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newyorkthegoldenage · 2 days

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Life in the tenements, 1937.

Photo: Arnold Eagle via Christie's

#vintage New York #1930s #Arnold Eagle #tenements #slums #b&w photography #laundry drying #clotheslines #neighbors

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nestedneons · 2 months

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By jilt with stablediffusion

Cyberpunk art commissions

Ko-Fi

My ai workflows

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cyberegypt · 1 month

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Cyberpunk Aesthetic + Ancient Egypt = New Cairo Megacity

#cyberpunk aesthetic #cyberpunk city #pyramids #neon lights #neon aesthetic #aesthetic #neon #neon sign #cyberpunk egypt #gif #megacity #glow aesthetic #megacorporation #skyscraper #rooftop #slums #cyberpunk

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slumsaintt · 8 months

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🏚️🏙️

#TheSlums #SlumDogs #me #slums #SlumArt

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bleeeeeck · 6 months

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before heading to the sewers (。_。)

#stray #game #stray momo #slums #mine

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sculptorofcrimson · 18 days

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My Angel

@kit-williams I take FULL responsibility. Behold, more scary golden boys!

~~~~~

“Je prie les anges et les anges m'ont pris”

Translation from French: I prayed to the angels, and the angels took me.

~~~~

It's not a pretty feeling, is it, when you are denied even the right to die?

The Aquilan Shields. The desire of any, the saviors of countless. The gilded heroes in gold and crimson, thundering from the skies.

But they are not heroes.

They are not saviors. They are not angels, they are seraphims bathed in fire and brimstone and choking smoke. They do not chase off death, but rather prolong it, until you can die by their command.

It is a tradition, they say, a practice that carried over from the First Custodian and into their Order. The First to seal what belonged to him in gold and crimson, the first lifebringer who preserved life in a dead man walking. The outcast dead, preserved beyond an end, beyond life, beyond even adoration itself, until love curdled into obsession.

He was the First of the Custodes, the First to adore so vehemently it was beyond even death itself.

It is a tradition for them not to love, but to protect, to adore and nurture, to keep. It should be an honor. It should be adoration. Many want to be loved. No one wants to know. Many yearn for that pretty delusion, the warmth of the fire without fearing its heat. You cannot love a heartless man.

It was hard to imagine Leinth had once wished for the stress of their regard.

“You seem melancholy today.” He observed. His voice filters through perfect vox lines, yet she could detect no waver beneath it, no human imperfection. It was as if he had been mastered as a machine, without deviation, and without error.

Leinth offered a wan smile, the girl kicking her thin shins out over the rooftop’s edge. He had found her with ease, as he always had, regardless if she was in the Palace’s grand gardens or had paid a civilian to carry her to the outskirts of Terra. He would always find her, after all.

Sekhmet Andas of the Aquilan Shield made no noise as he shifted to a resting position besides her, making eerily little sound for one as large as he. For a moment they were silent, watching the setting sun bathe the slums of Terra to red, then crimson.

“I had thought Terra would be beautiful.” she spoke, after a long while. Sekhmet inclined his head.

“What makes you think it is not?”

“These.” Leinth gestures with one hand. Her fingers, still unused to the exercises she had been subject to, awkwardly form crude signs in thoughtmark. + These. The ones you never show. + Her voice had yet to be taken away from her in her ascension to a full Sister, but her freedom to roam certainly was.

“You cannot drape wraiths in raiments and call them beautiful, Leinth. You cannot show the shadow of the sun.” Sekhmet, with surprising tenderness, gently nudges her index finger to the proper form. "Longer, Ley. Thoughtmark is not an unelegant language."

"But are they too not loved?" she bats his hand away. "These wraiths." Leinth couldn’t help but feel irate at the simple use of her endearment. It had once belonged to her brother once.

"I cannot speak for them." he replied. "Only that they were not graced by His light."

"Like I wasn't?" Leinth chuckles softly, bitterly. "Like I wasn't blessed, for the first decade and half of my life? Worthless, until my gift was seen?"

“No. You were…exceptional.” Sekhmet’s tone was as level as always, even in the face of Leinth’s capricious wrath. The thin girl was shivering, but seemed unnoticing of the setting sun’s cold. Sekhmet reached out, and wrapped his cloak around her shoulders. Leinth never looked up.

“Oh, you.” Leinth’s giggle sounded far too jaded, far too cruel for a girl of her age, all of twenty-three and as bitter as a veteran. “You’ve spent so long in the gold, you’ve forgotten how to speak of the bronze.”

Sekhmet did not respond to that. He simply wrapped the cloak around her, and tried to fasten the clasp. Once more, Leinth shakes his hand away. Sekhmet contends with draping the fabric around her.

When she next spoke, her words were laden with vitriol. “I had a brother once. Down here. We were together.” There was an old rancor here, an ancient ache. Her eyes had become unfocused, her legs swinging out into the void as she gazed upon Terra’s slums from the shelter of the rooftop.

She sounded almost wistful.

“We were together when Father died. You wouldn’t know. Of course you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t care how Liaser fed me, clothed me, fought off a gang and ended up losing a third of his index finger from a knifethrust that was meant for me. You never saw the bodies left in the streets to rot, the trashheaps we buried ourselves in to hide from the gangs, how he took in a pariah at the age of twelve and refused to abandon her. You never knew what it felt like to starve, not knowing if you’d live long enough to scavenge from the streets. But he refused. Not even when my gift suffocated him, not even if he hated my soul, but loved me enough even when I drew “visitors”. When my aura drew…others here. Visitors that beat him. Visitors that tortured him. Visitors that hated me, hated my mind. Visitors wanted me.” her eyes had become unfocused, bitterly embroiled in the past. Sekhmet placed a titanic hand on her shoulder. He could feel the Pariah’s pulse from here, beating fast and hard like a dying rabbit’s, her shaven head bobbing from side to side with seemingly no consciousness. She was shaking. His other hand, still clad in gold auramite, rubbed soothing circles next to her spine.

She regained her voice after a few moments, still trembling. “One of them tried to skin him alive unless I showed myself, were you there to protect me from then?”

“Ley, you know that-”

“Were you there?” She half screamed. “Were you there when they broke three of his ribs and I robbed a clinic with my gift, when I walked in and the doctor called me a soulless monster and ran? When I left that dingy, rundown place with credits in my bag, knowing they feared me, knowing they looked at me and saw nothing but loathing? Knowing how it felt like not to be unnoticed, but to be utterly hated?”

“The golden do not know hate, dear Ley.” His hand wrapped around her, tightening and dragging her close when she tried to move away. Leinth snorted in derision and annoyance. He continued on. “And they will never step foot nor hide, so long as you’re beneath my gaze, little Sister. Where love is made impossible for you, Pariah, then contend yourself with fear.” With more tenderness than thought possible for a creature so cold, he reached out and gently turned her head towards him, tilting her face up until they were eye to eye. Leinth saw nothing, not even the cold spark of life, behind those eyes. It was like gazing into the eyes of a corpse, a corpse that would hold her, love her, suffocate her, for eternity.

“Contend yourself with fear, little Pariah. Where they cannot love you, they will learn to fear.”

Leinth pulled away from his grasp. “But I do not want to be feared.”

She did not ask to become a Sister, she did not want to be plucked from her brother’s arms and paraded like a trophy before golden eyes. She did not ask to be in that alleyway when they came, her thin arms over her head as the blows rained down one by one, still hearing her brother screaming at her to run. Sobbing for her life, pleading to be spared, praying for the angels to come and save her. And she prayed, and the angels came to save her.

“I do not want to be feared.” she repeated.

“But you will be.” His grip was like iron. He did not allow her to turn away. Instead, he dragged her close, cold auramite upon her shoulders and her neck. “You will be feared, not loved. Because, after all, who else would love you except for I, little Pariah?”

Who else would love you, when the world itself has turned away in fear and horror? Who else could love her, when even the Emperor’s light could not warm her?

Who else would love her if not for him?

Leinth tried to move away, but his auramite grip was unbreakable. He dragged her against him, and this time she didn’t even struggle. Unshed tears had dripped steadily from her lashes, her sobs too proud to be spoken yet too painful to be restrained. Her small frame was shaking, but her voice was bitter, and filled with more vehemence than either of them had known.

“I prayed that night you saved me, you know. I prayed for you, Sekhmet. I prayed that you would find him and bring him back. But you never even tried, did you?”

The silence was his answer.

“You never even tried to find him. You left him there. And you took me.”

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whats-in-a-sentence · 1 month

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Responsibility for public health was now understood to be a task for government, not just for working-class women who – until then – had been the only ones concerned with the cleanliness of slum houses, the only ones asking for clean water and working drains.

One such working-class woman was Kitty Wilkinson, an Irish migrant in Liverpool who had been a cotton mill worker and a domestic servant. She opened up her laundry business to her poor neighbours for a penny a week, allowing them to use her boiler and bleach to disinfect their clothes during the 1832 cholera epidemic. She became known as the 'saint of the slums' and campaigned for public bathhouses for the poor.

"Normal Women: 900 Years of Making History" - Philippa Gregory

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a-false-memory · 4 months

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#cloud strife #aerith gainsborough #Aeris Gainsborough #Midgar #sector 5 #slums #Final Fantasy VII #Final Fantasy 7 #Final Fantasy #psx #playstation

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unbfacts · 11 months

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#People #India #Slums #heartwarming #true story

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probablyasocialecologist · 2 years

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One billion residents inhabit slums worldwide, estimated to reach three billion by 2030. While the poor are thrust into such slums, the global real estate market sits at $217 trillion, constituting 60 percent of global assets and catering a life of luxury to the middle and ruling classes. Gita Dewan Verma illustrates this connection: “The root cause of urban slumming seems to lie not in urban poverty but in urban wealth.”

Harsha Walia, Border and Rule: Global Migration, Capitalism, and the Rise of Racist Nationalism

#Border and Rule #slums #housing #poverty

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blackpanda-ts4 · 1 year

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