#A.T. Grant

[zorawitch]

my American mutuals. if y’all are seeing the stuff about how both sides are bad and you shouldn’t vote, remember to exercise your constitutional rights! both primary candidates ARE supporting a genocide, but you should look into third party candidates! being defeatist doesn’t help anyone, much less your conscience, but please remember that these resurrected corpses are not your only options and anyone who is telling you such is trying to sell you a political ideology

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Love

Synopsis: Emotions run high after you and your knight were attacked, and though it was the most unfortunate of events, you would have to thank it for all that would transpire after. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond and Princess Secret Relationship, Fluff, Mentions of Violence PREVIOUS PART A/N: I have decided and we shall all expect the addition of canon characters in the next coming chapters!

“I— I saw them on their way to the hill, her seated on a white stallion and her knight holding the reigns. She was wearing a… a pink dress, and there were flowers and ribbons in her hair, and she even bid me ‘good morrow,’ but that was all, I swear! I never told anyone that I saw the princess by the grove; please, you must believe me!” The prince looked upon the woodcutter, who was one of the last persons who had seen his sister and her knight. You and Ser Aemond had left early in the morning two days before for you wanted to have a picnic on the hill, they granted you permission, thinking the two of you would return by midday, but two days had passed, and naught a word nor sign appeared to tell them the whereabouts of the princess and Ser Aemond. 

The prince gritted his jaw and nodded, the testament of the woodcutter believable. He turned to his father, who was growing impatient and was consumed by his nerves. They had no idea what had happened to you. They had sent out search parties since the afternoon you had left, but none still had seen you. “Next!” A voice announced as another witness stepped towards the throne where your father sat and your brother stood next to. “Your Highness, your Majesty; I—I have not seen the princess, but I have found this,” The prince paled as the man raised the eye patch of your knight. “I have seen the princess’ sworn protector a couple of times in the city, and I believe it to be his— his initials are carved on the leather.” A squire brought the found eye patch to the king, and they witnessed the ‘A.T.’ engraved on the strap, signifying that it was truly your knight’s.

The prince gave a hesitant nod for the next witness to come and hoped it would give them the answers they were desperate for. However, it was just the same information given— you were seen near the grove with your knight. “This cannot be. Double—no, triple the search parties, and extend their territory. I want my daughter found!” The king almost yelled as he was with his son and the council in the privacy of his study. “Of course, my king,” A council member bowed and hurriedly left the council room to do the king’s order, and in exchange for him came a knight. 

“My king, the princess, and Ser Aemond had been spotted by the gate,” He said, almost out of breath. The prince immediately stood and went to the window and witnessed that it was truly you. The prince ran out of the room to meet his sister, pushing away all the members of the court who had flocked as they were worried out of their minds about the disappearance of their princess. The prince felt further dread pool in his stomach as he saw the state you two were in. Your dress was torn, your hair disheveled, and a speck of dried blood by your temple; the cloak of your knight draped over your shoulders to keep a part of your torn dress concealed. Ser Aemond, on the other hand, had dried blood trickling from his thigh and arm, pieces of his cloak to bandage his wounds— and what was most shocking was the lack of his constant eye cover which revealed more of his scar and a gemstone in his eye-socket. The prince looked away, fearing he would offend your knight if he continued to stare. 

“Oh gods, sister…” The prince’s voice was barely above a whisper as he could not believe the state you were in. “He needs a maester— Ser Aemond needs a Maester,” You fretted as your brother enveloped you in a hug, though you found comfort, you could not be calm as your knight still held his injuries. “I’m fine, princess,” Aemond interjected, more concerned about your well-being than his, but you parted from your brother and shook your head furiously. “His wounds, it might grow infected— a maester, please!” You pleaded, and before anyone could do your plea, your father came and immediately took you in your arms, your mother following behind him. “Oh my darling, you’re alive— you’re safe,” Your father finally breathed out a breath of relief, but you quickly parted from his arms as you turned to a squire and urged him to fetch a maester. 

“Why are you hurt? Where’s your injury?” The king began to fret once more, but you shook your head, unable to answer him until a maester came for Ser Aemond. “Princess, truly, I am fine,” Aemond said quietly, fearing your anxiousness would catch the attention of the court who still circled around you. He feared your understanding would be found out by the way you fretted over him. “Bu—“ You were cut off as your brother spoke, “Here’s the maester now— sister, come, we must get you inside, Ser Aemond will be fine,” Your brother said and gently pulled you to guide you inside. You gave one last look towards your knight, his eye imploring you that he would be fine before you reluctantly followed your family inside the castle. 

After the events of the two days were cleansed from your skin, you sat in the sitting room of your chambers with the whole of your family before you. All of them were cautious as to how to question you on what had happened, so all of you sat in silence. You stared at the fire, your mind still consumed by Aemond, fearing that his injuries would grow worse after days of being unable to treat them properly, but the faint yet distinct sound of his armor from the other side of the door made you quickly look up. “Is that Ser Aemond?” Your brother questioned as he noticed your attention was turned to the door. You did not know, so your brother went to confirm, and indeed, it was your knight standing by his post bathed, with clean bandages, and wearing his eye patch. You followed your brother and grew confused as your knight was in his post, your eyes silently imploring him that he must rest, but your father called upon both of you. 

You went back to your seat, and your knight stood behind it, stance straight and ready to answer any query. “What has happened?” Your father asked the simple question. “We were attacked.” You answered, surprising the king because he aimed the question at your knight. “We were ambushed on our way back to the castle. They placed a felled tree upon our path as a distraction— it was too heavy and wide to be moved or be lept by the horse, and in consequence, we had to take the road less traveled.” Aemond explained, and you rested your back on the cushion of your chair to see your knight better from your peripheral vision. “They… had shot arrows at the princess’s horse, making her fall, and before I could make my way to her, three men attacked me while the other two took hold of the princess…” Aemond paused as he felt the familiar dread he felt as he heard your desperate cries as two men took hold of your frame. 

“And then?” Your brother dared ask. “When I had killed the three, I found them in a distance. They tied the princess upon a tree and…” He trailed, having difficulty to utter the words before your kin. “And?!” Your father roared, his mind imagining the worst in the few seconds of Ser Aemond’s pause. The knight straightened his stance, his eye growing darker. “And they had torn her dress and attempted to sully her— but before they could lay another finger on the princess, I had cut their hands and taken their lives.” He said coldly, finding an odd sense of calm as he recalled their lifeless bodies falling upon the dirt ground, the fitting retribution for what they dared to do to you. The king let out an exasperated sigh, his hand running along his face as he felt rage consume him with just a retelling of what had happened. “Did they suffer?” The king gritted, surprising you and your brother with his question. “The three had rather swift deaths…. But I had made certain that the two would endure each minute of their death.” Aemond answered, the king giving a satisfied nod.

 You traced the embroidery of your dress as you glanced towards your knight. Aemond glanced towards your fingers, your nervous habit of tracing the delicate stitching of your gowns. He was itching to have somewhat a hold of you for fear you were still traumatized at the scenes you had witnessed. He remembered your scream; it still echoed in his mind, as well as the horror on your face as you begged him not to kill another bandit, but how could he not? When all of them threatened your life, and all had the goal to harm you and take you from them— from him? 

“Well, Ser Aemond, you have proven to us once again how well you take your duty— thank you. We… we are not certain what will befall our daughter if it was not you who was with her,” The king commended, and Aemond nodded. You sat still for a moment, waiting for your family to leave, for you wanted a moment alone with your knight, and when they did, you immediately went to Ser Aemond’s side, dissolving the damned gap that had to return each moment any other presence accompanied you two. 

“You must rest,” you said, inspecting the bandages of his wounds. “I am fine; you must not worry so much,” Aemond said softly, his heart warming at how concerned you were of him. “No, you are just saying that! Please, you must rest, at least for a few days— let your wounds settle,” You murmured, gently caressing his arm. “And leave you in the protection of another? No. Princess.” Aemond said, no longer trusting another to watch over you now that he had come to the full realization that there are more dangers that may come to you than he had previously thought. Aemond sighed and cupped your fretting face with his calloused, stained hands, but you found no care, you only leaned closer to his touch. “Thank you.” He whispered, confusing you. 

“Why are you thanking me? You are the one who saved my life; I should be thanking you,” You murmured, placing your hand atop his. Aemond smiled and shook his head. “Yes, but you are the one who nursed me back to health— the one who cleaned and bandaged my wounds; if you were not there, I might have bled to death.” Aemond smiled even though the subject was grim. You, however, frowned greatly, “Do not say such a thing,” You said, not even able to grasp the idea of such a proposition. Aemond smiled wider as he attested to how much you truly cared about him. He placed a kiss on your forehead and let his arms wrap around your frame. “I don’t think anyone has cared for me as much as you do,” Aemond murmured, confessing the truth. You felt a twinge in your heart as he said such a thing. How can someone not care for him when it came so easily for you? You sighed and only held him tighter as you had no words of reply. 

“I still think you need to rest,” you say after an intimate moment of silence, making Aemond laugh. “Stop fretting, I am fine.” He insisted as he tried to wipe away the furrow between your brows with his thumb, just as how you had done for him before. “Very well— but swear to me if you feel any discomfort, you will tell me, yes?” Aemond sighed and nodded as he knew that was the only way to calm your fretting self. “Promise?” You asked, not completely believing him as he does have a tendency to keep what he feels inside. Aemond did not answer but instead kissed your lips as he always believed that actions do speak louder than words. You sighed, finally feeling some relief after the few days that had passed. You felt more secure and safe now that it was just you and Aemond in the privacy of your chambers, and you could only hope and pray that it would always be like this. 

Days passed, and the whole of the kingdom had been privy to the fact of how you were ambushed and how your knight bravely and gallantly protected you from the five ambushers— proclaiming him as a hero for he was the reason why their beloved princess was saved from further harm. Aemond did not like the attention; he had noticed whispers regarding him were quick to grow, and usually, the eyes of the court were most pointed at you, but now it was as well directed on him; he did not like that. You, however, appreciated how the kingdom was starting to take notice of your knight’s effort and how much he had taken his duty incredibly.

“Stop scowling, you’re scaring them.” You say quietly as you walk through the gardens with Aemond and your two cats trailing behind you two, the passersby taking a double look at your heroic knight. “Good.” He answered, glancing behind to see the commotion your two cats were creating as they practically fought each other. “Sapphira, do not bite your brother,” Aemond then scolded, making you bite your lip as you wanted to laugh because you had never heard him refer to or speak to your cats, but it would seem his frustrations with the attention of the kingdom upon him was affecting his usual behavior. “They mean well, Aemond— they see you as a hero; nothing to be upset about,” You say quietly, but he only shakes his head. “I am no hero. I was simply doing my duty.” You sighed at his stubbornness. “Duty or not, if it were not you who was by my side, we would not know what would befall me— and for that, you are a hero.” Aemond restrained himself from answering as his frustrations were getting the better of him.

“Well, I hope your mood will improve, the Knights’ ball is fast approaching— you are aware that you have to be part of the reception, yes? You’ll have to be presented before the kingdom to receive the Medal of Valor.” You informed, and that only severed the frown on Aemond’s face. “Do not remind me,” he drawled, as he took the bouquet of flowers in your hands as it was getting quite hefty. “That reminds me, have you heard from your family? Are they to come so we can prepare their rooms,” You say, and Aemond stilled, as he had not sent out a letter to his family informing them that he was to receive a medal and that they were invited to the banquet but he had told you he had. 

You turned to your knight, but he was silent and was avoiding your gaze. “You did not send the invitation, didn’t you?” You sighed, in a way already expecting this. “No matter, I shall send the letter myself,” You say, making your way back to your chambers to draft a letter for Aemond’s family. “Princess, I— please, I—“ You shook your head. He followed you to your desk beside himself, not knowing how to hinder you. “I do not understand you— other knights have waited a lifetime to be presented with such recognition, yet you hold it with such animosity,” You were starting to grow frustrated with Aemond’s attitude, a deep furrow in your brows as you drafted an invitation to House Targaryen. 

Aemond sighed and crutched down to the side of your chair so you would meet him at eye level, his hand gently resting on your arm that furiously scribbled the words. “I am honored that you shall bestow upon me such recognition, but I do not think it is needed. I was doing my job— I was only fulfilling my oath to protect you,” Aemond said softly, his voice immediately making you forget your frustrations upon his actions. “I do not need all this pageantry and frills— I am not after recognition… I only wish for you to be safe.” You sighed and cupped his cheek as he said such words, not thinking you could fall for him further, but apparently, there were still uncharted dimensions where your affections for Aemond could still reach. 

You captured his lips in a quick kiss. “I know you do not like attention, but I’m afraid it is custom— you have naught a choice,” You say delicately, biting on your inner cheeks as a slight pout appeared on Aemond’s thin lips as he thought he had convinced you to hinder all these frills. “I’m beyond all of this, my love. I cannot make them cease with their curious gazes and wants to celebrate you,” You laughed as you found the small pout in his lips amusing. Aemond, however, froze as he realized the endearment you called him. “My love…?” He questioned with uncertainty if he had heard you correctly. 

Your eyes widened as you realized that the words had slipped your lips— instead of brushing it off and making some excuse, you breathed in a deep breath and smiled, taking another risk. “I… I love you,” you confessed, hoping your emotions would not be too much for him and scare him off. 

Aemond was rendered in shock. You love him—him! He was speechless, something that he had never experienced, but he realized he best get used to it because you often managed to dismantle and stun him. 

You sat in quiet fear as Aemond made no reaction, horror starting to settle in you as his silence was making you believe he felt no strong emotions towards you. That you perhaps said the words too quickly, or worse, he saw you as a passing fancy when you yourself believed him to be the one. You began to trace the embroidery of your dress again, removing your gaze from his lilac eye. Your hands were clammy, and you were starting to regret your confession as it would seem you would be scorned. But Aemond took hold of your cheek and guided your face to look upon his. “I—It’s fine if you do not feel the same,” You lied, trying to save face, hoping no more wounds be afflicted to your pride. 

Aemond shook his head, realizing he had taken too long to reply, and doubts quickly festered inside you. “You… love… me?” He said slowly, trying to confirm what he had heard because he doubted it might be a cruel joke. You licked your lips as your hands fisted the fabric of your gown. “I do.” You repeated. “But I am not forcing you to feel the same way— I understand if you don—“ Aemond kissed your lips shut, not wanting you to utter such words. 

“You love me,” He repeated again, voice holding thrill and disbelief. “You, love me.” He said for the third time, and you could not help but be amused. “Yes. I love you.” You repeated, letting go of the potential wound that would be inflicted on your pride if he did not feel the same. But as you stared into his eye, the amazed look on his face, you could not believe that you had let yourself doubt him— though no words were said, you had your answer. He loved you. And his actions were proof enough. 

[tilebytiles]

settle for a draw - a.t.

summary: you didn't expect to meet a cowboy. you didn't expect to fall in love with him, either. word count: 5.5k warnings: age gap (reader is 20, alex is 25) a/n: im not the only one who sees tbhc alex as a cowboy ..... right </3

You shouldn't have been so surprised to see the figure approaching your parents' farm, riding his trusty steed and kicking up dust as he approached. You lived on a farm, for crying out loud. You knew the rural life was one a lot of people chose; the countryside was beautiful, for one, but it also offered the perfect chance to get away from it all. None of that stopped you from practically gaping as who you could only assume to be a cowboy approached the front gates.

Okay, maybe you were stereotyping by calling him a cowboy, but he certainly looked the part. One hand was firmly clamped down on his hat, preventing it from being swept away by the wind, and the other clutched the reins, guiding his horse forward with practiced ease. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing tanned and muscled forearms, and the undone buttons of his shirt offered you a sliver of his chest, the gold chain around his neck jostling with each movement.

You were content to stare (ogle), but your father came up beside you on the front porch and clicked his tongue. "Should go see what he wants," he said.

You looked over at him. "Me?" He nodded. "But you said-"

"Y/N, if he tries anything with you while I'm standin' right here, I'm gonna rip him a new one and make sure he sees God."

Your father had a funny way of showing how much he loved you.

You descended the steps and hitched your skirts up, rushing over to the front gate right as the dashing stranger slowed his horse to a stop, gently petting its mane. He looked down at you and tipped his hat politely. "How do you do?" His voice was smooth like velvet and deep, reaching the sort of vocal depths that made your stomach tingle.

"I'm fine, thank you," you said softly, lifting a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. "Can I ask what you're doing here?"

"Ah ..." He released the reins to dip his hand into the bag attached to the saddle, pulling out a rolled-up sheet of paper and handing it to you over the gate. You unfurled it and observed the printed colors, taking note of the hastily scribbled markings, presumably by his hand. It was a map. As you looked over it, he said, "Been travelin' for a few days and decided it was best to take a rest. I'm low on supplies, and I wanted t' see if you could help me out any."

You looked back up at him. Your family had never housed anyone outside of your relatives before, but you didn't see why you couldn't accommodate this gentleman. Granted, you'd only spoken to him for ... a minute, max, but he seemed nice enough. Plus, there was a spare bedroom in your house, and your mother was always guilty of making too much food ... You undid the latches and pulled the gate open, producing a thunderous creak. You really needed to oil the hinges soon. The stranger smiled at you, taking the map when you offered it back to him, and stuffed it back into his satchel before swinging one of his legs over and sliding off his horse. He was taller than you, but not by too much. You led him to the front porch, where your father still stood, and asked, "Papa, can he stay for a few days?"

Your father eyed the supposed cowboy for a few long, long moments before finally sighing and nodding. "You better stay away from my daughter," he said, pointing his finger rather threateningly at the man.

The man was at least smart enough to nod quickly. "Of course, sir. I wouldn't ever think o' trying anythin' with her."

Your father slowly nodded in approval before turning to head back into the house, presumably to update your mother on the situation. You watched the door shut, then gestured for the man to follow as you led him around to the back of the house, where the stables were situated. If he was content to remain in silence as you opened one of the stall doors so he could lead his horse inside, you had other plans. "What's your name?"

He glanced at you for a second as he led his horse into the stall, releasing its reins once it was inside. "Alex."

"Alex ... ?"

"Turner."

"That's a funny last name."

He cocked an eyebrow, following you as you picked up a nearby bucket to fill the trough in the stall with water from the pump behind your house. "Well, what's yours?"

"L/N." You dropped the bucket into the grass and began working the pump, your brows scrunching together with exertion.

He crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the movement. "I could argue that's no better than mine."

"I never said it was."

"You got a first name, miss L/N?"

"Y/N." Once the bucket was adequately filled, you lifted it up (trying to ignore the way your arms already wanted to give out) and hauled it back to the stall Alex's horse was in. "How come you're going to the mountains?"

He watched as you poured the water into the trough - it only filled it up about halfway. Silently, he gestured for the bucket, and you hesitated before handing it to him. He headed for the water pump, but you remained by the stall, leaning against the wooden beam that reached up to the stable ceiling. "I got some friends up there," he said, speaking louder so you could hear him. "Plan to stay a week or two with 'em, then head back home."

"It'll take you a couple more days to get there."

"I know. That's why I'm restin' for a few days."

You immediately noticed how much faster he was than you at filling the bucket up. You wanted to be surprised, but you knew you couldn't - he was a skilled rider, and if he was a cowboy, he likely had multiple horses. He knew what he was doing, and his muscular arms hinted at years of practiced motions such as these. He lifted the full bucket with ease, too, as if it was little more than a bundle of feathers. You wondered if he was showing off, only holding it with one hand while you'd needed two. "What's your horse's name?"

He stepped past you to pour the water into the trough. "Lizzie."

You eyed the horse for a few moments. Yeah, she looked like a Lizzie. "She's pretty."

He smiled at that - a small smile, but one nonetheless. "D'ya wanna pet her?"

You blinked. "Can I?"

He set the bucket down outside the stall and pushed the stall door shut, nodding at you as he did so. "She won' bite, if that's what you're worried about."

You stepped up to the stall door and slowly reached your hand out, letting your fingers brush against the top of her nose. In response to your fleeting caress, Lizzie leaned her head forward, her eyes fluttering shut - a silent encouragement. You gave her a more confident pat on her head, then ran your hand along her mane, marveling at how smooth the hairs were. She truly was a stunning horse.

Beside you, Alex was still smiling; you could see it in your periphery. You turned your head to look at him while still offering Lizzie affection. "What?"

He shrugged. "I dunno, 's just always nice t' see people interactin' with her. She's a real attention seeker, y'know. Don't be too nice t' her, or she'll never leave you alone."

That made you laugh. "Is that how you ended up with her?"

He nodded, reaching his own hand out to scratch under Lizzie's chin. "Found her near my farm a few years back. Poor girl was shiverin' to death - looked like she hadn't eaten in a while, either. I gave her some food an' before I knew it, she wouldn't stop nuzzlin' me, demandin' attention. I didn't see the harm in bringin' in one more horse."

"How many do you have?"

"Countin' her, five."

Five? Your family only had two. Maybe your cowboy theory wasn't so far off. Speaking of ... "Are you a cowboy?"

Amusement immediately engraved itself into his features. He opened his mouth to answer, but right as he did, your mother's voice sounded from the back door of your home. "Y/N!" she called. "Time for dinner! Bring your friend, too!"

Beside you, Alex snorted. "I'm your friend, am I?"

You just rolled your eyes and motioned for him to follow as you left the stables.

As soon as you stepped past the threshold of the back door, the smell of herbs filled your nostrils, urging you into the kitchen to find the source. Your mother had just finished plating and was setting a pot down on the stove when you appeared in the doorway, Alex in tow. She looked over at the both of you and smiled. “C’mon, sit down,” she urged, gesturing towards the dining table. You were both quick to acquiesce - you were hungry, and Alex was starving.

Your father appeared and sat across from Alex, your mother sitting across from you. You picked up your cutlery and began to cut into the chicken breast on your plate; the sounds of forks and knives clinking against plates, along with glasses being set down on the table, filled the room. Your mother’s cooking was divine, as always, and you were content to sit in silence and devour everything on your plate. Your father, however, had other plans, and after wiping the crumbs from his mouth, said, “I saw John’s boy in town today.”

Your ears perked up. “Julian?”

He nodded. “Spoke to him some, too. John’s lookin’ to sell one of his horses. I was thinkin’ to pay him a visit tomorrow.”

Your mother, not wanting Alex to feel left out, asked him, “How many horses do you have?”

“Five, ma’am,” Alex said.

“What’s your name, anyway, boy?” your father asked. You wanted to kick him under the table for the way he said it.

“Alex Turner, sir. My farm’s ‘bout a three-day trip from here.”

“Three days? What the hell are you doin’ out here?”

“Goin’ to the mountains, sir, to stay with some friends o’ mine.”

Your father simply nodded and stuffed a forkful of roasted potatoes into his mouth. You looked over at Alex and asked, "Do you think you could help me with some chores after dinner?"

"Now, Y/N," your mother said, "Alex is probably tired from all the ridin' he's done."

"No, ma'am, it's no problem." Alex smiled softly at you, the kind of smile that made your stomach feel light. "I'll help you."

You returned his smile. "Thank you."

After dinner, you helped your mother clear the table, get the leftovers into containers that went into the fridge, and wash the dishes. Once you were finished in the kitchen, you headed out into the back with Alex in tow. "We have to make sure everything's locked up," you explained as you walked, "and set the traps for the night."

"Gotcha." You were surprised when he didn't question what the traps were for, but you quickly reminded yourself he had a farm of his own; he probably set traps, too.

While you set about making sure the stables, barn, henhouse, and pens were all locked, Alex worked on the traps. Somehow, he knew exactly what to do without you telling him, and as you passed him on your way to the henhouse, your brows furrowed. "How do you know how to set them?"

He looked up at you from where he was sat in the grass. "I have these traps on my farm. They're the cheapest an' the most convenient."

"Oh." Now you felt a bit silly for asking.

Once you were both finished, you made your way back inside, making sure to lock the back door behind you. While you'd helped your mother in the kitchen, she'd told you she'd already made up one of the guest bedrooms for Alex to stay in, so you led him upstairs and down the hall, stopping in front of the last room on the right. "My room's right across the hall," you said, looking up at him, "so if you need anything, just let me know."

"Okay." He smiled at you. "Thanks, Y/N. Have a good night."

"You too, Alex." You watched as he stepped into the bedroom and flashed you one last smile before shutting the door.

•••••

By the time morning came in the form of rays of light filtering through the window and incessant bird calls from nearby trees, you had forgotten Alex was staying for a few days, not just last night. In fact, you’d nearly forgotten about Alex entirely, resulting in you letting out a yelp when the door to guest bedroom across the hall creaked open to reveal a human figure. A ghost? No one had stayed in that bedroom since your relatives came for the holidays. Your house was haunted, you needed to tell your parents -

“Y/N?” The sound of Alex’s voice was like a lighthouse in the storm, clearing the dark clouds that obscured your vision. No ghost - just the man you thought was a cowboy. You made a note to ask him about that again later.

“Oh …” You cleared your throat, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning against the doorway of your own room. “Hey.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you and leaned against his doorway, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He still wasn’t dressed, you noticed. He was like you and ate before getting ready for the day. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You stared at him, opening your mouth to respond and closing it again when you had nothing to say. Finally, you looked away and mumbled, “I forgot you were here.”

He barked out a laugh at that. “Did you now? Guess I scared ya, huh? Sorry ‘bout that.”

You didn't say a word and quickly headed for the stairs.

You saw your mother setting plates on the dining table, but your father was nowhere to be found. Confused, you asked, “Where’s papa?”

“He went to go talk to John ‘bout his horse, remember?”

Oh. No, you didn’t remember.

Breakfast went by quickly, with neither you nor Alex saying much. Once you were done eating, you went back upstairs to get dressed, then headed outside to tend to your morning chores. Your first stop - the henhouse.

You set down the wicker basket you’d brought with you on the ground and hauled the sack of chicken feed up into your arms, grunting with the effort. You did an awkward little waddle around the yard, scattering feed as you went. Once you were satisfied with the coverage, you set the sack back down by the henhouse, then picked your wicker basket back up. You undid the locking mechanism and opened the henhouse doors, immediately greeted with a cacophony of clucks. “Good morning to you, too,” you hummed, watching as the hens headed down the wooden ramp in a single file line.

As you poked your head inside, examining their nests, you heard a voice behind you. “Any luck today?” Alex.

You straightened up and deposited the few eggs you’d found into the basket. “Just a few,” you said, looking up at him. “What are you doing out here?”

He shrugged, watching as one of the hens pecked at his boot. “I was gonna see if ya wanted t’ take Lizzie for a ride once you were done.”

You smiled at him. “I’d love to.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, and he returned your smile. “D’you need any help?”

“Actually, yeah …”

With Alex’s help, you were able to get the rest of your chores done with ease. Having someone help you made it all go by much faster, and you were already dreading the day he’d have to leave. Maybe you would need to remind your father of the idea he’d had of hiring a farm hand.

You stood and watched as he opened the stall door, stepping inside to get the saddle and reins back onto Lizzie. “Is she the feisty type?”

He snorted. “Hell no. She’s a real sweetheart.”

You stepped aside so he could lead Lizzie out of the stall and followed behind him as he took her out of the stables. The two of you (three, technically) headed for the forest behind your house; it was your idea to take the unofficial path you’d trekked with your horse a number of times before. You came to a stop outside the tree line, and Alex held his hand out to you. You knew you didn’t need help getting onto Lizzie’s back, and you knew Alex probably knew that too, but you took his hand anyway, hauling yourself up onto the horse and clutching the front of her saddle to steady yourself. Alex hopped on behind you, his chest almost touching your back as he reached around you to grab the reins. You knew the close contact couldn’t be helped, but that didn’t stop you from blushing at the proximity.

He tapped the side of his boot against Lizzie’s side, urging her into an idle trot as he directed her into the forest. The scene was like something out of a fantasy novel: a couple of downed trees lined the path, covered in overgrown moss; you could make out the occasional cluster of mushrooms; and sunlight filtered down through the trees branches overhead, casting the path you were navigating in an otherworldly glow. You were half expecting fairies to start whizzing by. Behind you, Alex let out a low whistle. “This sure is pretty.”

You nodded. “I like coming out here when I can with my horse.”

��And what’s ‘er name?”

“It’s embarrassing,” you mumbled.

That only piqued his curiosity. “Embarrassin’? How could it be embarrassin’?”

You sucked in a breath before quickly muttering, “Twilightsparkle.”

“Sorry?” His knee bumped against the back of your thigh; whether intentionally or not, you didn’t know. “You’re gonna have t’ repeat that one for me.”

“Twilight Sparkle.”

Silence followed.

And then, in possibly the most mortifying outcome, he guffawed. “Twilight Sparkle?”

“I got her when I was a child,” you said defensively. “I wasn’t exactly a name aficionado.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he chuckled. “Ain’t that one of the … oh, what’s that show-“

“My Little Pony,” you mumbled.

You could feel him nodding behind you. “Yeah, My Little Pony. You liked it when you were young, then?”

You nodded. Suddenly, you thought it wouldn’t be so bad if a giant hole opened up in the ground and swallowed you. “Twilight Sparkle was my favorite character, so when my parents got me my own horse, it felt fitting. I call her Twilight for short.”

“Just Twilight is less embarrassin’ than throwin’ the sparkle on.”

“You don’t have to keep rubbing it in, you know.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He chuckled again. “Definitely not the worst thing you coulda named ‘er, though.”

You rose an eyebrow and looked at him over your shoulder. “There are worse things?”

“Lot worse.”

“Like what?”

He grew silent, his expression turning to one of contemplation as he mulled it over. “One o’ my friends in the mountains is like you - got a horse when he was a kid. He named ‘im, uh … what’s the full thing …” Another few seconds of silent thought, and then he smiled. “Armageddon the Destroyer. The Third. Dunno where the first two came from.”

It took every last bit of restraint you had to not burst into giggles. “Armageddon the Destroyer the Third?”

He nodded. “He’s still got that damn horse, too. Likes to just call him Destroyer now.”

“Which friend of yours is this?”

“Matt Helders. If ya ever get to meet ‘im, don’t tell him I told you all this. He’ll throw me off the nearest mountain.”

You didn’t think you ever would meet him, but you made a mental note to keep this story to yourself if you did.

The three of you (it was only fair to count Lizzie, you thought) continued down the path, falling into a tranquil silence. You pet Lizzie’s mane and occasionally scratched behind her ears, eliciting a sound that you assumed was her way of showing appreciation.

Abruptly, you asked, “Are you a cowboy?”

There was a pause. “You asked that yesterday.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t get to answer.”

“Hm …” He sighed. “I certainly look the part, don’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess technically, yeah, although, er, I don’t really go around callin’ myself one.”

That was fair, you supposed. “So is it, like, a generational thing?”

“Yeah. My dad was one, his dad was one, so on and so forth … the farm life’s the only thing I’ve ever known.”

“Do you like it?”

“Like it?” He snorted. “I wouldn’t trade it for a damn thing.”

You were going to be sad to see Alex go.

•••••

“I’m taking a bath,” you called down the stairs.

There was a beat of silence, then your mother called back, “Okay!”

It was the night before Alex would be leaving. He’d been an incredibly helpful guest; he’d always helped with chores without having to be asked, and your father thought him especially helpful because he kept you out of his hair whenever you got bored. You’d been taken out on Lizzie a number of times, told dozens of stories from Alex’s childhood and adulthood, and he’d even played songs for you on the acoustic guitar your father owned but never used. For the first time in years, probably, it’d gone a day without collecting dust.

You shut the door to the bathroom and stepped over to the tub, making sure to plug the drain before turning the faucet on and watching as the water began to rain down. As you waited, your thoughts drifted back to Alex - not just the stories he’d shared or the skill with which he’d played your father’s guitar, but the way he made you feel. You didn’t really like it; for one, you weren’t used to feeling that way about people, but you also knew nothing could ever come out of it. He was going off to the mountains to see his friends, and after that, you’d probably never see him again. He was always destined to just be a blip in your world. Plus, you felt incredibly silly for feeling anything at all, considering it’d only been a few days. Maybe you just needed to talk to people more often …

Once the tub was filled, you turned the faucet off and stripped out of your clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. You stepped into the tub and sank down into the warm water, letting out a sigh of relief; it was an instant balm to your aching bones. You closed your eyes, content to think of literally anything, but your brain kept wandering back to Alex. His perfect eyes, his perfect smile, his perfect beard and perfect chest and perfect arms and perfect legs and perfect ass that you had unashamedly stared at once. Okay, maybe you were ashamed now, but at the time, you'd had to pinch your arm just to get yourself to stop staring like an idiot. You were hopeless.

You had seen him shirtless once. On one of the days where there was too much work and it was too hot to do it all. You were convinced you were going to explode when you saw him, chest and abs bared and sweating in the summer heat. He was probably used to being shirtless in weather like that, but that didn't mean you were prepared to see it. When he'd seen you gawking like a fool, he'd apologized and offered to put his shirt back on, but you'd told him it was okay and that he didn't have to under the guise of not wanting him to overheat. Deep down, though, you wanted to be able to ogle him, just for a little longer.

Were you only physically attracted to him? That thought haunted you like an unseen phantom as you worked shampoo into your wet hair. Of course he was attractive - he had the perfect body, in your eyes - but was that the only reason he appealed to you? You didn't think it was; you knew it would be a lot easier to get over his absence if that was just the case.

He would be gone tomorrow morning.

That became your mantra for the rest of your bath, and you kept repeating it to yourself as you dried off, emptied the tub, and got dressed for bed. He would be gone tomorrow morning. You left the bathroom and headed down the hall, stepping into your room. He would be gone tomorrow morning. You shut your door and let yourself succumb to the warmth and comfort of your bed, making sure to turn your bedside lamp off before drifting off to sleep. He would be gone tomorrow morning.

“Hey. Y/N. Wake up.”

“Huh?” You forced your eyes open and stared up at the partially illuminated figure that hovered above you. "Alex?" you mumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanna show you somethin'," he whispered.

"It's late. Can't you show me in the morning?"

"Nope." He shook his head for emphasis. "Gotta show ya now."

You felt like a parent arguing with their child.

You forced yourself out of bed and slipped your shoes on at his request before following him out of your room and downstairs. You were expecting to go out the front door, but he led you through the back, making sure to be extra quiet to avoid waking your parents until you were both outside. You were both still in your pajamas, and you were still trying to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes. You followed him into the forest behind your house, confusion settling across your features when he suddenly deviated from your usual path and led you to a different part of the forest. What the hell was he doing?

Eventually, he stopped, and you nearly crashed into him. "We're here."

"You dragged me outside in the middle of the night for-" The words died out in your throat as you realized what you were seeing.

You'd never gone this deep into the forest before, so you had no idea a scene like this even existed. The trees opened up in a wide circle, revealing a little pond surrounded by different stones. The grass was soft as it brushed against your ankles, and flowers were scattered all across the ground, practically beaming up at you. You felt like you'd stepped into some pocket dimension.

"Come on." Alex nudged you and stepped further into the clearing, and it was at that moment that you became aware of the blanket tucked under his left arm.

Your brows furrowed. "What's the blanket for?"

You watched as he laid it out in the grass, making sure it was neat and straight and there weren't any rocks hiding under it for your body to find before straightening up and smiling softly at you. "Stargazin'."

Oh. You weren't annoyed at him for waking you up anymore.

You walked over and sat down on the blanket, removing your shoes and setting them off to the side before stretching yourself out. You stared up at the sky, mystified by the sheer number of stars you could see. "It's so pretty," you breathed.

"I was hopin' you'd like it."

You turned your head to look at him as he laid beside you. "Did you find this just for me?"

He nodded, his smile turning a bit sheepish. "I'd sorta stumbled on it the other day when I was out here. I've been meanin' to show it to you."

"Thank you, Alex."

"Ah, don't mention it." He turned his head to look up at the stars, and you stared at him for a beat too long before doing the same.

Silence consumed the both of you, broken by the occasional chirp or drone of some nearby insect. You didn't know what possessed you to shatter the silence and say anything, but after a few minutes, you quietly confessed, "I don't want you to go."

It took a couple of seconds for Alex to respond. "Why not?"

"I don't know." You crumpled up the fabric of your shirt between your fingers. "The last few days have been really nice, and I don't really want all this to end."

"I can't say I'm particularly fond o' goin', either," he mumbled, letting out a sigh afterwards. "I'd like to see my friends, of course, but ... y'know."

"Yeah."

Another minute passed, and then he rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand as his elbow dug into the blanket. "Y/N, can I ask you somethin'?"

"You just did, technically," you said, looking up at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, smartass. You know what I mean."

"Go ahead."

"Have you ever ..." He trailed off, his expression growing pensive as he searched for the right words. "You ever left home before?"

You blinked in surprise. You weren't sure what you'd been expecting him to ask, but it wasn't that. "Uh ... no. Why?"

He shrugged, as if to brush it off and act nonchalant, but you could tell he was hiding something. "Just thought I'd ask."

"You're a bad liar, Alex."

"Why would I be lyin'?"

"I don't know. Why are you lying?"

He sighed. "I guess ... I dunno. It'd be nice if I could bring ya with me. I think you'd like my friends."

Oh. There was that fluttering sensation in your stomach. "You want me to go with you?"

"It'd be nice if you could," he corrected. "Way too late for that to get worked out. Plus, your parents might kill me. Or your dad would. Your mom's a real sweetheart."

"She does hate killing bugs," you mused. You thought on what he'd just said. "Why would you want me to go with you?"

He looked off at the pond, growing silent as he tried to figure out how to say whatever was on his mind. You waited patiently, and eventually, your patience paid off. "I think I'm growin' attached to you."

You stared at him. "What?"

He looked down at you. "I said it in English."

You wanted to slap him. "What do you mean, you're-"

"I like ya, Y/N. As in, I think you're cute, and maybe I wanna kiss ya."

If you were going to explode when you saw him shirtless, you were sure you were about to turn into a nuclear bomb.

"Oh," you managed.

He rose an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that it?"

"Well, I mean-" You sat up and turned your head to look at him. "I don't think ... I'd mind it if you kissed me," you mumbled.

He stared at you, his eyes widening minutely before going back to their original size. Now it was his turn to say, "Oh." He cleared his throat and sat up fully, looking down at the blanket you were sat on. He eventually looked back up at you. "So ... can I-"

You cut him off by crashing your lips against his.

It took him no time at all to react. His hand went to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer as your mouths slotted together perfectly. You didn't want this moment to end, but too soon was he pulling away to stare down at you. "Christ," he breathed. He dipped his head down to kiss you again, and again, and again. The onslaught of pecks made you giggle. Your blood was practically singing in your veins.

When he finally stopped kissing you, you smiled up at him. "I didn't realize cowboys were such softies."

He scowled, although you could tell there was no real malice behind it. "What, am I supposed to act all mean an' tough around a cute girl?"

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Call me cute again, and I'll get a big head.

"You'd still look cute if your head was the size of the moon," he hummed, leaning in to kiss you one last time.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and squeezed yourself closer to him, listening to his heart as it thrummed against his ribcage. "The next time you go to visit your friends, you should take me with you," you mumbled.

He pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head and murmured, "It's a deal, sweetheart."

"And I promise I won't bring up Armageddon the Destroyer the Third in front of Matt."

He let out a breathless chuckle and pinched your side, making you yelp. "If you do, I'm leavin' you up there to deal with him."

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @supernaturalandpain / @not-a-big-slay

[jobrxiv]

ATSU - Associate Director, Sponsored Research & Program Development A.T. Still University See the full job description on jobRxiv: https://jobrxiv.org/job/a-t-still-university-27778-atsu-associate-director-sponsored-research-program-development/?feed_id=84305 #ScienceJobs #hiring #research

[what-even-is-thiss]

Here's all the sources I've collected so far if you're curious (I haven't read or purchased every single one of these yet but I plan to by the time I'm finished)

Also I'll probably end up adding even more than this by the time I'm done. You can see now why I've been going insane with the mythology posting for the past few months.

Primary Sources

The Iliad by Homer, Translations by: Stanley Lombardo, Caroline Alexander, A.T. Murray

The Odyssey by Homer, Translations by: Emily Wilson, A.T. Murray, Samuel Butler

The Aeneid by Virgil, Translations by: Shadi Bartsch, David West, Robert Fitzgerald, Sarah Ruden, H.R. Fairclough

The Post-Homerica or, The Fall of Troy by Quintus Smyrnaeus, Translation by: A.S. Way,

The Achilleid by Publius Papinius Statius, Translations by: Stanley Lombardo, J.H. Mozley

Fragments of The Nostoi, Translated by: H.G. Evelyn-White

Fragments of The Cypria, Translated by: H.G. Evelyn-White

Fragments of The Aethiopis, Translated by: H.G. Evelyn-White

Fragments of The Little Iliad, Translated by: H.G. Evelyn-White

Fragments of The Sack of Troy, Translated by: H.G. Evelyn-White

Fragments of The Telegony, Translated by: H.G. Evelyn-White

The Taking of Ilios by Tryphiodorus, Translated by A.W. Mair

The Rape of Helen by Collothus, Translated by A.W. Mair

The Library by Pseudo-Alollodorus, Translation by Robin Hard

Fabulae by Hyginus,

Metamorphosis by Ovid,

Description of Greece by Pausanias

The Peloponnesian War by Thucydides, Translation by Martin Hammond

The Histories by Herodotus Translation by Robin Waterfield

A History of my Times by Xenophon, translation by Rex Warner

Theogony and Works and Days by Hesiod, translated by M.L. West

The Homeric Hymns, Translation by Michael Crudden

The Dramas of Euripides: Complete Surviving Works, collected by Publisher Forgotten Books

The Complete Plays of Sophocles: A New Translation by Robert Bagg and James Scully

Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, translation by Gregory Hays

The Argonautica or, Jason and the Golden Fleece by Apppolonius of Rhodes, Translations by Richard Hunter, E.V. Rieu

Fragments of The Aegimius, Translated by: H.G. Evelyn-White

The Dionysiaca Translation by W.H.D. Rouse and Tales of Dionysus: The Dionysiaca of Nonnus of Panopolis: A Group Translation

Secondary Sources

The Attack on Troy by Rodney Castleden

On Ancient Warfare by Richard A. Gabriel

SPQR by Mary Beard

Ancient Greek Cults: A Guide by Jennifer Larson

Minoan Crete: An Introduction by L. Vance Watrous

The Mycenaeans by Louise Schofield

The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean

The Cambridge Companion to the Aegean Bronze Age

Spartan Women by Sarah B. Pomeroy

Beyond Babylon: Art, Trade, and Diplomacy in the Second Millennium B.C.

Roman Myths by Michael Grant

Religions of Rome: Volume 1: A History by Mary Beard

Pantheon: A New History of Roman Religion

Greek Religion: Archaic and Classical by Walter Burkurt

I figured out that if I'm gonna keep writing this thing I'm writing I actually need to gather a list of my sources and guys I am losing my mind. I am going insane. I am losing my marbles. And I haven't even started on gathering together my secondary sources yet.

[thesnicketfile]

The year is half over and if you think you haven’t read enough books so far - don’t despair! In 2014, Daniel Handler compiled a list of his favorite short underrated novels that you can take your pick from. (Head over to the link to read Handler’s commentary on each book.)

J.G. Ballard, Running Wild Muriel Spark, Not To Disturb Kathy Acker, Blood and Guts in High School Michael Tolkin, Under Radar J.P. Donleavy, The Lady Who Liked Clean Restrooms Danielle Dutton, Attempts at A Life Ali Liebegott, The Beautifully Worthless Doris Lessing, The Fifth Child A.T. Grant, Collected Alex (Chris Adrian, The Children’s Hospital)

[joseluisbenavides]

Delving into shared Indigenous and Chicanx cultural histories, Anišinabe Waki-Aztlán was a 1977 art exhibition originally held at Harry S. Truman College. The exhibition featured Indigenous and Chicanx artists, organized by Movimiento Artístico Chicano (MARCh) & the Chicago Indian Artists’ Guild. Anišinabe Waki-Aztlán featured a total of 52 participating artists, lectures, poetry readings, and performances, with lead organizer Carlos Cumpián. Featured artists included Malu Alberro y Ortega, Loniel Poco, Sharon Okee-Chee Skolnic, Salvador Vega, Robin Whitespear, Joe Yazzie, and many more. The event poster was made by Carlos Cortéz Koyokuikatl.

This re-creation and celebration of the original exhibition includes images Truman College art lecturer, Jose Luis Benavides, gathered since 2019. His research into this little-documented Chicago history started with a grant from the Illinois Humanities, with presentations and screenings at local-Chicago art spaces Chuquimarca and Comfort Station in 2022. He was also awarded a “Service-Learning and Civic Engagement Faculty Research Fellowship” from The Service-Learning and Civic Engagement Consortium (SLCEC) to expand this research. 

With the support of the University of Chicago’s Public History Practicum, three graduate students, Mariah Bender, Teagan Harris, and Zi Yun Huang, created a digital archive of artworks related to Anišinabe Waki-Aztlán with special access to Carlos Cumpián’s private collection.

This Truman campus exhibition includes research materials of brochures, flyers, photographs, woodcut prints, graphics, and poetry chapbooks from some of the original artists involved in the 1977 exhibition. 

A special screening of the film, This is Indian Land: Sharon Okee-Chee’s Vision, will share the rich history of The American Indian Center in Chicago. Truman students and the community are invited to learn about the important cross-cultural solidarity work sustained by Chicanx and Indigenous elders in Chicago. 

Event Schedule April 10-12, 2023

Luncheon with Carlos Cumpián on Mon. April 10, at 12:30 pm (Larry McKeon Building Room 146/147).

Exhibition Opening on Mon. April 10 at 3:30 pm (Wilson Lobby). 

Screening of “This is Indian Land: Okee-Chee’s Vision” on Wed. April 12, at 3:30 pm (Novar Hall).

Zoom Panel with UChicago Public History Practicum students on Wed. April 12, at 7 pm 

(Zoom link: https://cccedu.zoom.us/j/81684305612).

_______________________________________________________________________

Chuquimarca is pleased to present a two event program:

Join us for a dialogue and presentation about the Anišinabe Waki-Aztlán exhibition (1977) with Carlos Cumpián, Sal Vega, & Dylan A.T. Miner, PhD. moderated by Jose Luis Benavides, online via Zoom on Tuesday, 09/28 at 7pm CST . Register for the Zoom link here : https://bit.ly/2X36CFq

Additionally, please join us the Friday before the talk, 09/24, for a special screening of This Is Indian Land, Okee-Chee's Vision by Sharon Okee-Chee Skolnick at Comfort Station in Logan Square. 

Screening: “This Is Indian Land, Okee-Chee's Vision” by Sharon Okee-Chee Skolnick

Date and Time: Friday, September 24, 2021, 7:00-8:00pm CST

Location: Comfort Station, 2579 N Milwaukee Ave, Chicago, IL 60647

“This Is Indian Land, Okee-Chee’s Vision” by Sharon Okee-Chee Skolnic is a 35 minute independent documentary using interviews and images by Okee-Chee with her collaborators to highlight her vision and contribution to their community at the American Indian Center and Chicago. Sharon Okee-Chee is a visual artist and filmmaker who originally participated in the Anišinabe Waki-Aztlán exhibition at Truman College in 1977. We are honored to screen this film as an addition to the Anišinabe Waki-Aztlán Exhibition (1977) discussion, developed by Jose Luis Benavides, to highlight her role within Chicago arts communities. This film was produced by Nancy Bechtol and David Bechtol from Shadow Bechtol Studio in 2017.  This will be an outdoor screening on Comfort Station’s lawn.

Image source 2:  Carlos A. Cortéz, Anisinabe Waki-Aztlan, 1977, linoleum cut on paper, Smithsonian American Art Museum\Carlos A. Cortéz, Anisinabe Waki-Aztlan, 1977, linoleum cut on paper, Smithsonian American Art Museum [Link]

Dialogue/Presentation: Anišinabe Waki-Aztlán Exhibition (1977)

Date and Time: Tuesday, September 28, 2021, 7:00-8:30pm CST

Zoom Registration Link: https://bit.ly/2X36CFq

Delving into shared Indigenous and Chicanx cultural histories, Anišinabe Waki-Aztlán was a 1977 exhibition at Harry S. Truman College that featured both Indigenous and Chicano artists and was organized by Movimiento Artístico Chicano (MARCh) & the Chicago Indian Artist Guild. A total of 52 participating artists and organizers including Loniel Poco,  Joe Yazzie, Sharon Okee-Chee Skolnic, Sal Vega, Carlos Cumpián and many more participated in the show with posters made by Carlos Cortéz Koyokuikatl.

We’re honored to have Carlos Cumpián, poet and lead organizer of MARCh along with Sal Vega,  local-muralist and exhibited artist, to share their experience and reflection on the show and how the title came about. Indigenous artists and scholar Dylan A.T. Miner, Ph.D will also account his interpretations of the show’s posters from his book Creating Aztlán: Chicano Art, Indigenous Sovereignty and Lowriding Across Turtle Island (University of Arizona Press). This event was developed and will be moderated by Jose Luis Benavides, who will start the conversation with a presentation of their research on the exhibition.

All are welcome to this open dialogue and presentation to highlight and learn more about the significance of this event with participating artists and scholars!

This event was a postponed program from 2020. To access info about the initial program, please visit the project’s page on chuquimarca.com. 

Closed Caption will be available. Discussion event will be recorded and published on Youtube. 

Programs made possible in part by a grant from Illinois Humanities, the National Endowment for the Humanities, and the Illinois General Assembly

For any questions, please contact info@chuquimarca.com or visit Chuquimarca.com

_______________________________________________________________________

Sharon Okee-Chee is a Fort Sill Chiricahua Apache-Sioux tribal elder and recognized artist, writer, archivist, former-director of The American Indian Center. She attended the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, N.M. She has exhibited at Michigan State University Museum and the University of Tulsa's Gilcrease Museum. She was featured in the City of Chicago-sponsored Chicago Artists Month program in October 2011. She also created a diorama of Native dolls for an exhibit at Chicago's Field Museum. For a decade she operated Okee-Chee's Wild Horse Gallery, Chicago's first Native American art gallery. Her 1997 childhood memoir "Where Courage Is Like a Wild Horse: The World of an Indian Orphanage" (University of Nebraska Press), written with her husband Manny Skolnick, earned a literary award from Friends of American Writers Chicago.

Carlos Cumpián was born and raised in Texas and now lives in Chicago. He is the author of the poetry collections Coyote Sun (1990), Armadillo Charm (1996), and 14 Abriles (2010), as well as the children's book Latino Rainbow: Poems About Latino Americans (1995, illustrated by Richard Leonard). His poems have appeared in many anthologies, including Emergency Tacos: Seven Poets con Picante, With a Book in Their Hands: Chicano Readers and Readership Across the Centuries, Hecho en Tejas: An Anthology of Texas Mexican Literature, Dream of a Word: The Tia Chucha Press Poetry Anthology, and El Coro: A Chorus of Latino and Latina Poetry. Cumpián edits March Abrazo Press.

Salvador Vega was born on May 6, 1957 in Chicago, Il in the Little Village, La Villita, the 26th street barrio. He attended McCormick Chicago Public School where he became interested in art. Graduated from Harrison High School (CPS), where he started his work as a muralist.  He painted his first murals there, “Mother Earth” and “Drug Sadness” and “La Azteca.” He worked with Mexican-born artist Aurelio Diaz on the mural “Xochilmilco” in the 18th street Pilsen barrio.  Sal also collaborated with the late Rey Vasquez on a few projects but in Pilsen’s Dvorjak Park, Sal worked with the highly acclaimed artists Juanita Jaramillo and Marcos Raya. Vega also created a special portable mural for the alternative high school Latino Youth, Inc.  He has had numerous solo exhibits across Illinois. 

Dylan A.T. Miner, PhD is an artist, activist, and scholar. He is Director of American Indian and Indigenous Studies, as well as Professor in the Residential College in the Arts and Humanities, at Michigan State University. In Spring 2019, he was Denison Visiting Professor of Native American Studies at Central Michigan University. In 2010, he was an Artist Leadership Fellow at the National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution. He serves on the board of the Michigan Indian Education Council and is a founding member of the Justseeds artist collective. Miner is a registered citizen of the Métis Nation of Ontario. @wiisaakodewinini 

Jose Luis Benavides is a queer Latinx artist, filmmaker and educator. His work was recently featured in Reeling: The Chicago LGBTQ+ International Film Festival, Chicago, US (2020), Full Spectrum Feature’s - Chicago Cinema Exchange: Mexico City (2020), Onion City: Experimental Film and Video Festival, Chicago, US (2020), MSU Latinx Film Festival, Lansing, US (2020), and Revolutions Per Minute Festival, University of Massachusetts Boston, US (2020). He also programs video-art screenings through Sin Cinta Previa: Latinx & Queer Archive Video Series, which was awarded a POWER Project grant from the Art Leaders of Color Network (2018) and a Propeller Fund grant (2019). @lu3ge

Chuquimarca is an art library tasked to gather and share resources related to Native, Caribbean, and Latin American contemporary art and art histories.

[at-dalton]

Yearning

Why am I so addicted to the pain of yearning?

It hurts more than anything but I could not stop chasing it to save my life.

It is a rabid dog, fixed on a goal.

Trapped inside its own body,

Mind taken over by some animalistic

need to consume everything in sight.

No matter how much it swallows,

It is never satisfied.

It always continues with the

Hope of satisfaction,

A hope of peace.

It is insane but it won’t let me stop.

It radiates an empty pain from my abdomen,

Always trying to escape through my ribs,

With every breathing heartbeat.

It may decide to simply strangle me

In a final, desperate attempt to

Distract the creature it holds locked.

But my dog can tell,

And is not fooled,

Leaving me waiting for it to die

And grant me freedom

From its suffocating existence

So that I can think again,

Without the overwhelming pain of

Yearning in a debilitating existence.

A.T. Dalton

October 23rd, 2019

[dandylion240]

Day 15 - Free Day (4 of 8)

A.T: hey good look’in

Emerson: can we talk?

A.T: uh oh I don’t like the sound of that

Emerson: it’s nothing bad but I was thinking maybe we should tone it down a little.

A.T: tone what down? 

Emerson: you know the PDA. It’s making the others uncomfortable.

A.T: that’s not our fault. Granted if I were in their shoes I’d be jealous too but we’ve done nothing wrong.

Emerson: I know but I want to be fair.

A.T: alright for you I’ll do it.

@klauseconfessions

[zorawitch]

one of these days i am going to go completely out of my gourd and it's going to be this website's fault

[historicalfirearms]

A.T. Fischer’s Proto-Krummlauf

Many of us have seen photographs of the Krummlauf (or curved barrel) developed by the Germans during the Second World War. Developed for use with the StG-44, the Krummlauf, at varying degrees of curve, was designed for shooting at oblique angles around corners and for ‘hosing down’ vehicles under close infantry attack.

Krummlauf device with aiming-device fitted to an StG-44 (source)

As is often the case in small arms history, however, the Krummlauf was a case of history repeating itself. In February 1919, Alexander T. Fischer, of Detroit, Michigan, filed a patent for a “Device for Oblique Firing”. In his patent Fischer described his device as enabling the user to aim firearms:

“...at an angle from that of the line of sight as is now practised. This improvement is especially desirable in airplane usage in war, as it enables the observer to shoot over the side of the airplane and direct his bullet to an object beneath him without being obliged to hold the fire arm in a vertical or nearly vertical position and without being exposed to fire from his adversary. Soldiers also by its use may fire over parapets without exposure to adverse fire.”

It seems that Fischer envisaged his device as being most useful to aircraft crews firing on ground targets. It is very likely that Fischer was not familiar with the realities of aerial combat as this envisages a very niche role. Indeed the mounting method he describes, shown in Fig.1, for use in aircraft is rather naive. 

Fischer’s patent shows a number of designs including a revolver with his curved device threaded onto the barrel. Similarly he also depicts a shorter device which threaded onto the muzzle of a rifle which also combined a (straight) bayonet (Fig.2 & 3). 

Finally, the patent displays a “device attached to a rifle together with a reflecting sight, preferably periscopic, in which the fire can be directed with great accuracy.” Fischer’s patent was granted on the 25th May, 1920 and in August he was granted another patent for an “apparatus for deflecting fire of firearms” - essentially a mitrailleuse with curved barrels (US #1348987). 

These were not his only inventions, however, between 1899 and 1901 it appears that Fischer also patented a number of garden tools including a weeder, a hoe and a seed drill.

It seems that Fischer was one of a number of inventors from the period who read about the war but never saw it and as a result designed unusual and sometimes outlandish designs. Fischer’s design, however, is strangely prescient, proceeding the Krummlauf by more than 20 years. The later Krummlauf saw combat and the US and Soviets subsequently experimenting with the idea. Today, systems like CornerShot fulfil a similar niche urban combat role.  

Source:

‘Device for Oblique Firing’, A.T. Fischer, US Patent #1134117, 21/02/19 (source)

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[deathnskulls]

Unknown photographer Untitled [Members of a Cavalry unit at Fort Grant, A.T. in 1876 showing the variety of both clothing and headgear in use by the Army in the mid-1870s] 1876

[jobrxiv]

ATSU - Associate Director, Sponsored Research & Program Development A.T. Still University See the full job description on jobRxiv: https://jobrxiv.org/job/a-t-still-university-27778-atsu-associate-director-sponsored-research-program-development/?feed_id=80454 #ScienceJobs #hiring #research

[dellybelly]

i remember

it’s been two years but i still remember.

we were in the train, going home from school.

i was talking to your friend whom i’ve just gave sarcastic remarks to.

and then, i looked at you.

you, who were staring at me the whole time.

you, who were admiring me, your eyes soft and you were smiling.

you were giving off the expression of “i’m so lucky to have her”.

then why why did you break my heart?

when you promised to never hurt me again.

why did you take me for granted again and again?

maybe i should have listened to your explanation, your countless “i will change” but to no avail.

but your promises,

they were all empty, and

they emptied me too.

i knew after countless heartbreaks that i had to leave,

if i wanted to keep my sanity.

and so i left for myself,

i left because this time, i’m choosing myself.

you are not my ending anymore.

i deserve to be happy

and you don’t deserve me.

- a.t.