#Dime Store Riot

[thephotopitmagazine]

ROCKLAHOMA ANNOUNCES ITS BIGGEST LINEUP EVER FOR 2024

Rocklahoma Announces Its Biggest Lineup Ever For 2024   Avenged Sevenfold & Evanescence (Friday) Disturbed & A Day To Remember (Saturday) Slipknot & Lamb Of God (Sunday) & Many More   America’s Biggest Labor Day Party Friday, August 30 Through Sunday, September 1 At Rockin Red Dirt Ranch In Pryor, Oklahoma   Rocklahoma Joins DWP Festival Roster   Weekend Passes On Sale Friday, April 5 At 10:00…

[vixenpen]

Hobie Brown loves black women (duh) but also (head canons)

because daddy is my latest obsession 🤭

Damn, I leave these tumblr streets for a year and yall out here wildin. It’s come to my attention that yall have the unmitigated gall, the glittering nerve to argue with black women about whether or not Hobie Brown likes black girls. Excuse me???? Does the black punk radical revolutionary from the SEVENTIES!!!! (Cuz yall keep forgetting he lives in 1970s London) like black women?!?!?!

Honey not only does he LOOOVE black women. He loves BLACK women. What do I mean when I say that?

Hobie loves soul sistas with sky high Afros, TWAs, shaved heads, close cut fades

The girls that can quote Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X, bell hooks, and WEB Du Bois with equal conviction and knowledge

I’m talking fist to the sky, power to the people, say it loud I’m black and I’m proud, type tease

I’m talking they wearing all black, leather jackets with their black panther pins stuck to the lapel (and if you think I’m talking about the hero you ain’t black enough for this conversation)

I’m talking the black ladies with the barets that call all black men “my brotha” and all black women “my sistah”

The black women that keep that thang on em and ain’t ever gotta get ready

Hobie loves the loc’ed black girls and the turban wearing sisters

The girls who keep Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, or Langston Hughes on deck usually tucked into their woven knapsacks/leather messenger bags

The sage and incense burning girlies who cleanse their space and say a little prayer of protection on your journey

The orisha worshipping black girlies with alters in their windows and tarot cards on their bookshelf

The girlies that can guess your star sign based on your jaw line.

The girls that smell like cocoa butter with paint on their skirts

Hobie likes his fellow black fem punks with their spiked jewelry and shaved heads

The girlies pushing, shoving, and rioting during the mosh pits

The black girlies with the braid/Mohawk combos.

The girls stomping through the club in demonias with their piercings and black leather accessories

The girls with the drawn on angry eyebrows yet the kindest, gentlest smiles

The girls who prowl the record stores and flip off the shop owner that keeps following them.

The black girlies in the band who are front row and center wailing like Betty Davis and dancing like Tina Turner, a mic in hand or a guitar over her shoulder

Hobie loves the disco divas

The girlies in their sparkly bell bottoms killing it in the discos on Saturday nights

The girlies who think disco will never die

The funky divas and dance floor queens

The girls that audition for soul train every season and win.

The girls with the best record collection especially when it comes to party hits and speaking of parties

He loves the girls who are the first on the dance floor and the last to leave. The lives of the party and the queens of the kick backs

Hobie loves his pothead black girls that always have the good gas

His Mary Jane muses who are always a chill vibe and a good time

The black girls who always have snacks and gum on em cuz they’re always hungry and high.

With their red eyes and quick smiles.

He loves the black girls with a little dime bag and something “a little bit stronger if you need it”

And he loves his black girls black mixed with nothing but black. Two black parents, four black grandparents, the darker the berry the sweeter the juice. Yes he loves dark chocolate girls BUT he loves his black girls of all hues

Albino

Butter scotch

Mahogany

Blue-black

Hobie loves BLACK women

Yall please stop forgetting this man lived during the 70s and there is a very particular type of black woman that was around during the 70s

[handeaux]

Cincinnatians Pitied Yet Feared Predatory ‘Bucket Gangs’ Begging For Beer

There are regular complaints these days about aggressive panhandlers soliciting funds at various locations around town. It will be of little comfort to learn that beggars of that ilk have operated in Cincinnati for ages. During the late 1800s, the most aggressive were even organized. Since their ultimate goal was to fill a bucket with beer they were known as “bucket gangs.” According to the Cincinnati Enquirer [27 August 1882]:

“The ‘Bucket Gang’ are a bad lot, known to the police and saloon-keepers, particularly the latter. Their business, while an old one, improves like all others of a more legitimate character, in that some ingenious member invents a new scheme every now and then, by which a drop of ‘bugle paint’ can be secured. The ‘Bucket gang’ are, in more polite terms, men who will do any thing for a drink, and drink most any thing that resembles or tastes like liquor.”

[As an aside, that term, “bugle paint,” is not much in use these days. It refers to the ability of alcohol to turn the drinker’s nose (his “bugle”) red.]

Bucket gangs ranged from pitiable to dangerous. It cost eight to ten cents to fill a standard pail, known as a growler, with beer, providing one drink apiece for four men. Of course, “standard” covered a lot of territory in those days, so a growler might be an actual bucket of some sort, or it might be an oyster can or some other suitable receptacle.

Members of the bucket gangs were disinclined to find a paying job and so they spent a great deal of time devising assorted schemes to cobble together a dime’s worth of change to fill their suds bucket. A national publication, the Illustrated Police News [13 February 1886] catalogued several stratagems cooked up by Cincinnati bucket gangs.

“A scheme that is worked in Cincinnati is called the ‘bridge game.’ A beat will station himself about a square from the Ohio River bridge and stop every passerby with, ‘Won’t you please give me enough money to cross the bridge? I can get a job of work in Covington or Newport, but the bridge has to be crossed.’ Hardly a man will refuse a plea of this kind, so they are almost always successful.”

The Police News related the story of a bucket gang left high and dry in the middle of the Courthouse Riot of 1884, with not a penny between them to slake their thirst. Finally, one of their number had an inspiration. He appointed one of the gang to go to his house and tell his mother that he had been shot in the riot and it would cost a dollar to bring him home.

“They were all loud in their praise of his excellent suggestion. One started at once for the fellow’s home. Going up two flights of stairs, a rap on the door soon brought Mrs. J_____. He told a pitiful tale of how her son was shot, and the patrol wagons were so busy carrying away the dead that they could not bring him home, but there was an expressman on the corner who would bring him home for a dollar. His distracted mother could not give the dollar quick enough. Her son was brought home that night, but not shot – only half-shot.”

Another ruse was known as the stamp racket. In this endeavor, the bucket gang split up, each going to a store or business to ask for a stamp so he could send a letter to his dear mother, or his sister or some other relative. Few shopkeepers failed to be moved by such heartwarming tales and soon the gang had enough stamps to trade for some amber refreshment.

The Enquirer offered a few more examples of dipsomaniac creativity. For example, it was common practice for a saloon-keeper to stack his emptied beer barrels on the sidewalk in front of his place so the brewery driver could grab them quickly and haul them back for refill. The bucket gangs knew that “empty” was never totally empty, so the cold light of dawn often found a crew tipping the exhausted kegs nearly vertical to capture the few remaining precious dregs.

Another once-successful dodge had fallen into obsolescence by the 1880s because it had been used too often and saloon-keepers were wary of it. Among the best solvents for whitewash was stale beer and those men in the trade usually had an agreement with a neighborly barkeep to save any sudsless lager for his use. The bucket gangs would send one of their younger members into a likely saloon to explain that he was helping his dear old father on a whitewashing job and would there be any stale beer around? Sometimes the publican turned over the dregs and sometimes he chased the beggar down the street.

Sometimes, whether because they were out of stratagems or because they were incapable of devising one, bucket gangs descended to brute force and the Cincinnati police courts were full of such miscreants. It appeared that almost every neighborhood had its own variation on the bucket gang.

Scott Gerhardt was accosted in 1883 by a bucket gang based on Hunt Street in Pendleton. He was surrounded while the gang leader asked for a dime. While complying with the demand, Gerhardt pulled $1.35 from his pocket, all the money he had. According to the Enquirer [25 September 1883]:

“This one of the gang grabbed and succeeded in escaping with it after a severe tussle in which the victim was roughly dealt with.”

The Sixteenth Ward bucket gang, usually congregating around the corner of Court and Cutter Streets in the West End, attacked Eugene Sturgeon, a Cincinnati Water Works employee, one February night in 1886. Sturgeon, on his way home from work, recognized the gang and tried to run away, but was felled by a tossed brick. Thinking they had killed their victim, the gang scattered, but Sturgeon recovered enough to make his way home.

The Commercial Tribune [5 September 1881] reported a tussle between Officer James Dunn and four members of a bucket gang who had commandeered a canal boat tied up between Vine and race streets as their headquarters. As Officer Dunn attempted to arrest the ringleader, a fellow named Pete Nolan, the other three jumped him and, despite their various degrees of inebriation, were getting the best of him. Dunn drew his revolver and fired one shot, striking a conscientious citizen who was rushing to his aid. Dunn maintained his grip on Nolan and managed to deliver him to Central Station. The injured civilian was treated at the city hospital.

[theperplexedpoet]

once upon a time (twice upon the page)

once upon a time twice upon the page victim of the rhyme captive of the cage came to need it more symptoms dropped the dime ripped him to his core once upon a time once upon a time twice upon the page addict fell in line thought himself a sage couldn't see the score made it hard to gauge so he just gave more twice upon the page crimson in the inkwell see the cold steel stab it now emptier than hell junkie has a habit once upon a time twice upon the page should have been a crime way the pen engaged cutting for the lore the act was defined as it was before once upon a time crimson in the inkwell see the cold steel dab it pain now all that excels junkie has a habit once upon a time twice upon the page relived through the rhyme as it sets the stage for the days in store riot and the rage hoped it would be more twice upon the page crimson in the inkwell see the cold steel stab it stories that he retells junkie has a habit once upon a time twice upon the page victim of the rhyme captive of the cage (7/12/24)

[fallentitan98]

1. No he fucking didn’t. Seriously, he didn’t say shit other then the LGBT is trying it’s hardest to remove the B because they aren’t anti-straight. Which he’s RIGHT about. He is correct about that, and whether you think so or not doesn’t change anything.

2. Cool, it wasn’t cops being dragged out of stores and beaten to death. It wasn’t cops businesses getting burned down and looted. (Other then that one building that was). All that fighting back I see is a bunch of entitled assholes who want their spot light because their parents never loved them. Bunch of people lighting fires and attacking each other like some rabid mobs. Real great job.

Look, I wish this country gave half a shit about white lives as black lives. A fucking white man is recorded beings executed by police, crying and begging to be let go while the fuckers laugh at him and kill him right in front of the door to his home. The damn cop that executed him got paid time off for “mental trauma” and sued to get even more money and a promotion from the station. No one cared. Not a single fucking riot. Not a single fucking protest. The whole damn thing was recorded, audio and visual, and it didn’t amount for shit. Nothing.

The only reason people get upset when a black person dies is because we’re all taught that there lives matter more, that they’re special, that if you’re black and you put your mind to it you can anything. That Black Lives Matter more. Meanwhile white people are a dime a dozen nobodies.

Shit man, what else can I say? I watched a man get executed. And it didn’t even get on the news. But a black thug who once threatened to shoot a pregnant woman in the belly dies because some fat ass police fucktard put his knee his neck, killing him because he couldn’t breath. And the whole damn world learns his name, riots all over the world over his death, politicians and celebrities call his name out and demand change.

A white man being murdered by police means nothing, while a black man being murdered by police means everything. You tell me, how the hell am I supposed to care? Maybe I just low empathy or whatever but shit man. How am I supposed to care when I know for a fact if it happened to me nothing would happen?

Look I don’t agree with everything kob says, not by a mile, but he is right. BLM is pretty awful from everything I’ve seen, being basically the same as PETA, says they’re helping people when really they’re just being dick bags. And as a bisexual, I can definitely say the LGBTQ+ community has been beyond shitty to us alongside aces.

Cool, so the LGBT community as a whole is a hate group because of a (valid) issue they have? That's essentially what he's saying.

Also, uh...yeah no, BLM all the way, acab, etc. Sorry they aren't reenacting the extremely whitewashed version of the civil rights movement.

[black-paraphernalia]

THIS IS A PIVOTING POINT IN HISTORY

IT SHOW WHAT A BLACK COMMUNITY CAN DO GIVEN THE CHANCE

AND

WHAT A WHITE COMMUNITY CAN DO GIVEN A CHANCE

WE MUST LEARN FROM HISTORY AND ACT ON THE KNOWLEGE TO IMPROVE OR CONTINUE TO LIVE WITH THE DAMAGES IN THE WORST WAY.

PART 2 OF 3

One hundred years ago on May 31, 1921, and into the next day, a white mob destroyed Tulsa’s burgeoning Greenwood District, known as the “Black Wall Street,” in what experts call the single-most horrific incident of racial terrorism since slavery.

HOW BLACK WALL STREET STARTED

A BLACK MAN’S DREAM WHO UNDERSTOOD THE POWER OF THE BLACK DOLLAR IN A BLACK COMMUNITY-

IT WAS BLACK ON BLACK DIME NOT CRIME

ANOTHER WEALTH BUILDER and ACTIVIST WAS 

John B (for the Baptist) Stradford (1861-1935)

He was born a free man in Versailles, Kentucky in 1861. His father, J.C. Stradford was a former slave who had been emancipated and was living in Stradford, Ontario (Canada) but who returned to the U.S. and was in Versailles when his son was born. Not much is known about J. B. Stradford’s his early life before his graduation from Oberlin College in 1896, and Indiana Law School in 1899.

Stradford was a shrewd businessman. While living in Lawrenceburg, Kentucky, and St. Louis, Missouri, he ran pool halls, bathhouses, shoeshine parlors and boarding houses. Stradford migrated to Indian Territory (now Oklahoma) in 1899 with his wife Augusta, and settled in the newly found town of Tulsa, eventually becoming one of the most prominent individuals in the town.

He got involved in the building of the all-black Greenwood section of Tulsa with another early settler, O.W. Gurley, as they both built fortunes in real estate and rental units.  Stradford also became a civil rights activist for local African Americans.

He filed a lawsuit against the St. Louis and San Francisco Railway company for failing to provide proper accommodations for black travelers, and he publicly opposed lynching and many of the new Jim Crow laws enacted when Oklahoma became a state in 1907.

On June 1, 1918 Stradford opened the luxurious fifty-four room Stradford Hotel at 301 N. Greenwood Avenue. It was the largest black owned and operated hotel in Oklahoma and one of the few black-owned hotels in the United States. The Stradford had a dining hall, a gambling room, a saloon, and a large hall for events such as live music. By 1920 Stradford had become the richest black man in Tulsa, owning over fifteen rental properties and an apartment building, along with the hotel. (Source blackpast.org)

Black Paraphernalia Disclaimer - images from Google images

When the Tulsa Massacre began on June 1, 1921, where an estimated 300 blacks were killed by white rioters, Stradford stood in front of his hotel armed with a rifle until he was overwhelmed by the white mobs that had invaded the community. Eventually the entire black commercial district, all the buildings along a thirty-four-block area on and near Greenwood Avenue, were destroyed including the Stradford Hotel. 

Although the damage was clearly done by white mobs, Stradford and twenty other black people were indicted for inciting a riot. Stradford’s son, attorney C.F. Stradford posted bail but fearing for his life, Stradford jumped bail and escaped to Independence, Kansas before finally settling in Chicago, Illinois. For the next few years, he and his son fought his extradition to Tulsa.

While in Chicago Stradford formed a group of investors to build a new luxury hotel but the project ran out of money and the building was never completed. He did own a candy store, barbershop and a pool hall but he never duplicated his success in Tulsa. J.B. Stradford died in Chicago on December 22, 1935. In 1996, a Tulsa jury acquitted Stradford of all charges relating to the Tulsa Race Riot.  (Source blackpast.org)

[saddiedotdk]

How Can We Win Kimberly Jones Video Full Length David Jones Media Clean ...

Full Transcript (For people who may need it and can't hear it. Edited to fix typos.) 

So, I've been seeing a lot of things talking and people making commentary—interestingly enough, the one's I've noticed that have been making the commentary are wealthy black people—making the commentary that you should not be rioting, you should not be looting, you should not be tearing up your own communities. And then, there's been the argument of the other side that we should be hitting them in the pocket, we should be focusing on the black out days where we don't spend money. But, you know, I feel like we should do both. And, I feel like I support both. And, I will tell you why I support both. 

I support both because when you have a civil unrest like this there are three types of people in the streets: there are the protesters, there are the rioters, and there are the looters. 

The protesters are there because they actually care about what is happening in the community, they want to raise their voices, and they're there strictly to protest. 

You have the rioters who are angry, who are anarchists, who really just want to fuck shit up, and that is what they are going to do regardless. 

And then you have the looters. And, the looters almost exclusively are just there to do that: to loot. And now, people are like: "What did you gain?" "What did you get from looting?" 

I think that as long as we are focusing on the what we're not focusing on the why and that is my issue with that. As long as we are focusing on what they are doing, we are not focusing on why they are doing. Some people are like, "Well those aren't people who are legitimately angry about what's happening. Those are people who just want to get stuff." 

Ok, well then, let's go with that, let's say that's what it is. Let's ask ourselves why, in this country, in 2020, the financial gap between poor blacks and the rest of world is at such a distance that people feel like that their only help and only opportunity to get some of the things that we flaunt and flash in front of them all the time is to walk through a broken glass window and get it. They are so hopeless that getting that necklace, getting that tv, getting that change, getting that bag, getting that phone, whatever it is that they are going to get, is that in that moment when the riots happen and they are presented with an opportunity of looting that is their only opportunity to get it. 

We need to be questioning that why. Why are people that poor? Why are people that broke? Why are people that food insecure? That clothing insecure? That they feel like their only shot that they're shooting their shot by walking through a broken glass window to get what they need. And then, people want to talk about there are plenty of people who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and got it on their own. Why can't they do that?

Let me explain something about economics in America. (And, I'm so glad that as a child an opportunity to spend time at PUSH where they taught me this.) It's that we must never forget that economics was the reason that black people were brought to this country. We came to do the agricultural work in the South and the textile work in the North. Do you understand that? That is what we came to do. We came to do the agricultural work in the South and the textile work in the North. 

Now, if I right now, if I right now decided that I wanted to play Monopoly with you and 400 rounds of playing Monopoly I didn't allow you to have any money. I didn't allow you to have anything on the board. I didn't allow for you to have anything and then we played another 50 rounds of Monopoly and every thing that you gained and you earned while you were playing that round of monopoly was taken from you. That was Tulsa. That was Rosewood. Those are places where we built Black economic wealth. We were self sufficient. Where we owned our stores. Where we owned our property. And, they burned them to the ground. 

So that's four-hundred and fifty years, so for 400 rounds of Monopoly you don't get to play at all. Not only do you not get to play, you have to play on the behalf of the person that you're playing against. You have to play and make money and earn wealth for them and then you have to turn it over to them. 

So, then for 50 years you finally get a little bit and you're allowed to play and every time they don't like the way that you're playing or that you're catching up or what you're doing to be self-sufficient, they burn your game. They burn your cards. They burn your monopoly money. And then, finally, after release and the onset of that they allow you to play and they say "Ok now you catch up." At this point the only way you're going to catch up in the game is if the person shares the wealth. Correct? But what if every time you share the wealth, then there is psychological warfare against you to say: "Oh, you're an equal opportunity hire." 

So, if I play 400 rounds of monopoly with you and I have to play and give you every dime that I make and then for 50 years every time that I play and if you didn't like what I did you got to burn like they did in Tulsa and like they did in Rosewood. How can you win? How can you win? You can't win. The game is fixed. 

So, when they say why do you burn the community? Why burn down your own neighborhood? It's not ours! We don't own anything! We don't own anything! There is... Trevor Noah said it so beautifully last night. There is a social contract that we all have that if you steal or if I steal then the person who is the authority comes in and they fix the situation. But, the person that fixes this situation is killing us! So, the social contract is broken! And if the social contract is broken, why the fuck do I give a shit about burning the fucking football hall of fame or about burning a fucking Target? 

You broke the contract when you killed us in the street and didn't give a fuck! You broke the contract when for 400 years we played your game and built your wealth! 

 You broke the contract when we built our wealth again on our own, on our bootstraps in Tulsa and you dropped bombs on us! We built it in Rosewood and you came in and you slaughtered us! You broke the contract! 

So, fuck your Target! Fuck your hall of fame! As far as I'm concerned they could burn this bitch to the ground. And it still wouldn't be enough. 

And, they are lucky that what black people are looking for is equality and not revenge.

[shaydeoffical]

Bright as a Diamond. Hitoshi Shinsou x Fem Reader: Chapter Four

Summary: When (Y/N)’s co-worker decided to send a picture of her making a diamond to the paper, her life was over. Gemstone based quirks weren’t all that rare, but being able to make a diamond put a target on her back. After years of hiding in the city, it’s time to hide in the countryside with her Uncle Shota Aizawa and his more than ‘roommate’ Hizashi Yamada. With the promise of training her to be self-sufficient, she’s ready to learn.

Chapter Three: 

https://ambershaydeoffical.tumblr.com/post/611141904327983104/bright-as-a-diamond-hitoshi-shinsou-x-fem-reader

Chapter Five: https://ambershaydeoffical.tumblr.com/post/612522066443436032/bright-as-a-diamond-hitoshi-shinsou-x-fem-reader

Monday

   My alarm was a few minutes from going off, so I sat in silence, waiting for it to cry out that I had to move. The new mattress was firm enough; I didn't sink but soft enough that it supported my curves. Still, I couldn't fight off the nightmares.

   With the first siren, I had shut down the machine. Grasping my compact, I dabbed concealer under my eyes and applied the thinnest layer of blush I could get by with. Pushing my hair up into a tight bun, I was happy with my minimal look.

   Grabbing my phone, I nearly dropped it to the floor—two thousand unread emails on my school account. My lips formed into an o, and I remembered that I had been the main topic of the Wednesday paper, of course, someone would leak my email.  

   As I scanned the emails, most were for charity auctions. Wanting me to demonstrate how my quirk works, then offer the highest bidder one of my perfect diamonds. Others were from geologists wishing to study how I create crystals from nothing but my body. A few were from people spilling their life story and asking for my help. The list went on and on and on.

   "Shota?" I called my uncle, stumbling, from my room. He was in his sleeping bag on the kitchen floor.

   "Hmm?" he glanced up.

   "Someone leaked my university email." I whimpered, pursing my lips together. "How am I supposed to see what my professors post. People know my school now. Like- I-"

   "Calm down." Shota sat up and took my phone. "Go finish getting ready, and I'll fix it."

   "Yes, sir." I went back to my room, pulled on my tighter pencil skirt, then I remembered. Then I put on a purple blouse and a cute blazer. Of course, the jewelry I wore mattered, so I put the necklace my dad made me under my shirt and placed a simple chain to be visible. Then I positioned some magnetic gold studs and put a gold anklet on over my pantyhose. Before leaving my room, I created ruby, emerald, and a diamond to top it off. With the gems in my hand, I crushed them into fine sand then added them to my jar.

   After that, I brushed my teeth, put on honey inspired perfume, and emptied my bladder. Nothing was going to hold me back from making a sale today. Of course, I preferred being in the background, but I could still rock the front line and make some sales.

   When I was back in the living room, Shota handed me my phone, and as he said, all the spam was gone. "Wow, thank you so much," I beamed, scrolling through my inbox, checking to see if my teachers had any important messages.

   "Breakfast," Hizashi yelled. When I entered the kitchen, there sat none other then Shinso. He was at one end of the table, and Shota took the other. With my nose upturned, I sat across from Hizashi and served myself.

   "Good morning," Shinso greeted me, offering me the dish filled with rice.

   "Hmph," I took the dish and plopped out a portion. "Thank you."  

   "So you were raised with manors," Shinso smirked, then raised a brow.

   "It's too early," I warned, popping my fingers and a rouge opal hitting the table. "Shit."

   "Does that happen often?" Hizashi picked up the dime-sized oval and held it to the light. "It's huge."

   "You're embarrassing me," I reached for the stone, but he kept it arms length. "Let me handle it."

   "This is beautiful, we need to have it made into something. Wow, Shota did you know-"

   "Please give it back." Tears were close to spilling over, but I held it back.  The heads of the table were silently watching. God, they were looking at me. I didn't want Shinso to know. I did-

   "This would look great on my guitar." Hizashi was still in his own mind. I couldn't breathe. Why?

   Trembling, I stood from the table and grabbed my phone. I couldn't glance at any of them, having looked like enough of a brat. "Ya know what, keep it. It will look super cool, just never tell anyone where it came from." I winced but kept walking to the door. I needed to change the wrap on my feet. "I'm going to be late."

   "I was going to drive you," Shota interjected, sitting up.

   "No, thank you. I'm leaving with enough time to make it. Thanks for breakfast." I hadn't eaten more than a few bites, but it didn't matter.

   Leaving like this meant I couldn't make lunch or pack a pocketbook for my money. I had a ten in my pocket and a hankie for the rest of the day. Picking up my bike, I hurdled off the porch getting a good first push. I hadn't gotten much taller since I was fourteen, so the seat was still in a decent position.

   Halfway to the main road, I was low on the breath but kept going. Tears had been free-flowing since I shut the door, but I refused to wipe them away. My quirk was dangerous, my quirk was valuable, my quirk was a double-edged sword. It's not that I cared that Hizashi loved my opal. I was ready to kill myself for losing control and making it. Putting myself in danger was the issue.  

   If that happened in public, I'd be in a huge mess. Hell, it already had happened and had been made public. Now I was in the same position as my father, but maybe even worse. Nothing was worse than the world, knowing my secret.

   I must have been a site when I hit the main road. Tears flowing thicker than sweat. Dressed to kill, while pleading a children's bicycle. As long as no one tried to talk to me, I'd calm down before I had to make a good first impression.

   The nice thing about the jewelry industry is they didn't want me to make jewels. Well, not my personal store, they were more interested in keeping the demand high and supply scarce.  In fact, the article published about me probably hurt some of our customers.  We specialized in ethically sourced gems and offering natures best. I was not nature, I was something else.

   When I finally got to the store, I had five minutes before I was to clock in. I ran into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. My phone buzzed, and a picture of my bike was sent to my phone.

   The number was unknown, so I ignored it. Preceding out of the bathroom with caution, I was meet with my coworker from my last job.  Kira Nara, the boy who blew my quirk out of the closet. He was older than me by around seven years, divorced, and easy enough to get along with.

   "What are you doing here?" I shuffled from one foot to the other, feeling a slight squish. If I could catch a break for even one moment, that would be nice…

   "I transferred too," he grabbed my hand and bowed. "I felt so bad over the whole picture thing, that I wanted to move in solidarity. We are in this together." I could see the black hair on his head was thinning, probably a mix of age and stress. "The shop back home was such a mess after you left. News reports kept dropping by, and all these companies asking for donations. The boss thought it would be good if I came with you."    

   "In other words, since you spilled the beans, everyone wanted to talk to you as well." Kicking the carpet slightly, I pulled my hand free. "Alright, let's make the best of this."

   "So you forgive me?" He lifted from his potion, hanging to every word I could utter.

   "Yes, you didn't know. Just don't do it again." I was too soft for my own good. Still, I couldn't cause a riot within the workplace. "So have you meet the boss yet?"

   "I am the manager," he gushed, gesturing to his name badge.

   "Oh. So will I get to meet the head manger?" I asked, stepping behind the counter and finding my case key taped on the side of the safe.

   "At some point, he mainly works the busy hours. Really they didn't need this position, but they felt loyal to our branch. It works in our favor." Kira pressed a hand against the case, and it took everything in me not to slap him upside the head. His large hands left an imprint that I would need to wipe down later, no doubt.

   "Okay, so it's going to be quiet. That's good, more time for homework." I walked over to the stool and started to pull up my e-books. Kira had already put the display out, and I knew that was all I needed to do till a customer strolled in.

   "So did you move somewhere around town?" Kira slid down to where I sat, adding more fingerprints.

   "Something like that," I nodded, scrolling to the next page of my book. "Did you relocate?"

   "I did. You should come by and see the place. It overlooks the ocean and has an indoor pool. You love to swim, don't you?" He pulled up a chair and sat across from me.  It never mattered when acted like this in the back, but now he was blocking the display. Sure there were no customers yet, but it didn't look very professional.

   What are you thinking, (Y/n), you're his only friend in this city? Of course, he's nervous and just trying to settle in. Not everyone is as familiar as yourself with running the front of the shop.

   "Yes, I love swimming. But it's hardly the season for that anymore." Pushing my phone back into my pocket, I smiled. "So do they allow pets. I'm sure you brought your puppy with you. A German Shepard mix, right?"

   "Of course, I brought Miso." He lit up with my full attention. "Did your mother come with you?"

   "Uh, no." I clamed up, trying to refocus the conversation. "I'm so much closer to the university through. It's exciting."

   "Oh yea, I'm sure you're doing well in your classes. You're so intelligent and dedicated, you must be at the top of the class."

   "Don't flatter me, I'm doing well but not that well. I'd be doing better if my mom wasn't so sick." I rolled my tongue over my teeth and started to think about my next training session.

   "It's a quirk related illness, right?" He pried.

   "Something like that. Oh, a customer," an older lady walked in. I cursed for not having the glass spotless. But tended to her needs regardless.

   True to my word, I made a sale on my first day. A fifty dollar glass bead bracelet with customizable charms. She was in love with the birthstone charms and got one for each of her grandchildren.  I was able to explain the properties of the birthstones and offer her a wide array of cuts for the gems.

   My body rushed with emotions, as the lady stepped outside. The simple sale reminding me how much I enjoyed sharing my passion for stones. That was the only customer for the rest of the shift. As I was part-time, and Kira had been promoted to manager, I was able to call it a day.

   Kira had talked my ear off all day, but I did find time to study when he took his lunch break. With so much left to read, I put the audio text reader on and listened to my lesson on the way home. Of course, their big hill that was a bitch to walk up this morning, but fun to glide down now. Using that momentum, to make it the side road to lead home.

   My tummy rumbled, and I was more than ready to eat a horse. I used my ten to buy a few snacks at the convince store that was now secured on the handlebars. I smiled, seeing the small ranch house, and pedaled down the driveway.  

   When I got my shoes off, I realized that I had opened my wounds, and now my blood was dried to my socks. Cursing under my breath, I decided to rip them off quickly. With the first one-off, I curled into my side and breathed through the pain.

   Hips bleeding. Bruises up and down. Sleeping on my back for relief. Neck cramps.

   Gritting my teeth, I pulled off the other and put on my house shoes. Scampering to the tub, I washed off all the sweat from my bike ride and the blood from my feet. Mixing in epsom salt to the water, I leaned back and enjoyed a moment alone. The water was hot as I could stand it, and I twirled in the water and imagined it like a hug.

   A knock on the door broke my train of thought. "(Y/n), can we talk?" It was Hizashi.

   "Can you hear me?" I asked, pulling the curtain back so my voice would travel further.

   "Yes. I wanted to apologize for this morning. Shota told me why it upset you. I'd never seen your quirk in action, and I was blindsided at how cool it was." I could imagine his frown from my position.

   "I'd make you a hundred opals, but I can't risk it. Even with my cover blown, I can't have people tracing them back to me." I popped a bubble as it drifted by. "No matter how awesome or cool, I have to pretend it doesn't exist. I forgive you, and I'm sorry I have made it such a big deal. I lost control of my quirk for a moment and made things awkward between us."

   "We're all good now?"

   "Yes, we're good. We get along too well not be on excellent terms," relief washed over me as I sunk back into the water.

   "Rock on." He cheered, taping the wall before heading' off.

   Once my bath was done, I changed into my pj's early and made a quick sandwich before I went for a nap. After eating, I curled into bed and stared at my phone. The center's number was preloaded, but I couldn't find it in my heart to press call. Instead, I covered my face and closed my eyes, it would be better tomorrow.  

[trying-write-fanfics]

OverhaulXReader part 41 (E)

So this a different path/decision written for the long ass Overhaul story. Basically this part takes place after part 40, but the E and the O in the titles stand for different paths. I hope that’s not too confusing.

Y/n had forgotten to set her alarms. Though she didn’t sleep much the night before, she had the morning. When she did wake up, she felt like shit. It was hard to peel herself out of bed because she wanted to go back and sleep. Kai really did a number on her last night, so much build up to only get ruined by more fighting. 

 Marriage? Now? What was she thinking? Sure her life was pretty set in the career department, but Overhaul didn’t want her around his men for his own reasons. He didn’t think she could defend herself, BUT HE WAS RIGHT! Marrying someone he has to worry about would probably be too much for him.

 When she entered the bakery she was expecting to get scolded, but everyone had hounded her for a completely different reason.

“Don’t clock in just yet!”

“I can’t believe it!”

“A pro hero wants you to visit the hospital!”

 They all wanted to know how she was close with a pro-hero. Y/n couldn’t believe how the events were getting weirder. First she had an over the top romantic date with her boyfriend which ended in life threatening disaster, and now a pro-hero summoned her. She knew exactly who it was, but she didn’t think her friendship with Tai was that deep. Then again it’s been a couple years and she does give him free food. 

“Is it dire?” She asked.

“Of course it is!” Her employees pushed her. 

 It hit her that only the staff at the old restaurant knew about her being in a relationship. Ever since she had the bakery she never really mentioned Overhaul, no one really asked. They all just thought it was a little cool that pro-hero Fatgum would stop by. 

“Alright, don’t burn the place down.” She yawned.

“Oversleep? Is that why you’re late?”

“Yeah I ran into some villain activity last night.”

“They should use you as a radar to find villains!” 

She wanted to call Overhaul, but resisted the urge. He told her last night he had an early morning. He was working and couldn’t be bothered with little worries. Oh to be engaged. To show it off to her co-workers and then say they’re having a small wedding. How she’d rub it in her mother’s face for trying to set her up with that gross doctor. It would be a true fairytale ending. Would she go traditional or western for the dress? Overhaul would probably want to go traditional, but she wanted a big puffy skirt and call herself a full cake. Telling her he loves her in front of everyone they know. Oh such naughty thoughts. But he didn't propose, so it would be best to store such thoughts.

 At the hospital,  the nurses directed Y/n to Fatgum. There were two younger people in the room with him. Suneater who she recognized despite the bandages, and an even younger body in a full cast. Both the boys were asleep. She didn’t even recognize Tai. He was in a hospital gown, awake. He had a bandage on his face and head. 

 “I might be in the wrong room.”  She said.

“Did someone else call you?” Oh it was his voice.

“I’ve never seen you without a mask before.” She tried covering up. “Sorry sorry.”

“It’s fine, Red Riot over there didn’t even know it was me and I was with him during the whole transformation.” He told her 

“You have a whole party in here. What happened?”

“I can’t give you too many details, but we did complete a raid.”

Fatgum had a plan. Considering Y/n was still in the city, and willing to visit him, she doesn’t know what happened to the Shie Hassakai yet. Despite her lack of knowledge that didn’t make him feel easy. It seemed the league and the Shie Hassakai were not on good terms when they worked together. She may have been used without knowing it, but she wasn’t safe yet. He wanted her here so that no one would attack her. Her fate was unsure. 

“Did you need anything from me? Meals?” She asked him 

 “Nothing like that, I thought maybe I could turn the tables.” He tried joking. 

“Too bad I’m not a hero.” She told him. “I’d have to change my whole wardrobe if I was.” 

“Thank you for coming, Y/n. You’re a good friend.” He was worried this visit was going to be too short.

Tai was learning a lot from her movements. She didn’t see flustered or worried about Overhaul. She couldn’t have known. If she did there would be no reason how she could act so calmly. She’d be overwhelmed if she found out her boyfriend's place was raided. What if they were never a couple and Tai only put a bunch of information that seemed connected wasn’t? Sure they did go to the same elementary, and maybe she came back home just to be close with her family or the place she grew up at. Maybe her and Overhaul got a drink once or they were friendly at her restaurant which made that guy assume they were more than something and choked her. Overhaul was just probably being nice. Sure her grandpa was connected to the old head, but her parents seemed to have distanced themselves as much as possible, which probably distanced Y/n. They might know each other and that is all. Overhaul could have used someone else's regeneration quirk despite Y/n being the closed guess. There were so many things they still didn’t know. 

“Well you did the same for me. At least you have your interns with you.” She told him. “I bet you were a great leader.”

“I feel like a lot of the good today was already in their hearts.” He told Y/n.

 Y/n stayed a bit longer but confessed she had to get back to work. Fatgum tried to sway her, but his words fell on deaf ears. She promised she’d bring him a meal tomorrow and for his interns, but for now she had to manage the bakery.

 The Wicked Sparrow’s bakery was hopping with customers and her employees were bustling. They asked her the connection she had with pro hero Fatgum over and over and just drooled over the story of being personally saved. They all had at least seen him in person a couple times since he was a customer who wasn’t so easily disguised. They asked if he was her boyfriend, but she told the truth and said “no”. 

 It felt wrong, the whole day did. Overhaul was going to propose, she knew it in her heart! He mentioned it at a wedding for crying out loud! Now her friend was injured and her employees gushed over her closeness to a hero. They came a dime a dozen! 

 When the work day was done, Y/n dragged herself to the subway to get home. She hadn’t heard from Overhaul all day, but that wasn’t new. She just missed him. Especially now. She wishes she could tell both Overhaul and Fatgum to get different jobs, less dangerous. It would be easier said than done. These jobs were what they dreamed of since they were young, being there head of the yakuza and a pro-hero. 

Y/n unlocked her apartment door and found her place to be a mess. The couch was flipped, wine glasses were broke, there were papers everywhere. She hesitated but slowly stepped in the house. She knew it was best to call the police before walking in, but she might have had stuff to hide. She turned into the bathroom to find the sink running. She shut it off and pulled the shower curtain to see if anyone was hiding. No one. Behind her she heard a click, and her eyes widened. Danger again. Something that happened so many times and yet the feeling never adapted well. Her eyes looked in the mirror to find a man with a gas mask on behind her pointing a gun at the back of her head. 

“If you wanna live, come with me.” 

“O-okay.” She shook. 

“Wait.” He said as Y/n turned to face the man. 

He took her phone out of her pocket and smashed it against the sink. That was her only hope! There would have to be some sort of GPS on it, she gave Overhaul her “find my friends”. And now she’s gonna die!

Y/n followed him to the car. He instructed her to get in the back seat as he drove. The locks on the car had child locks to prevent the escape. 

“This won’t be so bad I promise.” The man said

Oh god she was going to get...she couldn’t even think it. Her lungs tightened. 

“You don’t trust me?”

“I’m gonna end up on the news, being a dismembered body aren’t I?” She asked, shaking. 

“No, not that.” He told her.

 The man’s demeanor was different in the apartment than in the car. In the apartment he was intimidating, wanting to kill her, y’all, looking over her, broke her phone. Now he was more casual and relaxed. Trying to make it seem this wasn’t the worst thing to happen. If she stayed with Fatgum maybe this wouldn’t happen even though this guy was hiding in her place. It was inevitable wasn’t it? He was probably crazy, he was pulling this. 

“I actually don’t know how you’re gonna take any of it, to be quite honest.” He told her. 

“Why do you care? Are you a stalker?” Why is he pretending to care how she takes this! He kidnapped her. “If you’re gonna kill me why didn’t you just do it back there?”

“Well I’m not a stalker...okay maybe sorta, I was interested in who you are.” He told her.

“Oh my god!” She fiddled with the door handle that didn’t do anything to unlock. 

“Hey, hey calm down! I’m not gonna hurt you unless you make me!”

“I just might make you, I’m not as submissive as you think!” She growled, kicking his seat.

“Hey hey! I’m taking you somewhere! Can’t you see I’m driving!”

“If I’m gonna die, I’ll take us both down!” She yelled. 

 Noticing she wasn’t wearing her seat belt the man took a sharp fast turn which caused her to slam her face in the windows. She groaned as she held her cheek.

“Dick.” She told him. 

“You made me!” He yelled.

“Yeah, I made you kidnap me!”

“I’m doing something nice for someone.”

“Oh my god! Did my mom put you up to this! What is it this time! That I didn’t come crawling back to her and that now it’s real that I wasn’t coming back!”

Under the mask the man felt the pressure of the situation rising. She was just throwing wild cards at him and he didn’t know how to respond, but also keep the favor concealed. 

“What? She did, didn’t she?”

“No. Right now the less you know the better.”

“That’s so unfair! How long is it gonna take for us to get to wherever you’re driving?” 

“A while. I was hoping we can talk to keep the drive less boring, but it seems to only be stressful. I’ll turn on the radio.” He said.

Ariana Grande’s Break Free came on. It was the chorus. 

“Looks like the radio is trying to tell me something.” Y/n said.

“We’re obviously not listening to that.” Told her.

He dialed the radio and the next station was playing Sweet Escape by Gwen Steffani. He could see Y/n raising an eyebrow at him. Sweating, he put on the news, and it was about a woman escaping from her abuser and setting them on fire. 

“NEVER MIND!” The man yelled turning off the radio. 

The car ride was long, but Y/n was feeling like she could put her guard down just a little bit. It was gonna be a long car ride that didn’t seem like it was going to end. While the man couldn’t do anything but drive, she could at least relax her muscles. She wondered what Overhaul was doing. She didn’t know if he knew she was missing her not. He might be too embarrassed to face her just yet after last night. He shouldn’t though, though he despises so many heros, he was her hero last night. But it’s still a high possibility. She also didn’t message him at all today! The day slipped away from her! That could add to the distance. If he did find out she was missing, he would probably lose it. It would start with a call to ask about last night, he can surprise her. Sure they are immature sometimes, but Overhaul did overcome a lot to be with Y/n, she knew that. There would be no pick up. When he gets a free moment he would break in and see her place was a mess. Though she was the messier one, she wasn’t that messy. But what hints or clues would he have to be able to track her down. She was a goner. 

“Hey, I have a favor to ask, stalker.”

“I can’t let you out.”

“If I’m gonna die, I wanna at least let someone know how much I love them. You can read the letter if you want if you’re worried if I’m gonna snitch you out. We can mail it from a random address too. I just can’t forgive myself if I left things like I did.”

“Did you two break up?” The man asked.

“First of all rude, yes I’m in a relationship, and no we didn’t fight last night.” Her knife like tone was back up. “I just want him to know my feelings haven’t changed, even if it’s hard to tell sometimes.”

“Well I’m not gonna kill you.”

“So who is?”

“I meant the purpose of this trip isn’t gonna get you killed.” The man said.

“I don’t trust like that.” She told him.

“I’ll think about it, but we’re almost there anyway.”

She sighed. Y/n’s eyes looked through the tinted window to see they were on the coast. Her eyes went to the other window finding they were in a less populated area. There was grass and trees, the waves crashed on the sand. The sun was going down. Y/n didn’t even know what to think at such a location. Who did she know would want her at a beach? It wasn’t a nice beach, a little dumpy with litter and seaweed. The car pulled into the rundown town. There were no huge big store names. Some even were planting flowers in their windows. They drove out of the downtown area and then drove into some secluded private property. There was a lot of land, a lot of lush greenery too, covering the house from the street view. They parked in front of the small cabin. 

 “Whatever you do, try not to scream.” The man told her. 

Y/n gulped as she was reaching for the front door.

[michael-langdon-appreciation]

um if you’re doin the ship things still,,,, i’d like one pls 🥺 okay so i’m a 17 year old cosmetology student. i’m 5’9”. i always wear huge platforms. i’m loud asf and pretty energetic. i LUV makeup, fashion, hair, anything having to do w/ aesthetics. i change my hair a lot (rn it’s half black and half silver n rlly short,, my eyebrows match my hair too ofc) i have a few piercings, double nostril (the nose rings match my hair) lastly, i’m a cat lady and i work at a thrift store :)) thank u!!

Yes of course! 😊😊💖

I ship you with: Jim Mason

Jim was a customer who came into the thrift shop you work in. Newly released from Rehab, Jim Mason didn’t have a dime to his name. Living with his twin rent-free till he fell on his feet, Jim was perusing the racks only to end up perusing you instead. He loves your vibrancy and love of life, which always reminds him to keep going and smile no matter what. 

He lets you dress him up for fun and the two of you are a riot at parties. But despite all that, there’s nothing Jim loves more than coming home and curling up in your arms on the couch. Your cat loves Jim, you often find the two of them together while Jim’s watching Netflix. The best part about Jim is his loyalty. He’s looking for someone who can encourage him to follow his dreams and support him during long surf sessions. You’ve got a rocking tan, thanks to Jim and he is forever grateful to have you.

[razorsadness]

What things/events make you nostalgic, if any?

Literally everything. No, I mean it, I am the most nostalgic motherfucker you will ever meet. In order to not be a cop out, I’ll give you a short list: diners (particularly 24-hour diners), jukeboxes, mix tapes, fog, the last washes of sunlight, music played on a fiddle, punk shows, plastic rings bought at dime stores, The Adventures of Pete and Pete, old riot grrrl zines, anything having to do with Chicago ever, libraries, Beach Slang, driving too fast with the windows down, bike rides, when I smell a combination of tobacco and vanilla at the same time, old photographs, new photographs, everything.

–January 2016

[sugarpilled]

     ✎⌠margaret  qualley.  cisfemale.  she/her⌡❝  —  well,  look  who’s  just  arrived  !  if  it  isn’t  the  one  and  only  billie  haynes.  though,  around  here  they’re  known  as  the  escapist.  don’t  tell  ‘em  i  said  this  but  the  twenty-four  year  old  bassist  /  cashier  at  a  dime  a  dozen  kinda  has  a  reputation  of  being  aloof  and  indecisive.  but  y’know,  they  can  be  imaginative  and  peaceful  too.  typical  scorpio.  anyways,  welcome  home  and  stay  safe  billie  !  ❞

     ok guys… hear me out…. a character based off the riot grrrl movement of the 90s but with margaret qualley’s face…. that’s billie

full name.     billie renee haynes. nickname / s.     bill, ??? birthdate.    october 27th, 1995. age.     twenty-four y.o. star sign.     scorpio, babey. gender & pronouns.     cisfemale, she / her. sexual orientation.     bisexual. occupation.     bassist / cashier / wannabe ghost hunter. place of birth.     misty hollow, connecticut.

backstory.

billie’s life was always a little chaotic, tbh ! she was the youngest to kim and elijah haynes, the only sister to two older brothers. she spread the rumor that she ate her twin in the womb in middle school, but unfortunately that was just her lying to seem more interesting.

her house was the kind of small where there’s no privacy. she shared her room with her brothers her entire life which was … a nightmare ! so surprising to no one she was more of an outside kinda girl. always exploring, always finding an excuse to get out, typically barefoot. y’know the type.

winona ryder vc always a fan of the strange and unusual. her and her mom would watch murder shows on id together all the time ‘nd those ghost specials on tv were literally billie’s jam growing up. she’s known she’s wanted to be a paranormal investigator from a young age.

her parents were both huge stoners ! both of ‘em never bother to hide this. their entire family had a 70s vibe to them tbh…. lmao.

billie was never stupid, but she never applied herself in school, either. was always a sweet kid and never got into too much trouble aside from talking a little too much and playing rough with her friends. was very anti-drug as a child, too … ironic isn’t it ...

anyways, she thought there were more important things in life than school so she just never… bothered.

rebel girl plays in the background she started getting into the punk scene when she was thirteen… tho that was more of an emo phase. then she started learning guitar, learned she can’t sing for shit, ‘nd transitioned to bass. started smoking pot around fifteen with the permission of her mom… got really into stick ‘nd pokes… the type to ditch class ‘nd smoke under bleachers in an 80s movie… thought she was Cool™ .

got recruited into rosie’s band and she’s been the bassist ever since!! misty hollow’s own tall ‘nd gay hex girls .. love to see it !!

did one year of college ‘nd flunked. lied to her mom for an entire year ‘nd then got caught oop!! her mom gave her the option of getting a job or getting kicked out. since ghost hunting with shitty equipment wasn’t exactly getting views on youtube, she started getting part time jobs all over town.

she got fired from a lot of jobs over the years. since her band and ghosthunting expeditions are her main focus, she shoves any other job aside.

anyways, her mom eventually kicked her out, but she’s secured her job the thrift store w/ nothin’ but her charm, babey. she lived in her car for her a while, but now she’s found a shitty apartment that she can only afford thanks to her roommates. *👀

personality ‘nd stuff.

she seems tougher than she is. she’s v sensitive, gentle, the type who wouldn’t hurt a fly. at the same time, she gets drunk on stage ‘nd screams at hecklers while the adrenaline is pumpin’ so … love a girl who is dynamic !

loves her friends more than anything. always willing to go out of her way for absolutely Anyone who needs it and is probably one of the least judgemental people ever… but...

she’s also… v annoying. tends to zone out in conversations … always encouraging people to do dumb things in order to ~learn~ … she can never make up her mind about who she is and has no sense of self but u kno that’s just relatable. takes things too personal sometimes nd won’t confront the person but will just cry abt it! 

innocent in the way she seems to b carefree ‘nd awe of the world… like she doesn’t know consequences or worries… just gettin’ drunk ‘nd living life… a Dream

rlly thinks she’s going to grow up and have a show like buzzfeed unsolved while also being a bassist in a very well known ‘nd respected band… the delusion.. lov that for her.

always looking for something to put herself into. creativity is everything to her and without it she’d probably drive herself crazy. her mind is always buzzin’ ‘nd she’s always looking for an Out !

her style influence is v much d’arcy ( image ) ( image ) 

tries to leave as much waste behind as possible… walks everywhere… wants to hitchhike even tho people are getting murdered... is her mother’s nightmare tbh.

believes that the ghosts of misty stranger’s victims haunt misty hollow and honestly thinks she’s gonna be the one to prove it… out of all the professionals in the town…. whew honey

also… is terrified of ghosts and demons. she’s the ryan bergara to her bandmate lou’s shane… she probably cries during 80% of their ghost hunts

wanted connections.

friends. outside of her band!! give her someone to share conspiracies with, or someone who is the total opposite of her, or someone to smoke w… platonic goodness pls!!

a fan. okay… or maybe they’re pretending to get on her good side bc the band’s not exactly popular … that’s up to you!! regardless, she’ll try really hard to stay on this person’s good side.

exes. she’s been in misty hollow all her life, but long distance could be a thing too if ur muse isn’t from here!! good terms, bad terms, idc give me it all.

people who know her thru her family?? her dad’s been a chef at the diner forever and her mom’s a teacher. her older brothers also lived here their whole lives so connections based around them could be fun too, they’re npc so we can plot some stuff out!!

roommates. [ 0/2 ] people she can annoy by practicing her bass all hours of the night… but she loves them! mostly. 

idk, i’ll take anything!! just like this and i’ll hit you up for some plots!! 

[handeaux]

17 Curious Facts About Cincinnati’s Vine Street

Only Three Streets

According to the 1943 WPA Guide to Cincinnati, old-time thespian Tom Wise claimed there were only three streets worth visiting in America—Broadway in New York, Market Street in San Francisco, and Vine Street in Cincinnati. Mr. Wise was a lifelong comic actor and had appeared in plays across the United States. He trod the boards of Cincinnati theaters from 1890 until just before his death in 1926.

Vine Was West Before It Was Center

Today, Vine Street divides east from west street addresses in Cincinnati. Until 1896, Main Street was the dividing line, so addresses around Vine Street had a “west” prefix. That changed when city council decided to renumber the entire city in 1891. It took years before council backed up the resolution with a budget, but renumbering finally took place. Consequently, post-1896 addresses are often located blocks away from their Pre-1896 locations.

Never Thirsty

According to the WPA Guide, a stretch of Vine Street measuring less than two miles, between McMillan Street and the Ohio River, boasted no fewer than 113 drinking places during the 1890’s. In the block between Twelfth and Thirteenth Streets alone, there were 23 saloons or beer gardens. The roster of celebrated hot spots on Vine Street included the Atlantic Garden, Pacific Gardens, London Concert Hall, Kissel’s Concert Hall, Schickling’s, Schuler’s, Schuman’s, Commodore, Coliseum, Gabriel’s, Weber’s, Wielert’s—a long litany, redolent of amber refreshment.

Exhausting Carrie Nation

It is a matter of legend (the original source has not been identified) that Cincinnati’s Vine Street overcame the anti-booze ardor of temperance firebrand Carrie Nation during her 1901 visit to Cincinnati. Although she spoke to packed houses and toured the local dens of iniquity, she did not smash a single window nor shatter even one barroom mirror. Asked why, Mrs. Nation allegedly replied: "I would have dropped from exhaustion before I had gone a block.”

First Skyscraper

The world’s first concrete skyscraper, the 15-story Ingalls Building, is located on Vine Street. The brick-faced structure was designed by Alfred O. Elzner and George M. Anderson and completed in 1903. Scoffing critics said that any building constructed of concrete poured into molds would topple of its own weight. One Cincinnati editor reportedly stood in front of the building for an entire night, expecting to score a scoop when it collapsed. Engineers agree that this office building can remain standing a long time.

Changing Horses

Statues of two presidents with tragically abbreviated terms grace Piatt Park, located along a stretch of Eighth Street known as Garfield Place. The statue of assassinated James Garfield looks down on Vine Street today, but that was not always the case. Originally, the equestrian statue of William Henry Harrison trotted eastward at Vine Street, while Garfield overlooked Race Street. As the city spruced up for its Bicentennial in 1988, Garfield took Harrison’s spot on Vine street, and Harrison marched west to the Elm Street end of the park.

Freaks And Geeks

Human oddities such as Jo Jo the Dogfaced Boy, the Wild Man of Afghanistan, Big Winny the Fat Lady, a convention of tattooed men and women and “Plutano” and “Waino” from the forests of Borneo were among the huge draws at the Vine Street Dime Museum. Located at the southeast corner of Sixth and Vine, the Dime Museum was a curious combination of freak show, art gallery, zoo, vaudeville theater and natural history collection.

Not The Longest

Although Vine Street runs from the Ohio River all the way north to the city limits in Hartwell, it is not Cincinnati’s longest street. River Road, at 11.4 miles is the longest street in Cincinnati, followed by Reading Road at 8.1 miles. Vine Street places third at 7.6 miles, followed by Eastern Avenue at 7.2 miles. Although, if you Google “longest street in Cincinnati,” top results somehow claim it’s Vine.

Cradle Of Chili

The progenitors of the Queen City’s distinctive contribution to American regional cuisine, Cincinnati Chili, was first served by the Kiradjieff brothers, John and Tom, at their delicatessen, 814 Vine Street, in 1922. The deli was eventually renamed Empress Chili after the burlesque theater next door.

Why Short Vine?

Today, Vine Street makes an inexplicable jog eastward just north of Calhoun Street. A few blocks farther north, Vine jumps back westward. The intervening stretch, serving as the Main Street of Corryville, is known as “Short Vine.” Until the mid-1960s, Short Vine was connected directly to Vine at both ends, with the thoroughfare angling eastward from Calhoun. The creation of the University Village Shopping Center lopped off a piece of Vine between Calhoun and Corry streets, taking Short Vine off the main drag.

A Haunted House?

Journalist and author Ambrose Bierce, an Ohio native, published in 1888 a short story titled “A Fruitless Assignment.” The story takes place in 1859 in Cincinnati and describes the supernatural experiences of a reporter for the Cincinnati Commercial, assigned to spend the night in a vacant house on Vine Street. No one has identified a house that may have inspired this tale, and it is assumed that Bierce constructed the tale entirely from his imagination.

The Nasty Corner

Carew Tower occupies a plot of land that was once the most reviled spot in all of Cincinnati. One newspaper claimed pedestrians crossed the street “to avoid its stenches and unwashed loafers.” Owned by heirs of David K. Este, it was known as the “Nasty Corner.” Department store magnate Joseph T. Carew was so disgusted by looking at the squalor from his office window that he bought the corner and built his own skyscraper there.

The Riot Of 1855

Vine Street was the battleground on Election Day in April 1855 as supporters of the anti-immigration Know Nothing party attacked the growing German community in the neighborhood just starting to be known as Over-the-Rhine. A minor tussle between nativists and a German marching band escalated into armed aggression, including cannon fire. The major skirmish centered on barricades the Germans erected on Vine Street at Fourteenth Street. Fighting raged for three days. No accurate count of casualties was ever established.

Sound Familiar?

Folks from Philadelphia claim that Cincinnati stole their scrapple and called it goetta. They have a better claim to our street names. When Israel Ludlow platted the downtown area, Philadelphia was capital of the new country and our largest city, so he named Losantiville’s streets after Philadelphia’s system of “tree” streets crossed by numbered streets. William Penn laid out Philly’s Vine Street in 1682. You will also find Walnut and Race streets in the City of Brotherly Love.

Birth Of The Strip Tease

There is a fair amount of controversy about the origins of that classic burlesque entertainment known as the strip tease. More than one source points to Heuck’s Opera House at the corner of Thirteenth and Vine Streets in Cincinnati as the birthplace of this erotic spectacle, and the birthday sometime in November 1901. Brought to town by Manager James Fennessy to perform the pseudo-Oriental “cooch” dance at Heuck’s, Millie De Leon, known as “The Girl In Blue” discarded her elaborate costume at an after-hours show that shocked the city, but made her career.

Roebling’s Lament

John A. Roebling wanted his suspension bridge to create a grand thoroughfare from Vine Street across the Ohio River to Covington. A powerful lobby of ferry operators stymied his plan. Roebling lamented the lost opportunity until the day he died. “No avenue in any of the large capitals of Europe,” he lamented, “could now compare in beauty of grandeur with that long vista which would be presented by the line of Vine Street on the one side, continued in a straight course by Scott Street on the opposite shore."

Who’s That Old Lady?

When Grady Decamp authored his 1991 history of the Cincinnati Enquirer, he titled it “The Grand Old Lady of Vine Street.” That was a euphemism. Most of the other newspapermen in town (and many of the readers) referred to the graphic-poor, boringly laid-out Enquirer as “The Grey Lady of Vine Street.” Now located on Elm Street, the Enquirer boasted a Vine Street address from 1857 to 1992.

[apprenticeofcups]

Just curious, but what kind of music do you like? XD any recommendations?

my loving fiancé/e describes my taste in music as “anything that plays over a montage in a 1995-2005 chick flick” and to this day I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a drag

Here’s a handful of recs from my On Repeat on Spotify (i.e. the ones I’ve played to death or never skip)☕: 

Nobody - Hozier

Good Kisser - Lake Street Dive

The Next Time We Wed - The Fratellis

Secrets - Mary Lambert

Sweet Talk - Saint Motel

Share Your Address - Ben Platt

I Wanna Get Better - Bleachers

Dime Store Cowgirl - Kacey Musgraves

Love It If We Made It - The 1975

Money Won’t Pay - bo en

Jolene - Dolly Parton

Devils In The Canyon - The Strike

I Like Me Better - Lauv

Genesis (Night Riots remix) - Armors

Knee Socks - Arctic Monkeys

Stupid - Brendan Maclean

Overkill (acoustic) - Colin Hay

[gdelgiproducer]

What’s been your favorite staged version of JCS? (Non-concert)

First, a list of the staged (non-concert) versions of JCS I’ve seen: two high school productions (about which you’ll hear nothing in this post; it’s unfair to judge them in competition with pros), the closing performance of the 2000 Broadway revival, two performances of the national tour that followed said revival (one of which featured Carl Anderson as Judas and Barry Dennen – Pilate on the original album, Broadway, and in the 1973 film – as Herod), and four performances of a national tour initially billed as Ted Neeley’s “farewell” engagement in the role of Jesus. In total, discounting the number of performances of each, five productions, only three of which we will consider here.

The 2000 Broadway revival had basically all the problems of the video of the same production: I’m sure Gale Edwards is a fine director of other shows, but she missed the boat with this particular iteration of JCS. (Not having seen her original production at the Lyceum Theatre in 1996, which unfortunately never left that venue and was reportedly far better than the one that went wide, I can only comment on this version.) Her direction and the production design that accompanied it were full of the kinds of blatant, offensively obvious attempts at symbolism and subtlety that appeal only to pseudo-intellectual theater kids. In real life, there’s no such thing as obvious good vs. obvious evil (things just ain’t black and white, people), and any attempt to portray this concept on stage or in a film usually results in a hokey “comic book” product, which is kind of what the 2000 production was. 

The first thing Edwards did was draw her line in the sand. “These are the good guys, and these are the bad guys.” The overall production design played into this ‘line in the sand’ feel as well, being so plain in its intentions as to almost beat you over the head with them. There may have been some good concepts mixed in, but for a show that runs on moral ambiguity, they were very poorly executed and did damage to the piece. Some examples:

Annas and Caiaphas were devoutly “evil,” seemingly designed to inspire fear.  It’s easy to see good as so very good, and bad as so very bad; to want to have the evil in a nice little box. But it’s not that simple. As Captain Jean-Luc Picard (and now you know where my Star Trek loyalties lie, curse you!) once said, “…villains who twirl their mustaches are easy to spot. Those that clothe themselves in good deeds are well camouflaged.”  Evil isn’t always a clear and recognizable stereotype. Evil could be lurking inside anyone, maybe even in you, and you would never know. People aren’t inherently evil. Like good, it’s a role they grow and live into. And since history is basically a story of the developments and actions of humans over the ages, maybe it’s a mistake to view the characters who’ve played their parts in it so one-dimensionally. It doesn’t dismiss the evil they did, but it does allow one to understand that this potential to be good or to be evil is in everyone, and that it’s not always as simple as just doing the right thing.

Judas was an almost thoroughly unlikable prick (though Tony Vincent played him a tiny bit more sympathetically than Jerome Pradon in the video); in beating Jesus over the head with his cynicism and curt remarks, any sense of a fully three dimensional person was lost, leaving us with a total, utter dickhead. If the audience is to truly feel for Judas, and appreciate his fall, it’s imperative for them to see his positive relationship with Jesus. More importantly, it has to be readily apparent. It shouldn’t be the audience’s responsibility to assume as much. I never once saw any love, or even a hint of friendship, between Jesus and Judas in the 2000 production. Judas’ interactions with Jesus were a constant barrage of either completely in-your-face aggression, or more restrained (but still fully palpable) aggression. No hint of a conflict in him, or at least none the audience could see, and what use is a conflict or emotion if the audience isn’t privy to it?

And when not telegraphing an ultra-specific view of the story’s events, everything else about the design would’ve left a first-time viewer befogged. Young me liked the industrial, post-apocalyptic, pseudo-Gotham City atmosphere of the set. Older me still likes it (though I am firm in my opinion it works best on stage), but realizes what a mess the rest of it was. We’ve got Jesus and the apostles straight out of Rent, Roman guards that looked (with the choice of riot gear) like an army of Darth Vader clones with nightsticks substituting for light sabers, priests that practically stepped off the screen from The Matrix, a Pilate in generic neo-Nazi regalia, a Herod with showgirls and chorus boys that seemed to have visited from a flash-and-trash third-rate Vegas spectacular, a Temple full of ethnic stereotypes and a mish-mosh of dime-store criminals, and a creepy mob with a striking resemblance to The Addams Family that only popped up in the show’s darker moments. Lots of interesting ideas which might work (operative word being “might”) decently in productions of their own, all tossed in to spice up a rather bland soup. The solution to having a bunch of conflicting ideas is not to throw all of them at the wall at once; you look for a pattern to present itself, and follow it. If no pattern emerges from the ideas you have, it’s a sign you should start over.

You can see what my basic issue was: where other productions at least explored motivation, examining possibilities and presenting conflicting viewpoints for consideration, the 2000 production (when not utterly confused in its storytelling thanks to conflicting design) blatantly stated what it thought the motivation was without any room for interpretation – this is who they are, what they did, why they did it, so switch off your brain and accept what we put in front of you. Which, to me, is the total opposite of what JCS is about; it didn’t get famous for espousing that view, but for going totally against the grain of that.

The national tour at least had Carl and Barry to recommend for it the first time around, but for all the mistakes it corrected about the 2000 revival (swapping out the shady market in the Temple for a scene where stockbrokers worshiped the almighty dollar, with an electronic ticker broadcasting then-topical references to Enron, ImClone, and Viagra, among others, was a fun twist, and, for me, Barry Dennen gave the definitive performance of Herod), it introduced some confusing new ones as well:

For one, Carl – and, later, his replacement, Lawrence Clayton – looked twice the age of the other actors onstage. Granted, Christ was only 33 when this happened, but next to both Carl and Clayton, Eric Kunze (I thankfully never caught his predecessor) looked almost like a teenager. When Ted and Carl did the show in the Nineties and both were in their fifties, they were past the correct ages for their characters, but it worked – in addition to their being terrific performers and friends in real life whose chemistry was reflected onstage – because they were around the same age, so it wasn’t so glaring. Without that dynamic, the way Jesus and Judas looked together just seemed weird, and it didn’t help anyone accept their relationship.

Speaking of looking weird together, the performer playing Caiaphas – who was bald, and so unfortunately resembled a member of the Blue Man Group thanks to the color of lighting frequently focused on the priests – was enormously big and tall, while the actor in the role of Annas was extremely short. Basically, Big Guy, Little Guy in action. Every time I saw them onstage, I had to stifle the urge to laugh out loud. I’ve written a great deal about how Caiaphas and Annas are not (supposed to be) the show’s villains, but that’s still not the reaction I should have to them.

The relentlessness of pace was ridiculous. It was so fast that the show, which started at 1:40 PM, was down by 3:30 PM – and that included a 20-minute intermission. What time does that leave for any moments to be taken at all? A scene barely even ended before the next began. At the end of the Temple scene, Jesus threw all the lepers out, rolled over, and there was Mary singing the “Everything’s Alright” reprise already. How about a second to breathe for Mary to get there? Nope. How about giving Judas and Jesus two seconds’ break in the betrayal scene at Gethsemane? The guards were already grabbing Christ the minute he was kissed. I was so absolutely exhausted towards the end of the show that I was tempted to holler at the stage to please slow down for a minute. The pace didn’t allow for any moment in the show to be completed, if it was ever begun; it was just too fast to really take advantage of subtle touches and moments the actors could’ve had, and as a result, I think they were unable to build even a general emotional connection, because one certainly didn’t come across.

The cast was uniformly talented singing-wise, with excellent ranges and very accomplished voices. (In fact, the second time around, the woman understudying Mary, Darlesia Cearcy, walked away with the whole show in my opinion, and I am incredibly glad to have seen her career take off since then.) But, in addition to some being more concerned with singing the notes on the page just because they were there than imbuing them with emotion and motivation, the cast was undercut by the choices that production made with the music. For one, there’s a huge difference between singing “words and notes” and singing “lyrics and phrases.” When you have a phrase like “Ah, gentlemen, you know why we are here / We’ve not much time, and quite a problem here…” you sing the sentence, and if sometimes a word needs to be spoken, you do that. You don’t make sure you hit every single note by treating each like a “money note” (which you hit and hold as long as you can to make sure everyone hears it), dragging out the tempo to hang on to each note as long as you can. Generally, the actors were so busy making sure every note was sung – and worse, sung like a money note – that they missed the point of singing a phrase, and how to use one to their advantage. Caiaphas and Pilate were particularly egregious offenders. (I’ve never understood some of these conductors who are so concerned that every note written has to be sung. The result suffers from it.) 

And then there’s Ted’s production. Of the three, it’s the one I liked the most, but that’s not saying much when it was better by default. 

The production design was stripped-down, the set basically limited to a bridge, some steps, a stage deck with some levels, and a couple of drops (and a noose) that were “flown in.” The costumes were simple, the sound was very well-balanced, and the lighting was the icing on the cake. Combined, the story they told was clear.

The music sounded very full, considering the pit consisted of a five-piece band relying in part on orchestral samples.

Ted, for being of advanced age, was in terrific form vocally, if his acting fell back a little much on huge, obvious, emotive gestures and choices. (I love him and all, but his attempts at acting were kind of like a “Mr. Jesus” pageant, striking all the appropriate Renaissance poses. The film, through editing and close-ups, allows him a subtlety he just ain’t got onstage.)

And there were some beautiful stage pictures; for example, there was a drop with an image of a coin with Caesar’s head on it in the Temple scene, and it fell on the crowd when Jesus cleared out the riff-raff. In the leper sequence that followed, the chorus’ heads popped out of holes in the cloth, under which they undulated, pulsing to the beat, and rather than being treated as a literal mob scene, the sequence had a very dream-like effect, a mass of lost souls reaching out to Christ. It was rather like a Blake painting, with a creepy vibe in a different manner from the typical “physically overwhelm him” approach. He didn’t interact with them, didn’t even turn to look at them, until finally he whipped around with a banishing thrust of his arm, hollering “Heal yourselves!” Sometimes it was over-acted with annoying character voices (remember, I saw this four times), but when it wasn’t, the effect was chilling.

My main beef with the show was, oddly enough, on a similar line to my beef with Gale Edwards’ production: it drew lines in the sand. But in this case, it drew them with respect to Jesus’ divinity. 

As written, JCS deals with Jesus as if he were only a man, and not the Son of God. The show never suggests that Jesus isn’t divine, but neither does it reinforce the view that he is. Portrayed in detail in JCS is the mostly-unexplored human side: ecstasy and depression, trial and error, success and regret. He agonizes over his fate, is often unsure of his divinity, and rails at God. Not so in this production. Aside from “The Temple” and “Gethsemane,” there was never any room for doubt that Jesus was the mystical, magic man portrayed in the Gospels.

At the top of the show, after a fight between his followers and the Romans during the overture (a popular staging choice I’m not a real fan of, but you’ve got to do something during that moment in a fully staged version, and I understand why it’s an easy choice to make for exposition purposes), Jesus made his majestic entrance, spotlit in robes that looked whiter than Clorox bleach could produce, and raised a man from the dead. Well, where’s the room for Judas to doubt? Clearly “this talk of God is true,” we just saw it! If this guy is actually capable of performing miracles, and more than that specializes in necromancy, good luck telling him that fame has gone to his head at the expense of the message and he’s losing sight of the consequences! Try explaining to anyone that that person is “just a man”!

If that weren’t enough, Jesus went on to have a constant connection with God throughout the show, speaking to a spotlight that focused only on him and often served to distract him from anything else happening onstage, and at the end, during “John 19:41,” his body separated from the cross, which fell back into the stage, and he ascended to heaven. 

Now, though the former was admittedly played to excess (some reviewers unkindly compared Neeley to a homeless man with Bluetooth), there are arguments to be made in favor of both of these choices: a Jesus who constantly seeks a connection with God that isn’t reciprocated, searching for guidance or at least a friggin’ clue, is great foreshadowing for his eruption – and acceptance – in “Gethsemane.” As for the ascension, depending on how it’s staged, there’s room for argument that it could be interpreted more metaphorically than literally, as the moment when Jesus’ spirit is born, as Carl Anderson once put it (meaning, to me, that his message is given life and strength when his body fails him). But this production didn’t have that level of shading and layers to it, and coupled with the resurrection at the start, it defeated the rest of the story.

None of ‘em’s perfect, and I don’t think I could create the perfect one. Thus, concert.

[blogs-n-sheeit]

Mass murders with more deaths than Las Vegas (since 1945)

September 11 attacks 2,996 dead, 6,000+ wounded Date: September 11, 2001 Target(s): World Trade Center (North and South Towers), The Pentagon, a field in Pennsylvania and public transportation (planes) Location(s): Manhattan, New York; Stonycreek Township, Pennsylvania; The Pentagon in Arlington County, Virginia Weapon(s): Boxcutters, Multitools, hijacked commercial airliner jets Perpetrator(s): Waleed M. Al-Shehri, Wail M. Al-Shehri, Mohamed Atta, Abdulaziz Al-Omari, Satam M. A. Al-Suqami, Marwan Al-Shehhi, Fayez Rashid Ahmed Hassan Al-Qadi Banihammad, Mohand Al-Shehri, Hamza Al-Ghamdi, Ahmed Al-Ghamdi, Khalid Al-Mihdhar, Majed Moqed, Nawaf Al-Hazmi, Salem Al-Hazmi, Hani Hanjour, Ahmad Ibrahim A. Al-Haznawi, Ahmed Al-Nami, Ziad Samir Jarrah, and Saeed Al-Ghamdi Jonestown massacre 918 dead, 35 wounded Date: November 18, 1978 Target(s): an air strip, The Peoples Temple Agricultural Project, The Peoples Temple of the Disciples of Christ’s headquarters building in Georgetown Location(s): Port Kaituma, Georgetown and Jonestown, Guyana Weapon(s): Cyanide (907 dead), Guns (7 dead), Knives (4 dead) Perpetrator(s): Jim Jones, Annie Moore, Sharon Amos 1983 Beirut barracks bombings 307 dead (including 241 US military personnel), 150+ wounded (including 115 Americans) Date: October 23, 1983 Target(s): United States Marine Corps barracks at the Beirut Airport and the Drakkar barracks of the French 1st Parachute Chasseur Regiment and 9th Chasseur Regiment Location(s): Beirut and Ramlet al Baida, Lebanon Weapon(s): two truck bombs Perpetrator(s): Ismalal/Ismail Ascari and another unidentified bomber. Pan Am Flight 103 270 dead (259 died in the plane, 11 died on the ground) Date: December 21, 1988 Target(s): commercial aircraft Location: Lockerbie, Scotland (landed) Weapon: Bomb, Plane Perpetrator: Abdelbaset Al-Meghrani 1998 United States embassy bombings 224 dead (12 Americans killed), 4,000+ wounded Date: August 7, 1998 Target(s): United States Embassy in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania and the United States Embassy in Nairobi, Kenya Location(s): Nairobi, Kenya and Dar es Salaam, Tanzania Weapon(s): two truck bombs Perpetrator(s): Mohamed Rashed Daoud Al-Owhali and Hamden Khalif Allah Awad EgyptAir Flight 990 217 dead Date: October 31, 1999 Target: commercial airliner Location: Atlantic Ocean, about 60 miles south of Nantucket Island, Massachusetts (landed) Weapon: Plane, Water/Drowning (Ocean) Perpetrator: Gameel Al-Batouti Oklahoma City bombing 168 dead, 680+ wounded Date: April 19, 1995 Target: Alfred P. Murrah federal building Location: Oklahoma City, Oklahoma Weapon: truck bomb Perpetrator: Timothy McVeigh Our Lady of the Angels School fire 95 dead Date: December 1, 1958 Target: Our Lady of the Angels School Location: Chicago, Illinois Weapon: Matches/Fire Perpetrator: A 10-year-old boy Waco siege 88 dead (including 2 unborn and 4 ATF), 14 - 28 ATF agents wounded (sources vary), only about 50 Branch Davidians survived the siege and fire (with only 9 surviving the fire) Date(s): February 28 - April 19, 1993 Target: Mount Carmel Center Location: Waco, Texas Weapon(s): Fire (33 dead), Guns (32 dead), Undetermined (18 dead), Blunt Force (4 dead), Stabbing (1 dead) Perpetrator(s): David Koresh and his followers / ATF Sources: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waco_siege http://www.apologeticsindex.org/pdf/Graham.pdf https://books.google.com/books?id=WU42AAAAQBAJ&pg=PA78&lpg=PA78&dq=%22branch+davidians+survived”&source=bl&ots=kQpQ1P56Ds&sig=ACfU3U0anBGjClhrsZEWJBUnLPt3XEE8hg&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiiiK-Zoe7iAhVFmeAKHWjJBH0Q6AEwBHoECAoQAQ#v=onepage&q=%22branch%20davidians%20survived”&f=false http://www.policefoundation.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/DOT-Report-ATF-Investigation-of-David-Koresh_Sept-1993.pdf Happy Land fire 87 dead, 6 wounded Date: March 25, 1990 Target: Happy Land social club Location: Bronx, New York Weapon: Fire (Gasoline) Perpetrator: Julio Gonzalez 1983 United States embassy bombing in Beirut 64 dead, 120 wounded Date: April 18, 1983 Target: United States Embassy in Beirut, Lebanon Location: Beirut, Lebanon Weapon: car bomb Perpetrator(s): Unknown. Imad Mughniyah was alleged to have responsibility for this particular bombing, however this has been disputed. According to his Wikipedia article: “U.S. and Israeli officials have implicated Mughniyeh of many terrorist attacks, primarily against American and Israeli targets. These include 18 April 1983 bombing of the United States embassy in Beirut, Lebanon, which killed 63 people including 17 Americans whom among them were 7 CIA officers which included Robert Ames the head of Near East Division. Agreement is not entirely universal on Mughniyeh's involvement, and Caspar Weinberger, the Secretary of Defense at the time of the attack, told PBS in 2001, "We still do not have the actual knowledge of who was directly behind and responsible for the bombing of the American Embassy in Beirut, Lebanon and we certainly didn't then."” 1992 Los Angeles riots 63 dead, 2,383 wounded Date(s): April 29 - May 4, 1992 Target(s): Supermarkets and other business stores (including video stores, shoe stores, auto part stores, check cashing stores, five and dime stores, etc.), city streets and intersections, residential neighborhoods, parking lots, city squares, gas stations and liquor stores, apartment complexes, etc. Location(s): Los Angeles County, California; 3 died in San Diego (South Park); 1 in Fresno (Del Rey) Weapon(s): 40 by gunfire (including 5 who were shot by police), 23 by other causes; including 1 by strangulation, 2 stabbed, 8 vehicle-related, 2 from blunt force-related injuries, 2 were beaten to death, 3 from fire, 3 unknown, 1 from a fall and 1 from a heart attack Perpetrator(s): Odell Whitley Jr., Leonard Hampton and another unnamed teen(?) (Lucie Maronian; stabbed), Aniceto Barajas (Jose L. Garcia; shot), Mario E. Olivera (George Alvarez; beaten), Three suspects, including a 17-year-old (Paul Horace; shot), Akim Dashawn Gilmore (Alfred V. Miller; shot), Traville J. Craig (Elias G. Rivera; blunt force), Fidel Ortiz and Leonard Sosa (Wallace Tope; beaten), three men, two of whom were teenagers (Matthew D. Haines; shot), 15-year-old boy (Juana Espinosa; shot), Samiee Farzan (Imad Sharaf; fire), Andre Webb and Lavelle "Frog" Williams (Charles Orebo; shot), most others no charges were ever brought against, because they were either unrelated to the riot (one person died with a cigarette in his mouth while he slept that burned the house down) or no arrests were made because, as according to the Chief Spokesman Bob Dambacher, "Would this person have died at that particular time and that particular place if riots had not occurred?" Was the criteria for his office. Also because some of them were by police/self-defense, were accidents or because the crimes were unsolved (22 - 23+ cases still remain unsolved to this day). Or at least I couldn’t find any articles naming the suspects for many of them. Sources: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/1992_Los_Angeles_riots http://spreadsheets.latimes.com/la-riots-deaths/? https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-4467960/amp/25-years-Rodney-King-riots-deaths-unsolved.html https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1992-06-02-mn-452-story,amp.html https://www.newspapers.com/image/?clipping_id=10535592&fcfToken=eyJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiIsInR5cCI6IkpXVCJ9.eyJmcmVlLXZpZXctaWQiOjE3NzMwNDkxMSwiaWF0IjoxNTYwNjUxMDc3LCJleHAiOjE1NjA3Mzc0Nzd9.v_ihgb5EJErbv_zhntFDlBoLNScn2i9cPCV2IVmR_DA https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1993-04-24-me-26740-story,amp.html https://www.google.com/amp/s/patch.com/california/venice/amp/4135193/22-riot-related-homicides-unsolved-including-venice-killing http://www.abovetopsecret.com/forum/thread851974/pg2 http://www.sfweekly.com/news/dead-heat/amp/