#Green Roofing In NYC

[harborrestoration]

24-7 Restoration and Roofing Company that Work for You

Your roof is your home's first line of defense against the elements and dust. It protects your home from the sun, rain, wind, and other weather conditions that can damage your home's structure and cause leaks. A good roof is important for several reasons. First, it provides a waterproof barrier between you and the elements should there be a leak or other problem with your roof. Second, it prevents moisture from entering your house and causing mold problems or other damage. And finally, a well-built roof will last longer than one that isn't well-built—it will also last longer than one that is poorly built!

When it comes to choosing a Restoration Roofing Company in NYC, you'll want to consider how long they've been in business, how many jobs they've done for others, their reputation with neighbors and local authorities, and how long their work has lasted after the job is complete.

Harbor Restoration Services is a leading NYC roofing and restoration company. We provide expert repairs, inspections, and replacement services on residential and commercial properties throughout the city. Our experts have provided the best quality services possible. We have been in service for many years we are ready to take on any project that comes our way.

We believe that a roof is the most important part of your house. It's what protects you from the elements and keeps your home cozy and comfortable. That's why we take our time with every customer to ensure that their roof is the best it can be.

We don't just install roofs—we repair them when needed, which means we're always there for you when something goes wrong. The installation of roofs can take many forms. Some are almost as simple as replacing your old shingle with a new one. Others are much more complex and involve re-coating the entire roof with new materials.

We use only the highest quality materials and products to provide you with the best roof Installation Services In NYC. When you choose us as your preferred contractor for all your roofing needs, you’re choosing results that are both long-lasting and cost-effective. We provide you with different types of roofing services including Green Roofs and Average Roofs. 

If you need a quick solution for a leaking roof or other home repair problem, call Harbor Restoration at (718) 866-4000 and visit our website:-https://harborrestoration.com/. 

[reasonsforhope]

"Chicago’s 82-story Aqua Tower appears to flutter with the wind. Its unusual, undulating facade has made it one of the most unique features of Chicago’s skyline, distinct from the many right-angled glass towers that surround it.

In designing it, the architect Jeanne Gang thought not only about how humans would see it, dancing against the sky, but also how it would look to the birds who fly past. The irregularity of the building’s face allows birds to see it more clearly and avoid fatal collisions. “It’s kind of designed to work for both humans and birds,” she said.

As many as 1 billion birds in the US die in building collisions each year. And Chicago, which sits along the Mississippi Flyway, one of the four major north-south migration routes, is among the riskiest places for birds. This year, at least 1,000 birds died in one day from colliding with a single glass-covered building. In New York, which lies along the Atlantic Flyway, hundreds of species traverse the skyline and tens of thousands die each year.

As awareness grows of the dangers posed by glistening towers and bright lights, architects are starting to reimagine city skylines to design buildings that are both aesthetically daring and bird-safe.

Pictured: Chicago's Aqua Tower was designed with birds in mind.

Some are experimenting with new types of patterned or coated glass that birds can see. Others are rethinking glass towers entirely, experimenting with exteriors that use wood, concrete or steel rods. Blurring lines between the indoors and outdoors, some architects are creating green roofs and facades, inviting birds to nest within the building.

“Many people think about bird-friendly design as yet another limitation on buildings, yet another requirement,” said Dan Piselli, director of sustainability at the New York-based architecture firm FXCollaborative. “But there are so many design-forward buildings that perfectly exemplify that this doesn’t have to limit your design, your freedom.”

How modern buildings put birds in danger

For Deborah Laurel, principal in the firm Prendergast Laurel Architects, the realization came a couple of decades ago. She was up for an award for her firm’s renovation of the Staten Island Children’s Museum when the museum’s director mentioned to her that a number of birds had been crashing into the new addition. “I was horrified,” she said.

She embarked on a frenzy of research to learn more about bird collisions. After several years of investigation, she found there was little in the way of practical tips for architects, and she teamed up with the conservation group NYC Audubon, to develop a bird-safe building guide.

The issue, she discovered, was that technological and architectural advancements over the last half-century had in some ways transformed New York City – and most other US skylines and suburbs – into death traps for birds...

At certain times of day, tall glass towers almost blend into the sky. At other times, windows appear so pristinely clear that they are imperceptible to birds, who might try to fly though them. During the day, trees and greenery reflected on shiny building facades can trick birds, whereas at night, brightly lit buildings can confuse and bewilder them...

Pictured: A green roof on the Javits Convention Center serves as a sanctuary for birds.

The changes that could save avian lives

About a decade ago, Piselli’s firm worked on a half-billion-dollar renovation of New York’s Jacob K Javits Convention Center, a gleaming glass-clad space frame structure that was killing 4,000-5,000 birds a year. “The building was this black Death Star in the urban landscape,” Piselli said.

To make it more bird friendly, FXCollaborative (which was then called FXFowle) reduced the amount of glass and replaced the rest of it with fritted glass, which has a ceramic pattern baked into it. Tiny, textured dots on the glass are barely perceptible to people – but birds can see them. The fritted glass can also help reduce heat from the sun, keeping the building cooler and lowering air conditioning costs. “This became kind of the poster child for bird-friendly design in the last decade,” Piselli said.

The renovation also included a green roof, monitored by the NYC Audubon. The roof now serves as a sanctuary for several species of birds, including a colony of herring gulls. Living roofs have since become popular in New York and other major cities, in an inversion of the decades-long practice of fortifying buildings with anti-bird spikes. In the Netherlands, the facade of the World Wildlife Fund headquarters, a futuristic structure that looks like an undulating blob of mercury, contains nest boxes and spaces for birds and bats to live.

The use of fritted glass has also become more common as a way to save the birds and energy.

Earlier this year, Azadeh Omidfar Sawyer, an assistant professor in building technology in the Carnegie Mellon School of Architecture, working with student researchers, used open-source software to help designers create bespoke, bird-friendly glass patterns. A book of 50 patterns that Sawyer published recently includes intricate geometric lattices and abstract arrays of lines and blobs. “Any architect can pick up this book and choose a pattern they like, or they can customize it,” she said.

Pictured: The fritted glass used in Studio Gang’s expansion of Kresge College at the University of California, Santa Cruz, depicts the animals in the local ecosystem.

Builders have also been experimenting with UV-printed patterns, which are invisible to humans but perceptible to most birds. At night, conservationists and architects are encouraging buildings turn off lights, especially during migration season, when the bright glow of a city skyline can disorient birds.

And architects are increasingly integrating screens or grates that provide shade as well as visibility for birds. The 52-floor New York Times building, for example, uses fritted glass clad with ceramic rods. The spacing between the rods increases toward the top of the building, to give the impression that the building is dissolving into the sky.

Gang’s work has incorporated structures that can also serve as blinds for birders, or perches from which to observe nature. A theater she designed in Glencoe, Illinois, for example, is surrounded by a walking path made of a wood lattice, where visitors can feel like they’re up in the canopy of trees.

Pictured: The Writers Theatre, designed by Studio Gang, includes a walking path encased in wood lattice.

Rejecting the idea of the iridescent, entirely mirrored-glass building, “where you can’t tell the difference between the habitat and the sky”, Gang aims for the opposite. “I always tried to make the buildings more visible with light and shadow and geometry, to have more of a solid presence,” she said.

Gang has been experimenting with adding bird feeders around her own home in an effort to reduce collisions with windows, and she encourages other homeowners to do the same.

“I’ve found that birds slow down and stop at feeders instead of trying to fly through the glass,” she said.

While high-rise buildings and massive urban projects receive the most attention, homes and low-rise buildings account for most bird collision deaths. “The huge challenge is that glass is everywhere.” said Christine Sheppard, who directs the glass collisions program at the American Bird Conservancy (ABC). “It’s hard to know what I know and not cringe when I look at it.”

Tips for improving your own home include using stained glass or patterned decals that can help birds see a window, she said. ABC has compiled a list of window treatments and materials, ranked by how bird-safe they are.

Whether they’re large or small, the challenge of designing buildings that are safe for birds can be “liberating”, said Gang, who has become an avid birdwatcher and now carries a pair of binoculars on her morning jogs. “It gives you another dimension to try to imagine.”"

-via The Guardian, December 27, 2023

[books]

Writer Spotlight: Rose Sutherland

Rose Sutherland @rosesutherlandwrites is a Toronto-based writer who grew up a voracious reader with an overactive imagination in Nova Scotia (where she once fell off a roof trying to re-enact Anne of Green Gables!). She's been to theatre school in NYC, apprenticed at a pâtisserie in rural France, and currently moonlights as an usher and bartender—in between writing queer folktales, practicing yoga, dancing, singing, searching out amazing coffee and croissants, and making niche jokes about Victor Hugo on the internet. She's mildly obsessed with the idea of one day owning a large dog, several chickens, and maybe a goat. A Sweet Sting of Salt is her debut novel.

Keep reading for more about character arcs in A Sweet Sting of Salt, Rose's favorite fanfic tropes, and some excellent reading recs 👀

Can you tell us about A Sweet Sting of Salt and how you came to write it?

A Sweet Sting of Salt is a queer (f/f) historical reimagining of the classic folktale of the selkie wife, set in 1830’s Nova Scotia. I call it a “reimagining” because while it draws on the folktale, it’s not a retelling of that tale so much as a story playing out in relation to that mythology. I��d wanted to write something centering a love story between two women for a while, but the initial spark came from a Tumblr post! It suggested the idea of selkies testifying before the UN as victims of human trafficking, which reminded me of all the things I disliked about the original folktale and its inherent darkness that is generally glossed over, starting me down the rabbit hole toward finding my own story.

How did you approach research for A Sweet Sting of Salt, and what is a favorite historical fact you learned?

I joke that I did a lot of research by osmosis: I already had a lot of base knowledge about the location, having grown up in Nova Scotia, and then set the story in a period that I’ve been absorbing information about in a low-key way for ages—1832 is also the year of the student rebellion in Les Mis, so I’ve been gleaning tidbits about this era since I first got into the musical and book back in high school. However, I had to do more specific research into things like British divorce law, period midwifery, and animal husbandry. I also visited some small, hyper-local museums on the South Shore that gave me an invaluable glimpse into daily life. I also did some fun practical research into things like “How long does it take to walk from x to y?” and “How cold IS a plunge into this body of water in March?” (Spoiler: Very.) 

A fact that fascinated me but didn’t make it into the book was that some early European settlers in the area were granted lands by luck of the draw, pulling from a deck of playing cards: Each card was assigned to a specific 50-acre lot, and whatever you pulled, you were stuck with it.

When we meet them, Jean and Muirin are isolated for different reasons. What do you hope readers still searching for their people take away from A Sweet Sting of Salt?

That there’s always hope. It’s valuable and important to keep reaching out to the world around you, to be open, and not cut yourself off—the biggest reason for Jean’s loneliness at the beginning of this story is the way she has come to keep everyone around her at arm’s length, shutting herself away out of fear, and refusing to let anyone truly get to know her because she thinks that’s the best way to protect herself from being hurt again. Reaching out to others can take a real act of courage, especially if you’ve had bad experiences in the past, but “your people” will reach back to you.

Found family elements play a strong role throughout the novel, within supernatural and mundane settings and across species. Was this something you intended from the beginning, or did this grow out of writing the relationship between Jean and Muirin?

I always intended for Jean to have a found family of this type, which is something that a lot of queer people identify with, but those bonds also got stronger and more meaningful as I wrote, especially once Jean and Muirin began growing into their own family unit—their new relationship and the real danger that comes along with it put pressures on Jean’s other relationships that I hadn’t originally considered. Disagreements with Anneke and Laurie over Jean’s choices arise from their deep concern and love for her, and her own love and care for them, reflected in her responses, is a big part of what made them feel like a real family, for me. Jean and Laurie always having each other’s backs while also being the first to call one another out on their bullshit ended up being one of my favourite dynamics in the whole book.

The selkie myth carries an inherent element of transformation. What is a character transformation you most enjoyed writing, and why?

On a character level, the change in Jean’s worldview following a conversation with her childhood sweetheart meant a lot to me—it heals an old wound for her. I love how grounded and self-assured she is afterward, in spite of the daunting task still ahead of her. But my favourite transformation to write was the antagonist’s mask-off moment, where they directly threaten Jean for the first time. It’s so sly and coded so that only she will understand the menace behind it, a real dun-duh-dunnn moment, which was a lot of fun for me—I also enjoy the foreshadowing elements in that exchange.

This is your debut novel. Did anything surprise you about getting it from manuscript to published book?

Oh my gosh, how LONG it took! After I finished the original draft and decided it was worth attempting to publish, I spent over a year revising based on my own thoughts, input from beta readers, critique partners, and my mentor, Maureen Marshall (whom I connected with through the now defunct Author Mentor Match program, and whose book, The Paris Affair—about a young gay engineer attempting to help Gustave Eiffel secure the funding to build a certain celebrated Parisian landmark— is coming out in May). After that came a full year of querying agents and getting rejected. A lot. People loved Salty but weren’t quite sure what to do with her or where the book would fit in “the market,” which was hard to deal with at the time but is hilarious in retrospect: Salty was snapped up less than a month after she finally went out on submission! But that was back in 2022, and the book is only coming out now. Publishing can be painfully slow.

You’ve written fanfic in the past—do you have a favorite fanfic trope?

I’m not sure either of these counts as a trope, but I adore a character that’s “pure of heart, dumb of ass”, and love a truly unhinged Fanon Explanation For Canon Object. As a longtime Les Mis stan, I ship Tholomyes/Getting Punched. If you know, you know.

Do you have any favorite queer retellings of folktales you can recommend?

Right here on Tumblr, I’m a huge fan of @laurasimonsdaughter, who writes delightful riffs on classic folktales, truly inventive urban fantasy spins on old lore, and her own original folktales. 

I’m currently reading Spear, an amazing queer, gender-bent, Arthurian novella by Nicola Griffiths. Anna Burke’s books Thorn and Nottingham are up next on my TBR. Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of brilliant queer historicals that aren’t retellings (I recently loved Suzette Meyr’s The Sleeping Car Porter and Heather O’Neil’s When We Lost Our Heads) and wonderful historical retellings that aren’t queer (I highly recommend Molly Greeley’s beautiful, heartbreaking Marvelous, about the real-life couple that inspired Beauty and the Beast). Queer, historical retellings aimed at adults seem to be considered quite niche, still, and can take some digging to find! So, throwing this out to Tumblr: Do you have recommendations for me?

Do you have a writing routine? Is there a place/state of being/playlist you find most conducive to your writing practice?

My routine is chaotic at best, but I find I do my best work earlier in the day, so I usually scribble in my journal while I have breakfast, and then progress to working on my current project as I drink my second cup of coffee. I’m lucky—my day job is an evening gig, which mostly allows me to write on my preferred schedule… but I’ve also been known to have a bolt of inspiration strike at 10pm and dash home to write until well past midnight on occasion. Nothing quite like the hyperfocus zone!

What’s next for you? Are you working on anything you can tell us about?

No official news yet, but I’m currently working on a story set in 18th-century provincial France based on a true unsolved mystery of the past. It has me delving into a very specific branch of French folklore, and I hope future readers will pick up on common threads with one popular fairytale in particular. I’m really excited about where this one is headed, but keeping the details close to my chest for now!

Thank you Rose for taking the time to answer our questions! If you love queer fantasy and old folktales, grab yourself a copy of A Sweet Sting of Salt, and be sure to share your queer folktale reading recs with Rose on @rosesutherlandwrites!

[yorkzzs]

Welcome to Redd Analysis, where I talk about film stuff because I am a film student.

Today on the chopping block, Mutant Mayhem's trailer on youtube! If you have yet to view the trailer— uh- go watch it 👍

First up: Color Psychology

The colors in which we see already just from the trailer are absolutely beautiful, having a very clear psychology to them.

Red - The red overtones in the trailer are during the scenes where Donnie gets a sai to the leg, and when Raph bursts into the human bar. Both scenes are fairly comical, so red seems to be the accent for comedy yet action, being a fighting scene with the lighthearted silliness .

Orange - The were a lot of orange and yellow overtones when the boys were on the roof, throwing around the fruit and recording. Orange represents warmth, immaturity, optimism, and adventure, the boys all being family, having a warm aura of trust amongst each other yet still being silly immature little kids. The adventure and optimism of being up on the surface and recording, being loud silly kids.

Yellow - Yellow often in studies represents joy, naiveness, cowardice, and such. Yellow overtones also appear on the roof, specifically when Mikey holds the face watermelon, showing joy for participating yet cowardice/fear because the fruit looks like his own face. The yellow carries onto Raph, showing his joy and naiveness as he throws the star happily but then it collides into something on the NYC street below.

Green - Green is openly seen when Raph bursts into the garage, highlighting the background and the people, yet not the turtles, who are instead have red overtones. Green, in studies, is said to mean evil, corruption, and hope. Highlighting that the people, seen when Raph throws one of them, may not be the best humans on earth, and may not even be good people in general, similarly to a Purple Dragon type ordeal or punks.

Blue - Blue overtones were seen for brief seconds, once when Don and Mikey are seen by the car, and twice when the cop car is thrown. Blue represents sincerity, melancholy, and cold. So those may be more serious fight scenes or even more suspenseful dialogue scenes.

Purple - Purple overtones were highlighting the turtles when they were under the bridge, talking to April. The whole color psychology of purple is fantasy, mythical, and ethereal. Which makes sense in context, April seeing these fantasy creatures that look straight out of a child's book.

Pink - Pink represents innocence and inexperience. Being seen behind April in a salmon color, showing her blatant curiosity towards the turtles, and behind Mikey once Donnie gets a sai to the leg, showibg they truthfully are just inexperienced silly little kids.

[schoemu]

simple comme bonjour kimiko miyashiro x frenchie, part two of three

synopsis: and finally, nothing is a secret anymore; not the feelings, not the life, not the key to happiness.

wordcount: 2,743

genre: fluff

includes: cuddling, conversing, making peace.

To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring; it was peace.

Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

Frenchie and Kimiko lay arm in arm, the female’s face cuddled up into his armpit. It's become a ›thing‹ between them a long while ago, most importantly in the hospital, where Kimiko dealt with the fear of breaking her bones for the first and last time, but the warm embrace is not only a sign of protection, it now also is a sign of love.

There are four, tight walls around the two which today they call home, with some cheap, but still as equally homely lamps they bought from the thrift store casting a comfortable orange hue on them, the blanket they stole from their former HQ keeping their intertwined bodies warm, and a cheap TV murmuring smart words to a scenery of green (since Frenchie still doesn’t do well with utmost silence—ironically enough). It is not much money that they paid to live in these conditions, but the crushing affection Frenchie feels for the woman breathing into his chest, it is priceless. 

The point of time for their small domesticity could frankly not be worse, they both know that, but when Kimiko starts to sign do you think Butcher, and Frenchie shuts her down by kissing her scalp with soundly pecks, he finally understands.

He tells Kimiko, with a kiss to the center of her forehead, don’t think about him. Don’t think about anything right now, mon cœur, and repeats the last two words, mon cœur; mon cœur; mon cœur continuously down her neck, until he hears her small sigh of defeat, the thud of her hands dropping down to the blanket. His arms tighten around her back, his forearms press into her flesh, and her fingers begin to caress his waist in idled patterns. No clear direction, no signs to be read, only the warmth of trust to be felt in the heart.

It is so little, Frenchie concludes, as he buries his nose behind her ear and closes his eyes, that is recipe for peace. 

In another circumstance, Frenchie might’ve called it ›putain de bêtise‹ (roughly translatable into motherfucking stupidity) but at this moment, he can’t think of anything other than the sweet, addicting notion of bliss. Happiness in its purest, most innocent, selfishly stupid form; the very contradiction of how the greatest thinkers of old, ancient times, or war-scarred writers would’ve defined it, but Frenchie can’t find himself caring. 

He could be ashamed of himself either way, for it is such a… boring scene he provides. It is not an ice-cold, herby glass of Pastis by the blue shore of Marseille’s most beautiful sites, with hot summer rays glowing down on their sun-screened skin, nor is it the highest skyline NYC can offer his moon-struck lover to gaze upon, while he tells her you are my little star with only his hands and his crescent smile.

No. Instead, it is a nameless place of two momentarily nameless people holding each other like they have so many nights before in a dingy apartment that only provides them the roof above their head and a crack of sky hiding between other buildings, only to fall asleep with a male voice narrating la nature in the background, and wake up in the morning with some white women sharing some tricks and other bits under forced laughter.

It is a pleasure so fragile. So incredibly fragile in fact, Frenchie’s heart could sink deep into his chest any second, if he lost a single thought about the days and deeds that inevitably follow the string of their future actions. Even now, sugar-rushed on Kimiko’s heavenly warmth, he can’t deny how his eyes lurk to their metal door every time he’s reminded, looking out for any potential danger. That is just their life, and it likely will be the end of it. A part of their daily that he has accepted, and Kimiko has accepted too. The fight is never won, and Frenchie can’t grow another limb. He can’t grow another pair of lungs, even if his last breath depended on it. Their time is limited, that is the truth of life.

And yet, they afford to bore each other. Above the passionate debates about men unable to change their minds, the endless musings of escaping from it all, of living a life that doesn’t take another’s, Frenchie and Kimiko treat themselves eternal, by simply taking a rest. Rest that goes beyond ›not giving a fuck‹ about supernatural disasters in form of blonde man-babies, killed presidents and betrayed friendships. It is rest in the form of dirty dishes in the sink, unwritten poems of hungry hearts, rest in the form of a hug that whispers, your existence in my arms is enough.

»C’est le paradis,« Frenchie murmurs into Kimiko’s ear, breaking the silence that both of them stopped counting the minutes for. It could’ve been hours of holding each other, a lifetime, and tomorrow, they’d do it again.

Pa-ra-di, Kimiko’s fingers echo, syllable for syllable from what she understood, and asks, what is that?

»Ah,« he chuckles, and it’s when he realizes the two of them have to freshen up their signed vocabulary. It’s been a while—they’ve gotten too used to SMS these days.

»Paradise,« he repeats, in English, and shuffles a little bit on the bed, to free his arms for movement. »You’ve heard of it, no, mon cœur?«

Kimiko nods—she has. Probably from Annie, on her boozed up, Christian ramblings, or… America. 

»What does it mean to you; paradise?«, he asks, slipping a bit higher on the pillows, resting his shoulder there, and Kimiko takes the cue to turn around, her back pressed to his chest, her curves against his curves like the petals of a blooming flower. Now, they can talk better. 

Nothing much. Sometimes it’s mentioned in music. Gun and rose, Frenchie reads, but quickly realizes, ah, no, Kimiko means to say, Guns N’ Roses. 

»Oui, I think I know. ›Paradise City‹, huh?«

Yes. But I don’t like the idea of green grass. I wouldn’t be able to relax. Too quiet. Suspicious. Kenji and I fantasized a lot about going to Hanayashiki.

»Ha-na-ya-shi-ki?«, Frenchie repeats, reading her fingers closely. »Qu'est-ce que c'est?«

An amusement park. Like VoughtLand. But better. It’s over 100 years old. 

»Ah, is that so? I didn’t even know they made parks that old,« Frenchie snickers. »What an exciting place to relax at… I figure the waiting queues at VoughtLand do take a lifetime, so might as well chill out, huh?«

It was shit.

»Indeed, it was. I will never get over the atrocities we have witnessed there; the donut-burgers? Mon Dieu, someone has to shut down that place, before it reaches Europe...«

Kimiko chuckles, and suddenly seeing a puppet Homelander blow up in blood is forgotten in a breeze.

»Eh bien,« Frenchie hushes quickly, before she can recall anything, »Paradis.« The male isn’t able to let go of the want to create the new word. It is not a requirement, not a need, but he wants the language he uses with Kimiko to include the truths of their relationship, even if most of them remain unspoken. 

»Let us say…« 

He grabs and guides her hands to knead them together, each finger intertwined with the other.

»This…«

Frenchie does it as well, arms caging her in circularly, and he feels like he’s praying now, but since he knows that Kimiko is not religious and also has bad experiences with churches, he figures that this sign is still free to use.

»This, we will call… paradise, oui?«

Kimiko continues keeping her hands folded, and Frenchie taps her left hand, as he unfolds his own.

»This,« he whispers, lips planted against her temple, his stubble slightly scratching her skin (but she never complains), »c’est moi…«

His lover smiles, nods, Frenchie isn’t sure whether she understands yet, but he continues nonetheless.

»And this, mon cœur,« he taps the right hand, »c’est toi. This is you, Kimiko.«

He lifts his right hand, and Kimiko immediately threads them together. One and one... making one.

Frenchie hums in satisfaction, peppering some more kisses to her cheek—never getting or giving enough—squeezing her hand.

»And together, we are paradise, you know? Forget about Adam and Eve, huh…?«, he grins, and the woman in his arms disagrees, cringes—makes a face, which Frenchie cups with his right, free hand. »You… are so adorable, Kimiko,« he sighs, the words finally slipping out naturally.

We are sinners, just like Adam and Eve, Kimiko signs in return, and even though there is nothing that should crush Frenchie more than the weight of the forever damned life he’s led in the years he’s lived, his conscience is floating on the promise of true love. She knows, and she still loves him. This knowledge, that kind of ignorance, it is dangerous, he knows that, but it’s not like he is refusing to know anymore by snorting cocaine or ketamine. He will forever carry the name of the drunken man who kills, Serge, Sergei, Frenchie, but in Kimiko’s arms, he becomes a lover. Pure, clear, sober.

»Mmm… a sinner, huh. You may be right, mon cœur,« he answers calmly, holding Kimiko’s chin with the palm of his hand, stroking her skin with his thumb, his arm resting across her chest. Her heart thumps against his elbow, and his eyes close to focus on the feeling.

»And we may never forgive ourselves for the things we have done,« he whispers, continuing on with his caress in a slow, comforting rhythm, »but I want to believe… that if there is a God who forgives… who shows mercy on those tortured by remorse...«

Kimiko shifts uncomfortably, wanting to argue back, but Frenchie holds her still, the other arm snaking around her waist from below, pulling her ever-so-possibly close.

»If such a God does exist, and if He is good, then Kimiko, He has given me… you. And to hell with me if I didn’t take this chance.«

It is not that easy, but, she signs, when he opens his eyes again—Frenchie is talking to someone who’s once been unwillingly injected with drugs, after all—yet adds to her own doubtful thoughts the hopeful wish that, I want you to be right too, you know?

He smiles and nods. »It’s just… a faithful fool’s rambling, mon cœur. I agree with you, of course. With Adam and Eve, the first sin, comes the burden of our choices… And with the ones we’ve made, ah… our lives were never meant to be easy.«

I mean, Kimiko gestures, this is easy, though. Being with you.

»Oui? Is that how you feel, Kimiko?«, he breathes out, and meets her gaze, as she turns her head over her shoulder. She nods.

»I find it easy too,« Frenchie admits, »I feel that we don’t… well, we, bien sûr, finish each other’s sentences, as the Americans say, but… that is not what I cherish the most about us. It is that we don’t need many sentences to begin with…«

He trails off, losing himself in Kimiko’s smile of affection, her eyebrows raised to her forehead, the white of her eyes vulnerable to the dry air of their apartment. It should be embarrassing, wearing his throbbing heart on his sleeve like this, but if it’s Kimiko seeing him with those gentle eyes, it feels nothing but good.

Did you drink?

»Moi? I didn’t, not to my knowledge, pourquoi?«

Just asking.

Frenchie chuckles and squints, before he whispers, »you are a good person, mon cœur,« and, before she can even inhale for an outraged gasp, adds, »someone like monsieur charcuterier… you don’t tell him about Marseille, swimming at the beach. I am not saying he can’t do good things, but, ah…« 

He chuckles, when Kimiko already agrees wholeheartedly. Don’t defend him. Butcher can go fuck himself. That asshole. Their shared rebellious distaste for the Briton has become quite comical over time, but Frenchie strokes over her wrists in a successful attempt to calm her down. She does.

»What I mean to say is, good people, they dream,« he says, »and for me, that is le paradis. To dream of tomorrow and still be content with today; what is that, if not heaven?«

Have you considered writing?

»Writing? Moi?«, the male smirks sheepishly but he knows better than to feed into that thought. He already falls into too many French stereotypes, but there’s also a bitter aftertaste, a voice taunting him for his wordy, gutful composings (don’t make me kill; it is like acid to my heart) wired in his brain like a thorn. However, it is Kimiko. And for once, Frenchie might actually consider it, when they do finally leave this place. The world looks like it is in dire need of a good dream right now, he thinks, but jokes, »we will become even broker than we already are,« instead.

I don’t care! You know what I’ve always wanted to learn?

»No, tell me, mon cœur.«

The piano.

The piano?, Frenchie repeats, his fingers dangling in the air, his smile widening in excitement, as he cuddles her closer. That idea alone, his Kimiko, making sound through the ebony and ivory tiles, is music to his ears.

»Mon cœur… that would be magnifique!«

I could play so many songs.

»Even Guns ‘N Roses, huh?«

Imagine all the movie soundtracks!

She’s so thrilled, and it moves Frenchie to absolute joy. Every time her eyes widen, her hands shake in small, giddy movements, it’s like she’s adding five exclamation marks to an SMS, or writing in all caps; Frenchie wants to capture these small expressions of excitement for eternity, but for now, he promises himself to make this simple sequence a good memory.

»You could play all your favorite musical numbers... The Sound of Music, Singing in the Rain…«

Yes! And you sing along!

»Me? Sing? Oh, mon cœur, you expect so much of me…«

You sing!

»Ah… you know what? For you… I am willing to try.«

It will sound so bad! 

Frenchie gasps, »Mon cœur!«, and grabs his cœur in question by her shoulders, looking into her eyes in feigned hurt, and Kimiko just laughs soundlessly, shrugging by saying, because of your smoking!

»Oui… but I quit it with the hard drugs, non? The therapy groups have helped— it’s what you said, too,« he retorts, pouting at her, but secretly just enjoying her having fun at teasing him.

Sure, because snorting cocaine was the problem. 

»What do you know about snorting coke, huh?«, Frenchie grins, and flips the female once, twice, so he’s now on his back, a flailing, giggly Kimiko clenched tightly in his arms. 

Do you not remember how I had to clean after your blood last—

»Non, non! Lies! I remember no such things!«

Frenchie cuddles her until he’s snuggled the breath out of his lungs, and grunts, when she shifts on top of him, stomach to stomach, Kimiko’s ear listening in on the heart that beats for her.

»You will learn to play the piano,« he muses under his breath (the likelihood of you going through with things is higher, when whispered to yourself, he learned somewhere), brushing through her locks, »et moi, I will sing for you, as best as I can. Like a duet… Judy Garland, Gene Kelly? With a very bad Gene Kelly, huh?«

I was joking about you not being able to sing.

»Ah, mon cœur, I was joking, too. Last time I checked, Louis Armstrong was a pothead, and the great Nat King Cole, he—«

Lung cancer?

»Ah, you already know, huh? Oui… smoked three packs every day, c’est incroyable,« Frenchie chuckles, kissing the top of Kimiko’s head, wrapping himself around her and her arms like a gift. It is the equivalent of silencing her, in a way, but it’s not like she wouldn't be strong enough to pull herself away. (She doesn’t, and that’s all Frenchie needs to know.)

»I will try,« Frenchie grumbles, »I will try to sing and I will try to live long.«

Kimiko kisses his neck. You better, she seems to say, and it tickles a chuckle out of him.

»Look, mon cœur. The penguins are cuddling in the cold.«

She raises her head, looks to the TV for a second, eyes heavy by the soporific that is Frenchie’s body and his voice. She smiles, nods, and leans back down, missing the words ›the ice is melting in Antartica‹ on the screen. Frenchie inhales deeply through the nose and sighs. Quelle chance.

With Frenchie kissing Kimiko’s forehead, interlacing his fingers into hers, they spell it again, paradise, and for a moment, the French man doesn’t feel lost in all what has become of him. He feels whole, content, and wishes for an eternity that shows nothing but the same scene.

What a blind, selfish, yet lucky journey it is, the road back to Garden Eden.

His stubble scratches the skin of her curled hand, and his lips wrap around each of her knuckles, when Frenchie begins to count the days in Kimiko’s eyes; not those that’s passed, but those to come. 

»Tu es mon paradis, Kimiko,« he whispers, and Kimiko kisses him silent.

hello there! :-) this had a lot of prose in it that i dedicate fully to the feelings and thoughts about my own love life and reading of the book the unbearable lightness of being. it is both a love letter to the humanity of this pair and lovers painted by milan kundera, and i feel full having written it.

(full, if it wasn't for the fact i could not find any better cuddly scenes of kimiko and frenchie.........v_v)

hope you could enjoy it! ♡

[goodlucktai]

give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around

chapter ten: standing here hoping it gets to you

rise of the tmnt pairing: leoichi (leonardo / usagi yuichi) word count: 3k title borrowed from message in a bottle by t swift post-movie

(previous) (next)

read on ao3

x

Free-climbing up the side of a high rise in downtown Manhattan might be considered an extreme sport in most other circles, but Yuichi doesn’t know anything about those circles. They sound boring.

It’s drizzling a little, and the next window ledge he reaches for is slicker than he’s expecting. The second his grip slips, a huge green hand shoots out and catches him by the wrist.

“Thanks, Raphael,” he says when he’s found a better foothold. His heart skipped with the close call, but otherwise he isn’t fazed.

“You’re gonna have to break and call Raph by a nickname sooner or later,” the eldest turtle says, playfully stern.

Yuichi busily looks down at his hands as he climbs, flustered. It makes Michelangelo laugh, ringing and bright.

“I can’t believe we used to think you were scary,” the spotted turtle says. He’s perched on Raphael’s shell like gravity is a neat concept in theory but not one he’s particularly interested in.

“Come oooon,” Leonardo’s voice calls down from the roof. “¡Vamos hermanos! Hey Cottontail, I thought rabbits were supposed to be fast!”

“Hey Stripes, I thought turtles were supposed to be quiet,” Yuichi calls back without missing a beat.

There’s an immediate chorus of “oooh”s at the burn, and Leonardo makes offended squawking noises, and Yuichi is smiling when he finally pulls himself over the parapet onto the flat rooftop.

The view from here is breathtaking. NYC at night is unlike anything else Yuichi has ever seen. The blinding lights and the rumble of traffic and the kinetic energy of millions of humans going about their night.

It’s absolutely bursting with life, and they’re sitting above it all, a part of it and apart from it.

Yuichi’s muscles are pleasantly sore from the workout and he stretches out to cool down and get his breathing back. A nudge at his side makes him glance to the left to find a mechanical arm offering him a water bottle. Donatello doesn’t acknowledge his thanks, but he also gives Yuichi an energy bar.

It’s one thing to know that the Hamato siblings are ninja in theory, and it’s another thing entirely to see it in practice. None of them have broken a sweat, not even Casey.

“Do you guys do this a lot?” Yuichi wonders aloud.

“We try to patrol once every week,” Raphael explains, then seems to catch himself. He glances at Leonardo and gets a thumbs up before he goes on, “Otherwise, Donnie has alerts set up for suspicious activity, and we go check it out if it’s our brand of weird.”

Leonardo’s family has an impressive number of adversaries, though none they really seem to take seriously. The ones they call “mutants” all have a grudging understanding with the turtles—from the tone of the stories they tell him, Yuichi secretly thinks it’s pretty likely that these grown-up yokai just don’t want to deal with a handful of teenagers any more than they have to. There’s a mantis that runs a junkyard they’re at constant odds with, but in the manner of a grumpy old man chasing annoying kids off his property. And apparently they got invitations from the hippo and the worm to save the date for their upcoming wedding.

There’s some dissension among the siblings about this, but if Yuichi is understanding the thread of the argument entirely, it’s not a matter of whether or not they’re going. It’s a matter of the gift registry, and why the hell they should subject themselves to Pottery Barn for those guys when Target is right there.

The ones that call themselves the Foot Clan are another story. They’re a hereditary enemy, and the ones responsible for the invasion in the first place. The turtles and Casey all have dark looks on their faces when the Foot comes up.

It’s nice to have people to blame for the shadow that passed over Leonardo’s light. Yuichi unwinds his yo-yo a few times, sparks flying off the reinforced string, and looks forward to meeting the Foot on the street sometime.

“I’m glad Cass got out of there,” Raphael is saying. “What’s she up to now?”

Casey answers dutifully, “She told me when we went to lunch yesterday but she swore me to secrecy. She said ‘if you know, you know.’”

“Goddammit, it’s world domination, I know it is.” Donatello puts his head in his hands, staring into the middle distance. “She beat me to it.”

“I’m good with that,” Michelangelo says blithely. “When she’s finally running the show, we can take a vacation. Tahiti, baby!”

Leonardo is sitting on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the side, with what would would be considered reckless ease for anyone outside his family. Yuichi sits next to him, because he’s exactly the kind of reckless idiot who would risk a thirty-story fall just to sit next to a cute boy.

In the back of his mind, the absolutely certain knowledge that he’s completely safe with this cute boy—this insane, amazing family—thrums like gravity, constant and steady and unspoken. It doesn’t even occur to him to be afraid of falling.

It feels like this is where he belongs.

“You know,” Leonardo says suddenly, staring up at the stars he can’t see through all the light pollution, “I keep thinking of something the General said.”

The atmosphere changes immediately. Yuichi can feel the overwhelming, undivided attention of a small ninja clan sharpening into a point. Leonardo is freer with his words now than he was two months ago, but he still generally doesn’t offer information about the Krang unless he’s pressed.

Yuichi shifts his hand across the concrete, feeling the rasp of it through his fur, until it bumps Leonardo’s.

Leonardo still doesn’t look at any of them, but some small line of tension in his shoulders bleeds away.

“Oh yeah?” Donatello asks in a tone that anyone who didn’t know him might mistake for mild.

“Yeah. He said, uh. ‘Strength always prevails.’ He said a lot of stuff, but that’s what I keep thinking about for some reason.”

Michelangelo looks like the only thing stopping him from flinging his arms around his immediate older brother is the quelling hand Raphael has on his carapace. His amber eyes are big and wide but he manages to sound halfway normal when he nudges carefully, “How come, Leon?”

“‘Cause it’s funny, isn’t it?” Leonardo says, as if anything about that day could possibly be funny. But Yuichi is watching him closely, and only sees wry good humor in his face. “If strength always prevails, and he’s gone and I’m still here, I guess that means I’m stronger than him.”

No one speaks. It seems like everyone is holding their breath. Yuichi is the one who says, “Well, yeah, Leo.”

Leonardo grins. It’s a little shaky, but it finds its footing  the longer it goes. He stands on the edge of the rooftop and throws his head back and faces the empty sky again.

The thought occurs to Yuichi, unbidden: Now I know why his brothers call him Fearless.

“I’m still here!” he screams. “I won! Fuck you! You’re gonna die alone and you’re never gonna hurt me again and I’m going to forget all about you!”

Casey laughs out loud, a harsh, relieved sound. Michelangelo slumps forward, hands pressed to his own plastron, but he’s beaming in a way that takes up half his face.

There are unselfconscious tears on Raphael’s face. Donatello’s staring at his twin’s back with vicious satisfaction, golden eyes glowing in the low light.

Someone lounging on a fire escape a few stories down, indistinguishable in the dark, lifts their beer and shouts back, “Yeah, fuck him! You’re better off, babe!”

Leonardo stumbles backwards off the parapet, laughing so hard he can’t stand upright. Yuichi reaches out to catch him, and finds himself caught up instead as this ragtag, war-torn little clan clings to each other and dissolves into hysterics together. The kind that starts from the bottom of your stomach and works its way up, scrubbing you clean. The healing kind.

Afterwards, it feels like a party. They want to celebrate this nameless thing shaped like recovery. So they go to Run of the Mill.

They’re a rowdy crowd clustered around the hostess stand, just by virtue of their personalities. There’s a table opening up in the back of the dining room big enough for all six of them.

From behind the bar, Qiao gives Yuichi a very knowing look—seeing the group he’s lumped with and Leonardo’s arm draped comfortably around his shoulders—and he has to fight not to hide behind his ears at their smug scrutiny. 

Sunita and April are here already, sharing a basket of garlic knots, and they both smile warmly when they see who just walked in. Kitsune and Gen are at a booth in the corner, wearing the world’s worst attempt at disguises and peeking at the foyer over their menus.

Señor Hueso is the one who seats them, looking annoyed by all the noise but making absolutely no move to subdue them.

He lays a hand on Leonardo’s shoulder, his sunken eyes soft with fondness if you know what to look for. The skeleton yokai says something in Spanish that Yuichi has no hopes of translating. Leonardo’s cheeks darken and he responds in kind, his tone rapid-fire and flustered. Señor Hueso confirms whatever he said with a perfunctory nod and then gathers a handful of menus and leads the Hamatos toward their table, leaving his honorary nephew sputtering behind him.

(“Podrías haberlo hecho peor.”

“Espera, ¿él o yo?”

“Sí.”)

Leonardo catches Yuichi by the sleeve before he can follow. He looks agitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and blurts, “Can you hang back? For a sec?”

Yuichi blinks and turns to face him. This doesn’t do wonders for Leonardo’s nerves, for some reason. The striped turtle glances anywhere but at him, and then finally darts a desperate look at Casey.

Across the room, the human lifts both his hands and gives him a double thumbs up.

“Okay,” Leonardo says. “Okay,” he says again, finally daring to look at Yuichi again. That only lasts about two seconds.

“Hey,” Yuichi interjects, tilting his head to the side. Concern is a little wriggling fish in the back of his mind, but he refuses to give it room to swim unless there’s real reason. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He puts out his hands, an offer. He doesn’t know if it helps or not, because Leonardo snatches them up quickly, but he only looks more miserable by the second, in a vaguely seasick kind of way.

“Are you—” His cheeks darken. He’s still studying the polished tile beneath his feet like it’s the most interesting thing for miles. “I mean—if you’re free, whenever—would you—”

Yuichi sees the moment this cobbled-together courage starts to fail him. Give Leonardo a grenade to fall on and he’ll do it in a heartbeat. He’ll hold the line at the end of the world, he thrives in the eleventh hour. But an honest conversation? Way more terrifying than any of those things.

That’s okay. Maybe Yuichi can be Fearless this time.

And he wants this to be what he wants it to be. He’s willing to risk looking like an idiot if he’s wrong.

It wouldn’t be the worst thing, really. Leonardo is his friend. There’s real love between them already, no matter what shape it may take in the future, no matter if the edges of Leonardo’s feelings don’t quite match up to Yuichi’s.

It’s like sitting on the edge of that rooftop, feet dangling over cars that looked like toys in the street. He won’t fall. Leonardo would never let him fall.  

“Yes,” Yuichi says, calling on all the bravery that belongs to his name, every inch of the samurai spirit he inherited from Miyamoto himself. “I am. I would.”

Leonardo’s head snaps up, eyes like headlights. “What? Really?” The sweet expression on his face falters before it even has a chance to settle. “Wait, are we talking about the same thing?”

This idiot. Yuichi loves this idiot.

He squeezes Leonardo’s hands, a mirror of what his heart is doing. He tugs the turtle in a step closer, so there’s hardly any space left between them except for the space they need to breathe, the slim margin left open to keep holding hands.

Leonardo is staring at him, and Yuichi recognizes the look on his face. It’s the way Leonardo has always looked at him, since that first golden afternoon at Run of the Mill, but Yuichi didn’t know him well enough to read him back then. Not the way he knows him now.

And now he sees warmth in those eyes. Admiration. And powerful, precious hope.

That hope outlasted the apocalypse. It’s outlived every night terror and panic attack and strangling episode of self-doubt since. Yuichi wishes, absurdly, that he could pick it up and hold it close and carry it safely the rest of the way through the world.

He’ll have to settle for meeting Leonardo’s gaze squarely and telling him, in no uncertain terms, “I’m talking about going out with you. What are you talking about?”

“Samesies,” Leonardo breathes, and then closes his eyes, like he’s just pained himself beyond recovery. It’s ridiculous. He’s adorable. “I mean. Yes. That’s what I—that’s what—please make me stop talking.”

Finally. Yuichi leans in to do exactly that.

There’s immediate uproar from elsewhere in the room, because of course there is. Leonardo’s siblings and Yuichi’s friends waste absolutely no time making complete nuisances of themselves, hooting and catcalling and shushing each other in turns.

But the only thing that matters is Leonardo kissing him back.

It’s brief. It’s clumsy, a little self-conscious. Neither of them know what they’re doing, they’re both really nervous. It’s better than Yuichi ever could have imagined.

“Took you long enough,” Yuichi whispers. He feels light as a feather, like the slightest shift in the weather might blow him clear away. “That’s what I get for waiting on a turtle.”

Leonardo scoffs, breathless and flustered. He’s flushed all over by now, and when he rolls his eyes it’s clearly just an excuse to let his eyes dart away. Then he spots something that makes him groan.

“Oh god. Look.”

Yuichi follows his gaze to his siblings’ table, where they’re clearly straining to listen in on this conversation. Sunita and April have abandoned their bread basket to attach themselves to the ninja huddle. When Leonardo gives them away, only Raphael, Casey and the girls have the decency to bury their faces in a menu and pretend otherwise. Michelangelo and Donatello are outright staring.

“Ugh, they’re the worst,” Leonardo says. “I literally can’t imagine life without them.”

“I get that,” Yuichi replies honestly. As they watch, Gen and Kitsune slink across the dining room to join the Hamato clan, and they all begin having what looks like a very animated, very involved conversation, occasionally gesturing in Yuichi and Leonardo’s direction. That can't be good.

Sometimes retreat is the better part of valor.

“Hey,” Yuichi says, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, “you wanna get out of here?”

The cheesy line is rewarded in a heartbeat by Leonardo’s blinding smile. He clusters in a little until their foreheads bump. He loves a scheme, he loves to be in on it. They’re back on solid ground together.

“Let’s do it. Where do you wanna go? Anywhere in the whole world.”

There’s something very earnest in the question, behind the chaos gremlin energy, the giddy good humor. He’s vulnerable, laying himself out for Yuichi to see plainly.

His ninpo is such an intrinsic part of himself, the thing that houses his soul, and he’s saying, Use it. I’ll let you use it.

It’s not a hard choice. Given his pick of any destination in the world, Yuichi has his mind made up in about five seconds. He doesn’t even really have to think about it.

“I kind of want to go to Hungry Burrito and try those carne asada fries you never shut up about,” he admits.

It’s the right thing to say. Leonardo tips his head back and laughs, and it sounds exactly like the very first time Yuichi ever heard it. Before the invasion, before the months-long recovery, before the monster that tried to ruin him and every good thing about him. Back when it had no reason not to be the loudest, brightest thing in the whole room.

Spirits. God. Yuichi isn’t ever letting this boy go.

The turtle reaches over his shoulder for a sword. The spinning blue portal opens right there in the dining room, and one of Leonardo’s brothers squawks in alarm, and there’s a ruckus of upset dishes and screeching chairs behind them, but Yuichi and Leonardo are faster.

They make their escape hand in hand. The whole thing feels equal parts silly and daring. The whole night feels that way.

They put their phones on airplane mode and eat spicy loaded fries on a fire escape in Queens and sit close enough that their knees and elbows bump every other time they move. They race each other over the rain-slick rooftops and wipe out a couple of times each and almost lose their voices in the cool night air from laughing too much.

As far as first dates go, Yuichi has no notes. He wouldn’t change a thing.

It’s time to head back when Leonardo’s eyes glow white between one blink and the next, and he sighs, like someone who just got a disappointing text.

“Curfew,” he says. “Let me take you home.”

“Are you going to survive your brothers tonight?” Yuichi asks fondly.

“God, I don’t know. Pray for me.”

In the blue light of the portal, when Yuichi is standing in the middle of his bedroom, Leonardo leans through after him to press a quick, shy kiss to his cheek. Then he flails a haphazard wave and disappears.

Ugh. Ugh. Yuichi can’t with this guy.

He collapses into bed, dizzy and breathless. He’s smiling so hard he’s half-afraid it might leave a permanent impression on his face. He feels drunk. He feels perfect.

He’ll have a lot of shit to answer for when his friends inevitably show up at his house tomorrow, furious at the missed chance to embarrass him in front of his brand-new boyfriend (!!). They’ll definitely rat him out to Auntie, and the cousins will eavesdrop like the monsters they are and never give Yuichi or Leonardo a moment’s peace for being gross and in love, but that’s entirely future-Yuichi’s problem.

If he’s very lucky, it’ll be a rest-of-his-life problem.

The last thing Yuichi does before he falls asleep is reach for his phone.

Usagi: Let’s do all of it again tomorrow.

The reply rolls in immediately, every bit as if a certain someone was waiting with their phone in their hands.

Leo💙: it’s a date!!!!!

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Inside Climate News:

Every Friday afternoon, the Kingsland Wildflower Green Roof opens its doors to the local community. Tall grass and brightly-colored flowers greet visitors after their four-floor trek to the top of the building—a green oasis in Brooklyn, surrounded on all sides by heavy industrial activity.

Just across the street, the Newtown Creek Wastewater Treatment Plant’s gargantuan “digester eggs” treat millions of gallons of sewage every day. 

Despite the visual incongruity of this scene, both the garden and the treatment plant work to stop contaminated water from flowing into the city’s waterways during heavy rainfall. 

The rooftop garden sits on a building on Kingsland Avenue owned by the production company Broadway Stages. Two well-tended sections contain a variety of plants and flowers native to the area, like strawberries and camassias. A garden on a lower roof is made up largely of sedum, a small succulent-type plant. 

The garden is under the purview of the Newtown Creek Alliance, a local organization that works to improve the environment around the creek, which is a tributary of the East River and forms the border between Brooklyn and Queens. 

Seven years ago, the green roof was born of a partnership between the Newtown Creek Alliance, the NYC Bird Alliance, formerly NYC Audubon, Broadway Stages and Alive Structures, a landscaping firm that specializes in roof gardens. The installation was funded by the Greenpoint Community Environmental Fund, a $19.5 million payment to the New York State Department of Conservation (NYSDEC) in a settlement with ExxonMobil over their contamination of Newtown Creek. 

In 1979, an investigation by the Department of Conservation found that ExxonMobil, which had historically operated oil refineries and fuel storage spaces along the creek, had spilled an estimated 17 million gallons of oil into the water—one of the largest terrestrial oil spills in the country’s history. Although ExxonMobil has been working for decades to remediate the problem through groundwater treatment, the creek remains an extremely contaminated Superfund site and is still on the National Priorities List of the nation’s most hazardous toxic waste areas. 

A former wetland, much of the creek’s natural borders have been reconstructed for industrial operations, like oil refineries and petrochemical plants. 

Much of the area surrounding Newtown Creek is located on a 100-year floodplain, which means that every year there is a 1 percent chance of an extreme flood event. Due to the weaknesses in New York’s sewage infrastructure, extreme rainfall constitutes a threat not just to the residents living near Newtown Creek, but also to the biodiversity within the creek and the flora that surrounds it. 

[amethystandemma]

Shelter

A Sunny Castle and Peter Parker one-shot

TW: somewhat descriptive depiction of a teen’s death. The paragraphs that could be potentially triggering are separated from the rest by a series of dashes.

Please tell me what y’all think!

. . . . .

Living in NYC means that you get used to the city being threatened pretty quickly. Between Green Goblin blowing up the Brooklyn Bridge to aliens invading to find the perfect cucumber sandwich recipe (long story), it becomes normal that something weird will happen daily.

Dating Spider-Man didn't help either. He regularly fought insane maniacs like Electro or Mysterio while on his way to and from work. Occasionally, he needed help, which is when Sunny as Halo would show up.

Mostly, criminals attacked buildings or civilians, regardless of what they looked like or were. Mostly.

And then you have the anti-mutants.

"I'm here outside Sasha's Supreme Steaks where a Sentinel just attacked the restaurant looking for mutants," the young newscaster, Bette Brant, reported. She stood in front of the smoldering remains of the restaurant while firefighters desperately tried to get control of the situation. "Amateur footage recorded the attack. We are about to show it now, but please be advised, the video you are about to see can be disturbing."

I should turn it off, Sunny thought.

But she couldn't. No matter how disgusting the images she was about to see were going to be, she couldn't help but watch. This was happening to people like her, people who were just born different. They didn't ask for this.

—————————————————

Sunny watched in horror as a giant hand ripped through the roof of the restaurant, sending patrons into a screaming frenzy. The person recording leapt beneath a table, making the film shaky. It didn't prevent the camera from catching a mutant, a green male with fish scales, being crushed into a bloody pulp.

He couldn't have been over fifteen years old.

—————————————————

"I'm heading out."

She had been so focused on the news that she didn't even see Peter walk into the room. He already had his Spider-Man suit on, the only thing missing was the mask.

He'd once told her he wears the mask so no one could tell he was afraid. Some people are able to hide it pretty well, but Peter's blue eyes always gave away his alarm. As they did now.

"I'm going with you," Sunny replied, heading towards their room.

"Sun, you can't."

The young man grabbed onto her elbow and turned her around, forcing her to look him in the eyes. Sunny realized he wasn't scared for his sake, he was scared for her's.

“Those things are targeting mutants. If you go out, you're at an even higher risk of being hurt. Or worse."

She tried to get free from his grip, but it was too strong.

"I'm not losing you." He whispered.

They stared, her green eyes meeting his blue ones. The air was charged around them; the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Ding dong.

The doorbell once. Neither one of them broke eye contact.

Dingdongdingdongdingdongding-

The door opened before the bell finished ringing. Jubilation Lee, the mutant better known as Jubilee, stepped in through the open entryway, holding Roberto da Costa up with an arm around his shoulders. Both were bleeding from multiple spots with cuts all over their bodies.

"Hey, there is a situation going on out there and we need a doctor," she snapped, her normal bubbly personality nowhere to be seen. "Kitty is on her way. She's bringing some kids along with her."

Jubilee dropped Roberto on the loveseat with a grunt from both of them. She turned back to the couple who were still in the same position.

"We need a safe space. You're the only one we got," she continued. Her voice wavered, the cracks beginning to show on how much pain she was in. "Are you in?"

Sunny turned back to Peter. The two exchanged a look that said what a thousand words could not. No matter what was going to happen; they were going to help those in need, and they were going to stick together.

"We're in." Sunny confirmed.

[rose-henry]

we have finally arrived in canadia!! I know I haven’t been posting at all but here are some photos from our first 30 hours in this beautiful country. more coming over the next 4 months 🥰

we arrived at 2pm yesterday to our studio apartment to find it OCCUPIED with an airbnb guest 😳 left for an hour and used some makeshift google translate to spanish to ask the cleaner if she could clean it next and it was all ready when we came back…. with no sheets or towels. (it was supposed to be fully furnished). got them by the end of the day and we were overjoyed and relieved to be not homeless with a roof over our head and a place to sleep and dwell for the rest of the year!

after some grocery shopping, we had our first lunch and thien spilt way too much pepper on his sandwich hehe

then we went to this cool drumming circle! everyone was picnicing and smoking weed and frolicking in the sun 🌞

we hiked up mount royal, the big mountain in the middle of the city which gives montréal its name. here’s the view from the top. it was relieving and refreshing to see so much green nature after being in nyc for 4 weeks.

for dinner we had our first poutine! it was kinda gross but mostly yummy, kinda like hsp but gravy instead of meat and good halloumi-ish cheese (curds).

and we rode bixi bikes (like lime bikes with docking stations everywhere) around 😌🚴‍♀️😮‍💨

lots of love from canada ❤️

[ducky4eva]

My newest Detty fan fiction story has Daniel giving Betty a gift for their wedding anniversary. A personalised 'Where We Met' map. This is the mock-up image I came up with. (You can create and order these maps online)

*The location marked is that of the Woolworth Building in New York City, which is the building exterior for Meade Publications (tall Gothic skyscraper with the green spire roof) that was used in episodes of Ugly Betty. (Edit: it's been pointed out to me since I posted this that the exterior locations used in the show are right across from Madison Square Park in NYC, which is NOT the same location as the Woolworth Building, which is also shown during the show as being Meade Publications' Building. So, I'm gonna go with the fact that in my story Daniel gave Betty a pretty map, and HE would put the correct location on it. So if what I created is wrong, just know that Daniel got it right. 😆 I've posted a second map below.)

**September 28, 2006 is the US broadcast date of the pilot episode. So while technically probably not the date that Daniel and Betty met, as we aren't explicitly told that, it is the date that the world was introduced to them.

Link for my story - 'I Chose You, Didn't I?'

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52927885

**second image is the updated map, which marks the Madison Square Park location. 😊

[thebeedanceny]

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[thelonesomequeen]

Well good morning blog mods but it’s actually goodnight from me! It’s been a long day here in Queensland Australia as I woke up to find a massive python skin hanging from a tree in my yard and then actually found a green tree snake in a different tree later on! The snake catcher captured the tree snake and informed me that the bigger python is most likely living in our roof 😨 I’ve got a new job trial next few days so Chris, wherever you are - MA/LA/NYC, don’t do anything stupid while I’m away😜

Yeah that is a massive HELLLLL NO on the snakes for me 😂 nooo thank you!

As for it being a quiet week I think you’re unfortunately out of luck there. There’s still the rumor of the SNL cameo tonight, plus more press and talk shows next week before the Ghosted premiere in NYC. I think there’s going to be quite a bit of content this week🦎

[fattestwriting]

Atom Eve encounters a resurrected Green Ghost, the injury from Omni-man gun and as fat as she was on the day of her death

"Hey!"

"AUUUGH! Green Ghost? What are you doing here?"

Green Ghost had phased through the floor behind Eve to surprise her. Eve had been on the roof of a random building in NYC, definitely not talking to the disembodied voice that asks her questions.

"I just got finished being revived, so I was in the area."

Speaking of area, the Green Ghost had a ton of it. More than a ton, actually. More like 100 tons. She was certified immobile by any stretch of the imagination. She could only move thanks to the gem she swallowed that grants her her powers.

"That's... Cool... Hey, would you wanna discuss this over, idk, maybe dinner? I know a place downtown, you'd love it."

"Sure! Sounds like a date. Lead me there."

And so Eve and GG set out to an All You Can Eat Buffet in downtown NYC, where Eve proceeded to eat nothing and watch as GG ate everything any everyone in the restaurant in record time.

*BBBBWWWWWWWWUUUUUUUOOOOOOORRRRRRRRPPPPPPP*

"Thanks for this, Eve! I needed it. Turns out dying really gets a girl hungry."

"And apparently watching a girl eat a building into bankruptcy and then eat their entire staff makes a girl unbelievably horny."

"I'm sorry Eve, what? I couldn't hear you?"

"Oh it was nothing..."

"Oh, alright. Hey, I gotta go, but same time next week?"

"Absolutely!"

[jeanjauthor]

This is a genuine thing that genuinely works. In the Sahel regreening project in Africa, by cleverly restructuring the ground to capture and store rainwater from the infrequent monsoons, the locals living south of the Sahara are able to grow many more crops than they could before. While crops tend to be ground plants and shrubberies (bushes to small trees), they do not neglect the taller plantings. In particular, around their homes and workspaces, they plant a wide variety of trees as well as middle and low growing plants...and the temperature difference becomes very palpable, a handful of degrees Celcius / several degrees Fahrenheit like mentioned in the article above.

Similar programs are working on restoring desert regions in India, too, plus China has been working hard on similar re-greening projects. It makes absolute sense that cities could benefit, since their materials raise temperatures, but green spaces decrease them.

New York City used to have some of the worst air in the world, before they focused hard on cutting back pollution. They already have a massive transit system, but still needed cars on the streets, so they turned to greening up the city with extensive micro-gardening efforts, plants in planter boxes, balconies on skyscrapers given plants, rooftop gardening being encouraged, and more. These efforts significantly reduced the air pollution in NYC, but they have also helped cool the city at least a little bit.

In contrast, Los Angeles still has quite a pollution problem, and quite an island heat problem as well. Some of it is simply due to the fact that the whole city sprawls. Because of their frequent threat of earthquakes, they cannot build vertically and so much spread out horizontally across the land. Unfortunately, that has meant taking down native plantings, and paving over the land that could otherwise benefit from local runoff collection.

However, city planners are starting to wise up to this, and have begun investing in micro-gardens and residential neighborhood water cachement systems that don't just funnel everything off to the ocean. The infamous "concrete riverbed" that you often see in movies and shows set in L.A. did see some use in the recent oceanic storms that have slammed into southern California, but ideally the water should be captured, stored, and sunk into the local water tables. Once the water is there, available for gardening with reduced need to pay for extra water to be brought in, a greater number of plantings can be made, and a greater drop in both temperature and air pollution will be achieved.

If you want to learn more about these projects, here's one on the "Great Green Wall" of Africa:

Andrew Millison is a professor of permaculture studies, which includes desert reclamation, and he has traveled extensively to both teach and learn from people leading these projects around the world.

As for urban farming in NYC, Kirsten Dirksen's channel on YouTube has covered a lot of microfarms and urban farming, including one particular group in the Big Apple:

She has also done a documentary on an unique building in Europe, where the building was deliberately designed to incorporate trees and bushes planted on various levels, providing shade and privacy while using roof-collected rainwater to water it all. It's a remarkably beautiful building:

"With “green corridors” that mimic the natural forest, the Colombian city is driving down temperatures — and could become five degrees cooler over the next few decades.

In the face of a rapidly heating planet, the City of Eternal Spring — nicknamed so thanks to its year-round temperate climate — has found a way to keep its cool.

Previously, Medellín had undergone years of rapid urban expansion, which led to a severe urban heat island effect — raising temperatures in the city to significantly higher than in the surrounding suburban and rural areas. Roads and other concrete infrastructure absorb and maintain the sun’s heat for much longer than green infrastructure.

“Medellín grew at the expense of green spaces and vegetation,” says Pilar Vargas, a forest engineer working for City Hall. “We built and built and built. There wasn’t a lot of thought about the impact on the climate. It became obvious that had to change.”

Efforts began in 2016 under Medellín’s then mayor, Federico Gutiérrez (who, after completing one term in 2019, was re-elected at the end of 2023). The city launched a new approach to its urban development — one that focused on people and plants.

The $16.3 million initiative led to the creation of 30 Green Corridors along the city’s roads and waterways, improving or producing more than 70 hectares of green space, which includes 20 kilometers of shaded routes with cycle lanes and pedestrian paths.

These plant and tree-filled spaces — which connect all sorts of green areas such as the curb strips, squares, parks, vertical gardens, sidewalks, and even some of the seven hills that surround the city — produce fresh, cooling air in the face of urban heat. The corridors are also designed to mimic a natural forest with levels of low, medium and high plants, including native and tropical plants, bamboo grasses and palm trees.

Heat-trapping infrastructure like metro stations and bridges has also been greened as part of the project and government buildings have been adorned with green roofs and vertical gardens to beat the heat. The first of those was installed at Medellín’s City Hall, where nearly 100,000 plants and 12 species span the 1,810 square meter surface.

“It’s like urban acupuncture,” says Paula Zapata, advisor for Medellín at C40 Cities, a global network of about 100 of the world’s leading mayors. “The city is making these small interventions that together act to make a big impact.”

At the launch of the project, 120,000 individual plants and 12,500 trees were added to roads and parks across the city. By 2021, the figure had reached 2.5 million plants and 880,000 trees. Each has been carefully chosen to maximize their impact.

“The technical team thought a lot about the species used. They selected endemic ones that have a functional use,” explains Zapata.

The 72 species of plants and trees selected provide food for wildlife, help biodiversity to spread and fight air pollution. A study, for example, identified Mangifera indica as the best among six plant species found in Medellín at absorbing PM2.5 pollution — particulate matter that can cause asthma, bronchitis and heart disease — and surviving in polluted areas due to its “biochemical and biological mechanisms.”

And the urban planting continues to this day.

The groundwork is carried out by 150 citizen-gardeners like Pineda, who come from disadvantaged and minority backgrounds, with the support of 15 specialized forest engineers. Pineda is now the leader of a team of seven other gardeners who attend to corridors all across the city, shifting depending on the current priorities...

“I’m completely in favor of the corridors,” says [Victoria Perez, another citizen-gardener], who grew up in a poor suburb in the city of 2.5 million people. “It really improves the quality of life here.”

Wilmar Jesus, a 48-year-old Afro-Colombian farmer on his first day of the job, is pleased about the project’s possibilities for his own future. “I want to learn more and become better,” he says. “This gives me the opportunity to advance myself.”

The project’s wider impacts are like a breath of fresh air. Medellín’s temperatures fell by 2°C in the first three years of the program, and officials expect a further decrease of 4 to 5C over the next few decades, even taking into account climate change. In turn, City Hall says this will minimize the need for energy-intensive air conditioning...

In addition, the project has had a significant impact on air pollution. Between 2016 and 2019, the level of PM2.5 fell significantly, and in turn the city’s morbidity rate from acute respiratory infections decreased from 159.8 to 95.3 per 1,000 people [Note: That means the city's rate of people getting sick with lung/throat/respiratory infections.]

There’s also been a 34.6 percent rise in cycling in the city, likely due to the new bike paths built for the project, and biodiversity studies show that wildlife is coming back — one sample of five Green Corridors identified 30 different species of butterfly.

Other cities are already taking note. Bogotá and Barranquilla have adopted similar plans, among other Colombian cities, and last year São Paulo, Brazil, the largest city in South America, began expanding its corridors after launching them in 2022.

“For sure, Green Corridors could work in many other places,” says Zapata."

-via Reasons to Be Cheerful, March 4, 2024

[iluvchick3nz]

As someone from the south my southern accent comes out STRONGLY when I’m tired so I can just imagine leo talking with a deep drawl after a game or on the bus ride home LOL! You’re so amazing and I love ur work so much pls never stop

This was actually a really cool prompt, because I got to do some research on NOLA accents! They're kind of similar to NYC ones in many ways, and distinct from the stereotypical Southern US ones. I noticed, particularly, that the way that lots of people pronounce '-ing' is not necessarily with a hard 'n' sound like '-in', nor a hard 'ng' sound. It's kind of like in the Northeast, where we don't really touch our tongues to the roof of our mouths right behind our teeth, but don't touch the back of our tongues to the back of our throat- it's a mix between the two. It's like a soft '-ing' sound with the same casual feeling of '-in', if that makes sense? It also depends on the starting sound of the word following the word ending in '-ing', so I also tried to represent that when I as writing. There was a lot of talking to myself, haha!

There's also obviously a bunch of different NOLA accents, depending on the area of the city you live in, your economic class, and your race, so I tried to emulate Leo's based on what we know about him and the characterization of him and his family in the SW universe. I hope I did it justice, and if I didn't, please let me know so I can learn more!

All credits to @lumosinlove !!

Leo turned up towards to the Louisiana sun and took a deep breath. It was warm on his face and neck, and the air smelled like home: slightly salty, heavy, and a little humid in the midday heat. He smiled and looked out over the front of the boat. His cove was up ahead, all secluded and shadowed, as if waiting for him and his boys. He realized they weren’t beside him, and turned around to look at the seats. They liked to sit there and watch him, they said, Finn usually with Logan in his lap or an arm around his shoulders. After a few minutes, Logan would inevitably come up to stand beside Leo and kiss his shoulder, just like he had the first time they’d gone out there. Finn took a photo every time, without fail. He had a special album on his phone, Leo knew, and the most recent one was his screen saver. 

But when Leo turned around fully, they weren’t there. He jerked his head around. They weren’t anywhere. He furrowed his eyebrows, confused- he’d definitely undone the ropes with Logan, he was sure of it. And Finn had definitely squeezed his hips and pressed a kiss to his cheek in thanks after Leo helped him on the boat. All of their lifejackets were still there, too, nestled up right where they normally sat, in case of an emergency. Panic rose in Leo’s throat, and his breathing started to quicken. Where were they? They couldn’t have gone overboard, Leo would never forgive himself if-

Soleil.

Leo jerked his head up. Logan’s voice, like a whisper on the wind. 

Soleil, réveille-toi, mon amour.

“Logan?” Leo asked. He tilted his head up to the sky. “Lo. Logan, where-”

Sh, sh, it’s alright. Open your eyes for me, mon coeur.

With a start, Leo jerked awake. His face was squished in the pillow, his hipbones pressing into something soft underneath him. “What-”

“Bon matin, Le.”

Leo squinted, and then a face came into view. Green. Green eyes. Leo gasped. “Lo.”

Logan was laughing softly. “Salut, mon coeur.” He was stretched out beside Leo on their bed, athletic and strong body all on display for Leo to gaze at. “You were talking in your sleep.”

“I- what-” Leo stammered. He shifted his body, feeling the mattress underneath his hips. “I been- been lookin’ for you for ages.”

Logan shuffled in closer and put a hand on Leo’s back. “Quoi? Why were you looking for us?”

Leo made a distressed sound low in his throat. “You left the boat.”

Logan’s brow furrowed. “Quoi?”

“You left the boat,” Leo continued. “We were gonna pass by my cove, ya know? Was thinking ‘bout-” He interrupted himself with a yawn. “Was thinking ‘bout kissing you- give you a passion mark.”

“A what?”

“A passion mark.”

“Soleil, I have no idea what that is.”

Leo huffed. “Ici,” he said, tugging at Logan’s arm. Logan shifted even closer and hissed in surprise when Leo leaned in and began sucking on his neck. He was propped on his elbow, hovering over with Logan’s head underneath him on the pillows. Logan reached up with his outside hand to scratch at Leo’s curls and hummed into the sheets. Leo in turn made a noise against his skin, hand running down Logan’s soft torso. He pulled off gently and surveyed his work. “Bon.”

“Soleil,” Logan said, face smushed a little. He was laughing. “Soleil, I’m stuck.”

“Hm,” Leo replied. “Can do somethin’ ‘bout it, honey.” 

Logan laughed even harder as Leo straighted their twisted bodies by rolling over completely and flopping on Logan’s chest. Logan scratched his nails gently up and down Leo’s back. “Your accent always sounds so much stronger in the morning, mon coeur.”

“So does yours,” Leo retorted from his place against Logan’s neck. He placed his mouth back against the skin and sucked gently. Logan’s chest rose and fell with a content sigh, his hands still working their way up Leo’s shoulders.

Suddenly, the door to their bedroom opened. Leo didn’t remove himself from where he was, but he could hear Finn’s breath hitch when he saw them.

“Yeah, mom,” Finn said. He must have been on his weekly phone call with his parents. “Yes, I’ll tell them you said that.” A pause and a scoff. “Nuh-uh, we feed him, too.” Finn let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, mom, okay. Okay, yeah, send it to me. I can work a stove you know.” Leo peeked his eye out to look at him. There was more chatter on the other end of the line, and then Finn laughed. “Yes, I know. Okay. Okay, I love you. Tell dad I say hi. Love you, ‘kay, bye.” Finn hung up and then let out a big sigh. His gaze on them was tired, but he was smiling. “Oh man, I need to lie down.”

Logan laughed. “You’ve barely gotten up.”

“No,” Finn said. The bed shifted as he crawled under the covers. “I’ve been up since the early morning, but some people have been being sleepy-heads.”

Logan shoved him slightly. “I was up with Leo.”

Finn turned his adoring eyes on Leo and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “I know, I’m sorry baby. Trouble sleeping?”

“Mm-hm,” Leo said. He settled down with his cheek against Logan’s shoulder, closing his eyes and moving into the feeling of Finn’s hand stroking his hair back. “Kept havin’ weird dreams. Lost y’all when we were passin’ by my cove.”

“When we were what?” Finn asked. His voice sounded confused.

Leo huffed slightly. “When we were passin’ by my cove. On the boat.” He opened his eyes again. “How’s your mama’n’em?”

Finn smiled. “Oh, I see. You’re that tired, hm? Last night's game wear you out?” Leo just blinked slowly. Finn kissed his forehead again. “Oh, you’re really exhausted, sweetheart. Why don’t you go back to sleep, huh? We got a day off.”

“Non,” Leo said defiantly. It was a little like what Logan would say, lovingly grumpy. “Non, I wanna stay here and talk.” He yawned. “Don’t wanna lose you on the boat again.”

Logan grinned into the top of his head. “Non, soleil. You’re not losing us on a boat.”

Leo kissed his chest, then looked at Finn again. “So, how’s your mama’n’em?”

“Well,” Finn started. “No ‘n’em’ today, just mom.” He settled himself firmly against them with a leg thrown over their bodes. He took one of Leo’s bouncy curls between his fingers. “She said she’d send me her bolognese recipe. Said it was ‘foolproof’, and that I should cook you dinner tonight because you feed me too much.” He scoffed. “I told her I know how to work a stove. And that I do feed you- sometimes.”

Leo smiled. “Ouais, you do. But I like cooking for ya.”

“Ouais,” Logan said. “Mais, we can do it for you.” He nuzzled Leo’s head. “Let’s treat you today, hm? Go for a walk around the park that you like, outside the city. Go swimming in the swimming hole.” He paused and squeeze Leo tighter. “How does that sound, mon soleil?”

“Yeah,” Leo nodded. “Yeah, okay. 

“Sounds perfect, baby,” Finn said. He leaned in for a quick kiss from Logan. When he pulled back, his eyebrows furrowed, then a smile broke over his face. “Looks like somebody already got to you this morning, huh?” He leaned down to kiss over the mark that Leo had left.

Logan made a happy little sound. “Ouais. It’s a- what did you call it, soleil?”

“A passion mark,” Leo sighed. He snuggled further down into Logan. “‘Cause I love ya. Love ya both.”

“Je t’aime.” Logan settled back into the pillows. He sounded like he was half asleep again.

“Love you,” Finn whispered. He buried himself in next to them. “Love you, love you, love you. My sexy boys with sexy accents.”

Leo and Logan just laughed, shaking the bed beneath them. The day ahead felt a little less tiring now. 

[plantspecialist]

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