#van buren street

[urbs-in-horto]

Interesting family history in Chicago's Fisher Building, an early Daniel Burnham high-rise. 343 S Dearborn at VanBuren (via reddit r/chicago)

[support-local-bands]

Still thinking about this

[artistmacposts]

#CTA State Street Subway Walkthrough, Lake to Van Buren

[copperbadge]

Hi! Speaking of positive affirmations, I was in your neighborhood yesterday for a doctor's appointment and while I knew I was unlikely to see or run into you in any way, walking around Dearborn Street made me think of you and I spent most of the afternoon vaguely hoping you were having a good day and wondering if you'd ever gotten a sandwich at that little grocery/deli on the corner of 9th and State. Just was thinking about you positively and wishing you well.

Aw, thank you! I love hearing about people visiting my neighborhood, whether or not they're thinking of me, but it's delightful that you were. I always appreciate good wishes!

South Loop Market at 9th and State is a bit of a neighborhood gem -- it's very unassuming inside, like it's a pretty typical Chicago corner store, but it carries some interesting foods I haven't seen elsewhere (for a long time it was the only place I'd found in Chicago that sold Utz brand snacks). I've never had a sandwich from their deli counter but I've actually been told it's one of the best places to get a deli sandwich in the area, like multiple people have mentioned it.

There are a couple of reputably-good delis around here, I really should do some kind of survey -- Totto's, the fancy shop right on the corner of Dearborn and Polk, I don't think does fresh deli sandwiches (they do have very good prepackaged in the case by the door) but they sell a number of in-house deli foods. There's a couple on Van Buren I've been meaning to try too. Maybe a project for some weekend now that the weather is getting nice.

[roseghoul26]

Chapter 2: Grieving For The Living

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur)

Author's Note:  i feel like i gotta say that i do not condone cheating…. but arthur morgan <3 also, this story does describe a very emotionally manipulative and abusive relationship, so please be mindful when you’re reading. the way the husband treats the reader is not right, in any instance, and cannot be tolerated.

Taglist: @ultraporcelainpig @lokiofasgard12

Chapter List

The first thing you noticed when he turned was that he had blue eyes.

Strikingly blue eyes, the kind that got lighter when the sun hit them, dazzling like diamonds. They widened comically when they saw you, a flash of panic crossing his features. So he did remember you. 

You smiled warmly at the group of men. “Good mornin’, gentlemen.”

The bearded man responded with a ‘good morning’,  and the well dressed one walked forward to meet you, extending a hand out to you. He was practically oozing with charisma, kissing the back of your hand when you grabbed it with a saccharine smile. “Well, good morning, ma’am,” he drawled, and you swore you saw the bearded man roll his eyes behind him.

“You remember Hans?” Leigh asked, and the man holding your hand led you into the small circle that had formed at the base of the stairs, bringing you into the conversation. “This here’s his wife. Been married for, what is it, two years now?”

You nodded, hiding the sadness that sentence made you feel. 

Leigh continued on. “Did y’all know she’s the daughter of the tobacco farmers up north, the Van Buren’s. Wealth practically runs in her blood!”

That seemed to get the mens’ attention, but the black haired one seemed especially interested. You couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped you; of course they only cared about your wealth. You highly doubt Leigh even knew your first name. All that you are to him is an extension of your husband.

“Is that so?” The black haired man asked, turning to look at you. Begrudgingly, you nodded, and you watched the three newcomers pass looks to each other. 

Leigh, ever the observant man, didn’t notice this. He continued to talk about your family, how it shocked everyone when you and Hans got married, and other things that you blocked out. Your attention was solely on the man beside you, the one with the hat and blue eyes.

Much like his voice, you weren’t expecting to see that beautiful of a face under the bandana. He was rugged, sure, but still quite pleasant to look at. God, why did he have to be handsome? He wasn’t the kind of handsome that you’d see in the high reaches of society, or plastered on a giant sign. No, he was the kind of handsome that you’d see from across the street, haunting your thoughts after one glance. 

With tanned skin and a small clustering of freckles across his cheeks, he had a short beard, trimmed and very clearly taken care of. His nose was crooked, a broken nose that was never set right, and the slight creases on his face told you that despite appearing to be on the younger side, he had a tough life. A black bandana similar to the one he wore last night tied around his neck, and he had swapped his blue shirt for a red one, the top two buttons undone. You flushed when the bandana shifted and exposed his chest to you, tufts of hair peeking out.

Leigh was still talking, spinning some tall tale of sorts, you’re sure, but you cut him off. “What did you say their names were, Sheriff Gray?” You knew damn well that he hadn’t introduced them to you, but you were tired of hearing about your own life from the lips of a liar. 

The sheriff faltered for a moment, before gesturing to the black hair man beside him. “This here’s Dutch,” he began, and you reshook his hand. The once too-sweet smile had turned into something more cunning, making you feel like you’d just walked into some elaborate trap. 

Trying to not feel too worried, you turned to the next man as Leigh introduced them. “This is Bill.” Like with Dutch, you shook his hand.

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am,” you heard Bill say, and you smiled politely.

Finally, Leight turned to the final person in the small group, the man’s whose eyes, you noticed, had barely left you during the entire discussion. “And this is Arthur.”

Arthur. The name echoed in your mind as you shook his hand. He was staring at you warily, and you realized that he had no idea if you knew who he was or not. It almost made you laugh. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all, gentlemen.” Arthur nodded, tipping his head forward slightly in greeting. 

“Now, forgive me if this sounds rude,” you began, “but what’re you three doin’ here in Rhodes?” It had become apparent quite quickly that Dutch had some sort of authority or power over the two other men, and you figured that he must’ve dragged them along to the town. 

Leigh spoke before the three others could. “These men here are goin’ to be the new deputies of Rhodes, Mrs. Kerrigan.”

You had to bite back laughter. Sure, Leigh was dedicated to protecting Rhodes, but he couldn’t see a ploy even if they spelled it out for him. “Oh, are they now?” If only Leigh knew that one of his new deputies had broken into your house last night. It was hardly noticeable, but Arthur stiffened his posture after you spoke. 

Leigh nodded, a proud smile on his face. “The town's in safe hands now. Well, not that it wasn’t before…” Leigh quickly backtracked.

“Do you think they’ll be able to help me with my problem?” You asked almost conspiratorially, making sure to keep an eye on Arthur. 

“Your… problem? Mrs. Kerrigan, I had no idea you were having-”

“It’s new,” you cut him off again. “See, I’ve been havin’ issues with break-ins lately. Normally we scare them off, but I’d like for someone to scare them off permanently, you know?”

It was Dutch who responded this time, nodding earnestly. “We can take care of that, don’t you worry, ma’am. How ‘bout one of you boys-”

“I’ll do it.” For the first time since you joined in the conversation, Arthur spoke.

The bearded man, Bill, tried to interject, but Arthur silenced him with a look.

With an expression that said that he expected Arthur to do this, Dutch clapped his hands together, before turning his attention to you. “Now, Mrs. Kerrigan, Arthur’ll fix this problem of yours in no time, mark my words. In the meantime, I would love to get acquainted with your husband.”

Of course. “He’s in the bank right now,” you explained. “You can wait outside for him, but I can’t tell you how long that’ll be.”

“I don’t mind waitin’. Bill, come with me to meet Mr. Kerrigan. Arthur, you go ahead and talk with this wonderful woman and see if you can’t solve her troubles.” You felt Dutch clasp your hand between his. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kerrigan. I sincerely hope this isn’t the last time we meet.”

“I hope so, too.”

Dutch began to walk away soon after, and after nodding to you one last time, Bill followed after Dutch, the two of them heading to the bank side by side. You knew Hans was gonna get quite a fright when he left; two heavily armed men demanding to speak with him. You almost wanted to stay outside just to watch. 

It was only you, Leigh, and Arthur remaining, and the sheriff quickly excused himself to the office, offering you a quick ‘have a good morning’ before disappearing, finally leaving you and Arthur alone. 

Glancing up at him, he looked back expenctantly, like he was just waiting for you to run back inside and spill everything to Leigh. He was visibly stunned when you turned away from the office and started heading back to the store, gesturing for Arthur to follow you. Funnily enough, you were able to hear his spurs this time, clinking against the dusty ground with each step as he followed behind. 

“You really ought to wear a less recognizable hat,” you teased once he was close enough, turning your head over your shoulder to look at him. You watched him take his hat off, examining it with scrutiny. Golden browns locks tumbled freely, more softer looking than you anticipated. Everything about this man surprised you.

“So you did recognize me,” Arthur muttered, and you laughed.

“No offense, but I think anyone in my shoes would be able to recognize you.”

Scoffing, you watched Arthur plant the hat back on with a little too much force than was necessary. He moved up so that he now walked alongside you, keeping a good foot between your bodies. “Your voice also gave you away,” you added, smiling when exasperation clouded his face. 

“I know that. I wasn’t plannin’ on speakin’ last night, but I wasn’t plannin’ on havin’ someone run into me.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be breakin’ into people’s houses in the middle of the night.”

He couldn’t come up with a response to that, so he just shook his head, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “You got me there,” he sighed. “So why didn’t you turn me in?”

“I’m askin’ myself the same question.”

“Well, if you change your mind,” he moved further away from you, keeping his hands up, “I won’t stop you from runnin’ straight to the sheriff.”

The rational and sane people would, first, not even be in the situation, having already turned Arthur in, but secondly, would also be taking him up on his “offer”. You decided that at that moment you were neither rational nor sane, so you continued to make your way to the general store. 

After a few more beats of tense silence, you finally reached the entrance. Turning with your hands on your hips, you fully faced Arthur, within distance to touch him if you so tried. Up close, it really put his size into perspective, the man towering a good couple of inches above you. He was broad shouldered, with a similar body type to someone who worked on the farms, which was a complete opposite of the frail physique of Hans. 

“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” you stated, and you heard him hum in agreement. “Let’s start over.” Sticking out your hand for him to shake, you introduced yourself with your name. Not Mrs. Kerrigan. Not Miss. Van Buren. Just you.

Your name sounded awfully nice coming from him, you realized as he repeated it back to you. “Arthur Morgan,” he responded, giving your hand one last shake in his much larger one before letting go. 

“A pleasure, Mr. Morgan.”

“Call me Arthur,” he responded, that raspy drawl music to your ears. 

“Alright, Arthur. Then you don’t get to call me Mrs. Kerrigan. At least, in private,” you added with a glance around. There was no one else around, everyone either far enough away to not hear, or preoccupied with something else. For the moment, you didn’t have to keep up appearances. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded playfully, and you rolled your eyes. Walking in, you pretended to not feel the way your heart fluttered.

The bell chimed as the door swung open, and a familiar face greeted you as you entered, Arthur following in behind. “Good morning, Mr. Banks.” So much for not having to keep up appearances. 

Balding with a large handlebar mustache, A.J. Banks had been the sole operator of the general store in Rhodes for as long as you could remember. “Hello, Mrs. Kerrigan!” He chirped out, eyes nearly disappearing behind a smile. Out of all the shop owners in Rhodes, he was your favorite. “Who’s this?” You heard him ask, gesturing to the man behind you. 

“His name’s Arthur. Leigh’s appointed him as a deputy.”

Mr. Banks hummed with indifference. If it wasn’t about the feud between the Grays and Braithwaites, or about the general store, then he didn’t care. “Well, you know where everything is. Holler if you need somethin’!” And with that, he disappeared into the storage room behind him, once again leaving you and Arthur alone. 

“You’re quite popular,” you heard Arthur comment, and you shrugged as you picked up one of the sacks to fill with goods, slinging your own bag over your shoulder.

“I mean, I’ve known both of them for a good while now…”

“I ain’t just talkin’ about them.” Arthur stood beside you, absentmindedly examined various canned goods on the shelves, putting them back with thinly veiled disgust. “Probably every head on the street turned when you walked by. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice that.”

“I try to block them out,” you admitted, grabbing a few assorted cans of fruits and vegetables. “I have to.”

Arthur didn’t respond to that, and so you moved to the fresh produce, grabbing a variety of items, not really paying much attention to it. You had no idea if you actually needed any of these items, but it would be suspicious if you went to the store claiming you needed items and then leaving with hardly any. 

You could feel Arthur’s eyes on you as you shopped, likely teeming with questions, but he kept his mouth shut. “Do you need anything?” You asked, nearly laughing when you realized how similar it was to the question you asked last night. 

Arthur also seemed to realize this too, and you heard him chuckle, barely even loud enough for you to hear. “Nah, I’m good.”

You were about to let it go until an amber colored bottle caught your attention. It wasn’t the best whiskey in the world, but something told you that these men didn’t drink alcohol for the taste. Without a second thought, you snatched it up, adding it to your now heavy bag. It was a short walk to the store counter, but you still felt your arms hurt as you brought it over, having to use both to carry it, and they hurt even more so when you lifted it up onto the counter. 

The loud noise alerted Mr. Banks, who appeared around the corner within seconds. As he began to count up the total, you leaned against the counter facing him. “So, would you say my problem is solved now?”

Arthur barked out a laugh, and you watched the corners of his eyes crinkle up as he genuinely, truly smiled. It was a divine sight, one that had you sucking in a gasp. “I think so, darlin’.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard someone talk to you like that, voice dripping with pure honey. 

So that he wouldn’t see how dark your cheeks had gotten, you turned back toward the counter. In your brain, you were scolding yourself. You were a married woman, for God’s sake. You should not be acting this way over another man. Even if you really didn’t love your husband, and he wanted as little as possible to do with you, you were still married to him. That had to mean something, right?

But you still found that you would do anything to hear him call you darling again, if not to feel like you were truly beloved by someone.

Mr. Banks reading out the total snapped you from your solitary pity-party. $17.35. Sliding him five five dollar bills from your bag, you went to try and pick up your sack of goods, but Arthur stepped in before your fingers could even touch the rough fabric of the bag. “Looks like you gave him a bit too much,” Arthur nodded toward the cash that Mr. Banks was now putting into the register. 

“No, I know, but thank you. Have a great day, Mr. Banks,” you called out as you headed out the door, a very confused Arthur following behind, holding the sack of goods effortlessly with one hand. 

“You’re a strange woman,” you heard Arthur say behind you as you began to walk toward the carriage that was still parked outside of the bank. You had never been called strange before. You were always the perfect one, the golden star, the prime example of what every eldest daughter should be. It was a mask, you knew that, forced to put on a false personality in order to charm and amaze.

For the first time in a very long time, you had been yourself, cracking jokes and talking back and everything that high society hated. Even though you’d been doing it for less than fifteen minutes, it felt like an impossible weight had been lifted from your chest. And it was all thanks to the man that broke into your house. 

What an odd turn of events. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Arthur.” Now that you were closer to the carriage, you were able to see that it was currently empty, except for the driver who sat atop it who tipped his hat at you when you got close. Opening the small storage area attached to the back of the carriage, you gestured for Arthur to set the bag there, the wood creaking when he set it down. “Thank you, Arthur.”

“It’s no problem at all, Mrs. Kerrigan.” And he remembers things, too. Where did this man come from?

Before you could forget, you grabbed the whiskey bottle from the top of the bag, and you presented it to Arthur. “It ain’t much of a surprise, but I figured our new ‘deputies’ might like a little gift.” In the back of your mind, you had an inkling of suspicion that Arthur and his presumed friends weren’t actually going to be deputies, but like before, appearances need to be kept up. 

“Well, ain’t that mighty kind of you,” his voice went lighter, moving to take the bottle from you gently. “Thank you.” You tried not to react when his fingers brushed against yours, sending shocks through your body. 

“Of course. It’s-”

Loud laughter from the bank had you both turning, then having to move around the carriage to see what the commotion was all about. Dutch and Bill were laughing heartily, with a very confused yet entertained Hans chuckling lightly. You had to give them props; it was hard to make him laugh.

Dutch saw you first, becoming you over with a broad wave of his hand. Hans glanced over to where he was looking, and as soon as those dull eyes landed on you, you felt that mask creep back up. Your once natural smile turned forced, and you quickly made your way over to the men, leaving Arthur to walk up slowly on his own. 

You stood beside Hans, and even though he didn’t touch you, you felt your muscles stiffen as if someone had just rested their hand on your back. “Hello, dear.” You heard Hans say.

“Hello.” Your voice that was just filled with joy sounded lifeless. 

“Did you get what you needed from the store?” You nodded, and as Arthur sauntered close, his eyes scanned over you, like he was searching for the person he was just talking to. “Have you met these fine men?”

“Leigh had the pleasure of introducing us,” Dutch piped in, his dark eyes narrowing as they bounced between you and Hans. 

Please don’t question why I was so close to the Sheriff's Office, you repeated in your mind, relieved when he didn’t speak.

“Where’d you get that, Arthur?”

Everyone’s eyes followed where Bill pointed, and you felt a wave of nausea-inducing anxiety crash over you. He was pointing at the whiskey bottle in Arthur’s hands, and the man holding it shifted uncomfortably, not expecting everyone to suddenly be watching him with wide eyes. “This?” He asked, holding it up slightly.

Bill had a disbelieving look on his face. “You bought whiskey, Morgan? Out of everythin’ you could’ve gotten-”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t have bought it yourself,” he huffed. “It was a gift from her!” Arthur explained, gesturing to you with the bottle. 

Now it was your turn to have everyone’s eyes on you. A majority of them were kind, gratitude filling them as they thanked you. You could barely hear them. Your ears were ringing too badly, and you could feel holes forming where Hans stared at you.

“Is that true?” Hans’ voice was even. Why was it always even? It would be so much better if he just screamed at you, like anyone else would. 

“Yes,” you whispered, looking down at the dusty skirts of your dress. 

“I can pay you back,” you heard Arthur offer, and if you weren’t so mortified, you would’ve thanked him. But even you knew that it wasn’t about the money. Not this time.

Hans ignored him, continuing his verbal reprimanding of you. “I never said you could buy gifts. You were only allowed to get what we needed for the home. I-” he sighed, “I don’t know how long it's going to take for you to learn.”

Like I’m some damn dog. “I’m sorry,” was what you said, keeping your head down. Because of this, you missed another set of looks the three men swapped, some amused, and some angry. 

Hans sighed again. “Go wait for me in the carriage. Besides, a lady shouldn’t be sitting in on conversations about business.”

Like a child being sent into timeout, you were cast away. Shame burned your cheeks, and you felt embarrassed tears threaten to spill from your eyes. Humiliation wasn’t something new when it came to Hans, but the sting of it hadn’t dulled over the past two years. 

You didn’t even look up at Arthur as you walked past, not wanting to know what he thought of the whole situation. You didn’t know what would be worse to see in his eyes, pity or enjoyment. You heard Hans make a comment at your dispense, and you heard only two voices make any sort of responding statement. 

Finally reaching the carriage, you slumped your head against the door, not quite wanting to get in yet. At least out here you felt like you could breathe. You were so caught up in your own emotions that you didn’t hear the sound of Arthur’s spurs as he approached you. “Mrs. Kerrigan?” 

You jumped, and you turned to face him, the tears delicately holding themselves in your eyes falling because of all the movement. “Yes, Arthur?” You quickly wiped away the falling tears, and you took a few steps away from the carriage and towards him.

“Are you… alright?” He cringed at his own question, as it was blatantly obvious that you weren’t. Still, you found his concern endearing, and you smiled as best you could.

“I will be. It ain’t the first time,” you chuckled humorlessly, and you saw a flash of something in his eyes. “You’d think I would’ve grown thicker skin by now.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

You sighed. “I know.”

“So why are you-”

“I can’t go.” You shut down that question fast, the one that you pondered every single day. “It’s just… I can’t.” You weren’t about to dump your issues on the poor man.

Luckily he seemed to realize there was a bigger situation at play, but you could tell he wasn’t happy about it. You were about to say something until you heard the closely approaching voice of Hans, with Dutch adding in his own points intermittently. 

Faster than you could register, Arthur was slinking behind you, opening the carriage door for you, and extending a hand for you to take. The whiskey bottle sat upright beside the rear wheel, setting it down to help you. 

Even though Hans had done this for you hundreds of times, this felt completely different. It felt like it came from genuine want rather than a role he had to play, the role of the doting husband. As you set your hand in his rough palm, you felt those same sparks again, and you swore he felt them too. 

Once you were situated back in the carriage, you watched him pick up the whiskey bottle before handing it back to you with an apologetic look on his face. “Keep it,” you held your hand up, “I’ll be happy if I know you three are enjoyin’ that tonight. And, for what it’s worth,” you glanced behind you, making sure your husband still wasn’t in the vehicle, “it was nice meeting you while you weren’t trying to rob me.”

Another one of those beautiful smiles graced his face, and it momentarily made you forget your woes. “I can say the same, darlin’.”

Your heart soared. 

“If you don’t mind me askin’,” you said quietly, “why were you at our house last night?”

“Money.” He shrugged half-heartedly. “I was told there’d be no one home, too.”

“Well, I’m afraid whoever told you that is a liar.”

He scoffed. “You think?” The two of you exchanged light laughter. “I guess I can’t complain, though.”

“Why’s that, Arthur?”

“Because-”

The other carriage door opening caused Arthur to fall quiet, giving you a small smile before taking a step back. “See you later.” You kept it from sounding like a question, but Arthur still nodded. And with that, Arthur closed the door, the air becoming oppressive as soon as it latched shut. Keeping your gaze averted, you pretended to look out the window, rather than on Arthur, eyes locked there until he became a blur on the horizon. 

You swore he did the same.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

The ride back home was done in complete silence.

It was awkward and tense and you wanted nothing more than to just curl into a ball on the carriage floor. You kept your eyes locked on the window, even when Arthur was long out of sight, not able to bring yourself to look at Hans. 

It wasn’t until you were halfway back when he finally spoke, clearing his throat before doing so. “I’ll be leaving in a few days.”

That had your head turning, looking at him with confused eyes. It wasn’t unusual for him to leave, gone for days or weeks at a time, but it was never this sudden. “Oh… where?”

“Tumbleweed.” He practically spat out, clearly not excited to go. You wouldn’t be either, if what you heard about it was true. It was practically run by outlaws, and with cruel desert weather that inhabited even crueler animals. But the thing that struck you as odd was that Tumbleweed was practically a ghost town, falling into ruin a few years back. You had no idea why he would even be going there.

You didn’t bother to ask, knowing he wouldn’t give you an answer. So you fell back into tense silence, relieved when you saw the familiar woods surrounding your house. When the carriage came to a halt, Hans left first, and like he always did when he was upset at you, he left you to get out on your own, furthering the humiliation you felt. 

The chittering of animals helped to distract you as you got out, the feel of the soft dirt beneath your shoes further helping to ground you. Grabbing the goods from the back, you said a soft thanks to the driver before making your way inside, with some difficulty, the bag awkwardly heavy. And to think Arthur was carrying it with such ease.

Hans was already upstairs, and you heard the door to his office click shut. Standing in the entrance way, you almost let the bag drop, but you carried it over to the nearby kitchen counter. You dumped it and your personal bag unceremoniously there, and some of the produce rolled out, but you didn’t care.

After grabbing a bottle of wine, you slumped one of the chairs in the attached dining room. Alcohol was never in shortage here, and Hans didn’t drink wine, so you didn’t have any fear of being reprimanded again. 

The cork went missing, but you doubted you were going to need it. Pressing the bottle to your lips, you took a hearty drink, the taste of raspberries and orange barely noticeable to you. In your mind, you were going back over the trip to Rhodes, washing away the shame you felt with expensive wine.

But despite your embarrassment, you found that you couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur. Everything about him stuck out in your mind; his eyes, his voice, his body, his smile. 

Surprisingly, you felt a bit of guilt, causing you to take another big sip. You felt guilt for thinking about the other man like this, because despite your tense relationship, Hans was still your husband. You’d never be unfaithful to him… but not out of any moral reason. You didn’t want to risk losing something good for your family.

But you also felt guilty because it felt lecherous to think of Arthur like this. Here you were, grasping at the first man to show you any semblance of human connection like a fool. He wasn’t there to be your escape; he didn’t exist to solve your problems. 

You took another swig. 

And another. 

And more, until the bottle was empty, and a pleasant buzz filled your senses, your head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. Getting up was a challenge, and you used the counter for support as you made your way to the goods, slowly putting them away. 

But despite your pitiful attempt of drowning your thoughts, your treacherous mind kept going back to the rugged man, and those blue-eyes that had butterflies erupting in your stomach. It was almost juvenile, the way you had a crush on this man, and you’d only met him once. 

Well, twice, but you wouldn’t consider the first time a proper meeting.

A small piece of paper fell out the bag, falling like a feather would, before it settled near your foot. Bending down, you felt the blood rush to your face as you did so, and you investigated the paper. It was clearly ripped out of a journal of sorts, and the handwriting was quick, like whoever wrote it only had a few seconds to do so. 

Only two words adorned the page. Thank you. 

More blood rushed to your face. You were so screwed.

[deadmotelsusa]

The Motels of Van Buren Street, Phoenix, Arizona, 1990s

[lost-technology]

Fallout: Maximum

Concept art for a possible fanfic. A Trigun / Fallout crossover! Basic Setting Idea: This takes place on Earth, in North America, based largely upon the Fallout universe (games and TV series). I am having trouble figuring out a specific area (as my familiarity with the games is mostly in the East Coast setting games 3 and 4 and I have only played New Vegas just a little bit), but I am highly tempted to set this partly in Arizona (and thus in the series' commonwealth encompassing parts of California and Nevada). Arizona is where I grew up and ever since I learned that there was a scrapped game, Fallout: Van Buren, that was supposed to take place there, I was kind of excited. (Van Buren street! I know that area!.... *side eye* There's a reason why your character was to be an incarcerated criminal...

In the fusion-universe, Plants remain Plants. There was a project fronted by the United States government to engineer an efficient power source that would end America's dependence on both fossil fuels and the weird atom-punk direct harvesting of nuclear energy. A major problem was of course making it profitable, because late-stage Capitalism rules Fallout's pre-war North America in some of the most hilarious, yet horrible ways. It was done, though, by the secretive Project SEEDS - which had some relation to Vault-Tec, but, being its own separate thing, was spared the horrors that Vault-Tec did for sick funsies and had its own horrors to contend with. Independent Plants have the powers that they have in Trigun-canon, including their long lifespans, putting them at equal to ghoulified humans. They also, like ghouls, are pretty well immune to gamma radiation - except that it becomes clear that they are even stranger beings in the presence of it, as their Plant-markings will glow. Pictured above is Vash in one of the Glowing Seas leftover from a direct atom-bomb strike and Nicholas D. Wolfwood (Ghoulwood), smoking some good ol' Grey Tortoise cigarettes.

[medicinemane]

Yo Phoenix, guess what crazy asshole just walked from the 24th street station at the airport all the way to downtown?

Had to stop at a dollar general on Van Buren to grab a pair of waters so I wouldn't die but I made it

[racefortheironthrone]

great info on the mayors / political leaders of New York - on the anti side, how about the absolute worst and most destructive , regressive, or otherwise harmful in its history?

This one is mostly covered by my first post about NYC mayors, where I discussed the mayors from Lindsay to the present. However, I can talk about earlier mayors, even though most of them were bland non-entities. One major exception to this rule was Fernando Wood.

If there was one consistent theme of Wood's career - other than fraud (Wood stole from his bank and his own brother-in-law) and corruption - it was racism and violence.

From the very beginning of Wood's political career, he distinguished himself as the most pro-slavery man in New York Democratic politics, seeking the patronage of figures like John C. Calhoun and James Buchanan. When he shifted from Congress to mayoral politics, Wood went back and forth on what variety of pro-slavery politics he preferred (variously backing Douglas' popular sovereignty position and Buchanan's anti-Douglas position), but was a consistent enemy of John Van Buren's Free Soil Democrats, "Black Republicans," and abolitionism as a concept. Nevertheless, he managed to win election in 1854 with a bare third of the total vote.

Unlike more pliable Tammany mayors, Wood believed in "one-man rule" rather than collective pursuit of power, particularly when it came to direct mayoral control of the police force. While claiming to stand for home rule, democratic accountability, and efficiency, in reality Fernando sought to remove any commissioners on the police board who stood between him and turning the Municipal Police into his personal army. In the 1856 election, Wood gave the police the day off so that the Dead Rabbits gang could engage in street violence, physical intimidation of voters and poll workers, and theft of ballot boxes. Evidently Wood needed the help, because he won with a tiny plurality of the vote and ran well behind the Democratic ticket.

Wood managed to skate from any indictment from Election Day violence, but he had gone too far politically. Tammany broke with Wood, barring him from the building and promoting his political opponents to Federal patronage positions. The Republican-controlled state legislature enacted a new Municipal Charter that ordered a new election for 1857 and transferred control over public works to state commissioners appointed by the governor, and then a Metropolitan Police Act that abolished Wood's Municipal Police and replaced them with a new force under state commissioners.

Wood refused to accept the Metropolitan Police Act or the Municipal Charter as law, ordered his Municipal Police to physically remove state commissioners from government buildings, and when the new Metropolitan Police attempted to arrest him for selling the office of Street Commissioner for $50,000, Wood mobilized the Municipal Police against the "Black Republicans," leading to the "Great Police Riot" in which the two police forces met in open combat on the steps of City Hall. 53 people were injured, the state militia had to be called out to disperse the Municipal Police, and Wood was arrested (and then promptly released by a friendly judge).

New York City's gangs, with Wood's allies the Dead Rabbits very much in the lead, realized that with the city's two police forces at war (Wood had directed the Municipal Police to stop the Metropolitan Police from carrying out arrests, leading to frequent skirmishes), there was no state monopoly on violence to restrain them.

Amid a rising crime wave, the Dead Rabbits Riot broke out on July 4th - in which the Five Points gangs under the leadership of the Dead Rabbits invaded the Bowery and went to war with both the Bowery gangs and the Metropolitan Police. At its height, the riot involved 800-1,000 armed men and women who responded to police charges by building barrricades. Once again, the state militia had to be called out to quell the violence (at least 8 people killed and about 100 injured), although fighting would continue for another week. Ultimately, the courts ruled against Wood and the Municipal Police were disbanded.

In the election that year, Wood ran on a pro-slavery platform that praised the Dred Scott decision and Buchanan's pro-slavery policy in Bleeding Kansas, while attacking Republican efforts to expand voting rights to black New Yorkers. This race-baiting failed to distract voters from the violence and corruption of the Wood Administration, to say nothing of the Panic of 1857 which had sent unemployment in the city skyrocketing. To get rid of Wood, Tammany formed a fusion ticket with the Republicans and Know-Nothings that narrowly defeated the incumbent mayor.

Learning nothing from his defeat, Wood blamed the loss on a shadowy cabal of "Black Republicans" who had supposedly infiltrated Tammany Hall and formed his own rival Democratic machine out of Mozart Hall. In 1859, Wood once again used armed violence, this time to try to seize control of the State Democratic Convention from Tammany delegates. When this didn't work, Wood once again turned to racism in his campaign to get back into the mayoralty, running on a pro-slavery, anti-John Brown, and anti-abolition platform. He just barely managed to pull out another tiny plurality victory with only 38% of the total vote.

In his next term, Wood crossed the line from mere bigotry to open treason, calling for New York City to secede from both New York state and the United States (both controlled by "Black Republican" abolitionists, according to Wood) so that it could trade freely with the Confederacy. In 1861, Wood came in third place for re-election, finishing only a thousand votes behind both the Republican and the Tammany Democrat.

Despite (or arguably because of) his vocal pro-Confederacy stance and his supporters having caused the 1863 Draft Riots, Wood became the leader of the so-called "Peace" Democratic faction against the War Democrats. Lest you think that Wood was motivated by his abbhorence of war, Wood made the reasons for his opposition clear when he pushed for constitutional amendments to protect slavery, attacked War Democrats as "a white man's face on the body of a negro," and led the Congressional opposition to the passage of the 13th Amendment. In 1868, Wood was censured by Congress for his verbal attacks on the Reconstruction Acts. This censure accomplished nothing, and Wood continued his Congressional career unabated, which culminated in becoming Chairman of the Ways and Means Committee following the end of Reconstruction.

Wood had the reverse Midas touch of turning everything he touched to shit, such that even the few good things he supported - like home rule for New York City and public works jobs for the unemployed - became tainted by association with his violence and corruption. As far as I'm concerned, they should have done him like they did Vallandigham.

Compared to Wood, the faults of every other NYC mayor seem like the most minor of venal sins.

"Gentleman" Jimmy Walker was corrupt as fuck - supporting his lavish lifestyle by taking bribes from anyone with a pulse, selling the services of the NYPD to the mob, getting in bed with Arnold Rothstein, and perhaps having been connected to the murder of a whistleblower on police corruption and the disappearance of a New York Supreme Court judge - but he was also part of the progressive wing of Tammany Hall and a talented administrator (albeit one who only worked from 3-5 so as not to interfere with his more important time with showgirls, nightclubs, speakeasies, and boxing matches). He supported social welfare policies, opposed the KKK, built municipal waterworks and subway lines (albeit through corrupt contracts), and created the Sanitation and Hospitals Departments.

Similarly, William O'Dwyer was a typical Tammany politician who oversaw a massive police corruption scandal in Brooklyn, and ultimately had to flee to Mexico to avoid investigations from the Justice Department and the Brooklyn DA into his ties with organized crime, but he was in most other respects a typical if unremarkable mid-century NYC Mayor.

Shouldn't have raised the subway fare to ten cents, tho.

[scotianostra]

On June 1st 1872 James Gordon Bennett, the Scottish-born American journalist, died.

Bennett was born on September 1st 179 to a prosperous family in Newmill, Banffshire, Scotland, Great Britain. At age 15, Bennett entered the Roman Catholic seminary in Aberdeen, where he remained for four years. After leaving the seminary, he read voraciously on his own and traveled throughout Scotland.

In 1819, he joined a friend who was sailing to to Americas., landing at Halifax, Nova Scotia, living there for a short time by giving lessons in French, Spanish and bookkeeping before moving on to Boston then New York.

It was in New York he flourished, as founder, editor and publisher of the New York Herald and a major figure in the history of American newspapers.

Bennett who had made a number of attempts to start a newspaper of his own before ,launched the New York Herald i May 1835, a year later it shocked readers, and boosted circulation, with its front page coverage of the murder of prostitute Helen Jewett. As part of the coverage, Bennett conducted what is said to be the world’s first ever newspaper interview.

As a newspaper proprietor, Bennett introduced a series of innovations, including requiring advertisers to pay in advance, something that rapidly caught on across the industry. He also introduced illustrations printed with woodcuts. In 1839, Bennett published the first exclusive interview with a United States President, Martin Van Buren.

In 1866, Bennett handed control of the Herald over to his son, James Gordon Bennett Jr. At the time it had the largest circulation in the USA, though it later declined and merged with the New York Tribune. Gordon Bennett died in 1872. He subsequently had a street and a public park named after him, both in northern Manhattan.

Bennet’s son organised both the first polo match and the first tennis match in the United States as well as sponsoring Stanley’s trip to Africa to find David Livingstone.

Bennett also caused scandal when he was engaged to an American socialite he turned up drunk at a party and proceeded to piss into a fireplace, or grand piano, depending on the version of the story you read!! Typical Scottish fun if you ask me!!! His outlandish and controversial behaviour is said to have given us the phrase “Gordon Bennett”

There’s a lot more to read about James Bennett Sr here https://www.americanheritage.com/james-gordon-bennett-beneficent-rascal#1

[martin-matchup]

Hello everyone! Please take a look at the finished bracket!

[Image ID: The first image is the first half of the bracket. The bracket itself is on a dark grey bg, drawn in white lines. There are 24 contestants on this side, 48 all together. In the middle is drawn a winners pedestal with the first three places. On the highest step, for the first place there is a golden trophy that says "best martin" on it in blue letters. There is confetti around the trophy.

The second image is the second half. It it styled the same, with 24 contestants on this side as well. End ID.]

The polls will each last a week and will be posted with a one day difference for each half (as in, the first twelve polls will go up, and then a day after, the next 12 and so on) until the final. I am currently organising the polls so if you have any feedback/suggestions/character images you'd like me to use, feel free to send an ask!

Contestants are listed under the cut.

First half:

Martin Blackwood (The Magnus Archives)

Martin Prince (The Simpsons)

Martin the gecko (GEICO)

Martini (alcohol, Real life)

Martini glass (glass, Real life)

Martin "Marty" Deeks (NCIS : Los Angeles)

Martyn Inthelittlewood (3rd life minecraft smp/life series, Datastream)

Marty McFly (Back to the Future)

Martin of Redwall/Martin the Warrior (The Redwall book series)

Martin Brenner (Stranger Things)

Martin Scorsese (Real life)

Martin Stein (DC's Legends of Tomorrow)

Martin Brody (Jaws)

Martin the butler (The Parent Trap)

Martin Fitzgerald (Without a Trace)

Martin Mystery (Martin Mystery)

Martin van Buren (The US, Real life)

Mars (Roman mythology)

Martin (The Mechanisms, Hereward the Wake, Tales to be Told Vol. 2)

Marty the zebra (Madagascar)

Martin Septim (The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion)

Martin Moone (Moone Boy)

M. (Lethal Weapon)

Marty (Papa Louie)

Second half:

Martina (The Four of Them)

Martin (Wii Sports)

Martin Mertens (Adventure Time)

Martin Wright (Big Nate)

Martin O’Hara (My Favourite Martian)

Martin Crane (Frasier)

Marty (Image Fashion Designer)

Martin Blyndeff (Epithet Erased)

Martin Martinaise (aka the smoker on the balcony, Disco Elysium)

Marty Farms (aka Marcus Barnes, The Electric Company)

Purple Martin (bird, Real life)

Martin Benson (Bee Movie)

Martin Whitly (Prodigal Son)

Martin Franklin (Fear Street)

Martin Murphy (Milo Murphy's law)

Pine Marten (animal, Real life)

Martin (Mysteries of providence)

Martin Chatwin (The Magicians (Also Fillory and Further, a series within the series))

Martin Penderwick (The Penderwicks)

Martin Banks (Magic 2.0 book series)

Martin Morning (Martin Morning)

Martin Ellingham (Doc Martin)

Martin Kratt (Wild Kratts)

Martín Cobblepot (Gotham)

[digitalnewberry]

Pass the three varieties of squirrel, please: Thanksgiving in 1870

Menu for Thanksgiving Day, Everett House hotel, Chicago, November 24, 1870

While many think of Thanksgiving Day as a timeless American tradition, it did not become the federal holiday celebrated on a late November Thursday until 1863, in the midst of the Civil War. The Newberry's Graff Collection includes the printed menu for the Thanksgiving Day meal served seven years later, on November 24, 1870, at Chicago's Everett House hotel, located at the corner of Clark and Van Buren streets. The details of this nineteenth-century menu may shock a twenty-first-century palate. Some of today's usual suspects are here: roast wild goose and turkey, cranberry sauce, mashed and sweet potatoes, and pumpkin pie all appear on the menu. In addition, however, there is an assortment of "side dishes" of roasted or broiled game, including black bear, buffalo, sandhill crane, "oppossum" (sic), nine varieties of duck, and three of squirrel. "Maccaroni" (sic) appears as a dessert option, after the pastry course of pies, cakes, and puddings.

Read the full post by Will Hansen, Vice President for Collections and Library Services and Curator of Americana

View this item or more items from the Everett D. Graff Collection of U.S. Western Expansion at Newberry Digital Collections

[platinum-iridium]

There’s a case with Michelle Hurd (before she plays Jeffries on SVU) on og Law and Order where there’s a mystery surrounding the murder of a Black activist and they ‘try’ for balance but ehh. No spoilers but the way they try for nuance and complexity is really lazy and just ends up highlighting their misogynoir imo. It’s crazy sexist. Watching as an adult it’s so obvious the writers can only tackle one ‘issue’ at a time.

you don’t have to worry about spoilers tbh this is my second time watching the series through. there’s a lot to make me think the writers rooms are very white. the nuance on women’s issues makes me think there’s a least a couple of women in the room but racial issues? lol. from the dialogue to the perspectives of the characters, it’s bad all the way down.

just stereotype after stereotype. there’s mostly 3 types, the “good kinds”, the street people, and the nutty activists. and the only ones we got to know were the good ones and i wish i could say they were actually complex characters. as much as i like robinette and van buren they definitely read as black characters written by white people. actually i think shambala green might be given the most depth especially for the amount of screentime she gets.

anyway tho yeah they can do complex moral issues well when they want to, but they don’t do complex social issues as well

[middleland]

Van Buren Street, Oregon, Dayton, OH by Warren LeMay

Via Flickr:

Built in 1925, this Arts and Crafts-style house features a painted brick exterior, one-over-one replacement windows, a front-gable roof, a front porch with a shed roof and front gable, and doric columns. The house is a contributing structure in the Oregon Historic District, listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1975.     

[fagdykefrank]

I heard you like presidents.

Let's say all former US presidents are placed on three acres of land surrounded by a 10 ft fence. The contestants have three full days to negotiate, fight, and duel, without food or water. Presidents that get knocked out or surrender are picked up out of the arena by a crane in an undignified manner. The last president standing is crowned champion. Only one president can be chosen, any presidents that attempt to claim a team victory will be disqualified from competitions.

1. Who will fight each other right out of the gate, based off their political history?

2. Who will voluntarily surrender, or try to escape?

3. What presidents will form alliances, and with whom?

4. What will make it to the final day of competition?

5. Who will be crowned champion?

(The rules of this engagement are borrowed from a webcomic, Achewood)

1. Fighting out the gate, definitely Andrew Jackson, Teddy Roosevelt, and John Tyler. Maybe Ulysses Grant, Andrew Johnson, John Quincy Adams, but definitely those first three. They were known to be extremely forceful during their presidencies, at times even aggressive. Andrew Jackson was known to literally attack people in the street. Donald Trump also probably fits into this category, but I think he would shirk an actual physical fight the way these other men wouldn't.

2. Noted presidential cowards include William Taft, Woodrow Wilson, Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, Harry Truman, Martin Van Buren, Herbert Hoover, and maybe Joe Biden (honestly, depending on the day with him). These presidents avoided conflict and hated losing, which made them all pretty mediocre at their jobs. They were also largely physically very weak, and had little to no physical fighting experience.

3. Alliance formers include Barack Obama, Jimmy Carter, Franklin Roosevelt, Lyndon Johnson if he's in a good mood, Calvin Coolidge, James Garfield Benjamin Harrison, Rutherford B Hayes, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, James Monroe, and James Madison, to varying degrees of success. The founding fathers would all definitely band together, seeing as they've got actual experience together. Roosevelt and Johnson would probably team up, but it wouldn't be an extremely solid alliance because LBJ was a nightmare to work with as an equal. All the others were largely willing to work with anyone who would work with them, which makes them good presidents to ally with if you're planning on backstabbing them. LBJ takes out approximately a third of the competition this way.

4. Who makes it to the final day? Andrew Jackson, Teddy Roosevelt, Lyndon Johnson, JFK but only if he's lucky, Calvin Coolidge, Ulysses Grant, and maybe (MAYBE) Abraham Lincoln. Calvin Coolidge was nicknamed Silent Cal during his presidency and was the kind of guy who would sit in the corner of his own damn birthday party and watch the room completely expressionless. Unfuckwithable. Abraham Lincoln was Grant's boss for a bit (maybe you've heard), and Ulysses Grant would definitely defend him. The founding fathers are all insufferable hypocrites and once everyone else figures that out they're all done. JFK had a barrage of illnesses that plagued him his whole life, but he was also prone to feats of absurd athleticism in the face of certain death due to his time in the Navy.

5. Who wins? Honestly, either Teddy Roosevelt or Andrew Jackson. Roosevelt was a rigorous outdoorsman who cured himself of every childhood disease with the power of American Masculinity TM, and Jackson was a violent misanthrope who would attack anyone for any reason and usually won. It would be a battle of the ages.

Bonus: Presidents I Didn't Mention Earlier

James Polk had a penchant for randomly dying at tonal ironic moments. He would probably take out Thomas Jefferson and then immediately have a heart attack and die. Presidents Taylor, Fillmore, Pierce, and Buchanan were all defined by their refusal to understand the problems they needed to deal with. They would pretend nothing was going until forced to comprehend their situation, at which point they would all bawl like little babies. Chester Arthur has no idea what the fuck is going on. Grover Cleveland is completely unlikeable, but lasts surprisingly long by complete accident. William McKinley tries to establish order and civilization amidst the chaos and fails miserably. Warren Harding has a torrid love affair with someone and then abruptly dies. Dwight Eisenhower just leaves. Ronald Reagan tries to establish himself as a rough and ready Teddy Roosevelt type guy, but he isn't that even slightly and is eliminated quickly. The Bushes take each other out. Clinton is the guy who Harding has an affair with. He couldn't give less of a fuck when Harding dies.