#60 Water Street

[rabbitcruiser]

Doors, Gates and Windows (No. 78)

Roosevelt Building, NYC

767 9th Ave, NYC

Spingler Building, NYC

Salesforce Tower, NYC

Salmon Tower II, NYC

234 W 52nd St, NYC

10 Jay Street, NYC

55 Water Street, NYC

60 Water Street, NYC

427 West 51st St, NYC

[quaranmine]

i can't believe i spent two weeks in a country infamous for its rain and ill-tempered weather and it rained more back home in Texas than it did on me in Iceland

[falesten-iw]

What makes you react to what's happening in Gaza? and What makes you care about human lives? Is it empathy, ideology, culture, religion, knowledge, or something else that compels you to feel and act?

What would push your government to stop saying, "Israel has the right to defend itself"? What would make columnists stop focusing on self defense and what the demonstrators or students are doing "wrong" and instead use their platform to pressure their government to do what's "right" to stop this ongoing genocide? When did you start caring, and when will you start acting?

Is it when you have Palestinian friends?

When Palestinian children begged for food, safety, and water?

When over 45000 Palestinians had been killed & 98000 injured ?

When left-wing political parties around the world started criticizing Israel?

When Palestinian and Israeli human rights organizations sounded the alarm for years?

When protesters took to the streets every week? Do you still hear their voices?

When human rights organizations like Amnesty International or Human Rights Watch documented the atrocities? Was 60 years of human rights violations not enough?

When journalism associations worldwide recorded an unprecedented number of journalists killed in such a short period?

When UN agencies like the World Food Program or UNRWA reported on the humanitarian disaster and worsening famine?

When aid organizations like Doctors Without Borders or the Red Cross warned of the total collapse of healthcare?

When child rights organizations like Save the Children or UNICEF constantly reported on children’s acute physical and mental health crises?

When Jewish groups like Jewish Voice for Peace declared, "Not in my name"?

When the International Criminal Court in The Hague found strong evidence of crimes against humanity and began prosecuting high-ranking officials? Are you waiting for the court to tell you act?

When your children were upset after hearing what was happening in Gaza? Did that stir your parental instincts?

When the EU's foreign policy chief, Josep Borrell, repeatedly urged Israel to stop the killings?

When your favorite artist spoke out—did that make you reflect?

When students protested at universities around the world? Does the passion of young people give you hope?

When the Pope made a statement about the situation?

When military experts reported how many bombs Israel had dropped on Gaza?

When 2.5 million people were displaced under bombardment, with nowhere to escape in Gaza—a place already called the world’s largest open-air prison even before October 7?

When your employer gave you permission to speak out?

Are you waiting for Joe Biden to say the red line has been crossed and stop sending weapons?

Or are you waiting for Donald Trump to say the magic words: "Enough is enough"?

Or for Benjamin Netanyahu to say "Oh sorry that was a mistake"?

Or are you waiting for God Almighty to come down and say, "Enough is enough"?

Or for the most extreme elements in the Israeli government to say, "Now we can stop bombing"—but will there be any Palestinians left in Gaza by then?

Or will you stop waiting and act now, driven by empathy, knowledge, and solidarity with people who are being oppressed right in fornt or your eyes?

I’ve lost over 200 family members, friends, and neighbors in this genocide. I have 24 of my family’s members and 2 orphaned children, trapped in a makeshift tent and struggling to survive in this freezing winter in Gaza. Is that not enough to move you to act? Tell me then when ?—when will your humanity compel you to step in? Please, act now and donate!

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead.

@mesetacadre @forevergulag @gazafunds @northgazaupdates2 @freepalestinneee

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@a-nautilus-as-pixel-art @13eyond13 @stil-lindigo @baby-indie-blog

[crushpunky]

paparazzi interrupts drew and actress!reader's walk

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based on this ask. warnings for harassment/body shaming and overall assholery from the paparazzi lol

The day had already taken a toll on y/n. First, she spilled her iced coffee she had pain painstakingly made all over her favorite shorts, then her lunch order was completely wrong, and last and perhaps most painfully, she’d gotten a call from her manager informing her that she hadn’t gotten a call back for the role she had been so excited for. Noticing this, Drew suggested the two of them take Charleston out for a walk downtown.

“I think I’m ready for it to be summer again.” Drew said as he held his jacket against him, Charleston trotting happily in front of the two of them. The two of them walked down the sidewalk arm in arm, the breeze gently rattling the changing leaves. It wasn’t a particularly heavy tourist season, the streets filled mostly with locals.

“Oh c’mon, it’s like 60 degrees out.” Y/n laughed, nudging Drew playfully. Drew looked down at her with a light grin on his lips, happy to see her smiling after the unfortunate events of the day.

“I’m a southern boy, I’ve—” Drew began, but was cut off when a lanky man approached them. Drew quickly pulled Charleston back, allowing the dog to walk between the two of them, and tightened his hold on y/n’s arm.

“Y/n! Drew!” The lanky man said, holding up his camera. Y/n flashed a smile and a small wave, adjusting her baseball cap as they continued down the street. Paparazzi weren't new to them by any means, it just wasn’t super often they really approached them, mostly opting to snap photos from afar.

“We saw the photos of you two at the beach the other day.” The paparazzi said, continuing behind the couple as they walked down the sidewalk. Drew’s jaw tightened, already annoyed by the sudden intrusion to y/n’s already shitty day.

“Looks like you’ve gained a bit of weight, huh, y/n?” The paparazzi jeered, pushing his camera in in an attempt at drawing a reaction. Drew whipped his head around quickly, his eyes furious.

“It’s— just ignore him. Please.” Y/n whispered, tugging on Drew’s elbow. Her heart was hammering, trying her best to not internalize the creep’s clear attempt at garnering a strong reaction from the two of them. They continued down the street quicker, even Charleston seemingly distracted by the man following them.

“All those sweets are really showing up on the hips, y/n.” The paparazzi continued with a snicker. Y/n took in a shaky breath, her eyes beginning to water as the man continued spouting off comments about her body.

“Y/n, I can’t ignore him if he keeps saying shit—” Drew growled, his hands practically trembling in anger as he noticed the glassiness in y/n’s eyes.

“Or maybe you’re pregnant? Hmm, Drew? You finally knock that bitch up—” The paparazzi jeered. Drew whipped around, quickly handing the leash to y/n as he stepped towards the man. The lanky man stopped, his eyes widening as Drew’s broad figure approached him angrily.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Drew said to the man, his finger pointing harshly. “Don’t you fucking say another word to her, a’ight asshole? Not another fuckin word.”

“Relax, man, I was just asking a question.” The man let out a nervous laugh. Y/n took in a shaky breath, tears falling down her cheeks. Charleston nuzzled his nose into her leg, his eyes looking up at her widely as she patted his head gently, her head buzzing with tension.

“You’re lucky she’s here or I’d beat the shit out of you for saying that. Get the fuck out of here.” Drew looked down at the man, his cheeks flushed with anger. Y/n stepped forward, placing a hand on Drew’s shoulder, glancing around at the other people walking down the streets whose attention seemed to be focused on them. Drew’s eyes stayed focused on the man as he cowered back, his gaze only breaking when Charleston barked.

“Fuckin’ asshole.” Drew spat before, taking a measured step back, wrapping an arm firmly around y/n’s waist and taking Charleston’s leash from her. The two of them quickly walked away from the creep, not even sparing a glance in his direction, until they found a bench. Drew directed y/n to sit, immediately crouching down to her level.

“Baby, are you ok? I’m so sorry—” Drew said, tucking a strand of hair behind y/n’s ear.

“It’s— you didn’t do anything, it’s fine.” Y/n sniffled, wiping a stray tear away and straightening up, her hand resting on Charleston’s head and eyes avoiding Drew’s. As much as she tried to tell herself what the man was saying wasn’t true, she couldn’t lie and say it didn’t hurt. It hurt to hear the things that used to just exist in her head or in the comments under a post. It hurt to hear those things out loud. It hurt to hear those things out loud because it made them feel real.

“Hey, look at me, please.” Drew whispered, his hand moving to the curve of y/n’s jaw. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. He gazed over her face, his heart clenching at the teariness in her eyes and slight frown on her usually grinning lips.

“You are so fuckin’ beautiful—” Drew said, his thumb rubbing gently along y/n’s jaw, even as she shook her head and tried to look away from him. He held her still, keeping her eyes on him.

“Don’t shake your head, please, baby, you’re killing me.” Drew sighed, his voice nearly breaking.

“Drew, it’s fine, just leave it.” Y/n said, her voice barely a whisper as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“No, I can’t have you crying over bullshit some asshole who knows nothing about you is spouting.” Drew continued, his other hand moving to cup the side of her face. Her flushed cheeks smushed together slightly, her nose scrunching so perfectly Drew felt as if he was gazing at a painting.

“You are so fuckin’ beautiful,” Drew whispered. “So beautiful it’s unreal. Everything about you is just… so perfect.”

“Your nose.” Drew pressed a kiss to y/n’s nose. “Your chin.” Drew pressed a kiss to her chin. “Your neck.” Drew pressed a kiss to her neck. “Your shoulders.” Drew pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Ok, ok, I get it.” Y/n said, a small smile spreading on her lips as Drew gazed up at her as if she were a goddess gracing him with her very presence… and to him she was. He never thought it’d be possible to be so completely and utterly perfect, every aspect just so quintessentially her. Even “flaws”, like the faint scars of acne on her cheeks or the way her hair would tangle in the morning were so her he found it impossible to see them as anything less than perfect.

“I wanna hear you say it.” Drew grinned, his eyes crinkling in the way that made y/n so weak in the knees she was glad she was sitting down.

“No, c’mon—” y/n groaned.

“We’re not leaving until you say it.” Drew sang, his hands resting on her knees as she let out another playful groan. She took a deep breath, her cheeks warming as she smiled back at him.

“I’m ‘so fuckin’ beautiful’.” Y/n said, Drew’s grin growing impossibly wider as he pressed a sloppy kiss to her temple before helping her to her feet. Charleston barked excitedly, his tail wagging as they continued their back towards their house.

“Exactly, Charlie, your momma is so hot.” Drew wrapped his arm around y/n’s waist, pulling her to his side. Y/n giggled, resting her head on Drew’s shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s what he said. I think he said ‘hurry up and get home I’m starving’.” Y/n teased, elbowing Drew lightly.

“Mmm, me too… but something a little different.” Drew said, looking down at y/n with a quirk of his brow. Y/n’s eyes widened as she caught onto his hint.

“You’re such a dog.” Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes as she rested her head onto Drew’s shoulder again.

“Can’t help it my girl’s so fuckin’ hot.” Drew said, pressing a kiss to her head. Y/n grinned, her head spinning with Drew’s intoxicating presence, all doubts about herself disappearing under Drew’s loving gaze.

[eglerieth]

Some of y’all are not appreciating Bilbo Baggins enough. I am here to remedy that. This guy has:

• somehow managed to establish himself as a respectable, staid hobbit by the time he was fifty, despite being both a grandson of Bullroarer Took and the Shire champion of pretty much every aiming-game known to hobbitkind

• had an in-depth debate on pleasantries with a random guy passing by in the street, who turned out to be GANDALF

• collapsed in front of his own fire shaking and muttering “struck by lightning” over and over again in response to hearing about dragons and danger

• mind you, this was after he screamed loud enough to startle a roomful of Dwarves

• signed up for a dangerous quest completely outside of his league out of spite

• when told to scout out a mysterious light, saw some trolls, and instead of reporting back with the information, decided to PICK THE TROLLS POCKET

• arrived in Rivendell for the first time and said it “smelled like elves”

• upon meeting a strange creature that visibly wanted to eat him, he decided to play a riddle game with him- and guessed pretty much every one, and made up his own riddles, afraid and alone, that not only were good and full of linguistic puns, but actually stumped the other guy- AND THEN CHEATED AND WON WITH A QUESTION

• showed mercy to said strange creature who wanted to kill him, and was now standing between him and freedom

• eavesdropped on the dwarves arguing over whether to try to save him, then popped up casually smack in the middle of them just as they were debating

• somehow managed to sleep like a log at the really really high eyrie full of wild predators

• found himself in a bad situation, said eff it, and turned around and antagonized and fought off an insane amount of man eating spiders, like enough of them that fifty was a small portion, by singing at them with incredibly complex and punny insulting songs composed on the spot, while simultaneously slaying them in multitudes despite having zero combat training. Seriously, we don’t discuss enough how epic the spider scene is.

• broke a company of dwarves out of the very secure prison of the Elvenking by inventing white water rafting with barrels

• charmed his way out of being eaten by a dragon

• stole the frickin Arkenstone from the guys who employed him, one of whom was a king

• took part in an epic battle, only to be knocked out in the first ten minutes and miss the entire thing

• was named elf-friend by the guy who’s prisoners he sprung

• wrote his own autobiography, complete with all the narrative recognition of his own heroics

• spent 60 years writing said autobiography

• taught his lower class neighbor’s kid how to read

• taught his nephew Elvish- not only Sindarin, but Quenya too

• spent decades telling his cousins his own story as fairy tales, complete with character impressions accurate enough that one of them was able to fool a servant of the Enemy with a second hand impression

• used the One Ring of Power to hide from his neighbors

• planned an elaborate feast with multiple social faux pas to mess with his neighbors, complete with a purposefully bewildering speech and culminating in him vanishing into thin air in front of everyone

• left his cousins and neighbors very unsubtle passive aggressive gifts in his will

• settled into Rivendell, randomly befriended the heir to the throne of like half of Middle Earth, and apparently spent his time writing very personal poems about his hosts and reciting them to crowds of elves

• after being invited to a Council of basically every major kingdom in the continent, spent a quarter of the time reciting vague poems about his friends, a quarter of the time telling anyone who would listen about his heroic past, and half the time interrupting to ask when lunch would be

• volunteered to bring the ring to Mordor

• became one of only four or five mortals in history to live in Valinor

Seriously, Bilbo Baggins may well be the most chaotic, insane person in the entire legendarium, and that includes the likes of people like Finrod “bit a werewolf to death to save the life of guy who he just met and gave up his kingdom for” Felagund.

[agoodflyting]

Good Omens Historical Trivia That's Haunting Me Today...

So we all know A.Z. Fell & Co is located on the fictitious Whickber Street in Soho and was established in 1800.

Aziraphale has run the shop ever since then and was in contact with Crowley at least until the 1820's when they took their little jaunt to Edinburgh and Crowley got sucked down the tube slide to Hell. They meet up again no later than the 1860's, when Crowley asks for Holy Water.

Stands to reason that between the 1820's and 1860's Aziraphale was in Soho doing Aziraphale things. Running his bookshop. Eating tiny cakes

Yeah... you know what else was going on in Soho during that time?

The worst cholera epidemic in London history.

If you don't know, cholera is a deadly bacterial infection caused by drinking contaminated water. Prior to the 1850's humans weren't really sure what caused cholera, but they knew it was terrifying and also that it was absolutely epidemic in big cities.

TW: this is gross - The main symptoms of cholera are agonizing stomach pain and non-stop watery diarrhea, eventually leading to the skin turning blue due to the thickening of blood from severe dehydration. Patients can lose more than 20% of their body weight in hours as they quite literally evacuate every drop of water in their bodies until they die of heart failure. - OK gross part over

Cholera symptoms show up as short as 5 hours after infection and could kill within as little as 12 hours. Cholera was especially terrifying because of how quickly and painfully it killed you, and because the patient maintained mental clarity up until the point of death. More than half of the people who contracted cholera died within a few days after consuming the bacteria-contaminated water.

And guess what water had cholera bacteria in it?

The public water pump on Broad Street in Soho in August of 1854

And this wasn't one of those epidemics that starts slowly and drags on. It hit like a bomb. It killed 600 Soho residents in ten days.

That's roughly 60 people a day in a 3-4 block area. Most of them died at home because the disease struck too quickly for them to to make it to a hospital. Survivors described hearses stacked with coffins 4-5 high going down the street nonstop all day long during the outbreak. Entire families were wiped out overnight.

What does that have to do with Good Omens?

Aziraphale's book shop was right in the epicenter of this outbreak.

Neil Gaiman has been pretty free about the fact that Whickber Street is a thinly veiled expy of the real Berwick Street in Soho.

This is a famous map showing the 1854 Soho Cholera epidemic. I highlighted Berwick Street and the public water pump that was the center of the contagion. The black bars (I circled a few in blue) on the map designate deaths. The thicker the black bar, the more people died in that particular house.

51 people died the week of the cholera outbreak on Aziraphale's Street alone.

Cholera was one of those diseases that provoked a lot of panic, not just because of how fast and painful it was, but because of the way it didn't follow common conventions about class or age. Children died while the elderly survived (often because the elderly had no one to gather water for them). Lower class houses were spared while their middle class landlords died. Churches were packed that week, because people in Soho had no idea who would get sick next. The epidemic pretty much burned itself out in a week and a half, since by that point everyone who drank the water had already died. I have to wonder what our resident Angel was up to during that time. Obviously cholera can't hurt him, but that's his neighborhood. There's no way hundreds of people, including entire families with children, are dying painfully in his neighborhood and Aziraphale doesn't notice. That means that in between this scene:

And this one:

Aziraphale would have watched one of the worst disease outbreaks in London history play out right outside his front door. I feel like there's great potential for a good story there if anyone better than me wants to write it.

[andromeda3116]

I mentioned it in my tags, but I think it's worth pointing out in the post proper as well:

Strong hurricanes spawn tornadoes. And particularly in the northeastern quadrant of the hurricane, which is the strongest region of the cyclone. So it's a two-fer, you have the tornadoes hearkening the arrival of the strongest part of the inner bands/eye wall. Like a preview of the fun the next days/weeks/months of your life will be. As a treat.

So it's no contest. Hurricanes are worse, because of *gestures at everything* but also you get tornadoes along with big hurricanes, so you don't even have to choose between them!

I need to settle an argument

reblogs VERY much encouraged, please feel free to prove reasoning in the tags or replies

[ficsiwontwrite]

That one 1 chapter wip fic with shen yuan transmigrating as wen yuan lives rent free in my head but HEAR ME OuT

Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua co-wrote mdzs in svsss dimension, they where attacked by a plot device, they ended up as children in yilling post sunshot

I’ll make it better for myself and say sqh was the first hit so he’s toddler aged and sy is like 9 yo

They feel responsible for the plot so they’re gonna mess things up, it would be easier if the husbands showed up for them to get back at being adults with a true love hug or something but they’ll make do

(it’s not like it’ll change things for them to save the blorbo r they condemned, it’s not the same dimension yk)

They end up in the burial mounds with the wen and wwx, sqh tries to fix their money problems … poor guy is having a hard time communicating bc of the lisp, he is younger them a-yuan and he hates it

Sy and sqh still do the classic clown to clown communication characteristic to people who are soulmates, so sy always translates his babbling and wwx is 60% sure sy is the child genius who just wants to make his yapping brother look useful

The adults are under the impression they are helping street children running away from a abusive home (they were still hurt from the plot device fight when they first met) Shen yuan was very clear they are cultivators and adults who are under a curse… neither wen Qing nor Wei Ying could find anything tho so clearly this and the talking about husbands taking too long are clearly children stories made up by too smart traumatized children

Cumplane talking about all the resources they could get for wwx for him to work with, clearly one of the steps for heabilitating his image enough is to make other want to buy his stuff… Shen yuan is them educating wwx about the properties of beast parts and magical wood and all kind of stuff, wwx humors him and also has a lot of fun and even some inspiration with the stuff he’s hearing tbh

They are now convinced the children are from cultivation families tho… they get too many things right not to be.

It’s ok, they’re already hated anyway, being accused of stealing some secret genius from a clan won’t really do that much sem age to their security

Cumplane also discuss what they could do to help wn, if the husbands get there before he awakes a fierce copse theyd have a easier time but there are options if they come after

Wen Qing overhears and is Concerned the children will try to play with guidao, she talks to wwx about it and they start to put up all kind of obstacles for them to stop to get into wy’s research… which are easily circumvent by spy sqh… they are being defeated by a toddler… he even convinced a-yuan to help being a distraction

They should not be put to play with a yuan, but they are

sy ends up criticizing a-yuans stories or giving him ideas about monster too gruesome for a baby… which doesn’t upset him but makes him say random weird stuff when playing (like a reveal that the hero was a secret unicorn-water-rat who feed from friendship) sqh is in a small body and he is tired so his playing is mostly playing dead and them fierce corpse once he is too tired to run around, which happens really quickly (unfortunately this could make baby ayuan associate fierce corpse with playmates… a dangerous assumption to have in the burial mounds)

Okok and the husbands?

The day of the yilling date goes much the same bc no one wants the run away kids to be seen, which is good bc cumplane is trying to set up some array to help contain wn away from the others once he goes into a rage ( they already did it the one other time wwx went in town with a-yuan but they do have to reactivate it)

Things happen, wen Ning gets his consciousness back, cumplane is Anxious bc they don’t have many ways to really change fate being toddlers, without their resources and what if their husbands can’t show up?? What if this curse will just make they live to the end of the mdzs plot and in svsss time haven’t moved??, maybe mobing don’t even know they’re not where they’re supposed to be…

They’ll have to work with plan b them, arranged marriage fix it it is

Which means they already convinced a confused lwj to stay for dinner and are now trying to matchmake terribly when Binghe and Mobei show up in the middle of the settlement, both terrifyingly demonic and just as wangxian is starting to fight them binghe sees sy running to him and goes “Shizun!! 🥺🥺😭”

Everyone dumbfounded by the demon crying all over a magically re-aging shen yuan just for them to look to the back and see adult sqh sitting on his husband lap, who’s just… clutching him and kind of trembling

Turns out the only lie the kids told was by omitting that they were married to demons from another realm…

And them binghe ofc has his emergency qiankun bag with all the stuff he hoards (bc without xin mo he needs to always be prepared duh)

And they do the fix-it by refurbishing the burial mounds with all kinds of defense, gives wwx all kinds of tools and money and resources, give all the warnings about the Jin’s exact machinations and weaknesses and start a whisper campaign to both clean up the wen and wwx’s reputation

Which will end of course with wwx purifying the burial mounds, he doesn’t even need the dead anymore cause now he can not only demonic cultivate fr (got tips from demons themselves) but also they gave him a way to recultivate a core and made lwj responsible for helping with that (ofc its papapa)

[ola-family3]

💥🔥Urgent help 💥🔥

I am Ola Ferwana from Palestine ,Gaza. I'm a mother of 3 kids Yamen, Qusai and Mira. My husband travelled to Egypt to get medicines before 2 days of the war 7 of October on Gaza and he was stuck in Egypt until this moment.

I faced very great challenges and responsibilities of my three children in the absence of my husband, as he had traveled and the crossing was closed and we could not see each other.

This is our street of my house, the Israeli occupation damaged all the houses.

I have delivered a girl baby,Mira , through the war, She was 10 months old and my husband didn't see her until this moment.

Yamen was 7 years old, and his simplest dream was to complete the first grade at school, but his school was completely destroyed. He lost the most beautiful thing that he was happy with and enjoyed that he had reached this stage.

Qusai is 5 years old, and until this moment I do not have the courage to tell him that his kindergarten was also destroyed, the first place and refuge in which he was happy, but in this war he lost everything beautiful. He lost his father’s hug, which was his only refuge when he slept at night, telling him his daily story to fall asleep safety.

Mira, my daughter, who had never seen an hour or a moment devoid of fear, came into this world and was surprised by a war that destroyed many, many things. It destroyed her house and her room, which I was waiting for as I prepared and brought her all the beautiful clothes and colorful dresses she needed. She was surprised by the sound of missiles. She could not sleep because of it. My husband hopes to get a smile and a hug from her daughter Which he had been waiting for some time.

We lack of the basic human needs, no food no electricity no water. We were poisoned and infected because of the unhealthy water that we drink.

My three children and I had to be hospitalized. We suffered from liver dysfunction as a result of malnutrition, widespread diseases, and recurring infection.

During this period, I felt remorseful about how difficult it is for a mother to see her children sick and unable to treat them because she is also very sick.

The Rafah border crossing, which is the only way to escape from the war, is closed now.

I hope to provide us by giving support in order to cover the costs associated with ensuring our safe passage of Egypt through the borders. Please stand with me, we are now homeless, with absence of children needs like milk, diapers, with no food.

Please help us by donation to stay a live and leave Gaza with my children. Share this link as you can as possible .

https://gofund.me/4e896ac1

If it is opened, I can't go to Egypt as I don't have the money because my husband is the sole breadwinner for my family.

Thank you for your kindness, empathy and generosity during this challenging time.With sincere thanks and warm regards,

Note: my campaign is vetted by Femme intifada on telegram, vetted by butterflyeffectgroup on instagram, my number is #964. Also, it was vetted on tumbler by @gazavetters and my number is #60

Please donate or share it as much as you can.

Every donation make a different for me.

This is the link

https://gofund.me/4e896ac1

Thank you

Ola

@buttercuparry @celadonwanderer @paper-mario-wiki @omegaversereloaded

@imjustheretotrytohelp @noble-kale @neptunerings @heritageposts @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @watermotif @stuckinapril @mavigator @lacecap @determinate-negation @deepspaceboytoy @paper-mario-wiki @kibumkim @neechees @socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @rooh-afza @shesnake @ibtisams @rivertosea @twentykhz @timetravellingshinigami @deathlonging @briarhips @mazzikah @mahoushojoe @sar-soor @rhubarbspring @schoolhater98 @pcktknife @trasmutation @sawasawako @appsa @anneemay-blog @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria @mangocheesecakes @kyra45 @7bitter-sweet-blog @tortiefrancis @ankle-beez @ot3 @communistchameleon @dykesbat @komsomolka

[heartfullofleeches]

[Request] Reader caring for a sick Remmy [Dollmaker Yan Oc]

Warnings: None.

Words: 1.1k

-

“Remmy isn't home right now…. Please come back later.”

Could this day get any worse?... Weeks, months even, building up the courage to ask you to hang out with him. It wasn't like he asked you out on a date or anything, not yet anyway. He still needed to test the water a little longer, make sure the signals he had picked up from you weren't figments of his imagination. All that time, all those embarrassing hours spent in front of the mirror practicing what to say given any outcome - flushed down the drain in one night. 

Remmy could hardly open his eyes the morning you were intended to meet. You didn't even recognize him over the phone at first. In his heightened state of delirium from the fever racking his weary mind, he hoped the same would happen as you continuously rang his doorbell - demanding in the softest voice you could manage for him to open up.

As if he could be that lucky….

“And where, pray tell, would someone hacking up a lung over the phonean hour ago be right besides the hospital? It's not that far away. I can head over right now and check.” 

….

“Open this door right now, Remiel. You're not going to flake on me twice today.”

Did you have to phrase it like that? Kicking a sick person while he could barely stand was cruel - even if you did come to check up on him. 

“O…okay…. Remmy is- I'm going to unlock the door, just…give me a minute to clean up my room. I have some stuff out I really don't want anyone to see…”

The muffled shuffling of plastic splices between the click of the lock as Remmy unlocks the front door. 

“60.”

“Crap.” 

Hobbling away from the front door, Remmy clings to the hallway walls as he makes a break for his bedroom. The straight path twists and bends as his stress levels skyrocket from the very real fear of you finding out what he had stored. There wasn't enough time for him to hide everything. His top priority were the worst offenders - items he couldn't excuse as being a result of his relatively harmless hobby. Doll clothing fashioned after clothes you'd yet to wear for the public eye. Others you never owned and probably would never wear, unless they were for a partner or to make yourself feel good. Pictures of you hung up on his walls. So much to bury in such little time. 

“They can't see that…That one either. God, they'd kill me if they saw-”

“Saw what?” 

A hoarse yelp claws its way out of Remmy's aching throat. Standing in his doorway, you balance two separate bags in your arms - awaiting his response. Remmy hurriedly pulls the corners of his blankets over the space beneath his bed. 

“I…threw up a bit ago. Guess I'm feeling worse than I thought when we spoke over the phone.” 

In the blink of an eye you're by his side. Remmy flinches as you press the back of your palm against his forehead.

“Oh, Rem….” Concern oozes from your words as you set your bags down, taking hold of his arm. You're burning up. Come on. Let's get you back in bed.”

“You don't have to go through all this for me, Y/n. Really, I'm-” His sentence falls short as you scoop him off the floor, sitting him up on his bed. Were you always this strong - or had he always been this easy to carry? In that moment, Remmy felt just like one of his dolls. His head spins at the very thought. You take the opportunity to gently ease him down against the mattress, rolling the discarded sheets up to his waist. You pick up the plastic bags, setting them on the small table in the center of his room as you rummage through them.

“Got some chicken soup from this dinner down the street. If you can't keep anything down, maybe the broth will be a good place to state. Oh!- picked up some ginger ale too. That might help with your stomach too. Cough drops, cough medicine…. Do you prefer liquid or pills?” 

Remmy turns his head away from you as he coughs into his fist. “...whichever…whichever you brought is fine.”

“Well,I actually bought both, but I can just return the other on my way home later. I'll go grab you a cup real quick.”

Heading for the door, Remmy’s meek voice calls out to you - barely about a whisper. “Y/n?”

Hand on the doorframe, you gaze over your shoulder at him. “What's up? Need something else while I'm in the kitchen?”

“No…” Remmy shakes his head, the pressure of a headache hammering at his skull. “Agh… Remmy… I just wanted to thank you…for this. You really didn't have to come over…” 

A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. “Don't think I did this for nothing. Gotta make sure you're well enough for our date next weekend. The park is nice and all, but that's where we always go. I expect to be taken somewhere else for our first date.”

“Date?” He couldn't have heard you right. But, you said it - twice. You disappear down the hall before he can properly question you. Was this all a dream? The conjurings of his ill mind as the sickness took hold? This felt better than anything he could imagine- Your hushed voice as you reenter the room confirms it. You wiggle your arm behind his head, helping him sit back up just enough to place the cup to his lips without him choking while swallowing. A part of him wished this was a dream. One that he'd never wake up from if he had the choice. Another dream come true was waiting for him once he got better.

“Remmy?...Rem?”

Soda spills onto your hand as the weight of his head crashes upon your shoulder. Did he…. fall asleep? Just like that? You hadn't even given him his medicine yet. At least the sleep will be good for him. You should probably go put everything else you brought up to pass the time until he wakes up. 

“Mmm…”

Remmy’s face scrunches in discomfort as you part from his side, lowering his head onto the pillows as you stand. Your foot touches something soft beneath his bed. You reach a hand underneath - completely forgetting about his earlier warnings as your fingers wrap around the squishy item. A doll with instantly identifying features stares back up at you as you drag it from its prison. Funny - you don't remember wearing this shirt around Remmy. You only bought it a few days ago. You planned to wear it today before he told you the bad news.

Shrugging, you raise Remmy's arm - tucking the doll against his chest. His face melts into that of peaceful bliss, body curling around the doll as his other hand strokes its face as if on auto-pilot. You press a kiss to his forehead - shutting off the lights in his room as you depart for a second time.

[definitelynotshouting]

explain the hotguy au to me. It’s been way too long for me not to know and at this point I might as well ask and you seem like you know things about it so could you please tell me I’m so confused and scrolling the tag it only makes it worse please help

Also, what is a zine? The Internet is not helping me and I cannot find information so I might as well just beg for answers

thank you

Admittedly you have come to the right place since i happen to be the head organizer of the HOTGUY COMICS Zinethology, but in all honesty it might be easier to direct you to our carrd which has a LOT of answers to your questions in it, including what a zine is, which is tackled in our FAQ!!!

As for the story itself, it's a bit complex to explain that succinctly, but i'll give it my best shot!! HOTGUY COMICS Zinethology is an original hermitcraft superhero au told seamlessly across 60+ contributors, via comics, short stories, illustrations, and even merch located in our itch.io :] its 410 pages, so its not inaccurate to even call it a graphic novel!!! For the rest, well let me just pull from the intro i wrote in the zine itself:

WELCOME TO HERMITOPIA

In the aftermath of an unknown biohazard leaking into their water supply, the citizens of this sprawling metropolis found themselves beginning to change, rapidly mutating in bizarre, unprecedented ways. In the wake of this drastic social upheaval, a new type of crime began to rise from Hermitopia's crowded streets: villainy.

With local government unequipped to deal with super-powered crime, many citizens began to look to themselves for their own protection, forming a massive, underground network of mutual aid in order to fight the rising tide of villains as vigilantes. In response, a new division of the local government was formed: the T.C.G., better known as the Hermitopia "Threat Control Group." Their job? Hunt down and identify every "threat" to the city, regardless of status, and bring them back within the bounds of the law.

But split public opinion and the threat of arrest can't stop washed-up, B-list actor Scar Goodtimes from chasing his dreams of greater fame as a vigilante. With his trusty bow in hand, Scar is (kind of) prepared to do (some of) what it takes to make himself a prominent figure again under the whimsical mantle of HOTGUY.

I hope this works to answer your questions, and you're always welcome to send us asks on @hotguycomiczine if you have more!! Cheers, and consider downloading the zine on itch.io to see what all the fuss is about-- it's free!! :D

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 9

part 1 | part 8 | ao3

cw: medical emergency

He ditches his car at the top of the street, runs the rest of the way because there are too many people standing around — a small crowd of onlookers clustered at the bottom of the lane, gawking in their sleep shirts and flannels like the world isn’t trying to end for a fourth time. Fifth? He can’t keep track. He can’t even think, numb to everything but the pounding of his shoes against the pavement, the sirens wailing in his ears, the steady prayer in his pulse not her not now not both—

“Mom?” he shouts, voice cracking and raw. “Mom!!”

“It’s not for her.”

There’s a hand against his chest then, heel of a palm pressed to his sternum, and he slams into it like a brick wall. The air burns in his lungs; he can’t focus his eyes. “Wh-what?” he gets out, voice shaking, throat thick. Cold terror drools down his sweaty neck like the breath of a hungry monster. He’s a little kid again, swept up in the mayhem of a crowded mall. Where’s his mom; where’s his mom?

“Your mom’s in my house.” The voice is deep and slow, the hand flexing against his shirt. Fingers splayed. Heavy rings.

“…E-Eddie?” Steve’s vision swims, going yellow and purple then tunneling down to black, deep water filling his ears. Nothing makes any sense. “Munson, what—?”

“Your mom’s in my house,” he repeats like a mantra. Like a lighthouse in the fog, voice rumbling and sure. “She’s safe. She’s fine. You’re hyperventilating; take a breath.”

His breath is still catching quick and high in his throat, little puffs of cold mist. Can you drown in cold air? Can it condense inside your chest?

Eddie grips his shoulder, snaps his fingers in Steve’s face. “Hey. Hey, Steve? Come on, man, look at me. Steve. Look at me.”

Steve meets his gaze like the tide drawn to the moon.

“Deep breath,” he demonstrates, sucking air through an invisible straw, letting his chest and belly swell. Steve copies him until his vision starts to clear, until his heartbeat starts to calm. "That's it," Eddie tells him. "Good. Yeah, there we go."

Some hysterical part in the back of his brain wants to laugh. To start and never stop, just laugh and laugh and laugh until his fucking head explodes.

When he can breathe again, he pants weakly, “What is going on?”

Eddie guides him to a picnic table on the outskirts of the crowd, and they perch on top of it with their feet planted on the bench. The air feels calmer here.

Steve takes another breath.

Eddie points to the single-wide right next to Steve’s. “The wagon’s for your neighbor,” he grimaces in sympathy, one eye squinting shut as he cocks his head at Steve. “Ernie. You know him?”

“Mm.” Ernie Gerwitz. Late 60s, a widower with liver spots and arthritis in both hands. Bad heart, worse drinking habit. Fucking hates Steve’s mom because she backed over his begonias. “Not well.”

They didn’t interact much beyond an occasional neighborly nod, although Steve did once earn the guy’s good graces by yelling at Misty while shooing her off with a rake. (‘Little bitch left me a whole damn weasel last year,’ he’d grumbled as he stooped to pick up the newspaper. ‘Can't shoot her, though, 'cause she scares away the possums.’) And now…

Steve can’t make out much from here, just the shape of a four-man stretcher being carried out the door, strobe light streaks in his vision as the EMTs load up the van.

“Is he…” Steve gulps, clasping his hands between his knees. He doesn’t want to ask this question. The words taste moldy in his mouth. “Is he dead?”

Eddie’s hand shakes a little when he drags it down his cheek. His answer comes on a wobbly sigh, an almost melodic quality to the tension in his voice. “No-o idea, man. Your, uh, your mom, ya know, she— She found him. In, um. In the yard." "Jesus." "Said he was just, like... lying there. In the grass.” Eddie stares off into the distance like he’s seeing it right now; makes a wet clucking sound as his bottom lip quivers. “Thinks it was, a- a heart thing, or something? Shit, I don’t know. She was pretty freaked out when she knocked on my door.”

Steve can't picture it. He hasn’t seen her express a single true emotion since July.

A hesitant hitch of breath, and Eddie chews on his next words, tapping a hand against his thigh. “She’s, uh... she’s… calmer now. Or. At least-”

Steve rolls his eyes, knows exactly where this is going. Eddie tries again: “I mean, she seemed like-”

“Like a fucking zombie?” Steve supplies.

“Yeah,” Eddie huffs, a nervous laugh of relief. You said it, man, not me. There’s something serious in his gaze, something curious and searching.

Something almost kind. Steve shrinks away from it like a vampire in the sun. Go on, he wants to say, ask about the fucking pills. Wants to goad him into a fight, some mean, sharp thing inside him itching to see someone else bleed.

Steve bites his tongue until he tastes metallic tang. Copper covering mildew; fresh bloom coating decay. He swallows hard, lets them both slide down his throat — blood and ghosts, life and death. The River Styx must taste like pennies.

The siren starts again, and Eddie groans and hangs his head. “Christ," he murmurs to the dirt, “Wayne’s gonna be so bummed.”

They both watch in silence as the ambulance goes by.

—

part 10

okay same deal tagging whoever commented yesterday (if your settings will let me) you’re all delightful tysm 😘 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @thefreakandthehair @slutforcoffein @manda-panda-monium @munsonfamilybandalso @aliea82 @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @lololol-1234 @hotluncheddie @pennyplainknits @disrespectedgoatman @carolinachickadee @insideiscold @acedorerryn @anne-bennett-cosplayer @violetsteve my actual wife blessings upon your house @lighthousebeams @steves-strapcollection @sirsnacksalot @stevesbipanic @slowandsteddie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @so-get-this-sammy @annabanannabeth @runninriot @cuips-not-cute @a-little-unsteddie @envyadams-vs-me @ppunkpuppyy if i forgot anyone i’m sorry i am very sleep deprived

[3liza]

Methods: We performed a single-blind, randomized human experiment evaluating the effectiveness of five different regimens for the treatment of topical facial OC exposure. Forty-nine volunteer, adult law enforcement trainees were exposed to OC during a routine training exercise and were randomized to one of five treatment groups (aluminum hydroxide-magnesium hydroxide [Maalox], 2% lidocaine gel, baby shampoo, milk, or water). After initial self-decontamination with water, subjects rated their pain using a 10-cm visual analog scale (VAS) and then every 10 minutes, for a total of 60 minutes. Subjects were blinded to previous VAS recordings. A two-factor analysis of variance (ANOVA) (treatment, time) with repeated measures on one factor (time) was performed using a 1.3-cm difference as clinically significant. Results: Forty-four men and five women, with an average age of 24 years, participated in the study. There was a significant difference in pain with respect to time (p < 0.001), but no significant interaction between time and treatment (p > 0.05). There was no significant difference in pain between treatment groups (p > 0.05).

eliza comments: this supports the observation that pain-inducing chemical weapon response is primarily time- and somatically-mediated. eg, none of this stuff actually "works" and any effects are related to time making the chemicals degrade. observations that "i used milk and it helped" are a false observation based on the fact that sitting there and waiting for the chemicals to wear off was working anyway, so putting milk on your skin/eyes in the meantime was assumed to have "worked" when it wasn't actually doing anything (other than the skin reaction to cool liquid being felt as "soothing" superficially).

the action of being treated by friendly medics will always help with injury regardless of the injury, its one of the cornerstones of medicine. it's very important for street medics to present a caring, confident, and gentle attitude towards injured people. street medics aren't medical doctors (except when they are, i know dozens of actual EMTs and MDs and RNs who go to protests specifically to provide medical care) but the principles are the same

i'm still looking for the paper i found years ago about buffered saline. the study above notably does not try saline as a treatment.

[blingblong55]

This town -Simon "Ghost" Riley

pic credits: @ave661 (middle and right)

Based on a request: (Its a long as so I'll link it so you can read the anons idea) Link here ---- F!Reader, childhood!friends, hidden feelings, angst, friends to strangers ---- A/N: Songs that also fit: Too Young- Louis Tomlinson, This Town- Niall Horan, Back to the Old House- The Smiths, Always you-Louis Tomlinson

It's a story to tell over at the old pub you and he used to hang around on the weekends. But how can a man begin to tell the sorrowful story? How can he explain in his bruised hands he holds the locket you gave him when you two were kids? He will maybe ask if this was a curse, the only curse an old soul like his has. 

It could've been something, it would've been something, it should've been beautiful. 

In this world, it was always he and you. Scraping your knees when jumping off the rocks near his home. Playing tag in the street until the moon greeted you and his mother would call his name. It's the kind of beginning all beautiful loves start with. Friends since childhood, went through life together and by 28, he would have proposed to the girl he had loved his whole life, 40s would be of dropping the kids at school, 50s of early retirement and 60s were for the potential grandkids, 70s would've been the stories shared of their early lives.

Would've...what a shit word that became in his life. 

In the teenage years, after you had some glow-up, you became the girl everyone knew. The pretty, popular and funny girl the school knew of. He was the friend of the popular girl, the one people barely noticed or cared for. Simon was the same kid who always had a scar or bruise on his face, compliments from his father. One thing Simon hated more than the bastard of his father was the guy you were with. Bloke knows nothing but how to wank and fuck any living thing, he recalls.

Why were you with such a guy? It was a must. Like those cheesy movies where the pretty girl stays with the popular guy, all for the status of each other. Your feelings weren't real for that guy. He wasn't funny, wasn't smart and he wasn't Simon. The boy you shared a kiss with at age 7 because of an accidental bump whilst running through the grass. 

It was during a small break between classes that you found him drinking water. You smile. He always did look good, even the stupid bruise on his jaw made him look so good. 

"Y/N," he straightens up. "Simon," you smile cheekily. "Oh no, what's that smile for?" He crosses his arms over his chest and you can't help but get lost in his honey eyes. "Well...I was wondering if maybe we can...talk?" You say, unsure of how to word this confession. "Did my mum put you up to this?" 

"No, this is...me just wanting to talk." 

"Go on," his voice softens. Does he always do this for you?

You hesitate, but what is life without words? You breathe in and say, "I like you...there I said it and... don't stay quiet because you know I get nervous and I will continue to just talk and talk and talk and-"

He cuts you off by saying, "I'm sorry, Y/N, I... don't..think..this..well I just don't feel that way for you. We're friends, nothing more," he ends his part of the conversation, pats your back as he walks away and you are left in the corridor of the school alone. 

As Simon walks to his classroom, his heart and mind fight the words that he had just said to you. Why was that mean? Did I even mean to say them? He thinks. 

Graduation happens. You and he never talked after that day. Not even a congrats or a hug, life went on without him in your life. Throughout those last months in school, he felt a feeling of regret when he'd see you with that guys arm around you. He would occasionally walk around the old park just to see if you would still go on your daily walks. 

By the time he was about to leave town, he found himself at the old house. He heard your parents moved to a new part of town, so if this was the last time he heard of you, it better be on his terms. And as he walks through the pavement, he finds himself looking at your window. He leans over a car, lights a cigarette and just waits to see if maybe you or some ghost roamed the home. 

Was it the feeling of losing a friend that hurt or losing his one chance to feel something other than pain and hatred? Maybe it's just nervous, after all, he leaves tomorrow. 

You were both just 16, it was puppy love, nothing would've lasted if he reciprocated those feelings, right?

And if it was, why does he feel some kind of hurt as he packs his bags? Why does he want to run to your new home and call your name? Is there a reason why? It's not love, it can't be love, he thinks. I'm not worthy of that, you've heard my dad, he says out loud. "Simon?" Tommy opens the door. "Tommy, not today," he looks back at his bag. "...Fuck" he whispers. 

It's been a long nineteen years since he last saw you and heard your precious voice laugh at a cheesy joke of his. Nineteen years and the feeling in his chest is still there when he arrives home. Manchester was always home for him, it was the only place he knew best when he came back. 

One day, as he was cleaning his closet, looking for his dog's leash, something fell and hit his head. "What the fu-" he looked down and there it was. 

"Why give me this?" A thirteen-year-old Simon asked you. You smile, "You said you wish you could always be near me so you can feel safe...and since I'm going to my nans for the week, have this locket on you, and I swear I'll be there. Keep it safe, okay?" you kiss his forehead before entering the car. He nods and waves, "Call me, Y/N, please!" he calls out and you nod. "Every day!" you scream out as the car drives further away. 

A smile falls on his silent lips, "...Y/N..." his thumb caresses the design. Once he opens it, he feels as if he is that young again. "Are you still there, Y/N?" He whispers and then, realisation hits. It was never nerves or whatever bullshit he told himself back then, it was love, always has. 

All the dots are connecting. For the past nineteen years, he always had some love or whatever all those hookups and awful relationships were, but never did they stick around. Never did he feel more for them than what he has always felt for you. His cold heart still beating warm when he thinks of you. You are all he has ever known, the smiles, the late-night confessions, stories, the silly inside jokes, the feeling in his chest today. 

He hasn't seen you in years, what if you don't remember him? What if when you see him, your heart doesn't call his name when he screams yours? Will you ever even forgive him? Will you wrap your arms around him and call him home like he has called you? 

He must find you, so he calls and looks for you in every corner of this place. He finds nothing, just more lost hope at every corner he looks into. His heart and mind excited each other at the thought this would be some sappy romance moment. His mind creating a script, all truths, just finding better words to tell you he loves you, loved you the moment you kissed the similar scar on the knee at the park when he cried over the pain. He's loved you from the day he learned to say your name. 

Why does he miss you so much today?

Why must you be the drug his body needs? God does he miss you and your addictive heart. 

He has been around the world, where he could've found a good woman who made him happy but no, his heart has always belonged to one girl. You. 

By the time he gets the street right, he finds you sitting down and as he smiles and nearly runs to you, he stops when he sees this image of you. 

Sitting by the fountain, he sees you and a man. His arms wrap around your body, giving you darling kisses as you chuckle. It was then that Simon Riley knew this was it. He will spend his entire life wandering earth, looking for another soul like yours. You didn't see him of course, your fiance capturing all your attention. Simon was close to not caring and pulling you away from that man, but that would be cruel. And as he tries to make up excuses for this man being near you, he sees the ring. 

Oh...oh you fool, he thinks. 

His heart is near death. It screams your name, trying to find you so it can keep beating but when you don't whisper, Simon nods and lets his heart die. Let it rot, so it can learn its lesson, he thinks. 

It would've never bloomed, Simon and you...right?

It's no use to even go and say hi. The locket that contained your picture was still in his fist. It'll be the last reminder of what was meant to be a life romancing in dark streets through town. 

In his head, the home you dreamed of will forever be just a dream. No four kids, no library, no big kitchen so you and he can dance around at midnight. No you...no him...it'll all be stuck and dead in this town. 

He crossed rivers, mountains, and enemies and survived wounds soldiers like him get, all to come home to you. And all this was for nothing. In his world, he would've married you, given you chubby babies and late Saturday mornings. No gun, no bomb and no other man would've kept him away from you. 

In his mind, he is with you. In his dead heart, he sits by and watches that chubby baby learn to walk. He would've adored seeing you in a white dress, walking to him as he wiped tears away when he d his dream of a perfect life was minutes away from being real. 

What a mess he is as he asks for another drink. A mess he never should have been if he had told you that your name is carved all over his body. 

It was this town that saw him live and it'll be this town that sees him die because if he can't have you, at least he has this place. 

A/N: Remember, I collect tears for potions, so please drop them by for collection, thank you. - The place of tears co.

Tags: @liyanahelena @mangowafflesss @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @Krinoid24 @iruzias @frazie99 @idklols @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @Juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @pbcartii @Llelannie @Macnches2 @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @kaoyamamegami @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @sleepyycatt @believeinthefireflies95

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #60 – Paved Paradise: How Parking Explains the World by Henry Grabar

This is a book I heard about because the cranky old communist who runs the local daily paper recommended it in some editorial I’ve long since forgotten the actual point of. Which is generally a very high-risk way to get book recommendations, but in this case it worked out! Though I came into this as the friendliest possible audience for the arguments Grabar is trying to make, so I’m genuinely not that sure how convincing a work it is for a less sympathetic reader. It is at least full of fun and somewhat memorable anecdotes.

The book is about, well, (almost) exactly what it says on the tin – the economics and politics and logistics of parking infrastructure in American cities. Specifically, how it is an all-consuming, economy-warping, environment-destroying, city-killing cancer that is the primary causes of decaying urban cores and the lack of affordable housing in gentrifying neighborhoods. The book is loosely organized, with each different chapter approaching the question of and ills caused by parking from a slightly different angle, or considering the history and psychology that has made it such a mighty force, or showing case studies of how different places have started fixing it.

The two main thrusts of the book are a) parking as an un- (which is to say privately-) regulated privilege and entitlement which the great mass of the American public expects to be provided for free (or for an at-most nominal fee) wherever they happen to want to go and b) parking as possibly the least efficient use of developed real estate in the world, and one that absolutely dominates most American cities.

The latter is a bit less interesting to me, just because it’s broadly things I either already knew or could have pretty quickly puzzled out from what I do. It’s still quite well-presented, and quite rage-inducing – the number of square miles of space set aside for the sole use of free parking on every urban street, the eye-watering amount of money cities spend and give up in revenue to subsidize driving and parking, the hundreds of thousands of units of housing whose economics don’t pencil out because of mandatory parking minimums or that are killed by neighbors and ‘community engagement’ out of (ostensible) concern over their effect on parking availability in the neighborhood, and so on. It’s all well-told, but none of it’s exactly groundbreaking (which Grabar is entirely forthright about, to be clear. A large chunk of the book is combination synopsis and advertisement for the older and more more rigorous The High Cost of Free Parking, also cited as one of the main reference texts).

The former is much more interesting reading for me, just because (as a lifelong and involuntary non-driver) the psychology of it is just a bit foreign to me. The sheer fact that so much parking is both free and unregulated means that instead of market pricing or government permitting all manner of fascinatingly dysfunctional private systems to allocate and ration it out develop instead. Fist fights and murders over stolen parking spots, the self-proclaimed vigilantes patrolling condo parking lots for anyone overstaying their welcome, outright criminal conspiracies and organized violence between ice cream truck companies over poaching each others most lucrative routes – many less morbid and attention-getting things too, to be fair, but it’s still all just fascinating. And if ‘explains the world’ is a bit much, does function as an excellent window into a great many neuroses and dysfunctions of American public life.

One of the points the book repeatedly hammers home is that ‘parking shortages’ are, except in a few extremely select neighborhoods, basically a myth. The parking is almost always there – the average American city has more free or subsidized parking spaces and lots than are filled (at least) 360 days of the year. Drivers just expect parking that is simultaneously no more than a couple blocks from their destination, available the moment they pull up, and (almost) free. Garages go half empty while thousands of road-miles are driven every month circling blocks looking for free spots – terrible for the climate, for the roads being driven on, and for traffic and the utility of driving through the city in the first place. Reducing or eliminating free curbside parking (either charging market-clearing rates, or using the real estate for loading zones or patio seating or any of a thousand other things that serve more people in a period than the same amount of parking) thus often makes traffic better, not worse.

This is very much a book written by a journalist rather than an academic, for both good and ill – not that it doesn’t seem densely researched or well-cited (the endnotes run north of 50 pages), but there’s definitely a prioritization of being approachable and readable over being detailed or rigorous. Hence every chapter having at least one and usually several interviews or deeply characterized anecdotes there to be case studies and examples. Sometimes this anecdotes are incredibly interesting and something I’d probably read a book entirely devoted to – the above mentioned New York City ice cream truck feuds, or the fascinatingly blatant and eye-popping amount of corruption around parking ticketing and violations also in NYC, or how the city of Chicago sold the right to operate all its parking meters through the end of the century to Morgan Stanley – but just as (if not more) often it’s just a few pages sketching a sympathetic portrait and life story of someone suffering the travails of some aspect of parking infrastructure so the reader will have someone to empathize with as the problem is described. A trick that does start t get old the more often it’s repeated.

The book’s long digressions into history were (perhaps unsurprisingly) more interesting for me than the contemporary anecdotes. Partially just because the evolution of things like the car garage and how public streets are conceived of is always interesting to learn more about, and partially because of just how long we have at this point known about things like ‘induced demand’ and the various morbid inefficiencies of car-first, -only and -always culture. Literally generations! It's bleak.

Though having said that, this was funnily enough one of the only works of nonfiction I can remember reading in a long, long time that ended on a positive note in a way that didn’t sound like transparent cope. As is mandatory in all works of pop-sociology, -economics or -poli-sci, this one also ends in a chapter or two of examples of Doing It Right and ways society can fix itself going forward. Grabar just actually weaves together a narrative through most of the book of a slowly-increasing pushback and growing political coalitions who are (in the book’s framing) more interested in cheaper housing and more usable public space than traffic jams and parking lots. The COVID lockdowns and sudden need for as much outdoor space as possible – leading to parking lots being repurposed as church pews, curbside parking as patio seating, and a dozen other things – serve as a case in point. The book ends reiterating the point that the USA’s most desirable and expensive neighbourhoods are very often the ones that are dense and walkable enough (and/or sufficiently well-served by public transit) to comfortably live in without owning a car, and the confident belief that such neighbourhoods are only going to grow more common.

All that said, Grabar’s actually much more sympathetic to the pro-car, pro-parking viewpoint than most authors or pundits I have seen make similar points are. Sometimes to a mildly cringe-inducing ‘no don’t run, I promise I’m normal like you!’ way, being entirely honest. But then, one can at least hope that it helps the book actually function as a persuasive text instead of so much elegant preaching to the choir.

[ouroborosmoons]

A Year of Genocide

The Civil Defense Directorate in the Gaza Strip published statistics for the year of genocide on the Gaza Strip, which can be found in English and Arabic in the attached PDFs, or as a Flipbook here.

PDF found here

In the last year, 3,654 massacres were committed by the enemy, resulting in over 51,870 martyrs and missing people. 902 families were erased from the civil registry, and 36 were martyred by starvation. From these, 986 martyrs were medical staff, or about 1 in every 40 known martyr, 175 martyrs were journalists, and 85 are civil defense officers. 2,300 of these bodies were stolen by the IOF from 19 out of 60 cemeteries.

149,036 Gazans are either martyred, wounded, or missing, 69% of them children and women.

187 displacement shelters were targeted by the IOF, including 27 in the last two days.

462 schools and universities have been destroyed by the occupation, and 12,700 of the martyrs were students, while 750 of them were teachers, and 130 of them scientists and academics.

34 hospitals, 80 health centers, and 162 health centers were taken out of service, and 131 ambulances were targeted.

Out of 1,245 mosques, 815 of them were destroyed, in addition to three churches.

200,000 housing units were destroyed, using 85,000 tons of explosives, equivalent to six Hiroshima bombs.

3,130 km of electricity networks were destroyed, 330,000 meters of water networks, 655,000 meters of sewage networks, and 2,835,000 meters of road and street networks.

86% of the Gaza Strip has been destroyed.