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researchseminarblog · 2 years ago

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RESEARCH IDEA

INCLUSIVE AND EQUITABLE ENVIRONMENTAL EDUCATION WITHIN TARGETS 13.3 AND 4.4.1 OF THE SUSTAINABLE DEVELOPMENT GOALS (SDGS) THROUGH THE ARMED CONFLICT PERIOD IN COLOMBIA

Yerson David Sanabria Salinas

Universidad Pedagógica y Tecnológica de Colombia Facultad de Ciencias de la Educación Lenguas Modernas con Énfasis en Inglés Seminario de Investigación I Professor José Alberto Fajardo May 30, 2023

INTRODUCTION

This project arises from the necessity to understand the significance of the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) and their impact on developed and developing countries. On one hand, according to the United Nations, Goal number four (SDG-4), “Ensure inclusive and equitable quality education and promote lifelong learning opportunities for all” emphasizes the significance of guaranteeing that education should be accessible to everyone, without discrimination or exclusion. On the other hand, goal number thirteen (SDG-13), “Take urgent action to combat climate change and its impacts” highlights the relevance of enhanced education, awareness, and implementation of mitigation, adaptation, impact reduction, and early warning strategies.

Nevertheless, it is essential to establish connections between goals that can benefit multiple stakeholders. Hence, this project aims to establish a link between (SDG-4) and (SDG-13), in which the bridge between these two goals lies down with environmental leaders' testimonies and experiences from Comisión de la Verdad, a transitory and non-judicial process within Sistema Integral de Verdad, Justicia, Reparación y No Repetición - SIVJRNR, designed to uncover the reality of events that occurred during the armed conflict era in Colombia.

JUSTIFICATION

Using a documentary produced by the Comisión de la Verdad, showcasing the stories of Colombian environmental leaders, holds the potential for promoting inclusive and equitable environmental education among pre-service teachers. This initiative aligns with the objectives outlined in targets 13.3 and 4.4.1 of the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), which emphasize the importance of promoting sustainable practices and ensuring quality education that is accessible and equitable. By exploring this documentary, pre-service teachers can gain valuable insights into the challenges environmental leaders face nowadays in Colombia, enriching their understanding and cultivating a sense of empathy. Further, it can catalyze critical thinking, encouraging pre-service teachers to analyze the perpetuation of environmental inequalities and explore ways to address them.

By incorporating tools such as this documentary called Ocho Caminos, una Vía, a documentary series about environmental leaders in Caquetá, in the curriculum and educational practices, teacher education programs can contribute to the development of a new generation of leaders and educators who possess the knowledge, skills, and perspectives necessary to deliver inclusive and equitable environmental education, fostering sustainable development and social transformation.

PROBLEM STATEMENT

According to the last report on the Progress toward Sustainable Development Goals, which offers a comprehensive global overview of the progress by using the most up-to-date data, is mentioned that even before the COVID-19 pandemic, the world was already off-track to achieve its education targets. If no additional measures are taken, only one in six countries will meet SDG4 and achieve universal access to quality education by 2030.

Besides, during the analysis of SDG13, they claimed that the world is on the brink of a climate catastrophe and current actions and plans to address the crisis are insufficient. Without transformative action starting now the lives of more than 3 billion people will be at risk. Finally, in target 13.3, an analysis of 100 national curriculum frameworks reveals that nearly half (47%) do not mention climate change.

In this sense, is evident the relevance of taking action against this problematic situation by implementing strategies in educational practices because in 2021, in conformity with The General Assembly Economic and Social Council (2023), despite 95% of teachers recognizing the importance of teaching about climate change severity, only one-third are capable of effectively explaining its effects in their region. (p.p.19).

RESEARCH QUESTION

How does one documentary from Comisión de la Verdad about Colombian environmental leaders be used to contribute to pre-service teachers’ inclusive and equitable environmental education within targets 13.3 and 4.4.1 of the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) at UPTC?

RESEARCH OBJECTIVES

General Objective

To develop a comprehensive understanding of target 13.3 of the SDGs and its relevance to inclusive and equitable quality education by using the documentary “Ocho caminos, una vía" from Comisión de la Verdad about Colombian environmental leaders as a tool to raise awareness in higher education.

Specific Objectives

To evaluate the long-term effects of the awareness-raising pedagogical intervention, tracking changes in attitudes, behaviors, and policies related to inclusive and equitable quality education.

To establish partnerships and collaborations with local and international organizations working on sustainable development and education to amplify the reach and impact of the awareness-raising efforts.

Share the experiences and best practices from the project with other universities and educational institutions to inspire similar initiatives and promote the integration of target 13.3 and target 4.4.1 into their corresponding contexts.

To contribute to the critical discourse on the role of documentaries in advancing the SDGs, specifically focusing on target 13.3 and target 4.4.1, through publications, presentations, and participation in relevant conferences and events.

Why is the Cátedra de la Paz not taught in universities? To what extent education through Colombian armed conflict history can create a sense of activism in public universities?

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ciej-decolonize4climate · 4 years ago

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Salt to Stars: The Environmental and Community Impacts of Lithium Mining.

A comic by the Center for Interdisciplinary Environmental Justice with art by Sophie Wang, text under the cut. This is part of a toolkit to challenge greenwashing in the climate movement. Please share to support Indigenous water protectors and non-extractive decolonial solutions to climate change!

In the highlands of the Andes, Indigenous peoples have used lagoons of ancient brine to interpret the night sky since time immemorial. These lagoons are sacred cultural sites and home to their ancestors, some of the earliest forms of microbial life.

This region is one of the driest deserts in the world. (The Salar de Atacama receives ~80 mm/3 inches of rain per year. Sahara desert 100 mm.)

Even so, ecosystems--including people--have adapted to the hyperarid, hypersaline environment. Organisms include stromatolites, extremophile bacteria, flamingos, llamas and vincuña, brine shrimp, and halophyte grasses. People living in the salar regions are agro-pastoral farmers, meaning they integrate crop and livestock cultivation. They have always managed the existing water systems to grow food crops and to sustain their animals and families.

The extremely salty water is called brine. The brines formed millions of years ago when the climate was wetter, as rain and snow carrying dissolved minerals collected in closed basins. Strong sunshine and dry conditions have concentrated this water over thousands of years. Brine rich in lithium and other minerals is part of a complex interconnected groundwater system, that supports Indigenous peoples and their traditional ways of life.

Mining companies, see this sacred landscape only as profitable resources. Lithium mining is expanding here to make electric vehicle batteries and other so-called “renewable” energy storage infrastructure.

In fact, investors and prospectors call lithium “white gold.” But to Indigenous peoples around the world, gold rushes have meant genocide and ecocide.

To mine lithium, brine is pumped into shallow pools where the water is evaporated and the minerals are collected. Lithium mining is groundwater mining, and the groundwater in the Atacama desert is nonrenewable. Lithium brine used to make “renewable” energy storage is a nonrenewable resource. 1 olympic size swimming pool of water = 23 Tesla vehicles. Tesla’s production goals = 20 million vehicles per year by 2030 (that’s 869,500 olympic size swimming pools per year).

Indigenous communities are resisting the destruction of their sacred waters and traditional homelands. Many say “No” to lithium mining. Communities the Salinas Grandes and Laguna de Guayatayoc, Argentina, blockaded the highway in February, 2019 to protest violation of consultation rights.

Many fear the destruction of ecological, cultural, and spiritual life cycles and further displacement of indigenous communities, forcing people off their homelands and into the cities where they become the racialized urban poor. Farmers are already noticing a sharp decline in their crops.

Electric vehicles and lithium batteries are not sustainable nor climate change solutions.. They only shift exploitation and extraction to differerent non-renewable resources and people.

True solutions to climate change require radical re-imagining of our extractivist practices. Like our Andean Indigenous compas, we must see ourselves as part of the same interconnected world, human and ecology, from salt to stars.

#earth day #earth day 2021 #climate change #decolonising #decolonization #environment #environmental justice #sustainability #ev #renewable energy #extraction #social justice

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mariacallous · 2 years ago

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Sombreros, serapes and maracas, horrible pronunciations, jokes about Mexican stand-offs, and really strange-looking tacos — did the “Mexican Week” episode of “The Great British Baking Show” leave any stereotypical stone unturned? After a similar debacle with Season 11’s “Japanese Week,” the internationally beloved competition series — which streams on Netflix in the U.S. — apparently decided not to learn from its mistakes, and dove headlong into Mexican food. And since the competition is largely to determine who can create the best baked goods, many observers wondered, why were they attempting tacos, anyway?

Even before the episode dropped on Oct. 7, the promos featuring sombrero-wearing hosts Noel Fielding and Matt Lucas came under fire from social media commenters — largely from the U.S., where finding a good taco is not as difficult as in the U.K. — who were quick to weigh in on the show’s utter failure to try to understand more than the most obvious characteristics of Mexican food and culture. Even the English-language plural of the word cactus eluded one of the contestants — not to mention the woman whose absolutely wretched try at guacamole sounded more like “glakeemolo.”

“It’s not hard to learn to pronounce words correctly, even for a living muppet of a host,” wrote José Ralat, the Taco Editor of Texas Monthly magazine.

“Tacos, new one on me,” says one contestant, as they are given the assignment for the technical challenge of making tortillas from canned “yellow field corn” and adding steak, spicy refried beans, guacamole and pico de gallo to make some sort of gloppy pile of taco topped with rare meat. The difference between tacos and “torteellas” perplexes one chef while the other predictably worries, “I just hope my chili is not too hot!”

But Austin, Texas-based journalist Kate Sánchez tried to put the furor into perspective, noting “Don’t get me wrong it’s definitely racist but also DACA was deemed illegal and my community is being actively harmed by forces not on my TV so glocklymolo and ominous maraca shaking is at least the stuff I can laugh at.” However, she did admit that peeling an avocado like a potato constituted “an act of physical violence against my people.”

“Absolutely haunted by this week’s #GBBO, I will never get the image of Carole peeling an avocado like a potato out of my head,” agreed Twitter user @IWillLeaveNow.

“Bracing ourselves for a whole lot of cringe,” wrote German-based historian and teacher Daniel Salina Córdova, who also shared a bingo card featuring all the stereotypically Mexican tropes used on the show.

“Mexican week on the #GBBO is so cringingly racially and culturally insensitive I have to ask how it was approved,” wrote @kcrusher on Twitter.

Did the show decide it might be better to apologize for stereotypes that have created harmful images of Mexican people for years? No, it did not, it made a silly taco joke. Netflix did not respond to a request for comment.

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beautiful-basque-country · 4 years ago

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Hi! The other question has me curious now—are there certain letters that Basque and Spanish share, but say differently? And if so, does it lead to mispronunciation often?

Kaixo!

Oh, of course it does...

These are the letters that are pronounced differently:

z - in Spanish sounds like th (as in with) in Basque sounds like a slightly more alveolar s

gi /ge - in Spanish sound like khee / khe (e as in bEtter) in Basque sound like gui (as in guitar) / gue (as in guess)

x - in Spanish sounds ks (as in axe) in Basque sounds sh (as in should)

Combinations dd, tt, ts, tx, tz - non-existant in Spanish and each with a slightly different sound than the rest - are all pronounced CH (as in chocolate) by Spanish speakers.

We get that it may be challenging to pronounce sounds that doesn’t exist in your mother tongue, but in mass media there’s a tendency of making efforts and trying to pronounce foreign surnames and places correctly while giving zero f*cks when it comes to pronounce Basque words.

- Athletic Club ex-player Aritz Aduriz’s surname was often said AduriCH. What kind of language is that? As you can see above, z sounding ch happens nor in Spanish neither in Basque, so...? Whatever.

- Name Xabi is often pronounced Chabi, a Catalan interference a Spanish interference that makes some Català speakers wrongly pronounce X like CH and then apply the same wrong rule to Basque.

- We’ve heard town name Etxebarri - stress on txe - be called EtxeBArri. They care to say Nürburgring correctly, though.

- TZ is correctly pronounced in words like pizza or Ratzinger, but when it comes to Basque names like Itziar they go Ichiar.

- They consistently say Generalitat (Catalan name for the Catalan Government), they say Xunta (Galician name for the Galician Government), but they say Basque Government, not Lehendakaritza.

- Most of mass media refuse to use the official Basque toponyms - officially in Basque since 2011 - and insist on the Spanish ones: Fuenterrabía instead of Hondarribia, Guipúzcoa instead of Gipuzkoa, Salinas de Léniz instead of Leintz Gatzaga, etc, etc, etc.

So yeah, there’s mispronunciation very often but it’s more due to nonchalance and a lack of respect towards Euskara than to an actual difficulty to pronounce correctly.

#bluesilver #euskadi #euskal herria #basque country #pais vasco #pays basque #euskera #euskara #basque #language #mass media #spain #pronunciation #they don't care about us and they let us know

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adrianeleuteri · 6 years ago

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MILHOUSE

Lo escribió Bolaño en ‘El Ojo Silva’: de la violencia, de la verdadera violencia, no se puede escapar, al menos no nosotros, los nacidos en Latinoamérica en la década de los cincuenta, los que rondábamos los veinte años cuando murió Salvador Allende. Yo no nací en la década de los cincuenta, sino un día perdido en los últimos meses de mil novecientos ochenta y nueve, y los veinte años los rondé cuando Felipe del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús Calderón Hinojosa sepultó a México en un montón fosas clandestinas. Tenía razón. Bolaño tenía razón. Sin embargo, ese día, el día extraño que estoy a punto de referir, al despertar de un sueño terrible, un cerro ardía a lo lejos, yo estaba nervioso, muy alterado, y no tenía tiempo para reflexionar en nada. ¿Por qué no?, dije para mis adentros al ver aquello que fue difuminando mis ansias poco a poco, sentí una inercia interna, revolucionada en la nostalgia o la solemnidad, y la supe lista para la evocación y el homenaje. Chingue su madre, balbucí como punto y aparte, como el beso franco del jugador al crucifijo entre sus dedos antes de pisar la cancha, chingue su madre, ese mantra mexicano que precede a la más fabulosa o a la más trágica de las suertes. Abrí la ventana de golpe y dejé ir un alarido bisilábico y, como se verá, también bicolor, amarillo a veces, un tanto azul después: ¡Milhouse!, ese fue mi grito. ¡Milhouse! fue el anzuelo, el santo y seña que en teoría (una teoría construida en la lógica de lo sacro de la cual no tenía por qué dudar) me llevaría a una conexión entusiasta con mis semejantes, el pasado y el presente. Chingue su madre, dije, grité: ¡Milhouse!, y acto seguido guardé silencio. Señoras y señores, no me importó nada, abrí de un putazo la ventana y grité como un poseso, tratando de emular una quimera popular llamada el «Milhouse challenge». Así como lo oyen, así como lo leen, un reto consistente en replicar el diálogo de cierto capítulo de Los Simpsons entre Homero y el tímido chico de pelo garzo:

—¡Milhouse! (deberá vociferar bien entonado el iniciador desde la ventana de sus aposentos, preferiblemente.)

—¡Qué! (replicará a su vez y desde lejos aquel amante de la serie que no posea sentido del ridículo.)

—¡Dile a Bart que venga aquí! (la voz férrea, imperativa.)

—¡Creo que está con Nelson! (una réplica inmediata, constante en su matiz auditivo.)

—¡¿Quién es Nelson?! (Eso es todo, el pecho de los partícipes se inflamará de satisfacción, vendrán las risas, la incredulidad y la hermandad, el orgullo y, a lo mejor, las lágrimas por la saudade.)

Vaya que sí, era lo que yo esperaba, me desgarré la garganta buscando la respuesta de algún hermano del culto, algún frater de la «Logia de Los Magios» o de la «Logia de los No—Homero» atento a la llamada. No obstante, en vez del esperado ¡Qué!, se vino sobre el aire una pinche lluvia de balazos. Lo había olvidado, no estaba en Springfield sino en Ecatepec.

Más por necesidad que por curioso salí al rato y constaté con alivio que las paredes de mi casa yacían intactas. Ahí lo vi, casi en la esquina de la cuadra, un cadáver ya cubierto con sábanas blancas. Los policías estatales acordonaban el lugar y custodiaban la escena del crimen; el Ministerio Público no había llegado. Alrededor, la muchedumbre miraba en silencio. Un silencio de cera, un silencio que iba chupando y haciendo flacos los párpados. Rasposa y cuasi ahogada, una voz surgió de pronto atrás de mí. Era el sujeto de la tienda, un jalisciense de mal genio que, vaya vida, esa tarde se mostraba sorprendido, afable y comunicativo:

—El Milhouse.

—¿Qué? —dije yo, incrédulo, confundido.

—El Milhouse, primo, creo que así le decían, le dieron cran hace ratito —su acento peculiar proyectaba una crianza dura de tierras remotas, su tono, solemne y sobrecogido, a punto de rozar lo tonto y lo patético, no sé por qué, me conmovió—. Apenitas, ¿verdad? —dijo el tendero y solicitó con la mirada la confirmación de sus dichos en una vecina que no lo ignoró reverendamente. Volvió a mirarme—. Sí, primo, nomás se escuchó que le gritaron Milhouse… y sobres.

Seguía sorprendido, no sé qué reflejaba mi rostro, tal vez horror o angustia, seguro incomprensión. Quizá por eso el hombre dijo, para después callarse de una vez por todas: Pedos de drogas.

Tenía razón. Bolaño tenía razón: de la violencia, de la verdadera violencia, no se puede escapar. Por ese entonces yo regresaba de un largo viaje centroamericano, eran los primeros cien días del gobierno de López Obrador en México, Bukele había ganado la elección presidencial de El Salvador, Juan Robando seguía creando las condiciones en Honduras para hacer posible el éxodo más grande del que se tenga noticia en la región, Ortega masacraba estudiantes en Nicaragua, la Venezuela de Maduro no tenía energía eléctrica y todo apuntaba hacia una próxima invasión del Imperio norteamericano, así las cosas. Pero en Ecatepec, en la colonia marginal de Granjas Valle de Guadalupe, en la calle Sánchez Colín, casi esquina con Gobernador Carlos Tejeda, un hombre acababa de ser ajusticiado, justo después de que grité desde mi ventana el nombre de un personaje de Los Simpsons, y justo también en el momento del grito y de la ráfaga, en mi estudio, sobre un sofá angosto, una chica trans centroamericana dormitaba, quizá buscando en sueños un refugio, quizá prolongando en ellos la huida repentina de su infierno personal.

No escuchó ninguno de los nueve disparos y nunca le conté lo que acababa de ocurrir. Esa noche salimos a cenar y al pasar por el lado contrario de la acera donde aconteció el crimen, ora por somnolencia o distracción, ella tampoco se dio cuenta del montón de policías y expectantes adheridos a la escena como moscas. Los agentes del Ministerio Público jamás llegaron.

Pero no, no era el sueño, no era la falta de atención. Dos días después la acompañé a la terminal de Autobuses del Norte. Iba a Chihuahua: Ciudad Juárez, para de ahí cruzar a los Estados Unidos. Venía huyendo de la violencia cruenta de su país, El Salvador, donde las mujeres trans eran asesinadas a machetazos y sus cuerpos arrojados a caminos, lotes baldíos y carreteras. Muchas de ellas sus amigas. Cuando nos despedimos noté en su mirada y en la comisura de sus labios que, si bien había escapado del terror propagado a lo largo y ancho de la tierra donde vivía amenazada, el terror, como una marca maldita, seguía habitando en ella. Me dijo adiós como quien está a punto de enfrentar una batalla inexorable. Tenía un miedo legítimo, un miedo que se extendía como enfermedad en las conciencias de múltiples centenas de migrantes, y ese miedo eran Los Zetas.

Sentado en la terminal, en mi libreta de dibujos, me puse a escribir el sueño de la noche anterior, un sueño abrupto, interrumpido. Al terminar no quedo exento de escalofríos, aún de día y consciente, supuro un leve miedo:

Vamos en el camión. No hay estrellas, no hay luna. Nos reímos. Nos reímos a carcajadas. Todos. No sé por qué. Estamos felices. Y miro cómo las cabezas caen súbitamente sobre cada pecho o van a azotarse contra las ventanas. En el sueño sé que muy pronto llegará mi turno. Alzo los ojos y me atraviesa un vértigo desenfrenado. Parece que Erick es inmune al cansancio, su cabeza es la única que no decae; me agita la percha hasta que vuelvo a la vigilia. Carnal, me dice, despierta, algo no anda bien, ya llevamos un buen rato aquí. Me asomo por la ventana, estamos detenidos a un costado de la carretera, la noche es abismal. Es un paraje desolado, hay una vulcanizadora y un hombre sonriente sentado frente a la fachada. El chofer anda diciendo que se ponchó una llanta, pero nel, carnal, dice Erick, la llanta está bien, ya la revisamos. No quiere irse, no quiere arrancar el cabrón. Algo no anda bien, carnal…

Aquella tarde estuve vagando por el Centro Histórico de la Capital, me tomé unas cervezas en un bar escondido en el quinto piso de un edificio del Andador Madero y regresé a mi cueva del extrarradio por la noche. En la Avenida Gustavo Díaz Ordaz, a unas cuadras de casa, de paso y sin querer, entre otras cosas que ya he olvidado, escuché lo siguiente en una conversación ajena:

—Lo confundieron al señor. Andaban buscando al tal Milhouse. Ese carbón ya se peló.

Yo no rondé los veinte años cuando murió Salvador Allende, sino cuando Felipe del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús Calderón Hinojosa disolvió a México en un montón de sosa cáustica. Esa noche cerré con llave mi estudio y me puse a llorar a oscuras escuchando una y otra vez Algo de suerte, de Rockdrigo González: he corrido con algo de suerte / en estas páginas dibujadas por la muerte… y mientras las balas rasgaban con gravedad veloz el aire pestilente de la colonia Granjas Valle de Guadalupe y sobre él trazaban un mapa invisible e indescifrable de atrocidades, mientras los seres de la noche vertían cuerpos femeninos en el Río de los Remedios como basura, mientras Ecatepec y el Estado de México se iban llenando de cadáveres y ausencias, mientras el corno de la abundancia derramaba hiel espesa y la dulce y desgarrada cintura de América dislocaba sus articulaciones y sus huesos eran perdidos en montes ignotos y casas de seguridad, yo me arrojé al suelo y apreté mis párpados tratando de llevar a la práctica una frase infame que en su momento, por desgracia y elección, fue un signo cardinal de nuestros tiempos: Ni los veo ni los oigo. Pero en la oscuridad la más leve proyección lanza las zarpas como relámpagos y queda siempre aquel rugido, el mal augurio, ese alarido sucio que precede a la tormenta.

La mañana siguiente, al despertar, noté mis párpados constreñidos aún bajo la fuerza terrible de un gesto grotesco. Torpemente, con mis uñas, quité la costra lagañosa que los aprisionaba. Un extraño aroma comenzó a fluir. Ramilletes de vasos capilares derramados. Eran mis ojos, olían a sangre. Fui a la bodega y conecté un viejo DVD. Me recosté sobre el sofá de mi estudio y durante todo el día fui sacando y metiendo disco tras disco, disco tras disco. El olor de las barberías me vale madre, son Los Simpsons quienes me hacen llorar a gritos.

#Los Simpsons #Milhouse #Centroamérica #El Salvador #México #Ecatepec #Estado de México #Transexualidad #Bolaño #Neruda #Felipe Calderón #Salinas de Gortari #Latinoamérica #Éxodo Centroamericano #Milhouse Challenge #Adrián Eleuteri

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

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Catherines (part one)

[Heathers AU]

[Tour!verse]

Word count: 3469

-----------------------

-Beautiful-

“Dear Diary,

Catherine said she teaches people real life. She said, ‘Real life sucks losers dry. If you wanna fuck with the eagles, then you have to learn to fly.’

I said, ‘So you teach people how to fly?’

She said, ‘Yes.’

I said, ‘You’re beautiful.’”

“GOD, come ON, Elizabeth!”

A muscled, gazelle-like leg slammed into Bessie’s back, causing her to flinch and drag her pen across the journal she was writing in, leaving a black line that obscured some of the words. Bessie wrinkled her nose, then squinted up through the headache-inducing overhead fluorescence to look at the beautiful young woman now standing before her.

Katherine Howard was a sight for sore eyes, that was for sure. Completely unblemished tan skin, wavy dirty blonde hair that fell like sun-kissed silk around her head, striking golden-green eyes, muscles… The hot pink blazer she was wearing fit her body perfectly, and the black skirt she had on to go with it swished gently around her powerful thighs. Technically, they were breaking the dress code, as she didn’t have on any tights to go underneath it, but no teacher seemed to say anything about it. Bessie had to guess it was because of Howard’s father’s status and money.

“What’s your damage, Katherine?” Bessie snapped, though her voice cracked and wavered slightly, as it always did, rendering her comment about as effective as a baby white lion trying to roar to scare off predators.

“Don’t blame me, blame Catherine.” Howard retorted smoothly. “She told me to, ‘haul your ass to the cafe pronto.’” She looked up at the other girl standing there. “Back me up, Catherine.”

“Yeah, she really wants to talk to you, Elizabeth.” Catherine Parr said. She was taller than all of them, but quite a bit meeker than her two fellow K/Catherines. Her curly brown hair was done in a style that made Bessie’s scalp hurt just looking at it, but complimented her even darker brown eyes well. Her skin was the shade of melted caramel, clashing well with her signature color: blue. The blazer she had on such color was as expensive as Howard’s, but slightly more wrinkled and slightly frayed on one sleeve from her messing with the threads when she would read. The skirt she wore was plaid, which most people would find extremely ugly, but Bessie thought it fit Parr.

“Okay, okay,” Bessie said, standing up from the staircase she had been sitting on. “I’m coming. And, please, Bessie. Call me Bessie. We’ve been friends for, what? A year and a half now? Elizabeth is WAY too formal for me.”

Howard and Parr giggled, making a small smile twitch on Bessie’s lips. She liked making them laugh. Proved she could do one thing right and serve as the comedic relief for the group.

Bessie scooped her belongings up, messily stuffing her diary and pen into her messenger back, and then followed Howard and Parr down the hallway. Anyone standing in the way instinctively moved away like peasants parting for a queen. And they may as well have been, seeing as they were the most popular girls in school.

Okay, well-- at least Howard, Parr, and their quartet leader was. Bessie was more of a plus one, a special exception, a stray they found on the streets and thought was too pitiful to throw away.

Their group was called the Catherines (pretty cool that they managed to get three girls with the name Catherine, right? what luck!), and they ruled Crown Ridge High School. Everyone, from new Year 10s to long-lasting Year 13s, knew of their reign--even the teachers! Nobody messed with them, because they knew there would be hell to pay if they did.

Howard pushed open the set of double doors coming up in front of them, and the trio passed into a world of chaos.

The lunch room was always like this- noisy, thundering, booming, any other synonym for loud… Kids were absolutely everywhere, crammed into the lunch tables or sitting at the bistro or standing in the lunch lines, all talking, worrying, planning, reacting at once.

And then, in the middle of the mess, there she stood: Catherine of Aragon.

Catherine of Aragon, or Catalina de Aragon as her heritage suggests, was like a yellow diamond in a bat-infested cave. She was gorgeous, that’s for sure, her luscious dark brown hair tied back in a perfect ponytail with thick marigold scrunchy, without a strand out of place, and her fair skin enviably clear. Her eyes were dark and challenging, like twin pieces of polished onyx poised in her sleek skull. The golden silk blazer (Bessie didn’t even know they made silk blazers until she first saw it) she wore glittered in the lights, as if it were charged with electricity, and the black skirt matching with it made her look like the queen of a wasp colony. When she saw Bessie coming over with Howard and Parr, she gave a snake-like smile that only meant she was up to something.

“Elizabeth,” She said, the only one to never use the nickname no matter how many times she was corrected, “finally.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting, your majesty,” Bessie apologized. She tried to sound mocking, but Aragon didn’t seem affected by the title she was given. If anything, she looked a little satisfied by it.

“I need you to write a hot and horny, but realistically lowkey note in Anna von Cleves’s handwriting so we can slip it onto Joan Asstley’s lunch tray when she isn’t looking.” Aragon told her, but even stuttering as she laid down her plan.

Anna von Cleves was on the rugby team and so hot she could turn even the straightest women gay. Joan Astley, on the other hand, was a thin, pale-skinned, weird-eyed outcast with no friends and hair as light as Bessie’s own--but natural. The two didn’t exactly mix very well.

“Shit, Catherine, I don’t have anything against Joan Astley!” Bessie said.

“Watch your language, little lion,” Howard teased.

Bessie’s ears flamed red. Ever since she got a new haircut, the Catherines would not stop saying the poofy hair on her head made her look like a lion cub.

“You don’t have anything for her, either.” Aragon told Bessie. Then, abundantly blessed with smugness, she went on, “Come on, it’s be very! The note will give her shower-nozzle masturbation material for weeks.”

Howard and Parr exchanged smirks. Bessie glanced at them and sighed.

“I’ll think about it,” She said.

“Don’t think,” Aragon said. “Do.”

Shuffling in one of the lunch lines, Joan was getting ready to pay for her tray of food. She was dressed in a rather ugly clash of overalls and a pink floral undershirt. Aragon wrinkled her nose at the outfit in disgust.

“Yuck,” She said. “Overalls.”

“I’m wearing overalls!” Bessie yelped.

“Yes, but they work on you,” Aragon said, patting Bessie’s head. “Elizabeth needs something to write on. Catherine, bend over.”

Parr sighed and bent over. A clipboard was shoved into Bessie’s hands, and Bessie had no choice but to use her friend as a portable desk and write the things Aragon began to say to her. When she was finished, she tore the page free and folded it up for Howard to deliver, which she did smoothly and painlessly without being noticed.

“And now we wait,” Aragon said with a pleased smirk. “Come, ladies. I brought lunch.”

The four of them gathered at their claimed table, where clean, neatly cut sandwiches were placed out in each of their spots, along with some fruit and vegetable slices and cookies.

“Turkey, ham, and cheese, mozzarella and swiss specifically, with a dash of mustard for Catherine,” Aragon declared. “BLT for me and Katherine. And then, a grilled cheese for Elizabeth.”

They all tittered at the last named food item. Bessie grinned cheekily at them.

“What?” She said innocently. “At least I didn’t ask for a peanut butter and butter sandwich like last time!”

“I still cannot believe you asked me to make a damn peanut butter and BUTTER sandwich,” Aragon said. “You are a creature, I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Bessie giggled. “And it is GOOD, okay? I like butter!”

“I’ll bring you a tub of butter when it’s my turn to bring lunch,” Parr joked, and she and Bessie flashed each other smiles.

“I look forward to it!” Aragon rolled her eyes at them in an amused way while Howard chuckled and shook her head. Somewhere behind their table, a pair of kids at a booth were shouting about donating to a charity for Africa.

“Blount,” Aragon said, “Guess what today is.”

Bessie watched the older girl grab the clipboard and flip to a new page, and sighed. “Lunchtime poll? What’s the question?”

“Yeah, so what’s the question, Catherine?” Parr asked.

“Goddamn, Catherine,” Aragon said. “You were with me in study hall when I came up with it.”

“I forgot!”

Aragon snorted. “Such a pillowcase,” She muttered gruffly.

“This wouldn’t be the bizarro thing you babbling about on the phone last night, is it?” Bessie tilted her head.

“Of course it is.”

Aragon and Bessie stood up to begin, and that’s when Bessie noticed someone staring at them. It wasn’t exactly uncommon, what with them being the most popular girls in the school, but she didn’t recognize this gawker. He looked...different. Different in a way she just couldn’t put her finger on. And she was so focused on trying to figure out exactly what it was that she didn’t even realize she was careening to the side until she bumped into someone.

“Oh-- Sorry!” Bessie said, then noticed that the person she had accidentally knocked into was Maria de Salinas, an old friend of hers. “Maria! Hey!”

Maria smiled. “Hi, Bessie.”

“Hey, I’m really sorry I couldn’t come to your birthday last month.” Bessie blurted without even thinking it. Aragon rolled her eyes at her side.

“It’s okay,” Maria said. “Your mum said you had a big date. I’d probably miss my own birthday party for a date.”

Bessie felt a twinge of pain in her heart. She nudged Maria with a light laugh to try and get it to go away.

“Don’t say that,” She said.

“You know what?” Maria opened her bag. “I was looking around the other day and dug up these old photographs.” She handed a photo of her and Bessie during Halloween when they were younger, in which Maria was a fairy and Bessie was a bat.

“Oh, wow!” Bessie exclaimed, looking down at the picture with sparkling eyes. “This-- Wow. It brings back so many memories!”

“Come ON, Elizabeth!” Aragon said, yanking Bessie by the arm and making her drop the photo.

“I was talking to somebody!” Bessie barked as she was hauled towards a table with a cluster of popular kids.

“Oh well,” Aragon said dismissively. She halted them both in front of the table. “Hello, kids. Anne. Love your sweater.”

The head of the table, Anne Boleyn, glanced suspiciously up at Aragon before smiling tightly. She ran her hand over the sleeve of the designer emerald green sweater she was wearing.

“Thanks,” She said. “I just got it last night at The Limited. Totally blew my allowance.”

Aragon nodded like she cared, then read off of the clipboard, “Check this out: You win five million from the Publisher Sweepstakes, and the same day that Big Ed guy gives you the check, aliens land on the Earth and say they’re going to blow it up in two days. What do you do?”

“That’s easy,” Said another kid sitting at the table, Thomas Cromwell, before Anne even had the chance to give her own answer. “I’d just slide that wad right over to my father, ‘cause he is, like, one of the top brokers in the country.”

Aragon stared at him like a hawk watching a crippled mouse until Thomas wiped that stupid smirk off of his face. Bessie snorted lightly.

“If I got that money, I’d give it all to charity.” Anne said.

“You’re beautiful.” Bessie said.

Aragon growled deep in her throat. Bessie sidled around her and began walking to a new table. Aragon followed after her.

“If you’re going to openly be a bitch…” Aragon began.

“It’s just--” Bessie sighed, hoping to catch Aragon before she broke out on one of her furious tangents. “Catherine, why can’t we try talking to other people?”

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” Aragon spat. “Do I look like Mother Teresea to you?”

“Well, you are Catholic, so…”

Aragon flicked Bessie in the nose, eliciting a tiny yelp of pain.

“We have a reputation to uphold here, Elizabeth.” Aragon said. “Don’t act stupid. I know you aren’t.”

“Does it not bother you that everybody at this school thinks you’re a piranha?” Bessie asked.

“Like I give a shit.” Aragon answered breezily. “They all want me either as a friend or a fuck. I’m worshipped here, and you can be, too. And you’re just a Year 11.” She ruffled Bessie’s hair, earning a disgruntled noise from the girl.

“Come on, Catherine.” Bessie said. She brushed out of place white locks out of her face and looked up at Aragon. “Please?”

Aragon gazed down at Bessie, then wrinkled her nose. “Ugh,” She growled. “Don’t look at me with those big, stupid eyes of yours. Come on.”

Bessie beamed. “Thank you!” She chirped.

And so, they went around the cafeteria, asking the lunchtime poll question to a variety of new people, most of which looked startled that the two of them were even talking to them. They got an abundance of answers, varying from normal, to interesting, to completely weird. But they were the types of answers they had never gotten before this day. By the time they were done, Joan Astley had read through the note given to her and was starting to get up from her table.

“Come on, come on!” Parr waved Aragon and Bessie over excitedly.

“It’s happening!” Howard whisper-yelled.

The four of them watched as meek little Joan staggered her way over to the jock table, where Anna von Cleves and other various athletes sat, talking loudly. The girl stuttered something to Anna, then set the note down, which was immediately snatched up by Francis Dereham. After a moment of reading, he burst out into laughter, followed by everyone else at the table when the paper was passed around. Joan’s eyes filled with tears and she ran out of the cafeteria.

The Catherines were all laughing, while Bessie just frowned, guilt racing through her. Aragon noticed her expression and sighed heavily. She began to run her long shellac fingernails through Bessie’s hair, straightening and smoothing out the mess on the top of her head.

“You wanted to be a part of the most powerful clique in school, honey,” Aragon said. “If I wasn’t already the head of it, I’d want the same thing.” She made a tiny braid, then released the girl.

“Who’s that guy over there?” Bessie asked, nodding at the young man that had been staring at them. She didn’t know how to reply to Aragon, so she just decided to switch the topics.

“His name is Henry Tudor,” Howard answered her. “He’s in my Economics class.”

Bessie nodded slowly, picked up the clipboard form off of their lunch table, then began to walk over to the new guy.

The first thing she noticed was the trench coat he was wearing. The second thing was that he was built like a bear- large and powerful. His hair was golden blonde and he had piercing bright blue eyes. A smirk curled on his lips when he saw her coming over.

“Hello, Henry Tudor,” Bessie said.

“Greetings and salutations.” Henry replied languidly. “You a Catherine?”

“I’m a Bessie,” Bessie said. “Not in a cow way, though, Just my nickname.”

Henry chuckled and nodded. “I see.”

“This may seem like a really stupid question,” Bessie said, raising the clipboard up.

“There are no stupid questions.” Henry said.

“You win five million from the Publisher Sweepstakes, and the same day that Big Ed guy gives you the check, aliens land on the Earth and say they’re going to blow it up in two days. What do you do?”

Henry furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.” He said. “I don’t know. Maybe row out to the middle of a lake somewhere, bring a bottle of tequila, my sax, and some Bach. Then I’ll just sit back and watch the fires come.”

Bessie nodded, smiling, despite the weird gut feeling she had that was saying she needed to get away from this guy. “How very.”

Before Henry could reply, Aragon suddenly grabbed Bessie by the arm and swelled up like a venomous snake before Henry. “Let’s go, Elizabeth.” She said.

“Okay, I’m coming,” Bessie said. “Later.”

“Definitely.” Henry said back.

Aragon began guiding Bessie back to the table, where they finished eating with the other two Catherines. As she ate her sandwich, Bessie could feel Henry’s gaze on her, burning holes into her clothes, and that gut feeling turned into full on discomfort. It got so bad that she deliberately tried to avoid his line of sight while leaving the cafeteria, which caused her bump straight into someone for the second time that day. This time, the person was a lot less understanding than the first.

“Hey!” He roared. “Watch where you’re going, you fat fuck!” “S-sorry!” Bessie stuttered, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She suddenly felt a lot more exposed, as if she wasn’t wearing anything at all.

“Did all that hair bleach kill your brain, too?” One of the guy’s friends snarked.

“Or just fucking blind you?” Another said.

And then, the Catherines were there, materializing before them like a trio of vengeance-seeking angels in the lights. Howard eased Bessie behind her while Aragon riled herself up to her full size.

“What did you just say to her?” Aragon asked, her words like a hidden bear trap underneath a blanket of leaves.

“She bumped into me!” The first guy blurted in a woebegone voice.

“Oh dear, what a disaster,” Parr mused.

“How many times have I told you, Dudley, that she’s with us?” Aragon said. “Do you REALLY want to mess with us right now?”

“No,” Dudley muttered.

Aragon was pleased. “Good. Now apologize to Elizabeth at once.”

“Sorry I yelled at you,” Dudley said to Bessie.

“Us, too.” Said his friends.

“It’s okay,” Bessie said softly.

“Wonderful.” Aragon smiled, but her voice was all murderous stalactites, sugary-sweet and poisonous. She pointed to each of the three in turn as she continued to speak. “Anyway. He was asking for feet pics in private messages, he is cheating on his girlfriend with his sister, and she is thoroughly sick of them both and wishes she had better friends to talk to.”

With that, she turned and escorted her clique out of the cafeteria and to the bathroom.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” Howard asked softly, massaging one of Bessie’s shoulders comfortingly. Her voice was gentle and so caring, almost like a mother’s.

“Yeah,” Bessie said. “I’m okay.”

“Stupid bitch,” Aragon snarled underneath her breath, furiously pacing around the bathroom.

“You aren’t fat, by the way,” Parr said to Bessie.

“But--”

“Don’t even try it Elizabeth,” Aragon hissed. “Or I will cut out your tongue, laminate it, and then pose it in my foyer, and don’t think I won’t do it.”

Bessie giggled softly at her threat. As strange and slightly violent it may have been, it meant Aragon cared about her. Because if she didn’t, Bessie surely would have been called fat again.

“Okay,” She said. “But I’m fine, really.”

“Good.” Aragon. “Fuckass doesn’t know who he’s talking about. You look great, Elizabeth. Even if that cardigan is questionable.”

Bessie looked at herself in one of the mirrors and saw that she truly did stick out like a sore thumb with the Catherines. If it wasn’t her bleached white hair, then it was her baby face, and if it wasn’t her baby face, then it was how she was slightly more chubby than the rest of them. Howard said it made her look soft and cute, and she didn’t ever know how to respond to that, so she would just laugh. And if it wasn’t any of that stuff, then it was her awful sense of fashion. Today, it was overalls, a black and white cardigan, and a light purple striped shirt, as purple was supposed to be her signature color.

“I got it from the thrift store,” Bessie said proudly.

“I am not surprised.” Aragon said. “You are not wearing that for the party tonight, by the way.”

“What about--”

“You aren’t wearing those galaxy suspenders, either!”

“W--”

“No!”

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nathanielhoover · 3 years ago

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architectnews · 4 years ago

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Arched volumes define Casona Sforza resort in Mexico by Alberto Kalach

A series of vaulted, brick arches overlook a circular swimming pool at a boutique hotel in Puerto Escondido designed by Mexican architect Alberto Kalach.

Casona Sforza, or House Sforza, is located in the coastal town in the Mexican state of Oaxaca.

Casona Sforza is by architect Alberto Kalach

The hotel was conceived by the entrepreneur Ezequiel Ayarza Sforza, who worked with Mexico City architect Alberto Kalach of TAX Architects to design the property.

"The process took years of inspiration, planning, sketches and successive modifications," the team said.

Vaulted brick arches make up the hotel

The hotel – which offers 11 guest suites and a bar and restaurant – is set on a 4,500-square-metre site that looks toward the ocean. The property was designed to integrate with the landscape and to offer comfortable spaces for reflection.

"It places centre-stage the value of being aware – of contemplating and understanding the beauty of an environment in balance," said the architecture studio.

The resort consists of arched volumes of varying heights, which are arranged in an asymmetrical manner. The vaulted shape offers several benefits, including being able to withstand earthquakes and allowing positive energy to flow into the suites, the team said.

The volumes are constructed of local bricks – a material that helps keep interior rooms cool without the use of air conditioning. The bricks have a pale yellow hue that reflects sunlight and further aids in cooling.

Local brick keeps bedrooms cool

The rounded forms overlook a circular swimming pool that is intended to enhance the property's tranquil atmosphere. A linear corridor runs through the centre of the hotel and terminates at the pool.

Guest suites were placed either high or low. Six are located on the upper floors and offer balconies with views of the sea. Five are at ground level and come with a terrace and private pool. All of the units have vaulted ceilings.

A circular swimming pool is at the heart of Casona Sforza

The interior design – overseen by Mexico City's MOB Studio – is meant to feel bohemian, with the use of earthy colours, tropical woods and handcrafted decor. It also draws upon the hotel's seaside context and distinctive architecture.

"Elements highlight the attributes of the site and the surroundings – such as the sunset, the sound of the ocean, and the movement of the breeze – and combine with the textures and colours of the architecture," the team said.

Earthy tones feature in a bathroom

Much of the furniture and decor was made in Mexico. Rugs were woven in the small village of Teotitlán del Valle, and palm-leaf lamps came from the port city of Veracruz. Curtains, chairs and hammocks were fabricated in the Yucatán Peninsula.

The property also has many pieces, such as cushions and glassware, by artisans who are part of Pueblo del Sol, a community in Oaxaca that is focused on sustainability and indigenous culture.

Guest rooms have ocean views

Described as a social project, Pueblo del Sol is financed by Casona Sforza and is about an hour's drive from the hotel.

"Guests can visit the project to learn about where the products consumed in the hotel come from, experience the forest, and learn about building such a community from the ground up," the team said.

Artisanal cushions are made by local craftspeople

Situated along the Pacific Coast, Puerto Escondido is known for its palm tree-lined beaches and challenging surf spots.

Other projects there include a sprawling beach house by Anonimous that is made of concrete, parota wood and dried palm leaves, and a Japanese-Mexican restaurant by TAX Architects that features an open-air dining room and a large thatched roof. The area is also home to Casa Wabi, the famed artist's retreat designed by Tadao Ando.

Photography is by Alex Krotkov.

Project credits:

Project design and development: Ezequiel Ayala Sforza Architecture: Taller de Arquitetura X, Alberto Kalach Interior design: Ezequiel Ayala Sforza and MOB Studio Contractor: Efraín Salinas

The post Arched volumes define Casona Sforza resort in Mexico by Alberto Kalach appeared first on Dezeen.

#Architecture – Dezeen

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stateofsport211 · 1 year ago

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📸 🎥 ATP Challenger Livestream (via website)

The second set also appeared to be close, but Marchenko stood out after following up his setup with some clutch moments. Pecotic had his fair share of moments, but his maiden title had to wait due to the crucial points Marchenko excelled at throughout this set. Here was how everything unfolded.

Marchenko started the second set by capitalizing on Pecotic's previous forehand errors, he redirected the rally with a volley in response to Pecotic's drop shots, eventually smashing it for his break point conversion (2-1). He subsequently held his service game to 3-1, but faced a stiff opposition 2 games later when Pecotic came up with cross-court backhand winners to create his 2 break points, but Marchenko found his ways to save and hold his service game to 4-2.

It took another three consecutive holds until Marchenko had the opportunity to serve for the match. Without further ado, he successfully held to 0, finally winning his ninth career Challenger title, as well as securing his first title since the Biella Challenger 1 2021 after taking the second set 6-4.

#atp world tour #atp tour #atp challenger #atp challenger tour #tennis updates #hot shots #break point #match point #salinas challenger #challenger de salinas #matija pecotic #illya marchenko #WatchChallengersFolks #ChallengerMatters

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jane-fucking-seymour · 5 years ago

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The Babey Paradox

Inspired by @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts, HEAVILY inspired this

Katherine yawned dramatically as she sat up on the bed.

She looked around, humming softly to herself as she pouted at the sunbeam coming through the window.

“Who let that open?” Kat mumbled grouchily, only to hear a soft chuckle from next to her.

“Come on, love, if we’re both up, we can both get breakfast.”

Katherine smiled down at Jane Seymour before she got up, got dressed in her own room, and met Jane downstairs.

This was when the trouble started.

She sat down and, with a grin, asked her usual question:

“Mum, can I get ice cream for breakfast?”

Jane chuckles, rolling her eyes fondly at her adopted daughter; it was a common game in the Tudor family household, where Katherine would ask for something sweet for breakfast, Jane would say no, then Katherine would pout and ask again, and Jane would simply give her a healthy breakfast and tell her to eat up. It was a ritual of sorts, a good start to the day.

“No, my love, you need to eat something healthy, how about this bowl of fruit?” Jane asks, giving her a big grin so Kat knew it was all according to plan.

Katherine met Jane’s eyes then, and pouted.

And that’s when things changed.

Jane blinked, straightened up, and then nodded.

“Of course, my love. What kind would you like?”

Katherine blinked. “What?”

Jane smiled. “What kind of ice cream do you want for breakfast, Kit-Kat?”

Katherine narrowed her eyes; surely, this was some sort of trick?

“... chocolate,” Katherine replies, smirking as she calls Jane’s bluff, sitting back on the chair rather smugly as she watched Jane chuckle and turn back towards the bowl of fruit. She looked down at her phone then, going through social media, when she heard the bowl be placed in front of her.

Katherine smiled... and then her eyes widened in shock.

Before her was a big bowl of ice cream.

“Really?!?!?” Katherine asks, incredibly excited.

Jane smiles. “There is your ice cream, Kit. Eat up, we have a two-show day today.”

Katherine does so, smiling widely all the while. “Wow, I never expected you to actually give it to me,” she admits between bites.

Jane shrugs. “It’s what you wanted, so I gave it to you.”

Katherine can’t complain as Jane walked away.

The second time it happened was a few minutes later.

Anne Boleyn was currently chatting away with Maggie in her room, discussing some sort of thing they saw on the Internet, when Katherine wandered on by.

“Hey, Kit!” Anne says with a grin, making the girl stop and peak in. “Do you wanna help me settle a bet?”

Katherine raised an eyebrow; the bets they had were...... not exactly the most normal thing she’s seen. “Go on, then.”

“I bet Maggie 50 quid that you could get Anna to give you her favorite pullover,” Anne quips. “Are you up for the challenge?”

Kat laughs. “It’s as good as mine.”

She knows it’s not, but she can’t help but be confident in it. Maybe Anna will play along?

Anne laughs. “Brilliant! She’s in her room, go and grab it, you have to get her to let you keep it, those are the rules.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “There’s no way this is going to happen.”

“I have faith in my baby cousin, unlike SOME people,” Anne replies.

Katherine rolls her eyes fondly before moving to Anna’s room. She knocks on it four times - to the opening baseline of “Get Down,” actually - and instantly she hears a response:

“Come on in, Kitty!”

Kat happily enters, skipping to Anna’s bed and laying down on top of it.

“Hi, Anna.”

“Hello, Kit,” Anna replies with a grin. “What can I help you with? And you’re definitely here for something - I can tell, it’s the look in your eyes.”

Katherine smiles. “Can I have your pullover?”

Anna looked down at herself. “This one?”

“Yes.”

“The one I’m wearing?”

“That one exactly.”

“The one I’m wearing that I said you would never, ever have, in this lifetime?”

“Precisely-”

“No.”

Katherine groaned. “Come ooooon, it’s for a bet with Anne!”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “Oh, well if you need to only borrow it to win the bet-” she says, going to take off the pullover, but Katherine shakes her head.

“I need to keep it. Forever.”

Anna stops, stares, raises an eyebrow and puts the pullover back on.

“Oh. Well then no.”

“Please?” Kat asks, getting right up to Anna. Anna chuckles as Katherine meets her eye and pouts. “Can I please keep your pullover, Anna?”

Katherine’s pout stops and morphs into a frown when, suddenly, Anna’s face goes blank. She straightens up and, without much care for the Katherine currently sitting in her lap, takes off the pullover and offers it to Katherine.

Kat blinks.

“What?”

“It’s yours.” Anna replies.

Katherine tilts her head.

“What are you talking about?”

“You wanted it, it’s yours.”

Katherine couldn’t help but shiver at the chill running down her spine; the look on Anna’s face reminded her of Jane’s from earlier today, when she got the ice cream. And the phrasing...

“I... don’t want it anymore,” Katherine says with a frown.

Anna shakes her head. “You wanted it, it’s yours,” she says as casually as talking about the weather.

Katherine looks down, thinking hard about what’s happened, and the only consistent thing she could think of plays in her mind. So she pouts, looking Anna straight in the eye, and says it again.

“I don’t want it anymore. Keep it.”

Anna’s face once again goes blank and she straightens up, putting the pullover back on.

“Dunno why you wouldn’t want it,” Anna says with a grin. “It’s so fluffy-” But then she looks back at Katherine, who is backing up towards the door, eyes wide. “Kat?”

“Can you stop doing that?” Kat asks, frowning. “Is this some sort of trick you guys decided to pull?”

“What do you mean?” Anna asks, tilting her head.

“You and Jane. You both did it. It’s... weird.” And unnatural, Kat wanted to add, but she doesn’t. Something is off. She can feel it.

Specifically, something is off with Katherine herself.

Anna moves to go towards her, but Katherine bolts.

Katherine’s about to head outside when she bumps into Anne herself, who catches the scared girl and holds her a bit close.

“Kat? What’s wrong? What happened?” Anne asks.

Katherine shakes her head. “Something’s going on. I don’t know if Jane and Anna are teasing me or something but I don’t like it.” Katherine says. “They’re messing with me or something but they have this weird look on their faces when they do it, and it’s really creepy.”

“Whatcha mean?” Maggie asks, and Katherine points to Catherine of Aragon.

“Let me confirm something. There’s no way Catherine would do it, right?”

“Do what?” Anne asks, but Kat’s already headed over to the first queen.

Catherine of Aragon and Maria de Salinas were discussing something about a documentary they had seen, with Catherine Parr writing notes down in a notebook. They all look at Katherine as soon as she stops in front of them.

“Catherine, fight Maria,” Katherine says.

Catherine and Maria look at each other.

“What?” Maria asks, raising an eyebrow.

Anna and Jane arrive with their ladies in waiting just in time.

“What’s going on?” Bessie asks, tilting her head.

“I think Kat’s not feeling well or something,” Catherine says, tilting her head in a confused manner, “because I think she just tried to command me to fight Maria.”

“What?” Joan asks, also confused, and all the queens are confused as Katherine continues.

She points a finger at Jane.

“You gave me ice cream this morning for breakfast.”

“I...” Jane frowns, a hand to her head. “I did?”

She points at Anna.

“And you gave me your favorite pullover without any trouble.”

“No I didn’t I-” Anna starts, but then she blinks, looking down and focusing, as if trying to remember a memory from decades ago. “I guess I did, yeah. I dunno why, but...” Anna shakes her head. “That’s weird. I just...”

Katherine points at Catherine and Maria. “Something’s wrong here, and I want to test it, so I need you two to fight.”

Catherine shakes her head. “I don’t see how this is going to-”

Katherine looks them both in the eye and pouts.

“Fight.”

The rest of the group watches closely as, suddenly, Catherine and Maria blank out, straighten up, and start to actually push each other.

“Hey! Stop that!” Anna yells, with Joan and Maggie pulling Maria back and Anne and Jane pulling Catherine back. They barely can, with the ferocity in which the two are suddenly going after each other.

Katherine lets it happen for a few more seconds before she looks at both of them again, pouting.

“Stop fighting.”

They suddenly stop.

Cathy looks impressed. “I... don’t understand what’s happened.”

“I pout, I give a command, I make people do stuff,” Katherine replies.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Jane tries, but Katherine shakes her head.

“No! It’s a power or something, I dunno how it happened, but it’s happened!” Katherine says.

“Maybe they were angry at each other?” Anne asks, tilting her head.

“Or maybe they’re playing along?” Jane suggests.

Katherine looks a bit upset.

“You... don’t believe me?”

“It’s a bit tough to get our heads around, love,” Anna admits, a head to her hand again. Indeed, even thinking about the possibility of the powers Katherine described made her head fuzzy, hard to concentrate... like the truth was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t get to it no matter how hard she tried.

The others clearly felt the same way, and Katherine understood this.

“It’s me... it must be me-” she says, backing up before bolting into the house. She hears multiple people rushing after her, but she gets to her room, locks the door, puts a chair under the handle, and hides under her covers.

She’s crying now, so anxious and panicked over... well, whatever has happened to her.

She stays under the covers for the rest of the day - they have to put on an alternate for her part, with Jane and Anna insisting that Katherine is “under the weather” to cover for her - and multiple times people try to get Katherine to unlock the door, but Katherine stays exactly where she is.

It’s late in the night and Katherine’s clearly not going anywhere... so why does she feel a presence in the room?

“Come on, little one, I thought you wanted this?”

Katherine frowns; the voice isn’t one of the queens, or the LiW’s, or anyone she knows- wait, no, that’s a lie...

She slowly opens the covers and she gasps when she sees who it is.

“Fae!”

Indeed, the Fae themselves were sitting on the windowsill, smiling politely at Katherine. The same wild fae that Katherine had encountered only a time before, when she went on a grand quest to take back her name from Fae after unknowingly giving it to her.

Wild times indeed.

“What’s going on?” Katherine asks. “Do you know what this is about?”

“You have the babey powers, don’t you?” Fae asks, smiling, eyes almost glowing in the moonlight.

“I do have babey powers, but they’re usually not so... literal,” Katherine nods. “Do you have something to do with this?”

“No, but I know who does,” Fae replies, sounding not too pleased about the entire situation. “Do you want to keep them-”

“No!”

Fae is startled by the emphasis of the response.

“I don’t want these at all! I want to not do this! At all!” Katherine shakes her head. “I want everyone to not have to obey me when I pout, I don’t like people being forced to do anything, I-”

“Easy child, easy,” Fae replies. “I can undo it. But it will cost you - as it always does.”

Katherine nods. “Anything. I don’t want this.”

Fae leans back. “Hmm... what is the price of undoing a curse, I wonder?” They asks, tilting their head in thought before they look back at Katherine. “How about the day?”

“What?”

“Give me the day.”

“... okay, the day is yours.”

“Wonderful. Until tomorrow, then.”

“Hey, what-!” Katherine starts, but suddenly she’s falling down, onto the floorboards, through the floorboards, past the floorboards, and into a dark hole of nothingness. The last thing she hears is the light laughter of Fae as Kat succumbs to slumber.

When she wakes up, she registers a presence.

Katherine squeezes her eyes shut, the light from the now open window blinds annoying her before she sits up in bed. A hand goes to her head and she frowns; nothing felt bad, but nothing felt good either. It was normal, but it was normal before, too?

“Hello, love,” comes the voice next to her, and Katherine replies without registering the voice.

“You better have done what you said you were going to do-” Katherine starts, turning back around, but when she sees who it is... well, the poor girl’s fright sends her tumbling over the side of the bed.

“Katherine!”

Jane Seymour immediately scrambles to the side of the bed, watching as Katherine groans and slowly gets up, sitting on the ground.

“Are you alright, love?” Jane asks, frowning.

Katherine nods, rubbing her side. “I think so- wait!”

Jane blinks as Katherine scrambles into the closet.

“Don’t come any closer!” Kat yells. “Don’t look at me!”

“Kat?” Jane asks, tilting her head. “What’s wrong? Why are you in the closet?”

“Because of yesterday!” Kat replies. “I can’t do that again, I just can’t! I don’t want to order you around! Go away! How did you even get in-”

“Kat, easy there,” Jane says with a chuckle. “I got in because this is my room.”

Now it’s Katherine’s turn to blink.

“... what?”

She looks around the closet and, sure enough, there’s only one (1) article of clothing that is pink in this dresser. The rest are neutral tones or hues of grey, silver, black, and white.

This is Jane Seymour’s closet.

Not Katherine Howard’s room.

Katherine frowns at that, clearly confused.

“How did I get here?” Katherine asks.

“We went to bed here, remember?” Jane asks, peeking through the crack of the closet door. When Katherine squeaks and hides her face in one of Jane’s sweaters, Jane slowly opens the door.

“Love?” she asks.

Katherine shakes her head. “You didn’t get it last night, remember? I can’t look at you!”

“Why?”

“Because if I pout and command you to do something, you do it!”

“What?”

“Yeah, you didn’t get it yesterday when we were at breakfast, but-”

“Kat, we weren’t at breakfast yesterday. I came back from France midday, remember?”

Katherine tilts her head. “That was the day before that?”

“No, it was yesterday, I promise.” Jane shows the girl her phone. “See?”

Kat tilts her head in thought... before it hits her. She looks up at Jane, pouts, and says in a commanding voice.

“Give me more ice cream for breakfast.”

Jane blinks... and gives her a half confused, half amused look. She gently puts a hand on Kat’s forehead. “Are you feeling alright, love?”

Kat’s eyes widen. “So no ice cream?”

“No, I don’t think you’ll be having that for breakfast today- oh!”

Jane yelps as Katherine unceremoniously throws herself onto her mum, sending them both to the ground.

“What’s going on in here?” Anna asks, poking her head in.

“We heard a noise,” Anne replies, Maggie close behind. The others crowd into the room.

“I think Kat’s not feeling well,” Jane says, barely managing to sit up thanks to the excited youngest queen on top of her. “She’s been saying off things.”

“It’s fine now!” Katherine says, kissing Jane’s forehead. “Can I please have fruit for breakfast? And lunch. And dinner!”

“Oh, yeah, something’s definitely off with her,” Cathy replies, making Catherine chuckle.

Katherine shakes her head.

“I don’t know what’s happened, but I could control people using my pouts,” Kat says. “And I didn’t know how to control it because-”

“You can’t control your own babey?” Anne jokes. “Weak.”

“Oh, shuttit!” Katherine says, but shes laughing loudly. “I’m just glad I’m back.”

“Yeah, now that stuff only works on Cathy,” Catherine replies, earning a “hey!!” from her own goddaughter. The crowd, once satisfied that both Katherine and Jane are okay, go their separate ways, leaving Jane with Katherine.

“We have a two show day today, Kit, we should get ready,” Jane replies. “I have some fruit for you downstairs - and no, no ice cream, regardless of whatever’s gotten you into a... mood, this morning.

Katherine nods with a grin.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

#six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #six fanfiction #sixfic

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podsn · 5 years ago

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So if you saw on Instagram six broadway is doing a sixsona challenge kinda thing and I didn't feel like basing it off myself or just making it up from my head so I based her off of Katherine Brandon. Katherine Brandon was daughter of Maria de Salinas so that is why her outfit kinda looks like it's based off of the ladies in waiting outfits. If Catherine Parr was executed, Katherine Brandon would have been Henry's 7th wife. Her queenspiration is kinda something like 2011 katy Perry. It didn't come out completely how I wanted it to but idc

#six the musical #six #art #katherine brandon #six the musical art #six broadway

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blackkudos · 5 years ago

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Oscar Stanton De Priest

Oscar Stanton De Priest (March 9, 1871 – May 12, 1951) was an American politician and civil rights advocate from Chicago. A member of the Illinois Republican Party he was the first African American to be elected to Congress in the 20th century. During his three terms, he was the only African American serving in Congress. He served as a U.S. Representative from Illinois' 1st congressional district from 1929 to 1935. De Priest was also the first African-American U.S. Representative from outside the southern states and the first since the exit of North Carolina representative George Henry White from Congress in 1901.

Born in Alabama to freedmen parents, De Priest was raised in Dayton, Ohio. He studied business and made a fortune in Chicago as a contractor, and in real estate and the stock market before the Crash. A successful local politician, he was elected to the Chicago City Council in 1914, the first African American to hold that office.

In Congress in the early 1930s, he spoke out against racial discrimination, including at speaking events in the South; tried to integrate the House public restaurant; gained passage of an amendment to desegregate the Civilian Conservation Corps, one of the work programs under President Franklin D. Roosevelt's New Deal; and introduced anti-lynching legislation to the House (it was not passed because of the Solid South Democratic opposition). In 1934, De Priest was defeated by Arthur W. Mitchell, the first African American to be elected as a Democrat to Congress. De Priest returned to Chicago and his successful business ventures, eventually returning to politics, when he was again elected Chicago alderman in the 1940s.

Early life

De Priest was born in 1871 in Florence, Alabama, to freedmen, former slaves of mixed race. He had a brother named Robert. His mother, Martha Karsner, worked part-time as a laundress, and his father Neander was a teamster, associated with the "Exodus" movement. After the Civil War, thousands of blacks left continued oppression by whites in the South by moving to other states that offered promises of freedom and greater economic opportunities, such as Kansas. Others moved later in the century.

In 1878, the year after Reconstruction had ended and federal troops been withdrawn from the region, the De Priests left Alabama for Dayton, Ohio. Violence had increased in Alabama as whites had tried to restore white supremacy: the elder De Priest had to save his friend, former U.S. Representative James T. Rapier, from a lynch mob, and a black man was killed on their doorstep. The boy Oscar attended local schools in Dayton.

Career

Business

De Priest went to Salina, Kansas, to study bookkeeping at the Salina Normal School, established also for the training of teachers. In 1889 he moved to Chicago, Illinois, which had been booming as an industrial city. He worked first as an apprentice plasterer, house painter, and decorator. He became a successful contractor and real estate broker. He built a fortune in the stock market and in real estate by helping black families move into formerly all-white neighborhoods, often ones formerly occupied by ethnic white immigrants and their descendants. There was population succession in many neighborhoods under the pressure of new migrants.

Politics

From 1904 to 1908, De Priest was a member of the board of commissioners of Cook County, Illinois.

De Priest was elected in 1914 to the Chicago City Council, serving from 1915 to 1917 as alderman from the 2nd Ward, on the South Side. He was Chicago's first black alderman. In 1917 De Priest was indicted for alleged graft and resigned from the City Council. He hired nationally known Clarence Darrow as his defense attorney and was acquitted. He was succeeded in office by Louis B. Anderson.

In 1919, De Priest ran unsuccessfully for alderman as a member of the People's Movement Club, a political organization he founded. In a few years, De Priest's black political organization became the most powerful of many in Chicago, and he became the top black politician under Chicago Republican mayor William Hale Thompson.

In 1928, when Republican congressman Martin B. Madden died, Mayor Thompson selected De Priest to replace him on the ballot. He was the first African American elected to Congress outside the South and the first to be elected in the 20th century. He represented the 1st Congressional District of Illinois (which included The Loop and part of the South Side of Chicago) as a Republican. During the 1930 election, De Priest was challenged in the primary by noted African-American spokesperson, orator, and Republican Roscoe Conkling Simmons. De Priest defeated Simmon's primary challenge and won the general election afterward. During De Priest's three consecutive terms (1929–1935), he was the only black representative in Congress. He introduced several anti-discrimination bills during these years of the Great Depression.

DePriest's 1933 amendment barring discrimination in the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC), a program of the New Deal to employ people across the country in building infrastructure, was passed by the Senate and signed into law by President Franklin D. Roosevelt. His anti-lynching bill failed due to opposition by the white conservative Democrats of the Solid South, although it would not have made lynching a federal crime. (Previous anti-lynching bills had also failed to pass the Senate, which was dominated by the South since its disenfranchisement of blacks at the turn of the century.) A third proposal, a bill to permit a transfer of jurisdiction if a defendant believed he or she could not get a fair trial because of race or religion, was passed by a later Congress.

Civil rights activists criticized De Priest for opposing federal aid to the poor. Nevertheless, they applauded him for making public speeches in the South despite death threats. They also praised De Priest for telling an Alabama senator he was not big enough to prevent him from dining in the private Senate restaurant. (Some Congressmen ate in the Senate restaurant to avoid De Priest, who usually ate in the Members Dining Room designated for Congressmen.) The public areas of the House and Senate restaurants were segregated. The House accepted that De Priest sometimes brought black staff or visitors to the Members Dining Room, but objected when he entertained mixed groups there.

De Priest defended the right of students of Howard University, a historically black college in Washington, D.C., to eat in the public section of the House restaurant and not be restricted to a section in the basement near the kitchen, used mostly by black employees and visitors. He took this issue of discrimination against the students (and other black visitors) to a special bipartisan House committee. In a three-month-long heated debate, the Republican political minority argued that the restaurant's discriminatory practice violated 14th Amendment rights to equal access. The Democratic majority skirted the issue by claiming that the restaurant was a private facility and not open to the public. The House restaurant remained segregated through much of the 1940s and maybe as late as 1952.

In 1929, De Priest made national news when First Lady Lou Hoover invited his wife, Jessie De Priest, to a traditional tea for congressional wives at the White House.

De Priest appointed Benjamin O. Davis Jr. to the United States Military Academy at a time when the only African-American line officer in the Army was Davis's father.

By the early 1930s, De Priest's popularity waned because he continued to oppose higher taxes on the rich and fought Depression-era federal relief programs under President Roosevelt. De Priest was defeated in 1934 by Democrat Arthur W. Mitchell, who was also African American. After returning to his businesses and political life in Chicago, De Priest was elected again to the Chicago City Council in 1943 as alderman of the 3rd Ward, serving until 1947. He died in Chicago at 80 and is buried in Graceland Cemetery.

Personal life

Oscar married the former Jessie L. Williams (c. 1873 – March 31, 1961). They had two sons together: Laurence W. (c. 1900 – July 28, 1916), who died at the age of 16 and Oscar Stanton De Priest, Jr. (May 24, 1906 – November 8, 1983) A great-grandson of Oscar De Priest, Jr., Philip R. DePriest, became the administrator of his estate after his grandmother's death in 1992. This included his great-grandfather's Oscar Stanton De Priest House, now a National Historic Landmark, which still held his locked political office. This had not been touched since about 1951. This great-grandson has been working to restore the office and house, and assessing the political archives—"a veritable treasure trove."

Legacy and honors

The Oscar Stanton De Priest House in Chicago, at 45th and King Drive, has been designated as a National Historic Landmark and city landmark.