#New York subway fare

[ekimdesonbaharbaskadir]

My First day in New York | Best way to travel in NY? How to find cheapest bus in USA? Places to Visit in New York

My First day in New York | Best way to travel in NY? How to find cheapest bus in USA? Places to Visit in New York

My First day in New York | Best way to travel in NY? How to find cheapest bus in USA? #NewYork Places to Visit in New York #placestovisitinnewyork #travel #newyork #placestovisit Watch the My First day in New York | Best way to travel in NY? How to find cheapest bus in USA? video till the end. 2249835 Views – 45361 Likes. You also like and comment. This video will give you an idea about the…

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#brooklyn bridge New York #cheapest fare finder USA #China town bus New York #China town bus philadelphia to new york #Manhattan bridge new york #MountainTrekker #new york sight seeing #New York subway fare #new york subway guide #new york subway pass 7 days #philadelphia to new york bus #philadelphia to new york bus fare #TouristHelpline #Travel channel #Travel Channel Hindi #Travel series #VarunVagish #walk tour manhattan #wanderu

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Keeping the subway fare to a nickel was a major issue in the first half of the 20th century. But on June 30, 1948, it finally went up. Carmen Gherdol of Long Island City drops the last nickel in one of the BMT-IRT subway turnstiles at Times Square, June 30, 1948, when the fare was raised to ten cents for a subway ride. Assistant supervisor Bartholomew Barry, left, prepares to pull a canvas cover over the slot, until it is changed over to receive the smaller coin.

Photo: Matty Zimmerman for the AP via tucson.com

#New York #NYC #vintage New York #1940s #Matty Zimmerman #NY subway #subway #nickel fare #Carmen Gherdol #turnstile #June 30

[townflex]

NYPD Faces Challenges Arresting Fare-Dodgers: Six Officers, Fifteen Minutes for One

At the busiest station in New York, it took six undercover police officers fifteen minutes to restrain a single fare-dodger. This image serves as a stark reminder of how tough it is to address the MTA’s crisis. The Post was at the Times Square station when the man exclaimed, “Bruh! Bruh! ” and refused to show identification. You can’t do this to me, no!” in front of commuters, he said, falling…

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#MTA #New York #NYPD #selling swipes #SUBWAY FARE #SUBWAYS

[fintan-pyren]

Here, my young 6 year-old child. I have encountered a lead which suggests that the human we are looking for may be in the Forbidden City known as New York. I will leave you on the outskirts of the city. Please walk along the streets and ask every human girl who looks to be your age whether she's secretly an elf. Take these three Human Dollars for the subway fare. I shall return to pick you up three days hence. Do not disappoint me.

- Alden Vacker, according to the fandom

#kotlc

[savagewildnerness]

Interesting (you’ll be the judge of that!) , the song: about a soldier out for war, relentlessly driving onwards with a wild (surely misplaced!!) enthusiasm, no matter what! Remind you of anyone?! 😉

“Paddy Mack drove a hack
Up and down Broadway,
Pat had one expression and he’d use it ev’ry day;
Anytime he’d grab a fare, to take them for a ride,
Paddy jumped upon the seat, cracked his whip and cried:


“Where do we go from here, boys,
Where do we go from here?
Anywhere from Harlem to a Jersey city pier;”
When Pat would spy a pretty girl, he’d whisper in her ear,
“Oh joy, Oh boy,
Where do we go from here?”
here?”


One fine day, on Broadway,
Pat was driving fast,
When the street was blown to pieces
By a subway blast;
Down the hole poor Paddy went, a thinkin’ of his past,
Then he says, says he, I think these words will be my last:


“Where do we go from here, boys,
Where do we go from here?
Paddy’s neck was in the wreck, but still he had no fear;
He saw a dead man next to him and whispered in his ear,
“Oh joy, Oh boy,
Where do we go from here?”


First of all, at the call,
When the war began,
Pat enlisted in the army as a fighting man;
When the drills began, they’d walk a hundred miles a day,
Tho’ the rest got tired, Paddy always used to say:


“Where do we go from here, boys,
Where do we go from here?
Slip a pill to Kaiser Bill and make him shed a tear;
And when we see the enemy we’ll shoot them in the rear,
He saw a dead man next to him and whispered in his ear,
“Oh joy, Oh boy,
Where do we go from here?”

Where Do We Go From Here? is a classic World War I song written in 1917 by lyricist Howard Johnson and ragtime composer Percy Wenrich. Johnson served in the Navy during World War I, and then he moved to New York and immediately found himself working in Tin Pan Alley. Amongst his many hits, mostly with particularly long song titles, was the popular novelty song I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For Ice Cream.

#interview with the vampire #anne rice #lestat de lioncourt #the vampire lestat #iwtv lestat #amc interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #iwtv amc

[c-t-r-l14]

Another small rant about Alex (Yes I know I talk about him a lot, no, I won’t stop)

A small part of me, a very small and petty part, really wants listener to move on from Alex’s gaslighting, excuse-making, crybaby ass.

Go back to therapy to see what went wrong, and learn from their mistakes.

Get they money up and not they funny up, and find a new man who will love them and actually TRY to make their relationship work despite their shortcomings. Men who are into communication. Men like Kayson or Jonah—two guys who love their partners, and won’t give up on them if it’s the last thing they’ll ever do.

And I want Alex to see them, with their successful life, and with their new partner.

And I want him to REGRET.

I want him to regret making excuses. I want him to regret the gaslighting. I want him to regret the way he broke up with them; and I want him to miss them, and what they had. I want him to grovel for them, and I want listener to deny his apology and tell him to take a hike. That they’re doing much better without him and his excuses, and walk away from him—leaving him alone to drown in his regret.

BUT.

A much bigger part of me, really wants listener and him to get back together. I want them both to try to work things out, too. I want both of them to recognize their own faults, talk about it like adults. A conversation without gaslighting, or making excuses. Before the argument, they had such good chemistry together, and it’s crazy that it went all up in smoke because of one stupid ass spat. I want them to both acknowledge that they are BOTH at fault for the way things turned out—not one party blaming the other under the guise of “kindness”, and “doing this for the greater good”.

Because the way Alex broke things off with them was not for the greater good, man. When it comes to the greater good, you don’t make excuses. You don’t gaslight. And you most definitely don’t put all the blame on one party.

I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if listener ended up with even more trauma because of this break up. Imagine you lose your cool, and act irrationally—and it’s the ONE TIME this ever happens—and you lose the person you care about? And then they make up excuses to leave you, all the while fully acknowledging that what you did isn’t who you are? And they BLAME you?? And gaslight you?? Omg, ya’ll—I would NOT know what to do in that scenario, bro.

I know I call out Alex a lot, and point out all the holes in his argument, but I feel like if I was ACTUALLY in the position listener was in, I’d believe every word he said. All of it, because it’s so easy to believe what people say when it comes from the mouth of the one you love. I can point out the flaws in his reasoning because I’m listening from an outside perspective. I can call him out because listener and and I are separate (I usually think of them as their own person). I really hope that listener has a good support group—one that tells them that the break up was not entirely their fault. I want them to call out Alex on his B.S., and reassure listener that the way he ended things was not right.

As for Alex, he could go on and frolick in the smog filled streets of New York City, if that’s what he wants. I live there, and there’s nothing special about it anyway—unless if rats the size of possums, smelly, disgusting subway stations and overpriced train fares is something that he finds appealing.

I’m glad that more people are realizing that Alex was wrong for this, though. I look at the comments of the break up audio and see so many people criticizing him, and even on Jonah’s newest video I see people comparing him to Jonah, and how Jonah and Kayson was “everything Alex should’ve been”. I love it so much.

It’s so refereshing to see more people on listener’s side.

#sakuverse #zsakuva #alex zsakuva #sorry ya’ll I had to get this off my chest #someobody has to drag him for filth on here #he was wrong asf for that

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

More Precious Than Rubies: Part 5a

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 5223

TW: Idiots in love; smut (drinking but not impaired; PiV, unprotected). 18+ only.

AN: The prompt was "How about you make me?"

If Barba had been irritated by how much space you were taking up in his head before, he was doubly maddened now.  You weren’t just taking up space at this point – you were moved in and living rent free.

Your case load with SVU waxed and waned.  Sometimes you had a whole slate of cases against him, and other times he went for stretches without facing off against you.  Still, he saw you all the time at the courthouse, and you were usually arguing with some other ADA.  Barba usually felt a sting of jealousy when he did.  He wondered if you called Niles “Yale Law” or if you smirked at Cox.

He was still nettled by your comment about O’Dwyer being a better ADA than him, even if he was mostly certain that you were just teasing him.

At least you shook his hand after trials now.  He had hated it when you’d pointedly ignore him, but it was his own fault for taking a shot at your age by calling you “Girl Wonder.”  He knew how hard it could be to be a lawyer fresh off the bar exam, and he assumed it was twice as hard for a baby-faced young woman.

You didn’t seem to mind being called “Fordham Law,” and you always responded with a grin and rejoinder of calling him “Harvard Law.”  And you never said it with a sneer – usually, Barba’s opponents used his Ivy League education against him, implying that he was some sort of out-of-touch elite.

----

The New York City Law Association was holding its annual charity event.  Barba could think of a million things he’d rather do on a Saturday night other than socialize with other lawyers, but networking was part of his unofficial job duties, and McCoy made it clear that he expected all of his ADAs to attend.  Barba put on his tuxedo and got a taxi to Brooklyn.

The only thing that the NYCLA had going for it was its commitment to out-of-the-way and unique venues.  The District Attorney’s office stuck with the usual hotel ballrooms for their events, but the NYCLA always found some new place.  This year was the New York Transit Museum.

He made his way to the bar and snagged a scotch, then made a quick sweep of the room.  He saw some familiar faces but no one he wanted to talk to, so he wandered off to look at some of the exhibits.

There were people milling around and looking at the offerings – the old subway cars, the old maps and photos of the subway construction.  Then Barba saw you.  You were in a deep oxblood cocktail dress, so dark is was almost black, and your hair was down and loose.  You had your back to him, but (he was ashamed to admit), he’d know your ass anywhere.

He strolled over and pretended to look at the same exhibit that you were engrossed by – old fare boxes through the years.  You turned and looked at him, and smiled when you recognized him.

“Barba,” you said, and you looked him over.  “You clean up nice.  A far cry from your usual off-the-rack sackcloth.”

“Counselor,” he replied.  “I’m surprised to see you here.  Shouldn’t you be off visiting some serial masturbating client in prison?”

You pouted at this, and Barba tried to ignore how kissable you looked in your deep red lipstick.  “My serial masturbating client isn’t in prison, Barba.  Remember?  I won him a ‘not guilty’ verdict, from you, if I recall correctly.”

“One of your rare victories.”

You took a sip of your drink; it looked like cola and something, in a rock glass with a twist of lime.  “Ah, but those rare victories against you are so sweet.  The sound of you grinding your teeth when I win…it sustains me through the lean times.”

Barba scoffed.  “I don’t grind my teeth.  Besides, get ready for another lean period.  The Alexi case…I’ll have a guilty verdict within an hour of the jury retiring.”

You polished off your drink and turned to walk to the bar, and Barba followed.  “We’ll see,” you said as you strolled beside him.  “I think Judge Catalano will have some thoughts about the integrity of the lab once I talk with him.”

At the bar, you made eye contact with a bartender and tapped on your glass, and the woman nodded at you in understanding.  You turned to face Barba, leaning back against the bar.  “We all know that the medical examiner’s office is compromised after the Rudnick disaster.”

Barba groaned.  “Oh, don’t start with that.”  He reached across the bar to hand you your drink, and you both settled at a nearby table.  “You know damned well that Rudnick was an anomaly…”

“How can I know that?  How can anyone?  Any single case he oversaw could be compromised…”

“…but you know that’s not the case….”

“All I know is that a crucial link in the chain of custody was being overseen by an actual serial killer, Barba, and…”

He sat his scotch down specifically so that he could throw up his hands.  “You’re impossible!  You’ll only be happy when the prisons are empty and every bad guy in the world is released with a hug and an apology!”

This made you burst into a gale of laughter, so loud and unexpected that you placed a hand over your mouth.  He watched you laugh for a long moment, smiling a bit at the sight of it.  Once you calmed down, your laughs trailed to the occasional hiccupped giggle, you took a deep swallow of your drink and grinned.  “That’s what you think of me, Harvard Law?”

He polished off his own scotch and flagged down a wandering server to order another.  “I think you’ve got a good head for law and a soft heart.  I think the world hasn’t worn you down yet, but in public defense, it seems inevitable.”

Your wide grin faltered a bit, but before you could refute his claim, two women made their way over to your table, waving and calling you.  You looked over at them and your smile returned.

“Who let you in?” you teased.  “This exclusive organization has clearly lowered its standards.”

The taller woman scoffed and leaned in to hug you, but the shorter red-head looked hard at Barba before turning to hug you too. 

“Barba, these are my friends from Fordham,” you introduced.  “Chauncy and Sarah.  Guys, this is ADA Rafael Barba.”

There was a flurry of handshakes, and Chauncy’s seemed especially firm.  “You handled the Jackie Walker disaster,” she said.  Barba winced to remember the flubbed case against the innocent man, and the red-head saw his discomfort.  “Don’t sweat it,” she continued.  “I’m representing his civil case against the NYPD.  I’ll get him a nice payday to soothe the fact that his career and reputation was destroyed.”

The tall woman laid a gentle hand on Chauncy.  “Play nice,” she warned.

You had just watched the interaction, then offered to go get drinks for everyone.  Before anyone could object, you were off to the bar, and the remaining three exchanged wary looks.

You returned laden down with an armful of glasses and a wide grin that he recognized.  “Open bar, guys,” you said.   You plunked down another scotch for Barba and then everyone else’s drinks.  “Drink up.  I got shots.”  He watched you place an electric pink shot glass in front of everyone, him included.

Sarah laughed at you.  “What’s this shot called?” she asked.

You shook your head at her.  “You know what it is.”

“Say it.”  Sarah said.  She and Chauncy started chanting “say it, say it” until you were ducking your head in embarrassment.

Chauncy looked at Barba and explained it to him:  “She tried to order a certain drink when she turned twenty-one and we took her out to celebrate.”

“It’s the only alcoholic drink she knew,” Sarah added.

“But she was too embarrassed to say ‘sex,’ so she called it ‘Love on the Beach,’” Chauncy finished.

“And these jackals picked up on it immediately,” you said with a rueful shake of your head, but you refused to quite meet his gaze.  “And they spent the next four years – and apparently this evening – making me order drinks and shots based on how filthy the name was.”

Barba picked up the shot glass with its nuclear pink liquid, playing along.  He’d never seen you look so discomfited, and he loved it.  “So what’s this one called?”

“It’s got peach schnapps, coconut rum, cherry vodka….”

“He didn’t ask what was in it, Sparky,” Sarah teased, and Barba gave a bark of laughter at your apparent nickname.

“Sparky?” he asked incredulous. 

You heaved a heavy, beleaguered sigh.  “They called me ‘Sparky’ because a professor called me a sparkplug once when I got worked up and argued a case in class.”  You picked up the shot and regarded it for a moment, then mumbled in a rush, “and this is called a Killer Pussy.”  You stuttered on the last word, scrunched your face in embarrassment, then threw back the shot.  Then turned on your heel and marched off for more booze, the laughter from your table at your back. 

-----

This is how the evening progressed:  you got everyone drinks, socializing as you came and went to the bar with people you passed.  Your friends ordered different shots and tried to make you say what they were.  Sometimes you muttered it in passing, other times you dug your heels in and refused to say it, making your friends howl with laughter.  It wasn’t mean spirited though – you laughed and relaxed with each drink you threw back.  You only did about half of the shots, preferring your mixed cola and whatever.

Every time you wandered off, Barba asked general questions about you to your friends, and they (lawyers in their own right) saw right through him. 

“Why do you care?” asked Sarah.  “You like her?”

“I just face off against her a lot in court,” he offered.  “Might help to know her weak spots.”

Chauncy scoffed at this, like she didn’t believe him.  “Sure.  We wouldn’t help you beat her in court.”  A sly look crossed her face as she looked Barba over like a butcher appraising a cow.  “Maybe if you had more…personal reasons though…”

He felt his face grow warm, but you came back just then with another round (you wouldn’t name the shot, so Sarah said it and Barba heard you audibly wince when she did).  Then dinner was served.

A relative silence descended over the table as everyone ate, and Chauncy took the opportunity to ask you, rather pointedly, if you were seeing anyone.

“No,” you replied with a shake of your head.  You sawed off another piece of steak, happy to leave it at that.

But your friend persisted.  “Maybe you could find someone here,” she tried, and Barba shot her a glare across the table that she only batted her eyes at.

“Doubtful,” you said around a bite of steak.  You glanced around the room.  “Though I see the Bronx ADA that I went on a date with once.  Not my type.”

Barba glanced over to where you were looking – he knew the Bronx ADA you were looking at.  ADA Williams and Barba had started in New York together.  He cleared his throat when you casually brushed off his colleague.  Likely you had an upper age limit on potential suitors.  “Why isn’t he your type?” he asked.

You shrugged and moved onto your mashed potatoes.  “He’s a jerk, and I found out after the fact that he’s still married.  He obviously struggles with the fidelity thing.  It’s a deal-breaker.”  Then you wiped your mouth with your napkin and excused yourself to use the restroom.

Your friends clucked in sympathy and filled him in.  “Her first boyfriend, Jason, cheated on her for a year before she found out.  And her last boyfriend, Dom…well, the working theory is that he cheated too,” said Sarah.

“He’s a cop.  He had a cute little blonde partner that apparently came between them,” Chauncy added.  “Missed their anniversary dinner.”

Sarah sighed.  “I remember that.  She called me, crying.”  She glanced over at Barba and pointed at him.  “This is top secret.  You’re in the inner circle now, so don’t repeat it.”

Chauncy pointed too.  “Inner circle.  You drink the Killer Pussy, you’re in the club.  The only way out of the club is death.”

He held up his hands in surrender.  You eventually returned to your seat, and Barba looked you over.  If your eyes looked a little watery and red-rimmed, he couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or if you’d been crying. 

You were a fierce competitor in the courtroom and an irritating presence besides, but he felt a sympathetic comradery with you.  He’d been cheated on when he was around your age, and he had thrown himself into his work.  Like you seemed to be doing.  He pretended to be uninterested in romance, as you seemed to be now.  And he knew where that sort of life would lead:  you nearing forty, alone and bitter and convinced that you’d never find anyone.  Caught in a terrible limbo of being lonely and wanting love, but too terrified of being hurt again.

Suddenly your reaction at the 16th precinct made more sense.  He also knew that if he ever got the chance, he’d kick Carisi’s skinny ass down the courthouse steps.

-----

After dinner, there were the usual speeches about it being another great year.  There was a slideshow of all the conferences and opportunities they’d created, how membership grew, how so many law articles had been published and legislation drafted.  Then the lights were turned down a fraction and the music was turned up.  Sarah and Chauncy drifted off to dance and mingle with other people, but Barba was perfectly content to pick up the dropped thread of your earlier conversation.  You both stood and went to the bar, got fresh drinks, then lingered by the edge of the dance floor.

Arguing with him seemed to revive you – you’d been unusually quiet ever since dinner, but as soon as Barba brought up the Alexi case again, you got that glint in your eye again.

“Forget the tainted lab results then,” you said.  “I have serious doubts that the rest of the evidence was even legally attained.”

Barba rolled his eye elaborately, which made you roll your eyes at him.  You continued, “there’s a lot of established case law regarding non-English speaking suspects being Mirandized in English only….”

“Your client speaks English, Sparky.”

You narrowed your eyes at him until they were slits, and your scrunched your face up again.  It was probably supposed to look mean, but you looked charming.  Barba wanted to kiss your frowning mouth until your lipstick was smeared and you were smiling at him. 

“Don’t scowl at me,” he continued.  “It’s a great nickname.  It suits you.”  Your eyes narrowed even further, so he plucked your empty glass from you hand and pulled you onto the dance floor before you could protest.

Your dress was off-the-shoulder, and it revealed an expanse of your soft-looking skin – far more than you ever revealed with your courtroom suits.  But Barba was a gentleman, so he laid a hand lightly on your waist and led you in a simple box step around the floor.

“Kadyrbayev versus the Commonwealth of Massachusetts,” you continued.  “Knowing some English isn’t the same as having a competency of English.”

He snorted.  “Everyone knows the Miranda rights,” he started, but you cut him off before he could continue his train of thought. 

“Solid argument,” you agreed sarcastically.  “You write about how ‘everyone knows stuff’ for your law review article?”

Barba gritted his teeth, caught himself when you smirked at him knowingly, and felt his irritation rise.  You were closer to him than you’d ever been; you were close enough that he could smell your bright perfume and feel the stormy electric front he always felt when you were near him and fighting.  But the irritation was stronger than any desire he might feel for you.

“You’re so annoying,” he bit back lamely. 

“Solid,” you repeated.  You tilted your head at him and smiled.  “You’re just mad that I win against you.”

“Rarely.  You rarely win against me.”

“But it stings, doesn’t it?  You’re used to public defenders who barely try, and here comes this girl wonder…”

“Girl pain in the ass,” he grumbled, and you gave another loud laugh at this that startled him into a smile. 

“If you would just be willing to compromise on plea deals, it’d go easier for you.”

“It’s not my job to get plea deals,” he retorted.  “It’s my deal to deliver justice.”

You looked at him, staring straight into his eyes and giving him a jolt at how close your face was to his.  “Define justice, Barba.”

He twisted his mouth into a smirk and stared back at you.  “You need me to give you an introduction to justice?  Plato and Nicomachean ethics?  You skip that at Fordham so that you could go comfort people in jail and tell them it wasn’t their fault because a study once said that people who didn’t get hugged three times a day are more likely to…”

“God, you’re the worst.”  You dropped your hand from his shoulder and pulled your other hand from his grasp, and you marched off the dance floor.  You were slightly unsteady in your high heels, and Barba was at your elbow, following you.  You turned and glanced back at him.  “I meant utilitarianism versus retributivism, and you bring up hugs again.  What’s your deal with hugs, Barba?  You sound like every crusty old white guy ranting about how kids today are too soft….”

“That’s completely unfair,” he barked back, stung at the insinuation.  He wasn’t a monster; he was completely sympathetic to the challenges that poor people faced in the justice system.  You likely didn’t know that he grew up poor in the Bronx, and he was insulted that you thought he didn’t care about the people from his neighborhood…and all the other disenfranchised in the city and beyond.

“I’d slap you,” you replied, and you stopped and turned to look at him.  “But you’d try to twist the simple assault charge into attempted murder, probably.”  You paused, then added, “for justice’s sake.”

“It’d get you off the street at least,” he snapped.  “You could stop menacing the city with your fucking irritating mouth.”

Your eyes widened at his sudden use of profanity.  “Are we actually fighting now, Barba?  Is this us having a fight?”  You pointed between the two of you in disbelief. 

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before he looked at you again.  “You just never stop.  You always have some convoluted study or obscure case from some 1930’s backwater jurisdiction…”

“Like you ever stop!”  You threw your hands up in exasperation.  “You find the most tenuous ways to link a date-rape case back to Constitutional law, practically.”  You went on, made some claim that Barba would eventually cite the Articles of Confederation in a cyber-stalking case, but he was barely paying attention.  He couldn’t tell if you were really mad or not.  He’d never spent so much time with you arguing, so he wasn’t sure if this was its logical outcome.  You were ranting but punctuating your words with light laughs.  You were gesturing wildly but gifting him with half-smiles. 

He wanted to kiss you desperately, but he wasn’t sure if it was because you looked like the sexiest woman he’d ever seen or if because he just wanted you to shut up for a minute.

You were winding down now, and like in court, you linked your conclusion back to your opening statement.  “You never stop either, Barba,” you finished, and you squared off in front of him like you were expecting to actually fight him at this point.

He waited a moment, then simply said, “The Articles of Confederation didn’t outline the court system, so your analogy is very weak.”

You replied by growling at him, “just stop!” and he swore he saw actual murder in your glaring eyes.  He never got to see you thrown off your game like you seemed to be now. 

“How about your make me?” he teased.

You reached up, and for a split second he thought you actually were going to slap him.  Instead, you clasped a palm over his mouth, silencing him.  But he ducked his head out of your grasp with a chuckle, and the next thing he knew, your mouth was on his, cutting off his laugh as you pressed the length of your body against him.  All he could do was groan against you and snake his arms around you.  And then kiss you back.

The rest of the reception fell away, like the world always did when Barba was with you.  He felt you wrap your own hands around the back of his neck, tugging him closer to you.  You parted your lips and ran the tip of your tongue against the seam of his mouth, and he opened himself to you.

You slid your tongue into his mouth, and he groaned again to taste you.  He could feel his blood – already heated from dancing with you and teasing you – start to pool in his groin, and he pushed you away gently, breaking the kiss and looking at you.

Your pupils were huge, and your lipstick was blurred around the edges in that just-kissed look that drove him crazy.  Otherwise, you seemed sober – or sober enough to consent, or at least he convinced himself that you were.  To your credit, you weren’t slurring your words or stumbling or acting drunk.  Aside from kissing him out of nowhere.  That was unexpected, and possibly the result of impaired judgement.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, and you drew your brows in confusion before you nodded.

“I’m fine.” 

“Do you…do you want to get out of here?”  He could barely look at you; he wanted you so badly but wasn’t sure you were sober enough, but you seemed in your right mind.  But you had to be intoxicated to kiss him…maybe?

You cut off his circuitous thinking by reaching down and grabbing his wrist, and you tugged him towards the nearest exit, and Barba was too far gone himself, drunk on the sexual tension and/or murderous rage (Liv could never, ever find out), to do much higher thinking after that.

-----

You were silent as you led him to the street, then you muttered that you lived a few blocks away.  Barba just nodded, but he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him as the two of you walked to your place.  When you had to stop and wait for a light at a crosswalk, he pulled you back to him.  He kept waiting for you to push him away, to stop the whole chain-reaction that you’d started when you kissed him at the reception, but you didn’t.  You leaned into him and kissed him back just as fervently. 

Your apartment looked like a Victorian rowhouse, chopped into units, and as you led him up two floors, you informed him that Sarah and Chauncy lived on the second floor.  At the third landing, you pulled a bundle of keys from your clutch.  Your hands shook a bit as you tried to unlock the door, and Barba took the opportunity to sweep your hair away from the back of your neck and kiss you there, drawing the tip of his tongue along your heated skin and making your breath hitch.

Once inside, he practically kicked the door shut.  You knelt down to undo the narrow ankle straps of your shoes, and once out of them, you were much steadier on your feet.  When you turned to face him, he felt suddenly nervous.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. 

You nodded and reached for him, but he held you at arms’ length.  “Did you have too much to drink?” he asked.

You pulled a face at this, then took a step backwards to balance on one foot in a semblance of a field sobriety test.  “I do solemnly swear that I am well within the legal limit of alcohol intake, and am furthermore consenting to the activities about to occur in this apartment.”

He smiled weakly.  “It’s just that you’re not my biggest fan usually….”.  You took a swift few steps over to him and placed your hand over his mouth again. 

“You’re a pain,” you said softly.  “You constantly fight me at work, you smirk at me, you called me Girl Wonder.  But I very much want you right now, if you want me.”

He did.  Very much.

He kissed the palm that covered his mouth, and when you pulled it away, he dipped his head and kissed your crimson lips, parted them to plunge his tongue and slide it against your own.  And from there, you both got increasingly desperate, pawing at each other and tugging at clothes and gasping each other’s names until it felt like you were both drowning and you were each the only chance of salvation for the other.

Barba shucked his own tuxedo as fast as he could as you shimmied out of your dress, revealing a sweetly sexy strapless black bra and panties.  He pulled you back to him, savoring the feel of your nearly naked frame pressed against him, and you buried your face in the sensitive juncture of his neck and kissed him while he fumbled with the clasp of your bra.  Once undone, he tossed it aside and then cupped your breasts in his big hands, and you arched yourself into him with a moan.

You pulled away from him with a sultry smile, then took his hand and led him into your bedroom.  He lifted you up with a grunt – you were deceptively heavy – and tossed you onto the bed, and you laughed until he joined you and latched onto first your left nipple and then your right, suckling them and then nipping at them with his teeth, and then swirling his tongue around them to soothe the sting of his light bites.  You tangled your hands in his hair, sometimes tugging him upward, sometimes pushing him into the valley of your breasts, and he grinned against your warm skin that smelled faintly of vanilla.  He worked your panties off of you as far as he could reach, and then he felt you kick them off into some shadowy corner of the room.

He wanted to take his time with you, but it was all too much, and he let you tug his head back up to yours.  You kissed again, nipping at his lower lip and sucking on it.  He slid his tongue into your mouth and felt your sharp intake of breath and then your groaning sigh as he reached down to the junction between your legs and slid one of his fingers into you.  He muttered a curse at how wet you were, how unbearably hot, and he wondered if it was all because of him.

You wriggled under him until he was completely on top of you.  And when you opened your legs to him, he removed his hand and replaced it with his cock – so hard that he could practically feel his heartbeat in it.  But despite the spinning room and the heady unreality of having you naked underneath him, he managed to pause and ask you if this is what you really wanted.

“Oh, yes,” you whispered, and your eyes had that same gleam in them as they did when you argued with him at work, so he gazed into them as he slid into your depths in one even motion.  Your eyelids fluttered and you moaned something unintelligible, so he paused again when was buried to the hilt and asked if you were okay.

To answer him, you wrapped first one leg and then the other around the small of his back, granting him an extra inch to sink into you as you pulled him closer.  He dropped his head beside yours with a growl, and he let your small heels dig into his ass and guide his thrusts until he found his own rhythm.  It wasn’t long before you were gasping his name, and then arching hard underneath him, so hard that you nearly bucked him off of you, and then squeezing his cock as you came against him.  And then he followed, unable to hold back, spilling himself deep inside of you. 

And from there, the alcohol and sex and maybe the exhaustion from your evening of bickering put you both to sleep before any awkwardness could descend.   You were both sprawled out at first but then drifted in sleep towards each other until you were curled against him, and his arm held you there.

Hours later, before sunrise, you both stirred and came awake in degrees.  Barba’s erection pressed against your hip, and he tried to pull away from you, embarrassed.  But you pressed a finger against his mouth to silence him before he could talk.  When he kissed it, you tilted your head at him and leaned down to press your own lips to his, and without a word exchanged, you straddled him, running your slick parts against him. 

“Is this really what you want?” you whispered, echoing his own question to you earlier.  He could only reply as you had.

“Oh, yes.”

You lowered yourself onto him, but it was less frenzied this time.  In the dim light, he could make out your outline as you rode him gently, sliding yourself off of him nearly all the way before impaling yourself.  Over and over and over, until he had to reach out and grab your hips to guide you in a faster pace, bouncing you onto him until you came.  You gasped his name again, and he felt his own orgasm coil up and then snap, and he came too.

And then another few hours of sleep.  When Barba woke up, fully sober and a little hungover, and the soft grey-pink light of dawn creeping through the blinds, he felt a sudden horror at what he’d done.  You were dead asleep:  your lips were parted as you snored lightly, and your hand was laid across his arm.  He moved it carefully to not wake you.

He should have never come to Brooklyn, he should have never drank at all, and he certainly should have never come back to your place.  And to have sex with you twice, when he wasn’t sure if you could really consent?  A terrible dread filled him, and he did the only thing he could do:  he slid out of bed, got dressed as quickly as he could, and fled.

He was halfway back across the Brooklyn Bridge when he second-guessed himself, but by now you’d be awake and realizing that he’d left you.  And fleeing was useless anyway:  your respective work heavily overlapped, and he’d have to face you sooner or later.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #tro

[racefortheironthrone]

I pick Rockefeller just because I assumed the reply would be long just covering those governors.

Your analysis did bring up a question I'm curious about: What was the NYC financial crisis and it's aftermath?

Ah, I see.

I can talk about the NYC fiscal crisis, let me get my lecture notes.

As I talked about with the list of NYC mayors, NYC had been borrowing money for a while. The underlying cause was that NYC's industrial economy had started shrinking in the 1950s, sapping the city's tax base and population. To try to cope with the social consequences of this economic decline, the city had been increasing spending on police, teachers, and welfare benefits. For a good while, the city had been able to paper things over by increasing taxes and various creative accounting measures, and had managed to keep things rolling over.

And then the 1973-1975 recession hit. All of the sudden, the city loses 38,000 jobs, unemployment rises, which means demand on social services increase, and all of the sudden that poor bastard Abe Beame is looking at a $1.5 billion annual hole in the budget that's ballooning NYC's debt.

But at the same time, another part of the story is that NYC's banks aren't doing too hot: as Joshua Freeman notes in Working-Class New York, the same NYC banks that had been encouraging city government to borrow more (because municipal bonds were a good profit source) had lent money very unwisely to developing nations and needed to cover their losses. So they started selling off their municipal debt holdings and started pushing the city to increase the interest rates they were offering.

However, they also asked for major policy changes. They wanted the city to fire public sector workers, they wanted the city to cut spending on social services and capital projects, and until the city agreed to make these changes, they wouldn't buy or underwrite city bonds. To me, the telling detail is that they started asking for more policy changes - raise the subway fares from ¢35, end free tuition at CUNY - that wouldn't affect the city's budget at all, since neither the MTA nor CUNY were city agencies. This wasn't just creditors wanting their debtor to improve their budget outlooks: this was a capital strike aimed at disciplining the unions, poor minorities, and the middle class into accepting a worse standard of living.

And so the city went to the Ford Administration for emergency aid, and Ford turned them down because he wanted to make NYC an example of what happened to liberal governments. Ford's Treasury Secretary said that the Federal government would only provide aid if the rescue package was "so punitive, the overall experience made so painful, that no city, no political subdivision would ever be tempted to go down the same road."

Ultimately, the city was forced to knuckle under. It eventually got a state bailout, but only by giving in to every conceivable demand that capital had made and giving them and the state government control over the city's taxes, bonds, and budget for decades. The result was that:

a quarter of the city's workforce lost their jobs;

the city's schools saw their teacher-student ratios shoot up and their wraparound services cut to shreds;

CUNY shrank by 62,000 students and became 50% whiter as black and brown students could no longer afford to attend;

the subway became more expensive, less reliable, and more dangerous;

public hospitals closed, leading to diverging health outcomes between rich and poor;

fire houses closed, leading to increasing response times that were the key factor behind the Bronx burning;

and on and on.

At the end of the decade, NYC had lost a million residents and would not recover fully until the turn of the millenium. But hey, at least the books were balanced!

#history #nyc history #nyc fiscal crisis #nyc

[xxconnection]

from Sisterhood is Powerful: An Anthology of Writings from the Women's Liberation Movement

text: Above [1st photo, by Louise Brotsky], Chicago WITCH hexes the Transit Authority for raising the subway fare.

Right [2nd photo, by Marilyn Salzman], Washington DC WITCH hexes billion-dollar corporation, United Fruit Company for "slave-labor practices abroad and sex discrimination in hiring at home."

Opposite page [3rd photo, by Henry Wilhelm/East St. Gallery, Grinnell, Iowa] Grinnell College (Iowa) students stage a nude-in to confront a representative from Playboy Magazine speaking on "The Playboy Philosophy." They demanded that he also take off his clothes. He fled.

Opposite right [4th photo, by Bill Nowlin/LNS-NY], Women's Liberation guerrilla theater at the Bridal Fair, New York. Disruptions of merchandise shows for brides took place all over the US in 1969.

Opposite below [5th photo, by Paul Stelter/Chicago Maroon], Protest against the firing of Marlene Dixon, radical, feminist, and teacher, at the university of Chicago, 1968. A major riot followed, and university buildings were seized and held by students.

The sign in the last picture reads: "UC's concern for women: 1. Dormitory hours 2. Teacher putdowns 3. Ignoring the study of women 4. 9 tenured women faculty 5. Firing Marlene Dixon

#lesbian #lesbian history #women centered #female separatism #activism #resist #sisterhood #witchcraft #protest #revolution #anti capitalism

[pleasantpedanticny]

don't be surprised..

Cops have always been this way...I guess I am glad you never noticed and lived that kind of life.

New York cops aimed a gun at me for helping a highschool kid go to school because I shared my public transit pass with him.

Cops have always been this way... I was like 14 and white and Jewish looking but dressed working class and they threatened to kill me over 1$ subway fare. Because some other kid lost their pass.

When high school students, teenagers protested in about 1992 my friends, my brother, my mother, hundreds were teargassed without warning to clear the plaza. The students were complaining about lack of educational resources, problems with the curriculum, and over-policing.

Cops have always been this way... I don't understand how you didn't notice. I learned about Kent State. Police fire bombing a building in Philly, about so much worse.

When I was a kid aware of and sometimes even at Act Up rallies in the 80's and Early 90's that simply wanted to draw medical attention to millions of HIV/AIDS deaths and push for political support for treatment and prevention of deaths... the cops regularly used pepper spray and teargas. And I heard one say they would use their batons more but they didn't want to get AIDS from the F@#s.

Cops have always been this way... they don't care if you live or die.

I volunteered with a soup kitchen as a junior in highschool and watched the cops stand outside and threatened the poor hungry people who loved up outside. Making them not talk to each other. Scaring them intentionally. So the homeless "wouldn't bother the neighbors.

Cops have always been this way... they may not all be evil men and women but as a group they are a terrifying evil thing that is there to harm people. Some people certainly get hurt more often. So be glad if you were allowed not to notice.

I remember seeing cops beat up a pair of homeless people in grand central who hadn't woken up and moved along fast enough just... started swinging night sticks. One of the men wore clothing a d was an age that suggested he was a Vietnam veteran. They arrested him for yelling at them... after they hit him. He didnt threaten them. He didn't fight back.

Cops have always been this way... they train people to exert force on the population. They train them to use preemptive violence. First strike rules of engagement. Excessive force may be a problem but it is training priority. If you may be in a little danger make absolutely sure the person can't hurt you... they say to each other. And then they are taught to see every person as a threat to them. And people are surprised that somehow that leads to police violence.

I had a cop say "are you a Jew to me" with the tone of voice you might expect if I was suspected of murder. This was in a small Midwestern town where I was visiting a college that I chose not to attend. They did like my answer, as I kept my hands visible and away from my body that I was half.. the wrong half so I was ethnically half Jewish not really Jewish. The cop said 'so yeah a jew.' And left me alone but watched from accross the shopping center to make sure I left. He had wanted me gone. So I went.

The cops have always been this way... do not believe this is bout preventing antisemitism or keeping the peace. The modern police were invented and militarized to harm to frighten and to prevent political protest to decrease democracy.

I am not glad if you didn't notice before. It may mean. You are part of what let's this system keep going.

The only moral and reasonable response is to defund and replace policing institutions.

#police violence #antisemitism #assault tw

[visit-new-york]

New York Elevated Railroad

Circa 1949: A train on the Third Avenue 'El', or elevated railway, in New York City, on its way to Wall Street, past fire-escapes.

Looking south from Franklin Square station (under Brooklyn Bridge) The northbound train coming from South Ferry could be 2nd or 3rd Ave EL, local or express, they all used the same 2 tracks south of Chatham Square.

Why did they take down the Third Avenue El? Pressure to scrap the El increased because of the postwar construction boom in the city, with sections of the Third Avenue line running from South Ferry to Chatham Square closed beginning in 1950. The main part of the line — from Chatham Square to East 149th Street in The Bronx ceased operations on May 12, 1955.

Why were elevated trains removed from NYC? Partly because of the politically untouchable nickel fare, the competing transit systems struggled financially even in the best of times. Changing economics and evolving public needs motivated policymakers to remove elevated lines and replace them with subways, which continued to burgeon.

Read also - View of the Chrysler Building

#elevated railroad #wall street #third avenue #brooklyn #chatham square #john street #New York City #new york #newyork #New-York #nyc #ny #urban #city #visit-new-york.tumblr.com

[supertrainstationh]

X LONG ISLAND COMMUTER TRAINS ARRIVE TO INTERCONNECT WITH NEW YORK CITY TRANSIT AUTHORITY SUBWAYS. THE SUBWAY SYSTEM HAS 232 MILES OF TRACK AND IS THE LONGEST IN THE WORLD. IN 1970 THERE WAS AN AVERAGE OF 2.1 MILLION PEOPLE WHO RODE THE SUBWAY EACH DAY, ABOUT 47 PERCENT OF THE WORK FORCE. DESPITE ITS CRUCIAL IMPORTANCE, VOTERS HAVE REFUSED TO AUTHORIZE NEW FUNDS FOR ANY MORE IMPROVEMENTS, OR TO ALLOW THE 35-CENT FARE TO BE RAISED TO COVER COSTS OF THE SYSTEM

Fascinating mix of equipment here but...

Man this photo makes it feel like the world was ending or something.

#trainspam #mta #long island rail road #lirr #nyc subway

[jmagnabo92]

Storm of the Century

For one of two RWRB exchanges I signed up for.

My first First Prince fic :). Post Canon.

When the weather calls for the Storm of the Century, Henry makes sure to make it back home in time to be snowed in with Alex. Cue Snowed in shenanigans.

AO3

***

Storm of the Century 

Despite living on the East Coast, more specifically, New York City for the better part of five years (although only New York for one), Alex hadn’t quite grasped the concept of paying attention to the weather.  

Or more precisely, he’s gotten used to Henry paying attention to the weather for him.  Henry, unfortunately, had just texted him that his flight was delayed, and he’d get in as soon as he could, but he didn’t know when that would be, which is why Alex had donned a light jacket and taken David out for a run.  

Except due to the weather, they had gotten just far enough in the run that Alex was now a lot further than he should be when it started coming down fast and every step ran the risk of slipping and falling (which with his luck would get caught by the paps – he does not want that).  

 He stops and contemplates his options.  He could walk back, but it was a terribly long way and it’s coming down faster and faster.   He could call a secure car (he’s sure Cash is going to argue for this), but it would take ages of waiting in the worsening storm and city traffic in this weather could mean that he would walk back faster.  He could attempt the subway or a bus, but really it would still involve walking in the snowstorm to the stop, wait for the train or bus, and walk to the brownstone in the snow anyway, which seems utterly pointless.  His last option is a taxicab (Ubers for some reason are highly discouraged even more than a random taxi), so he would have to hail one like a real new yorker.  

Admittedly, since he can see them everywhere, he wouldn’t even have to move to get one and wouldn’t have to wait, a taxi is the best option – especially because he really wants to be a real new yorker, even if new yorkers don’t typically have security chasing them around all the time stopping them from dealing with the masses the same way they normally would.  

He hasn’t been in a taxi before (at least not that he can remember), so he’s eager for the experience.

Just as he comes to this conclusion, he turns to Cash, who says, “You know taxis are a security risk.”

Alex snorts as he shivers.  “I swear you can read my mind.  We can’t wait for a secure car, and the snow is getting heavier by the second.  David’s freezing – it’s hail a taxi or freeze to death.  And somehow, I think that you don’t want ‘let the First Son freeze to death’ on your Secret Service Resume.”

“I think I would change ‘first son’ to ‘little shit that wasn’t smart enough to wear a proper coat’ and the public would forgive me,” Cash jokes.  

Alex is not impressed, and Cash relents when he shivers, again.

“Fine, fine.  Hail a cab, but they are signing an NDA.”

He pulls one out of his pocket and Alex stares.  “You brought that on our run?”

“Of course I did,” Cash states.  “You tend to need them rather randomly – more so before you got with Henry, but often enough.  Now, just do it.”

Alex grins and steps to the curb to hail the taxi headed his way.  He’s never done it before, but he’s thrilled to attempt it now.  

Unfortunately, he gets skipped over by the first, second and third taxi cabs in the vicinity.

“Jesus, how do they get any fares when they skip potential fares like this?” Alex complains.

“Maybe they have people in them.”

“That last one definitely didn’t,” Alex argues as another one passes.  “I just don’t get it – they’re already obsolete with Uber and other rideshares, why make it worse by skipping fares?”

Cash shrugs.  “There could be any number of reasons, maybe they’ve been called to a location, already.  Maybe they’re done for the day and don’t want to pick up another fare.  Maybe they’re trying to avoid driving in the snow any more than they have to – given that they don’t know where you’re going, they could figure that it might be a far drive and it’s better to head home…”

“I wasn’t looking for an actual reason, Cash,” Alex interrupts.  “Just complaining.”

“Or maybe… they saw your ugly mug and figured you’d complain their ear off in the short drive to the brownstone,” Cash says, grinning.

“Oi!” Alex yells, turning back to him and away from the road.  He winces at the Britishism.  He’s been spending too much time in London (or at least around a Londoner).  

Cash teases just that, while Alex deflects, but luckily a taxi finally pulls up.  

Before he can even turn around, he hears, “Well, I certainly wish we spent more time together, and I’ll get you to speak proper English eventually.”

“Henry?” Alex asks, turning around and gleefully spotting his boyfriend in a taxi.  The boyfriend that was supposed to be overseas and unable to come home.  The reason Alex had gone on an admittedly dumb run right before a storm in a light jacket.  “How – what – oh, I don’t care,” Alex says, as the door flings open and he half hugs him, half climbs into the back of the cab barely not on top of him.  

Cash and David get in beside them, making it cramped (a PPO is in front with a clearly disgruntled cabby driver).  Once the door shuts, the cab takes off, but Alex is more focused on Henry.

“Okay – okay.  You said that you were stuck in London.  And – and you’re in a taxi… a prince in a taxi… I’m totally in shock,” Alex rambles quickly.  “Not that I’m complaining at all … the thought of weathering a storm without you is highly disappointing.”

Henry grins at him.  “Which is why when I saw the call for the storm of the century, I made sure to leave early… not early enough though to completely avoid the chaos.  When we reached the airport, we couldn’t get a car and I’ve heard you talk about being a real new yorker and hailing a cab, so I figured it was this was the best opportunity for me to get that – no one else was particularly happy, but I am.”  He notices Alex’s slight shiver, despite being in the warmth of the cab, and asks, “Why are you only wearing a light jacket when it’s zero degrees out?”

“I didn’t realize that it was that cold.  The sun went down between when I got home and when David and I decided to go on a run, and I figured it wasn’t that cold and the run would keep me warm enough.”

“So, essentially, you didn’t check the weather and note that it’s supposed to be like three days of freezing temperatures and the snowstorm of the century?  That they are warning that you shouldn’t be outside for more than five minutes once it hits?  Yet, decided a spring jacket was enough?”

Alex shrugs.  He hadn’t realized it was set to get that bad.  “I was fine until we got caught in the storm.”

Henry’s not impressed, but Alex doesn’t care as they pull up in front of the brownstone.  “Well, at least we saw you and picked you up before you could freeze to death.”

“I wasn’t going to freeze to death – Cash wouldn’t let that happen, it’d be bad for his secret service resume.”

He spares a look at Cash, who snorts as he gets out of the cab and gets the NDA stuff sorted (even though the cabby would have had to sign one for Henry).  It’s still nuts that there’s all this paperwork sometimes, but getting it signed after a cab ride is a lot better than getting it signed after a one-night-stand.  

God, those nights had been so embarrassing at times.

Still, at least now he doesn’t have to worry about that, Alex thinks as he and Henry head into their home with David leading the way (after a quick thank you to the driver).  It was honestly embarrassing to think of Cash or Amy collecting phones before and signing paperwork after, knowing that they knew exactly what happened in between.  Not that they didn’t know when he was with Henry, but somehow, knowing grins or teases about ‘enjoy your summit’ was a little different.  Especially, now, since he lives with Henry so every time they get together isn’t meticulously scheduled through handlers and security teams anymore.  

“What are you thinking about?” Henry asks as he takes off his coat and opts to leave his suitcase in the entryway for now.  

Alex is relieved to take off his wet coat, even as he shivers.  “Just how annoying and awkward the paperwork was before you.  Or even the fact that people like knew every time we got together and what we were doing.”

Henry laughs.  “Why are you randomly thinking about this now?”

“The NDA for the cabby and the fact that Cash had teased about how he carries them around because he used to ‘randomly need them’.”

Henry, who knows about Alex’s exploits, simply kisses him.  “Well, lucky for me, you don’t really need them as randomly anymore.”

Alex laughs.  “Definitely not.”

He shivers again despite the warmth of their home and quickly decides that he needs to get out of all of his clothes.  A hot shower would probably be best.

“You best get out of those wet clothes,” Henry states.  “It’ll be easier to get you warm again.”

Alex grins, devilishly, as he pulls Henry close by his belt loops.  “Trying to get me naked already?  Not even going to wine and dine me, you must think I’m so easy,” he teases.

“Alex, you are ridiculously easy, especially considering that one kiss and you were ready to do me in a room next to a room full of very important people.  Had Amy not reminded us that five minutes was not enough, you would’ve taken me right there.”  Henry laughs.  “And if you recall, I asked if we should slow it down, and go to dinner and you quite frankly told me to shut up because you wanted in my trousers.”

Alex refuses to blush.  “I didn’t say those exact words by any means.  I simply …”

“Wanted to snog my trousers off me?”

Alex huffs.  “That’s not fair.  I spent weeks dealing with my bisexual crisis because I couldn’t get that damn kiss out of my head and – and I just … the bar was low okay, I wanted to kiss you and…”

“…and had very little restraint,” Henry finishes, grinning.  “Because you’re easy.”

“I had enough restraint not to kiss you in front of everyone,” Alex states, defending himself.  “And I was going to say that I think a hot shower or warm bath might do the trick, and thought about inviting you, but I don’t want to be easy.”

“I never said it was a bad thing,” Henry says, retracting a bit.  “I love that you were so … eager.  It helped my nerves for you to be so gung-ho.”  Then he lowers his voice seductively, “And we both know that I would make that shower much hotter and warm you up quite quickly, and after a week away, surely, my easy boyfriend would be as eager for me to join him as I am to join him.”

He's right, naturally.  Alex has been craving Henry since the moment he left, only his exams had kept him here and he had been planned to celebrate the brief reprieve with a naked Henry.  

He grins.  “I’ll race you?”

Henry smiles.  “Always.”

“Good – Go!”

***

Now warm and snuggly, Alex wearing Henry’s Oxford sweatshirt and sweatpants, snuggles up to Henry in his own sweats, and quite put out that he doesn’t fit into Alex’s clothes as easily, but thrilled with having beaten Alex in the race up the stairs.  

Dinner had been a quick affair, and now, they were snuggling in front of the fireplace with the shade of the bay window open so that they could watch the snow fall and listen to some soft music.  Alex never really loved snow since it wasn’t a big factor in Texas (or California), and it still hadn’t grown on him aside from random snow fun that he doesn’t get to have all that often – snowball fights, building snowmen, and making silly things in the snow – it’s usually not enough or he’s usually busy and it melts or he doesn’t have anyone to do those things with, so it’s really just a nuisance to his life rather than anything fun.  

It is pretty though.  Watching it fall from the warmth of their living room, cuddling with his boyfriend and reveling in being together after a week apart.

“So, how were your exams?”

“Great,” Alex admits.  “I know I get in my head about them before and it was probably better you weren’t here this week to be annoyed by my overzealous studying and being in the zone, but I’m sure that I aced them.”

“Of course you did, you’re brilliant, but even if you failed them all, you did your best and it’s good enough,” Henry assures him.

If there’s one thing that Alex appreciates about Henry, it’s the assurance that he’s enough, that he doesn’t have to keep pushing all the time as long as he does his best.  

He kisses his cheek.  

“How was Bea?  Did you enjoy the concert?”

“I did.  I wish you’d been there, but it was nice to visit with Pez since he’s been abroad lately, and Bea did absolutely wonderful as always.  She’s thinking of expanding and doing more concerts outside of the UK.  Possibly, more in Europe, and maybe even some here in the States.”

“That would be fantastic, especially if it means you’d get to see her more,” Alex offers.  He knows how much Henry misses Bea, especially since he avoids London as much as possible.  “Besides, it’ll be nice to attend one of her concerts and see her myself.  Gotta get her to love me as much as June loves you.”

He’s teasing, of course.  He talks to Bea almost as much as Henry talks to June, largely because they have a bit of a connection as rebels of sorts, so despite rarely seeing one another, they still have a deep friendship.  Plus, she loves Alex on the basis that he helped Henry find the courage to fight and that he loves him on purpose.  Protective older sister at her best.

Henry laughs.  “Speaking of, she mentioned that you were up to something for our upcoming anniversary, and she hopes the storm doesn’t ruin things… I told her the weather should clear in a few days and her flight will probably make it out.”

Alex huffs, he’d been planning to surprise Henry with a visit from Bea and Pez for the annual Balls Out Bananas White House Trio New Year’s Eve party, and then a trip out of snow-land to the much warmer lake house – three days with them and three days alone (they would be coming on the third, spending the first and second with June and Nora since he wanted to be alone with Henry on their actual anniversary).  “I thought she was a good secret keeper.  What the hell?”

“She is… usually,” Henry states, smiling.  “But I saw some texts on her phone and may have overheard a bit of your conversation with her the other day.”

Alex pouts.  “They were supposed to be a surprise.  There’s not a lot you can get for a prince, you know?  It’s totally unfair.”

Henry kisses his cheek.  “There’s nothing I need more than you for our anniversary, but I do like you inviting Bea and Pez to your party just for me.”

“It’s not my party.”

“It rather is,” Henry argues.  “You put the most efforts into it, even though you don’t live there anymore.”

“It still belongs to the three of us,” Alex retorts, but it sounds like Henry doesn’t know about the secondary part of the plan, which is fantastic.  “Anyway, I still want to get you something to celebrate.”

“You can gift me yourself as a gift, wrap yourself up in a bow and everything,” Henry teases.  

Alex laughs, “And you say I’m easy.”

“You are.  Need I remind you of the race up the stairs?”

“If that makes me easy, that makes you easy, too.”

“I never said I wasn’t easy, especially when it comes to you, just that you are because you’re the one that’s denying it.”

Alex hums.  It’s certainly true.  “I guess so… why don’t you tell me more about your trip?”

“Well…”

***

The first full day of snow was happily spent cuddling up together watching it snow, sharing stories about weather days that kept them inside – this meant, Alex was a bit jealous of Henry’s snow days the same way he was jealous that Henry got to attend Uni in a more normal way than Alex got to attend Undergrad (although, now, in law school, he was starting to get a more normal college experience despite dating a prince and still being the First Son).  The second full day was spent reliving Alex’s indoor activities which includes board and card games, with an added bonus of holiday movies that all involve couples getting snowed in and falling in love.  He teases Henry that they’re already a step ahead in that, and honestly, he still couldn’t believe it.  

The third day, however, Alex finds himself staring out at the endless snow (it’s now over two feet and still snowing), wanting to get out and about.  Alex doesn’t do well locked up – evidence by his reaction after he was relegated to his bedroom for falling in love with Henry and getting fired from the campaign.  Those were tough days, although, luckily, now he’s not alone.  

Henry knows plenty of ways to distract him – and some of them are even clean! – but he’s still feeling rather… listless stuck inside like this.  

“Snow, snow go away, come back another day,” Alex sings, changing the song from ‘rain, rain’ to snow, not that he believes that a silly song like that would work.

Henry appears from the kitchen with his tea and Alex’s coffee.  “Isn’t that song for rain?”

“Yes, but I’ve repurposed it.”

“And you think some silly song will make the snow stop?”

“One can hope.”

There’s a pause as Henry hands Alex his coffee and wraps an arm around him.  “You know, the snow doesn’t have to keep us inside.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s a little warmer today.  Why don’t we fulfill some of those snow activities that you’ve only vaguely gotten to do growing up?” Henry offers.  “Building snowmen, creating things in the snow and a snowball fight that I will absolutely win.”

“What makes you think you’d win?” Alex questions, already deciding that they would go out and do just that once they finish their drinks.  

Henry hums.  “I could think of a few reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for one, you always claim that I’m ridiculously competent at things –”

“You are, but you’re not usually competing against me.”

“– and for another, I’ve actually played in the snow more often than you have –”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“– and lastly, because I can easily distract you,” Henry finishes, and before Alex could refute that oneHenry’s lips are on his and he’s easily distracted by his literal prince charming kissing like an actual prince charming, which reminds him about the thoughts of the moors the first time that they kissed in his White House bedroom.  

When they break apart, Alex smiles at him.  “You know what I think?”

“That you’d rather play a game upstairs than in the snow outside?”

Alex laughs.  “I’m not that easy.”

Henry gives him a look.  “Oh, then, do tell?”

“I think you’re just scared that I’m going to beat you and you’re trying to deflect by suggesting that I could be easily distracted.”

“Not a chance.  I am definitely going to win any snow related activities.”

“Wanna bet on it?” Alex asks.  “Best of three wins – Snowmen, Snow Creations, and Snowball fight?”

Henry hums.  “Who’s the judge, Cash?  Because I think that would give you an advantage.”  

“Nah, he’d choose you just ‘cause he loves to mess with me.  I was thinking we could send pictures to the group and have them vote.”

“That works, but we’re bundling up, okay?  No light jackets this time.”

“Deal.”

***

An hour or so later, Alex’s lopsided Snowman did not beat Henry’s perfectly straight snowman, and Cash did have to be the tiebreaker (since Nora and Pez had said Alex’s had ‘character’ and chose his).  However, his snow castle and drawings of the six of them in the snow had beaten out the mess that Henry tried to create (he claimed that it was also a portrait of them, but they all looked like complete blobs).  He tries to blame it on David, but no one believes him.

This means that they’re tied going into the snowball fight, where Cash is referee and taking videos to send to their friends.  

They both start with making a wall of snow to protect themselves (and hide their supply of snowballs) and once they’re ready, Cash yells, “Ready – Set – Go!”

They both start throwing their snowballs at each other and dodging out of the way.  Poor Cash nearly gets caught up in the middle since he’s trying to video it, but they manage to barely keep him out of it.  David, on the other hand, tries very hard to be involved… he tries to catch the balls in his mouth and has taken to stealing what he can of them.

They yell trash talk back and forth as they continue along, slowly running out of balls.  At some point, David has destroyed the walls of protection, and they’re both vulnerable.  They start moving around, chasing after one another.  

They both get fair amounts of hits and run out of balls at the same time, which is when they decide to treat the snow like it’s water – splashing it at each other while trying not to get hit.  Alex manages to plop a whole bunch of snow on top of Henry’s head but doesn’t get away fast enough and ends up tackled into the snow.  

At this point, there’s a struggle for who can pin the other down, snow and balls long forgotten while David tries to play, too, and Cash laughs hysterically in the background.  He’s yelling something about why watching over Alex is his favorite assignment ever as he does so.  

Alex is a little preoccupied though.  He can’t flip them over again (they had rolled several times, but he’d ended up on his back).  Henry’s got him pinned to the snow, smiling triumphantly and kisses his nose.  

“Ah, I win!”

“Not a chance, Wales!  You cheated.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You tackled me, I’m pretty sure that’s against the rules.”

Henry scoffs.  “What rules?  We didn’t establish any rules.”

“The – the basic rules.  It’s like dodgeball, you can’t tackle the other team.”

“Yes, well, it’s not dodgeball.  It’s a Snowball fight, and there were absolutely no rules on how to win.  Given that we both abandoned our snowballs in favor of just throwing the snow – I think we abandoned any sense of proper rules, thus I win.”

“Who says ‘thus’?” Alex asks, petulantly.  “And you did not win.  This isn’t over.”

Henry scoffs.  “I have you pinned, it’s over – I won!”

“Not a chance!  I haven’t conceded, yet and I won’t.”

Alex is confident that he could find some way to still win, but Henry’s reply of, “I’ll just make myself comfy, then,” has him faltering.  

Especially when Henry starts teasing him, kissing his face everywhere but his lips, leaning down in between kisses to whisper sweet nothings, even as Alex tries to knock him off of him.  He’s starting to feel the fatigue set in, the wetness at his back, and a hardness from their positions, but what breaks him after several long minutes of delightful torture is when Henry whispers, “Come on, love, admit that I won and you and I will both reap the benefits of the reward – nice hot bubble bath and night that our asses will never forget.”

Alex groans, now fully hard.  “You better put your money where your mouth is.”

“Don’t I always?” Henry asks, grinning down at him.

“Always,” Alex states, grinning.  “Fine, you win!  Just this once.  Now kiss me.”

“Gladly.”

***

They kissed for an obnoxiously long time before remembering that they were not in their bedroom and actually in the snow where anyone could see them.  Once they remembered, they went inside and enjoyed that reward they promised.  Alex was slightly bitter that Henry won, but at least he got to have some fun in the snow. 

Plus, it was fun just to play around with Henry.  Although, he did challenge him to rematch for the next day.  He will eventually win, he’s sure of it.

“Well, I’m successfully exhausted,” Henry says as he pulls Alex in for a cuddle.  “But I enjoyed myself, did you?”

Alex hums, nuzzling Henry’s neck where a hickey is blossoming.  “Naturally, I’d have fun do anything with you.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Me too,” Alex agrees.  “I also love that we got to be snowed in together.  You and me – waiting out the storm of the century, cuddling and enjoying each other.  Exactly what I needed after a week without you.  I’m so glad you paid attention to weather enough to make sure you’d make it home in time.”

Henry hums.  “I didn’t want to risk getting stranded there.  Not without you.”

“I’m glad.”  Alex kisses his cheek and then shifts to kiss him on the lips.  “Here’s to the storm of the century and the best snowed in buddy I could have.”

He doesn’t give Henry the chance to respond, but then, he doesn’t have to.  He’s sure Henry’s feeling the same way, and honestly, Alex would much rather lazily make out than hear the words he already knows are true.  

They say a picture says a thousand words, but Alex thinks a kiss can say ten thousand words and right now, their kisses are saying God, I’m so happy, so in love, and that’s really all he needs.

Together, happy and in love.

Everything’s perfect.

Best snowstorm ever.  

#RWRB #First Prince #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #Cash #Fic Exchange #FLUFF

[miiukkaa]

oh no- the horror that is New York subway experience- how would they fare after the pristine clean Finnish subways :'O

awefaewf can't have an experience of any kind if you avoid the subs altogether *taps forehead*

just swing about the city with webs, yuh-huh that's the vibe 🤝

#sitting here realizing i've taken the sub just twice in my entire life whaaa...tho that was in london and sweden... #so i have NO idea what the sub is like in helsinki but ill take your word for the cleanliness anon #maaseutu gang #miiukkask

[the-unicorns-of-nienna]

#External Link #The Mary Sue #Accessibility #Ableism #New York City Subway

[theycallme-thejackal]

5.     “Try to stay quiet, understand?”

prompt list

Pairing: Lenny Bruce & Midge Maisel Rated T

"Got it," she whispers.

Lenny ducks under the police tape and pulls the door open, peeking his head inside. "Coast's clear," he whispers, taking her hand and pulling her inside.

She follows him down the hallway, cautious of the clicking her ruined shoes on the tile as they head for the dressing room. "Y'know, I could just give you fare for the subway," he murmurs as they enter the dressing room.

"You wanna pay for a new coat, too?" She asks, quirking a brow.

"I could just lend you mine since you commandeer it all the time anyway."

Midge smirks. "As much as I appreciate it, you've only got the one, and it's way too thin to wear in a blizzard," she reminds him, searching through the destroyed dressing room for her things. "Besides, if the police find my purse, they'll know I was here, and I'm guessing that means I get arrested."

"A reasonable point," he concedes, joining her on the floor.

"It's a black coat and a black purse."

"How descriptive," he drawls teasingly.

"Just look for the most expensive looking ones," she tells him with an eye roll.

"That, I can do."

They leave the Wolford a short while later with her things and head back to his hotel. When they get outside, she stops, and he turns to look at her questioningly. "Midge? You okay?"

"I'm..." She looks up at the awning for a moment, the gears in her brain clearly working overtime. "I was just thinking about...very blue things."

Normally that would be an ego boost, but the way she says it has his gut twisting nervously. "Do you...regret it?" He asks.

"No!" She reaches out, taking his hands in hers. "No, I don't regret it for a second," she promises.

"Okay." He nods, searching her eyes for any sign of where this conversation is going.

"Are we...what happens now?" She asks. "You took me for the worst Chinese food in New York - "

"I told you it was truly terrible - "

"And helped me break into a crime scene, and now we're back here, and..." He adjusts their hands so he can thread his fingers between hers and squeeze gently. "Is this just for tonight?"

"I wouldn't be opposed to an encore."

"Lenny." She tilts her head to the side, looking truly concerned.

He sighs. "Midge...I don't know what's gonna happen after this, but..." He pauses for a moment. Every instinct he has is screaming at him to crack a joke, deflect in some way, shout 'look over there' and run in the other direction.

But her fingers tangled with his reminds him of the way those same digits had clung to him, had raked across his back and twisted in his hair, stroked his hand as he held her afterward. He pushes forward. "I like you, Midge," he breathes.

"I like you too," she replies easily.

"A lot more than I probably should," he adds.

Midge nods slowly. "I know," she admits. "You're, um...not the most subtle guy."

He chuckles despite himself. "You asked, so..."

She takes a deep breath. "I've spent the last couple of years trying not to fall for you," she admits. "Because you are...you. You're my friend, and that's so important to me, Lenny..."

"I get it," he sighs, releasing one of her hands to rake his fingers through his hair.

"No, you don't," she protests, cupping his face in her hands. "Despite trying not to have feelings for you, it happened, and...I’d like to see where it goes.”

He smiles slowly. “Me too.”

#midgelenny #midge x lenny #midgexlenny #tmmm fanfic #marvelous mrs. maisel fanfic #writing prompt #otp: more important than god #jackal fics #answers