Something she often missed. Oh and those big bambi eyes. The ones that always betrayed her pathetic attempts to seem nonchalant as a teenager. That was a problem long gone now. Those eyes once so expressive now seemed empty and tired.

It had been years since they’d last spoken, years since Annie had been forced to turn her back toward everything she once knew. Back then, Victoria Neuman had been her everything. The two girls spent every waking hour together. They were conjoined at the hip. Nothing romantic had ever happened but it was undeniable. The tension between them was always there, simmering beneath the surface, but before it could come to a boil, life and Vought had pulled them in different directions.

But now, Hughie, sweet, kind, naive Hughie was working for Victoria. Annie hadn’t wanted to believe it when he first mentioned her name. Part of her wanted to laugh it off like some sick joke. Instead her heart nearly stopped. Victoria Neuman. The name that held so many memories, both beautiful and painful.

Annie idly tapped her fingers against the marbled kitchen counter, trying to steady her breathing. The wound of their separation was still raw, festering beneath the surface. How could Hughie not know? How could he not see the turmoil in her eyes when he mentioned Victoria?

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to calm down. Hughie had no idea of the history between her and Victoria. She couldn't blame him for that. But it didn't make it any easier to swallow.

—--

An upscale Manhattan hotel ballroom, warm light cascading from chandeliers, the hum of mingling voices filling the air. It screamed opulence.. Which was a little strange. Atleast in the blonde’s mind. Yes victoria grew up with money due to her adopted father but.. Well she never really acted like it. Not when she was younger.

Annie January tugged at the hem of her dress, the fabric smooth and cool beneath her fingers. She had chosen something understated—a navy blue, almost black with little gold stars embroidered into it. Very on brand.. Just how vought liked things to be. Now, standing at the entrance of the opulent ballroom, the weight of the past felt as heavy as the glittering chandeliers above her.

Hughie was at her side, his hand a reassuring presence at the small of her back. The dress allowing skin to show through. She glanced up at him, his face beaming with a mixture of pride and nerves. He had no idea how hard she was trying to keep the edges of her smile from fraying.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, meant only for her.

Annie forced the smile to stay in place, nodding. “Yeah, just…not really my scene, you know?”

He squeezed her hand gently, his touch familiar and comforting. “I know, but it means a lot to me that you’re here. And you’ll love Victoria—she’s really something special.”

Annie’s stomach clenched at the mention of the name she had been trying to keep at bay all night. She had prepared herself for this moment, gone over the possibilities in her head a hundred times. But hearing Victoria’s name flow out in Hughie’s casual tone, as if it meant nothing more than another colleague, felt like a punch to the gut.

There was a time when Victoria’s smile had lit up Annie’s world more than her V induced abilities ever could, a time when her voice had been the soundtrack to Annie’s best and worst days. But that was before, in a different life, a life Annie had left behind when everything fell apart.

Now, Victoria was a rising star in politics, a name everyone in the country knew. But to Annie, she would always be the girl who had stolen her heart right from its spot in the blonde’s chest.

Hughie led her through the crowd, weaving between groups of suited men and women in cocktail dresses, his hand never leaving hers. Annie’s heart screamed with each step, the anticipation building like a storm on the horizon.

And then she saw her.

Victoria Neuman stood near the centre of the room, her presence commanding without effort, as if the crowd simply bent around her. She was dressed in a sleek cobalt blue suit, her hair styled in soft waves that framed her face perfectly. She hadn’t changed much, she had only become more poised, more confident. The years had refined her into someone who looked every bit as powerful as the position she held.

Annie froze like a deer in headlights, the world narrowing down to the space between her and Victoria. For a moment, it was just the two of them, and everything else faded into the background. The laughter, the clinking glasses, the conversations—none of it registered. All she could see was Victoria.

And then Victoria turned, her eyes scanning the room before landing on Annie. Recognition flickered in those dark eyes, followed by something Annie couldn’t quite name. Surprise? Amusement? A shadow of the old hurt? It was gone before Annie could be sure, replaced by the smooth, practised smile of a politician.

“Victoria,” Hughie’s voice broke the spell, his hand guiding Annie forward with ease. “I’d like you to meet Annie, my—”

“Annie January,” Victoria interrupted, her voice warm but with an undercurrent that only Annie could detect. “Of course. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Annie managed to find her voice, though it felt like a stranger’s. “Congresswoman Neuman” she smiled warmly, a show she had developed over the various interviews and appearances for Vought and at pageants. It was practised and precise. Victoria could definitely see through it though. And if she couldn't see it on Annie's face… she could certainly hear it in her heartbeat.. Although the blonde didn't know that. She had no idea the woman was a supe. Why would she? They were only friends for nearly ten years.

a.n: heyyy so this is a re upload as i accidentally deleted like half my posts while re doing some little things on my blog... not my best moment but we live. i hope you all still like my work and are excited for the new chapters im working on!! im so incredibly sorry for taking so long i pinky promise im working on my time management and organisation skills just for you cuties. xxx

[lily-style]

What do you guys think about RQ world building?

To be specific, *possible spoilers about the ending*

In Julian's research, there were maps about "long before the disasters" where we see Manhattan etc, our world's "timeline"/US map..

It was a really.. interesting approach for me.. and I'm curious about your opinions as well..

Because when you think about it, as a reference, it was realistic bcs we are now living some those catastrophic events -sadly-.. and when you get more "delulu" about it, after 200 years or something -I cannot recall the exact timing- Mare really exists in this very same world..

I promise I'm normal.. it's just.. I remember that after finish reading that book, I was like.. OH ok!

..well in a universe where this "research of Julian" is true, it means that after 300 year from now Maven, Cal and Mare will born and start a war and laugh and cry and have children and die or get old&die.. and it was.. bittersweet? idk what to call that emotion..

Maybe I was just being sensitive after finishing a series..

[en-la-casademiamor]

Episodic memory

In the town I lived, where I attended high school; the town itself was inhabited by three sets of groups. Group A: predominantly white, old money and then to a lesser degree, incoming Yuppies from Manhattan. If you’re old enough, you may remember what and who those kinds of people were: what their lifestyle and ambitions were like.

Group B: were people that are often characterized as the townie folk: also predominantly white, overwhelmingly racist and openly violent to immigrants: somewhat middle class/blue collar; most of whom literally ran the town from top to bottom.

Group C: were the “others.” I venture to think that most people know what I mean when I say, the “others.” The others were mostly of Latin American descent, with a trickle of Asian and African kids to boot.

Where I laid on the map of these categories was always a point of contention for me. I was the kid who was white passing: the very kid who refused to white pass. Hence, I was troublesome.

I had been raised to be firmly rooted in my family’s culture and native language. I was also highly versed at a young age on issues regarding race and class: history, current affairs, and the arts.

My father was what we call today, a white collar brown man; and because he was a brown man that wore suits and carried a brief case and thick English accent; he was often the same kind of man that attracted virulent racists like honey to a bee.

I interpreted the world/my world from two standpoints: two front lines that closely followed the pattern of the times I lived in. While my father was a manager/accountant in NYC. My mother was an embroidery textile worker in Hoboken and then Jersey City. While my father’s office window faced one side of the imposing Empire State Building; my mother’s window canvased the incoming/outgoing waves on the polluted Hudson River. When she was not seeing the rivers brown film, she was facing her working hours alongside the long shadows of the last looming merchant ships that would dock in front of the factory she used to work at.

Their lives were drastically different. While one parent enjoyed a more relaxed work setting, the other used her body to sew, carry, and unload fabrics. As one parent battled flagrant racial inequities and the onslaught of incomprehensible hatred; the other went undetected, mostly because her world was limited to our immediate ethnic enclave.

The high school I attended in the late mid 1980s was a beautiful pretentious type building. It resembled the best kind of school that one would have seen portrayed of in a 1950s movie. That high school was definitely a testament to better days when the town used to act as a district school for three other neighboring towns. She, the building, was big, lofty, and vastly empty.

The student population there began to drastically dwindle at the onset of the 1970s, as the other towns finally completed construction of their own high schools. I'm not sure why, but for some unknown reason, instead of shuttering the doors to my old high school, it was somehow permitted to live on, but only on rationed life support.

I used to partake in the yearbook club (one of the only clubs that still managed to survive district financial constraints) and I would constantly scour through the archived yearbooks to gaze at old pictures of past alumni; and to read about what their school life was like. My own time at my high school was strikingly different from theirs.

While past alumni enjoyed common activities such as band and choir; numerous clubs and theater; my own generation did not. This was by and large part of our reality because any and all proposals that addressed need for increases to our educational budget were never approved. Any attempt to bring our education into modern times was always dead upon arrival on voting day.

All those wealthy people that lived in my town, that I wrote of above; those very folks whose kids were sent to better private schools did not feel inclined to believe that they needed to foot any money toward a school they had no interest in helping to keep alive. Yes, they lived in our town, but they were not of the town; and this was made clear always on voting day. I dare say, its through these type circumstances in how America reveals herself to actually be the greatest equalizer between the varying types of people that make up the working class and poor (no matter race).

In the end, all the townie people who thought themselves more American, more qualified; like all the vilified “others” were equally subjected to learn from old/outdated books; and we all had to equally endure years without music, a good lunch program, critical thinking foreign languages, and the arts.

There were no art fairs in those years. There was however, lots of trickle down economics. There was no Black History month or any other kind of month—But there was lots of 1950s rhetoric.

There were also no all district band recitals for parents, and meet ups with other schools. School spirit? That wasn't a thing. There was literally nothing to be proud of. And forget about accommodations; that was not even a part of our consciousness. It was either you sank to the bottom (as expected), or you somehow linearly learned on your own to paddle your way through education like a street dog. The biggest mistake parents made in that era was to accept the meagerness of education and worldly exposure that was being offered to children like myself.

Some may say that these experiences taught me to be stronger and I would counter that by reaffirming that all those ill begotten years left me with, was a terrible legacy: the knowledge of just how little people regard kids and access to quality public school education.

All of today's headlines reflect my past. Everything old is new again. The changes we've had; they were a micro illusion that are being decidedly erased by self serving, puritanical everyday people who equate equality and charity to mortal sin.

If you are a parent and you are reading this; if you too lived through something like what I lived through, I just want to say, hey, I see you; and I haven’t forgotten the worlds of the haves and the have-not's; and I have not forgotten the anger; the boiling over-resentment I drowned in during the Reagan/Bush era. And though I went on and etched my own way out of those stifling years that bore little oxygen, the hurt of having to live through needless inequity festers in the marrow of my bones; and it is not a cancer that will be remediated until I die or reality truly changes.

If for some reason you are unable to appreciate how economic freedom actually begins at a young age via paths of legitimate academic opportunities, then no dialogue can exist between you and I. None. I'm not here to play or to pussy foot with a regurgitation of propaganda. To you I say, in my mind, because you don't care: I guess we will see each other on the other side, in the other world (if you believe in that), where our souls will be held equally accountable in the lake of fire, for all we failed to accomplish. Something in me finds the lake of fire to be poetic justice. (Chef's kiss)

But if you do get what I am saying, I want to address you: You are not crazy; alone; and you are indeed not asking for a free scroungy hand out when you advocate for your child or for the children who don’t come from the top economic tier of the United States. Public Schools are our entry point into building financial independence. You undermine that institution and what is left? Where will these students, once adults, work? How will they be good stewards of a democracy if they can't critically think?

Absolutely no one loses out when kids are given chances. No one loses out when a kid is provided a safe space to learn and grow; to express even what you may consider taboo to some. I wish I would’ve yelled back when I was a teenager; yelled at the top of my lungs about how much I was being hurt in those years, but I had to swallow all of that fucking pain in because there was no one to listen to me. There were no qualified counselors or teachers who could even engage with someone like me. Believe me when I tell you, this is exactly how you got the 1990s.

[speaknowworldtour]

“someday i’ll be living in a big old city and all you’re ever gonna be is mean” // “welcome to new york, it’s been waiting for you” // “no one in my small town thought i’d see the lights of manhattan”

“something different bloomed writing in my room” // “all your life did you know you’d be picked like a rose?”

“breath of fresh air through smoke rings” // “clearing the air i breathed in the smoke”

“i gave my blood sweat and tears for this… the jokes weren’t funny i took the money” // “take the glory give everything”

“i miss you but i miss sparkling” // “there in her glittering prime” // “promise to be dazzling”

“tell ‘em how the crowds went wild tell ‘em how i hope they shine” // “crowd goes wild at her fingertips half moonshine a full eclipse”

“lord what will become of me once i’ve lost my novelty?”// “all the pieces of me shattered as the crowd was chanting ‘more!’” // “beauty is a beast that roars down on all fours demanding more”

“will you still want me when i’m nothing new?… i know some day i’m gonna meet her it’s a fever dream the kind of radiance you only have at 17… then i’ll cry myself to sleep” // “only when your girlish glow flickers just so will they let you know it’s hell on earth to be heavenly”

“she’ll know the way and then she’ll say she got the map from me” // “you look like taylor swift in this light, we’re loving it”