#U District | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr Inc. is funded by 13 investors.

missing-old-seattle · 10 months

Text

February 6, 2021

The Seven Gables Theatre began life as an American Legion dance hall in 1925, designed by Swedish-born architect Eric Carl Rising (1892-1987). In 1968, Randy Finley bought the Movie House (currently the Grand Illusion Cinema), which he and his partners converted from a dentist’s office and opened in 1970. This led to him eventually buying 15 more theaters, including the Seven Gables Theatre in 1974, which opened on December 10, 1976. These theaters (minus the Movie House) eventually became part of the Seven Gables Corp.

Landmark Theaters acquired the chain in 1989. Sadly, out of all the theaters that existed when I moved to Seattle, only the Crest still operates as a Landmark theater (at least until COVID closed all the theaters in our state).

The first to go was the Neptune, bought out by STG in 2011. Then the Metro, initially turned into Sundance Cinemas in 2012 and then acquired by AMC (who kept the interior and the 21+ rules the same but changed the menus). Next to go was the Egyptian Theatre in 2013, which SIFF reopened in time for the 40th Seattle International Film Festival in 2014 and ran as its second year-round cinema (third if you count the Film Center, though that theater is more of a weekend venue). The Varsity’s future was up-in-the-air for years, until Far Away Entertainment purchased it in 2015 (they also run the Admiral in West Seattle). Then we lost the Harvard Exit in 2015 (see my post about it here), currently a Mexican Embassy. Last to go were the Guild 45th and the Seven Gables.

#Seven Gables Theatre #movies #theaters #Landmark Theaters #1920s #old seattle #memories #fire #vanished seattle #old buildings #U District #2021

15 notes · View notes

scoticus · 7 months

Text

wolfmother @ the neptune

#me #beard #music #wolfmother #the neptune #u district #seattle

10 notes · View notes

wamnak · 1 year

Text

Signs

#Seattle #u district #Neptune theater

8 notes · View notes

gwagwagwagwagwagwa · 11 months

Photo

#seattle graff #seattle tagging #hrt girls #u district

1 note · View note

anotherpapercut · 8 months

Text

if you are in the US and are at risk of unwanted pregnancy, you should buy mifepristone immediately while it's still legal to mail so you can have it on hand just in case (it should keep for about 2 years). the future of this method of medication abortion is seriously at risk. it is very important that you are prepared for a worst case scenario

if this applies to you or a loved one go here and follow the instructions. it's $150 so if you are not at risk of unwanted pregnancy and are able, please consider helping others with the cost, or buying some to have on hand in case someone you know needs it in the future

edit: just wanted to add that I personally have already bought and received a provisional dose in case I know someone who needs one from this site so I can confirm that it is legit

#not trying to be super alarmist but this is especially important if you live in a state that is very hostile towards reproductive rights #please follow this court case as well. it is probable that the supreme court will make the situation even worse than the district courts #tell your friends and family #formerly ori/ons/belts #also i think if u just like. google the name of the site u will see other places reference that specific one #also this is currently legal in all 50 states BUT IT WILL NOT BE FOR LONG.#which is why i posted this lmfao

544 notes · View notes

handweavers · 2 years

Text

like that's what always drives me nuts more than anything re: thg movies/online discussions about them. katniss was brown! gale was brown! the poor people of district 12 were brown and indigenous coded while the ppl with a middle class background like peeta and katniss's mom were white and blonde. that context is vital to understanding the story and it's just completely gone in the movies

#gale and katniss hunting together was them trying to reconnect w indigenous practices that had been outlawed #d12 and d11 were racially segregated societiws #rue's district was racially segregated poor black people working for a white upper class and d12 was segregated poor indigenous ppl #katniss as a character cant be separated from her brownness #haymitch as a character changes when u consider he was also indigenous iirc #like this stuff is vital to the context of the story

2K notes · View notes

just-silly-liv-things · 7 months

Text

youtube

If you haven't checked it out yet and love Darkiplier, watch my new animated Collab with @meribel-nova for the anniversary of the final episode of who killed Markiplier and the first Friday the 13th since... Enjoy~

The song is: My name (You're wearing me out) by Shinedown 🖤

#liv me entertain u #livmeentertainu #animation #wkm mark #wkm district attorney #wkm damien #wkm celine #darkiplier #wilford warfstache #wilfordmotherlovingwarfstache #antisepticeye #friday the 13th #shinedown #fan animation #actor mark #who killed markiplier?#Youtube

152 notes · View notes

eldritch-thrumming · 1 year

Text

may the odds be ever in your favor.

“Dustin Henderson!” The voice rings out from the front of the crowd, perky and cheerful, like the whole entire town hasn’t been gathered here to watch as two of its children are sent to the slaughter on national television.

Steve’s heart pounds in his chest. Sweat breaks out across his back. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, makes his fingertips throb. Dustin, just a few rows in front of him, turns to look at Steve. He meets Steve’s gaze with tears in his eyes, panicked.

Steve can’t think. He can’t see anything beyond Dustin’s fear.

“I volunteer,” he hears himself yell out. His voice sounds shockingly calm to his own ears. “I volunteer as tribute.”

There’s a murmur in the crowd, a ripple of movement. No one from their district has ever volunteered in the history of the Games. Steve is eighteen. This was his last year participating in the Reaping. He'd almost made it.

The fear doesn’t disappear from Dustin’s face, his eyes round and glassy. Steve is distantly aware that Dustin is yelling, but he can’t hear anything over the rushing in his own ears. A Peacekeeper appears on either side of him and they pull him towards the stage, their hands firm and bruising around his biceps. Steve’s feet drag. He can’t seem to lift them high enough to step on his own. The Peacekeeper’s practically drag him up the steps and onto the raised platform of the stage.

Sam Owens, the tribute escort for their district, is smiling wide, teeth white and blinding in the morning sun. He pats Steve on the back, moves him to center stage with his hands on Steve’s arms.

“District 12’s first volunteer ever!” Owens yells into the microphone. “How exciting! History in the making.”

There’s only silence. Steve’s eyes find Claudia Henderson in the crowd. The look on her face shifts from relief to horror and back again. Even from here, Steve can see the tears on her face, shimmering in the sunlight.

Just then, movement at the back of the crowd of teenagers catches his attention. He spies Nancy in one of the back rows. She isn’t ever included in the Reaping, has never had to sign up for tesserae as the mayor’s daughter, but she always shows. Every year when Steve asks about it, she mumbles something about ‘bearing witness.’

Nancy, beautiful in her expensive wool dress, dark hair curled and pinned out of her face, raises her left hand. She presses the fingertips of her first three fingers to her lips before raising her arm high into the air.

Steve watches in fascination as the crowd shifts, shuffling in place, before lifting their own hands and mirroring Nancy’s salute. Steve swallows, breathes deep for the first time in what feels like hours.

Owens’s smile falters, but only slightly. “Right. Now for the girls.” He moves to the large glass bowl, hand circling, fingertips reaching. He pulls a tiny folded paper from the bowl. His hands are quick and sure as he breaks the seal, glancing down at the name. “Robin Buckley!”

The crowd shifts again. Steve feels his lungs collapse in his chest. He focuses in on where Robin stands at the center of the crowd of girls. Her mouth hangs open, her blue eyes huge in her pale face. Steve feels as if his knees are about to give out, wobbly and weak, but he somehow manages to keep his balance. He sees Nancy—just beyond Robin—barely react, but doesn’t miss the way her jaw tightens and her fists clench at her sides, knows her well enough by now to read her tells. The crowd parts as Robin slowly makes her way towards the stage. Owens pulls Robin by her hands, positions her so she stands shoulder to shoulder with Steve.

Steve feels like he might lose consciousness at any moment. His stomach turns, throat constricting. His vision goes dark around the edges.

He can’t bring himself to look over at Robin, knows he’ll lose control if he does, but he feels the back of her hand brush against his, feels her pinky curling around his. He has to bite back a sob and looks down at his feet, breathing deep through his nose.

Everything becomes a blur. Time seems to simultaneously slow down and speed up. Peacekeepers flank Robin and Steve as Owens leads them toward the Justice Building. They only have so much time before they’re forced onto a train bound for the Capitol, will only have a handful of minutes to say goodbye to everyone they’re leaving behind.

Once they make it to the Justice Building, they’re led into a wood-paneled sitting room with overstuffed armchairs and too many throw pillows. Steve’s head is starting to pound, temples throbbing. He feels a heavy pressure behind his eyes and he falls onto a couch in the center of the room. He leans his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He pushes his palms against his skull. He’s vaguely aware of Robin perched on the cushion next to him, spine ramrod straight, both feet planted firmly on the floor. Her hands twist in her lap.

Steve isn’t sure how long they sit there before the door opens and Dustin comes rushing toward him. Claudia Henderson follows closely behind her son. Robin’s parents bring up the rear.

“Steve, are you stupid? Why would you do that?” Dustin screeches at him, flinging his arms around Steve’s neck—practically tackling Steve into the cushions—and holding on for dear life. Steve can’t respond to him, throat suddenly dry. All he can do is bring his arms tight around Dustin, returning his hug. Several long moments pass before Dustin finally releases him. He looks so young, face red and blotchy. He brings his sleeve up to wipe at his nose and something in Steve fractures as he watches him.

Steve looks at Claudia, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. He stands from the couch and opens his arms to her. She practically falls into him, winding her arms around his waist. “Don’t let him watch,” he tells her, voice low so Dustin won’t hear. He feels his own burning tears spill from the corners of his eyes. They only have a few moments together. “Promise me. Please. He can’t watch.”

Claudia lets out a sob, but Steve can feel her nod against him. “I promise. Come back to us. Promise to fight, Steve,” she whispers, so only Steve can hear. Steve breathes in deep, smells the floral perfume she only wears three times a year on special occasions, the one that reminds him of warm hugs and home.

“Promise,” Steve whispers back.

The visitors are ushered out of the room and Steve is finally able to look at Robin. Her eyes are bright, shiny with tears, but she hasn’t cried, not yet. She has that look on her face, the one Steve recognizes as determination. The one she wears when they decide to break Capitol rules and hike out into the woods, into the bright sunny clearing by the stream where her quick fingers work on building her traps while Steve sharpens his arrow- and spearheads. All they can do is stare at each other.

Someone knocks softly on the door, breaking the spell between them. They both jump and turn toward the sound as the heavy door creaks open. Nancy steps through.

Her face is swollen and her eyes are red-rimmed, but her bottom lip is firm and her head is held high. She has something clutched in her hand.

She crosses the room to where they sit. She kneels in front of them on the patterned carpet. She grabs at Steve’s hand with her free one, pressing whatever’s in the other into Robin’s palm.

“You’re allowed one token from home in the arena,” Nancy’s voice comes out low and quick. “Will you wear this?” Robin looks down at her hand, turns over a gold pin. Steve can’t quite see what it is, thinks it might be the shape of a bird.

Robin nods, gaze lifting to meet Nancy’s.

“Stick together,” Nancy tells them. “Promise. That’s what will get you through the Games. Trust no one but each other. They want a show. Give them one. I—just—” She clearly wants to say more, but she bites her lip, shaking her head. Her curls bounce. “Just. Keep each other safe. Stay alive.” As she says it, a single tear falls from her eye. She abandons her grip on Steve’s hand to wipe it away angrily. “Promise,” she demands.

“Promise,” Robin’s voice comes out a hoarse whisper. “We promise, Nance.” Her fingers curl around the gold pin.

Nancy wraps them both in firm but quick hugs before she leaves the room without a backward glance.

~*~

Robin and Steve are left alone for what feels like hours but can really only be a few minutes before being driven to the train that will transport them to the Capitol. Owens leads them into the lavish train car, where the District 12 mentor, Murray Bauman, already sits.

“Well,” he says, smiling grimly, arms open wide. “What beautiful and brave tributes we have this year.” He takes a swig from the bottle clutched in his hand.

Neither Robin nor Steve speak, they just move toward the seats opposite Murray, dropping down onto the plush cushions in tandem. Steve’s head is still pounding, exhaustion making his arms feel heavy.

Steve must fall asleep sitting up, because the next thing he knows, he wakes to a moving train and dark windows. Robin is no longer next to him. He hears murmuring and glances around, finding Robin and Murray huddled together in a corner, heads close.

Steve clears his throat, sitting up straight. The two of them glance toward him. Robin gives him a tight smile, small and strained. Murray’s grin is wider, but no more happy than Robin’s.

“What’d I miss?” Steve mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. He runs a hand through his hair.

“Talking strategy,” Murray tells him. “Come join the party.” He pats the seat of the chair next to him.

Steve pushes himself from his seat and crosses the small space, dropping heavily into the wooden chair.

“I was asking Murray about finding shelter in the arena,” Robin says softly, like she can tell that Steve’s head is still killing him, despite his nap.

“Right. So?” Steve turns toward Murray.

“So your first priority is surviving long enough that you’ll even need shelter,” Murray replies. “The first few moments in the arena are the deadliest. Absolutely brutal. The Careers will rush the Cornucopia and unprepared tributes will be picked off one by one. Don’t get caught up in the bloodbath.”

Steve thinks that they probably should take everything Murray says with a massive grain of salt. He and Robin hadn’t even been alive when Murray had won the 50th Games almost 25 years ago, but it was common District knowledge that he’d only won as a fluke, because of stupid mistakes other tributes had made and not because of any strategic prowess on his part. Now, Murray was mostly known as the town drunk, who spent his winnings at the only pub in town and more often than not made a fool of himself as he stumbled through the streets before the miners had even broken for lunch.

Steve and Robin share a look.

“No, stop, what’s that?” Murray says pointing between them. His gaze jumps from Steve to Robin and back again.

“What’s what?” Robin asks, genuine confusion coloring her voice.

“That look. Are you… can you read each other’s minds?” The last part is said in a fascinated whisper.

“You’re drunk, old man,” Steve says, rolling his eyes and scowling. Murray is getting on his last nerve already.

“You’re not wrong, kid.” Murray smiles and takes another pull from the bottle in his hand.

Steve sighs. “We should probably call it a night. It’s been a long day. We can reconvene when our heads are clearer.” He gives Murray a pointed look.

“My head is plenty clear,” Murray slurs.

“Right. Get some sleep,” Steve tells both Robin and Murray. “And drink some damn water.” The last part is directed at their mentor.

Murray salutes them both before disappearing from the train car, wandering off to his bed.

Robin and Steve stand in silence.

“Well, goodnight, Steve,” Robin whispers into the space between them. Her voice sounds small in a way it so rarely does. Steve can’t help but reach out a hand to her, pulling her into his chest before she goes of to bed. She sags against him, arms wrapped tight around his waist.

“We’ll figure it out, Rob,” he mumbles into her hair, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head. “We always do.”

Robin sniffles and pulls away, rubbing a hand over her face. “Yeah. We always do.”

She gives him one last look before following Murray out of the train car.

I made a post a lil while ago abt a Steddie x Hunger Games AU because Hunger Games was all over my for you page for whatever reason. Here’s a take on it. This will likely continue BUT I do not do tag lists. I’m sorry! They give me anxiety 🌝 hope you like it!

293 notes · View notes

missing-old-seattle · 9 months

Text

Vanishing Seattle is at Pizza Pi Vegan Pizzeria.

March 8, 2020

The old Vegan Pizza Pi Pizzeria location on #TheAve & 55th - America’s oldest vegan pizzeria! Their last day in their original space was on January 12th (2020), and the 1904 building, which has apartments above it, will be demo’d for a 5-story building of apartments & small efficiency dwelling units with no parking. The building also housed the neighboring Spotted Owl Berger Variety Shop, and the redevelopment will also demolish/displace the historic building that now houses Jet City Improv (looking for a new space), and formerly the all-ages music venue The Paradox and the University Theater. ...Fortunately, Vegan PizzaPi found a new home nearby & moved to 53rd & Roosevelt...

https://www.pizzapivegan.com/

#Pizza Pi #2000s #Seattle #turn of the century #old buildings #vegetarian #small businesses #death of cool #memories #old seattle #vanished seattle #Vanishing Seattle #U District #The Ave #restaurants

1 note · View note

scoticus · 5 months

Text

high quality

#me #josh #beard #game boy camera #u district #seattle

3 notes · View notes

nomazee · 17 days

Note

hiii! congrats on 1k! may i pls have alma from gokurakugai w friends, amusement park n 22:22?

this was so cute i loved this prompt. THANK YOU SO MUCH!! hope u enjoy :*

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

Alma's hand is warm, almost too warm against yours. His fingers are intertwined with yours, scratchy and calloused. The summer heat has gotten to the both of you, and you hope that the sweat collecting in your palm doesn't bother him as he drags you around the park.

It's late, and the sun went down a few hours ago, but the heat of it still lingers on your skin. Your feet are aching and you think if you walk around for any longer, your legs will crumple underneath you like paper. But Alma's so—warm, and kind, and he looks back at you with this stupid beaming smile as he leads you around all the corny games and rides. Your stomach is still swirling from the last rollercoaster you went on, and your pockets are very light from the sheer volume of money you’ve lost to ball-toss games.

"There's— oh! They're selling takoyaki over there," he points out, attention moving rapidly from you to the food stands to the crowds of people around you. "You know, we tried making takoyaki ourselves once, at the agency with everyone, and it was pretty good! I wish you were there for that."

Wish. He wishes you were there. There's a stirring in your chest at the thought of being wanted by a friend.

Unfortunately, the sight of the long, winding line in front of the takoyaki stand mixed with the darkening sky reminds you that you do have responsibilities. Like the math homework due tomorrow that you've neglected for the whole week, and the dreadful bus that you have to catch at seven tomorrow in order to even make it to school on time.

"Alma," you call for him, and he whips his head back to look at you. His smile falters. Your expression must give you away, then—the guilt, the frustration, the ache.

"I have school tomorrow," you explain with nothing short of dismay in your voice, "It's— it's pretty late right now. I have to go. I'm so sorry, it was really fun, seriously—"

"Hey!" he cuts in, already grinning again and pulling you close to him with the hand still wrapped in yours. "It’s seriously fine! I did keep you out pretty late, huh. I didn't even notice."

And he looks around—at the people still walking and wandering and having fun, and your heart sinks. You're a buzzkill, and you know that, but you're already failing a class and you can't risk missing any more days of school. Alma—you don't think he really gets it, and that makes it worse. In the grand scheme of things, you don't know too much about Alma—how he works—but you know that he doesn't go to school the way that you do. Every time you've hung out on a weekday, it's been cut short by a call from home or your own consciousness screaming at you to get back and do your work before you flunk out.

"I really am sorry," your hand squeezes around him, breath stuttering in anticipation as you mentally beg him to squeeze back, just to signal that he's not so upset about this. "I would— I would stay out for longer, but… Alma, really. I’m sorry.”

“You apologize way too much,” he says, earnest and honest and still smiling the way he always does at you, with something warm between his lips. “Hey, um, can we go on one last ride? I’ll pay for your ticket. The— the ferris wheel?”

He’s so stupid, and it’s corny and cheesy and ridiculous, but you see the heat of hope on the apples of his cheeks and his eyes dart around from yours to the flickering lights behind you. Your lungs squeeze, and so does your hand around his. You’re a weak person, too weak against Alma and the fond feeling in your chest. You relent easily.

“Okay,” you agree, lips curling in giddiness and wonder. Alma laughs a little bit, breathy and relieved, and promises to take you home after this one last ride, and you can’t find it in yourself to feel guilty when you get home late, math homework untouched, responsibilities replaced by the fluttering in your stomach.

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

fill out my event taglist (pinned) to be tagged in works for this event!

#nora hits 1k #alma x reader #alma gokurakugai x reader #gokurakugai x reader #gokurakugai alma x reader #the gokuraku district's third avenue incident #gokurakugai #alma #alma gokurakugai #gokurakugai fic #this was very much supposed to be like bffs #the feeling of ur first close friend #i was heavily and deeply and painfully reminded of kanata while writing this #i miss her #also could u imagine being friends with someone ur age that does cool stuff like fighting monsters #and ur like “oh yeah i do math homework...sometimes...”

36 notes · View notes