#it has a door!! And an embedded cannon ball!!!

[auntpelvis]

The Crowhurst yew in Surrey is 4000 years old today (Taxus Baccata)

The cannon bled you in 1643.

Sinew splintering under iron,

heart(wood) struck deep.

Sap spews from ruptured bark.

Gutted, there is no exit wound,

instead,

stress knots,

blooming into burls.

Trauma internalised,

you swallow it whole.

  Language truncates through your trunk.

Count the rings back, as sapwood

of seasons long gone.

A remembrance

to the places you once stood:

Crowshurst becoming

Croghyrst,

Croherst,

Crauhurste.

your roots in Crow wood.

When forest surrounded,

and salt waves lapped at the seeds of the village.

  Adorned with a door in 1820,

they disemboled you.

Deadwood interiors hide

your webbing veil.

Red brown and rouged,

the gauze lifts, revealing

a cannons ball,

a stopped fly, cocooned

in bark wrappings.

  Civil war forgotten now,

the same soldiers sleep

beneath your shaded boughs,

roots growing through the bones.

Just submitted my creative writing portfolio 7 minutes before the deadline so here’s another poem hehe 😎😎😎

[ramibvnd]

Genya the Heartbreaker

This is my fic for the Mini Bang 21 hosted by @grishaversebigbang

The Materialki from Gang 22: @vigittarious (Zoya) @gigi-drxws (Genya and Alina) @hivertoautumn (Genya) made amazing art!

Summary: The Tsar hosts a ball in the palace and Genya is excited. However, suddenly she‘s the center of attention because two well known people court for her. The decision is not easy and for once Genya wishes she wasn‘t so handsome and charming because the gifts from her admirers become a bit too much.

Find the fic on ao3 here!

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The court was buzzing due to the excitement of the coming ball, Tsar Nikolai had announced five hours ago. It had been a while since the last time a big and glamorous ball was held in the palace. After her duties in the palace were done, she would search Alina and together they would harass the dressmaker until they made special gowns for them. She couldn’t help but smile when she thought about her best friend and didn’t pay attention to where she was heading anymore, which resulted in her stumbling into David Kostyk.

“Saints, David, I’m sorry”, she apologised and brushed imaginary dust off his kefta.

The durast looked as if he was about to piss his pants though. With a harrumph he adjusted the collar of his kefta and inhaled deep: “No need to apologise, this was my fault. I’m happy to see you though.”

Her eyes darted from his eyes over his body and back: “Yeah?”

“Would you be my partner for the ball?”

The question came out of the blue, even though Genya knew that David had a little crush on her, and her jaw dropped. She didn’t deal with that question yet.

“Give me time to think about it, ok?”, she exhaled and patted on his shoulder, before she rushed off. Her cheeks were burning and she hid it by letting her hair fall over her face, which made her run in person again. This time it was Zoya Nazyalensky, the commander's dark hair shined in the chandelier’s light and her blue eyes fixated Genya and that made her blush even more.

“Excuse me, commander”, the tailor mumbled and tried to pass the tall squaller but to her surprise she was held back.

“You’re red like a tomato”, Zoya meant with a judging look, “But anyway. I wanted to ask you, if you want to join my side for the ball.”

Zoya Nazyalensky was one of the most intimidating grisha Genya knew, but also one of the most attractive. She would love to be Zoya’s partner but she would also love to be David’s partner. Hence, Genya could only answer: “I’ll consider it, but I feel honoured.”

“Someone already asked you'', Zoya asserted and glanced past Genya, as if the other person would be there. The etherealkis’s eyes narrowed and she tightened her grip around the tailor’s arm: “Don’t make me fight for you, Genya Safin. Whoever is my opponent, they will lose.”

“Amazing”, Genya gulped and pushed past Zoya, this time the commander didn’t hold her back.

The next day began with nervousness for the corporalki. She didn’t want to go out of her dorm to see what Zoya would do. Because Zoya would do something, for sure. Eventually she was forced though, because someone knocked against her door. Bracing herself for the worst, she opened the door but only looked into a servant’s bugged face. He was holding a huge bouquet of flowers in all forms and colours. A tag was attached to one and when Genya turned it around, she read: Good morning, dearest Genya.

It was David’s handwriting. Then, to her horror, a second servant showed up, also with flowers, but this time from Zoya. As long as the gifts stay flowers, I can handle it, the tailor thought but she felt that this was only the start.

After breakfast Genya set off for her patients’ chambers but halfway there, she was headed off by David.

“What an incident, I meet you”, the durast smiled shyly and made Genya doubt that it was an incident, “I have something for you.”

Kostyk pressed a hair decoration into Genya’s hands and because she dealt with such things every day, she instantly knew that it was worth a lot. It was gilded and rubies were embedded in the delicate shape.

“Thank you”, she said, unsure how to respond to it, “But I cannot accept that, it’s worth too much.”

“Nothing is worth too much for you”, David said softly and closed Genya’s hands around it, “Just take it. I had fun crafting it.”

The following hours, the jewellery on her desk reminded her that she would need to make the decision between David and Zoya soon. Eventually the morning was over and she grabbed some food in the dining hall, to eat it with Alina outside at the pond. On the practice field was as always a lot going on, Botkin training young grishas and some Infernis were lightning up straw dolls. She enjoyed watching it, until she spottet Zoya approaching her, a determined, slightly angry expression on the beautiful face. The squaller stopped a few steps away from her, brought her hands together and before Genya could process what was happening, a small storm gathered. Zoya let it expand into a bigger cloud until the wind pulled at Genya’s hair and every single person on the field was watching. Fascinating was that Zoya had mixed some sort of blue powder into the air, so that the wind was visible and it looked as if the storm had a life on its own. It deformed over and over again, from a tiger to a wild horse. Nazyalensky’s expression was concentrated, but there was an affectionate sparkle in her eyes. At the end of the demonstration, the storm collapsed into a rose and rested at Genya's feet. Zoya smiled at Genya and brushed a red lock behind her ear: “Perhaps this makes the decision easier for you.”

Then the commander spun around and walked away, leaving Genya on the spot.

“Alina”, Genya sighed and frowned, “I have a serious problem and you are laughing? I’m worried about what Zoya will do to David when she finds out, that he’s her opponent.”

“Genya, be happy that two of the most handsome and powerful people openly run for you”, Alina grinned, “Nikolai surpasses you in the amount of admirers, but except for him you are the unbeaten top. Enjoy it.”

Genya opened her mouth to say something but closed it, because she figured that whatever she would say, it wouldn’t make Alina stop laughing. Instead she bit into her sandwich and tried to forget her admirers.

Harder though than done though, because when they returned to the little palace, the news that Zoya Nazyalensky gifted Genya Safin flowers made out of her power, got around the golf course. Some grishas smiled about it, mostly the one’s that already had a partner, but the majority threw the tailor one or two jealous looks. Zoya was almost everybody’s secret crush and having her openly running for your hand was dream material. To Genya’s relieve also this day was over at some point and she walked back to her dorm, exhausted from avoiding David and Zoya all day long, when she crossed path with Tsar Nikolai.

His mouth transformed into a wide smile as soon as he saw her and he hugged her: “Genya, I hear a lot of things about you. For once, someone else is the hotter topic here, it’s refreshing.”

“It’s not”, Genya sighed “Why can’t they just act like normal people.”

“Because you are a commodity in demand, sweet heart.”

Genya snorted and clapped Nikolai’s a: “I am no commodity.”

“I know, this was just a stylistic device to illustrate the situation”, Nikolai assuaged, “And I think there’s someone who has to say something to you.”

He nodded to the floor in front of them and Genya was tempted to turn around and run away when she saw David. He was holding a letter and definitely waiting for her. It turned out to be a poem and it was actually quite good, but she was way too tired to really listen.

It had been two days since Zoya’s storm and David’s poem and Genya savoured the silence. She didn’t need to wolf her meals down and use the secret corridors to walk through the palace in order to not meet anyone who might make something crazy to get her favour. However, her lucky streak ended the moment the freshly recruited grishas entered the dining room while breakfast.

The whole room went dead silent when the young grisha with the blond braids stepped forward and declared: “We’re here to perform a song for Genya Safin.”

Before they started Genya buried herself under the table and wished she could make herself invisible. Across the room she saw David, observing the scene with an irritated expression. Considering Zoya’s position it was a bit unfair - she could make Ravka sing for Genya, literally, and David had no such resources.

They made eye contact and suddenly she was very grateful that she had someone to look at who didn’t laugh or stare at her in disbelief because the grishas began to sing an ancient love song.

The moment the last singer closed their mouth, Genya stormed out of the hall, ready to strangle Zoya for this action. Too much was too much. Eventually, she ended up sitting at the pond, trying to make slates slide on the water. By tomorrow she would need to have chosen her partner, because the evening after was the ball and tomorrow was also the day she and Alina would get their outfits. As she thought of her best friend, an idea formed in her head. What if she did the most unexpected out of all? Excited about her idea she headed back to her friend’s dorm and opened the door, hoping Alina would be there but she wasn’t in sight. She would see her anyway at dinner at the latest and her concern could wait until then. With a content smile she went to her own dorm and opened the door.

“By all the saints”, Genya whispered and stared at the cannon. The chase was engraved with the pictures of Saints and other figures of the old Ravkan tales. The metal was altered, so it was white instead of silver and the holding sparkled golden. The inspiration was definitely coming from Genya’s kefta and the work would’ve only been done by a grisha. And she only knew one grisha who would first off, send her a cannon and second off, be able to create a cannon. Pretty confident that she would never have any use of it, she walked around and lay on her bed, to take a nap.

Read the rest on ao3 akdjakdj

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

Whumptober Prompt 22 -  Hallucination

Read on ao3 - i wrote this while dissociated so please be kind. I’m sorry this is a day late.

Summary: Peter keeps seeing his family die in front of him

TW: temporary death, gunshot wounds, stab wounds

Peter knows it's not real, but when his sister bleeds out in front of him with a knife in her stomach, it's hard to tell anymore.

He doesn't know how long he's been captive or how long the hallucinations have been going on or where they're coming from.

They all start the same, someone close to him (mostly Morgan, Tony, Ned, and May. But the other Avengers make appearances as well) running into his cell and telling him that they're going to save him. And it always ends with them dying before they can.

No matter how many times Peter sees the illusion, he can't bear to look away. Maybe the next one will be real. It never is.

He watches for the first few hours, but each time it gets worse. He can’t watch them die over and over again. He curls into a tight ball in the corner of the room, hiding his face from the room, clapping his hands over his ears, and sobbing. But the illusions touch him. They try to get his attention by touching his back and shoulders. But he never looks up. They ask his questions, all he does is shake his head.

"Petey," Morgan's young voice sobs. "Petey please help me." Peter doesn't have to look up to know a long knife is providing from his sister's stomach.

"Go away!" Peter sobs, almost screaming at the illusion.

"Peter?" It's Steve. He isn't as often an occurrence as Tony or Morgan, even Ned, but Peter knows how this one goes. "I'm here to save you, son." Peter shakes his head, not looking up. Steve's phantom hands grab his shoulder. "Peter we need to go!" Steve says urgently. "Peter we-" steve cuts himself off with a painful gasp. If Peter were to look up right now, he would see blood erupting from a bullet hole in Steve’s heart. Peter hears the heavy thud of Steve's body falling to the ground.

Peter doesn't even try to hold back his sobs as they come. His cries echo painfully around the room. Maybe he'll exhaust himself and fall asleep. He doubts that would end the illusions.

"Peter!" It's Ned. "I just met all the Avengers, isn’t that so cool! And we're all here to save you. You have to get up right now!"

Peter mumbles out a whimpering, "No."

"Do you want to die here?" Ned asks. When Peter doesn’t respond Ned says, “Peter, we need to go now. There’s not enough time.” Peter doesn’t say anything more. Ned lets out a huff of anger, "Fine then, I’ll leave you if that's what you want."

“No, Ned,” Peter says quietly. But Ned doesn’t hear him. His footsteps start to walk back to the door of the cell, but then there is a sickening crack as Ned's neck is twisted at a horrible angle.

Peter nearly bites clean through his lip.

When the illusions first started appearing, he screamed. He screamed until he was hoarse. He begged them to stay with him to sit down next to him and stay. But they never did. He wanted to claw his eyes out. It took him two hours to discover they weren't real.

“Pete? Buddy?” No. No. “Peter? Can you hear me?” And despite himself, Peter nods. He knows it not real, but the voice is so soft and comforting. “You're okay, kid, I'm going to get you out of here. Can you look at me?”

Peter shakes his head, “No,” he moans.

Peter can almost hear the frown in Tony’s voice and it’s so real, “Why not?”

Peter squeezes himself into an even smaller ball. He shouldn’t be talking to the illusion. It will only make it worse. But he can’t help himself. No matter how many times he sees Tony here, his heart still holds a small glimmer of hope that it could really be him.

“Because you’re not real,” Peter whispers.

“Peter, I’m real. I’m right in front of you! Look at me!” Tony shouts, pleading with Peter. It doesn’t sound like Tony anymore. Tony would be gentle with him like this, he wouldn’t ever raise his voice at Peter, especially not when Peter is in the state he is.

“Go away,” Peter whimpers. And it does. With the shrill sound of a knife being scraped against the wall and then a pained cry as the knife is embedded in Tony’s arc reactor. And Peter knows it’s not real, he can’t hear the metallic whir of the reactor or the comforting thump of Tony’s heart. But it still hurts all the same when Tony calls out to him with his last breath, “Pete...I love...you.”

The real Tony has never said those words aloud.

And so it goes on and one. Hours and hours of Peter watching his friends and family die.

May. Natasha. Ned. Morgan. Steve. Tony. Clint. Morgan. Tony. Bucky. Ned. Sam.

Over and over again.

The door to his cell opens. It’s a new illusion this time. One that almost makes Peter look up, but he doesn’t. It’s all of them at once. Possibly not Ned, Morgan, and May, but he doesn’t want to watch all of them die.

The first voice he hears is Steve, “He’s shaking, Tony.”

“I know,” Tony responds. Peter can hear his footsteps as he walks across the cell and crouches down beside him. “Pete? I’m here with the others. We’re going to get you out of here.” Peter fights to keep his head down. “Can you hear me, buddy?” Peter nods, once jerkily. “Can I touch you?” Peter quickly shakes his head. He doesn’t trust whatever this new illusion is. Maybe it will hurt him. “Okay, can you look at me?” Peter shakes his head again, ducking his head even more against his knees. “Why not?” Tony asks with a frown.

“Not real,” Peter mumbles. He doesn’t know if the illusion can hear him. But it doesn’t matter. The hallucination won’t understand what he’s trying to say.

“Not real?” Clint asks, “What is he talking about?” Someone shushes him.

“Pete? Buddy? What do you mean ‘not real’,” Tony sounds really worried now.

Peter shakes his head again, “All in my head.”

Tony catches on, “No. Peter, it’s not in your head. We’re really here, we’re going to save you.” Peter doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even move. Tony sighs, “If it’s all in your head then you would understand everything that comes out of my mouth, yeah?” Peter gives him a slight nod. “Then if I say something you don’t know would you believe this was real?” Peter considers it for a moment. Then, deciding the worst that could happen was he watch all of his friends and family die at once, he nods. “Okay. I lied to you about not knowing Italian so I could hear your angry rants, did you know you sleep talk in Italian?” Tony’s voice is almost fond. “You once told me that you wanted your next Spiderman suit to be made completely out of pride flags.” Tony chuckles. Peter freezes. He didn’t know that. Slowly, he lifts his head.

Tony is kneeling in front of him wearing a soft smile on his face, “Hey, bub.”

“This is real?” Peter asks hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tony nods, “Yeah, it is.” Peter doesn’t waste time launching himself into Tony’s arms. Even if this turns out to be fake, he needs to feel Tony’s hug one last time. Tony holds him as tight as his suit allows. Peter sobs into Tony’s neck, too relieved to be embarrassed. He clings tight to his mentor as Tony gently lifts him off the ground and begins walking. Steve and Natasha walk in front of them while Bucky and Clint hang back at their flanks, all eyeing the boy nervously.

This is real.

He’s not in the cell anymore. He’s okay. They’re really here to save him. It’s all going to be fine.

Peter closes his eyes and lets the gentle thrum of all of their hearts lull him to sleep.

Tag list:  @just-the-daydreamer, @irondad-is-cannon-bitch, @anxiousangstyangel, @wicked-starlight-collector, @bookstorebunny

[ecotone99]

[SF] What if Aliens Just Like Fishin'?

Hi all, I recently watched a couple JRE videos related to UFOs and felt compelled to write this. Any help with tightening this up would be appreciated. I'm grateful for anyone who reads it! (Some of the formatting may be off. Please forgive me.)

June 18th, 2024

Aron University District, Tansant. Zeta Reticuli III.

“Zimp, are you watching? Look how handsome your father looks!”

Now for headline story of the evening. Has Aron Corp. overstepped Tansant protocols with their extraction teams? CEO of Aron Corp is with us now, it’s a pleasure to speak with you Magnate Xolon.

Zimp embedded an H2O onto the base of his new tank and slid it next to the one marked l̷͗̈́͌̕l̵̛͆̌̀́̃̿́̈́͝. “Yes, mom, I’m watching…” Zimp covered the receiver of his device before the magnetic whir of his tank stabilizer could be heard.

It’s a pleasure to be here, Laax. Let me start by saying that Aron Corporation has not had a single hostile encounter with…

“Have you bought your H2O specimen yet? I’ll have to come by and see it!”

That’s very true, Magnate, but detections of Aron Corp. vehicles have risen tenfold over the....

“Not yet, mom. You know, I have a lot of SNC homework that I need to get to. I’ll talk to you-”

… and for example on Wek III they’re not even aware of what they’re seeing so it behooves…

“SNC? Oh, look how assertive he’s being, Zimp!”

“Synthetic Nano-Cohesion, gotta go! Bye!”

Cloaked SNC nets are expensive devices, Laax. We can’t simply...

Zimp began scrambling out of his apartment on a collision course with his Cleaner. The machine predicted the encounter. In a single motion the Cleaner picked up the Tansantian robe and darted upward out of the way.

Jumping into his AGV and holding back a smile Zimp asked his device “How much will an H2O specimen cost totally optimized for my setup?”

“1,354 Aron; 2,136 Kezk; 85-”

“Stop.” Zimp said as his vehicle detected the elevation for arrival. Zimp was queued several stories up. As his vehicle descended the queue, he would occasionally be greeted with an Aron Corp. meeting that had put their exterior wall to transparent. He’d quickly peek inside the lavish meeting rooms between the chromium walls. Inside were Karkons, Blexoids and Tanizars assessing the ongoing operations of various planets.

Zimp looked at the spectacles as they came, but each reminded him of the path he took to be an engineer. “That is what my father does,” he thought, “I’ll be the one who improves the ships that go there... ” He expanded his device remembering his SNC homework.

Eventually at his destination, Zimp entered Aron Corporation Exotic Friends Depot. The walls were packed with tanks full of various compounds and the Curators maintaining them. Zimp ran straight to the H2O section and found a Curator. He swiped his device back to the details of his H2O setup.

The Curator didn’t mind the small delay. It was able to adjust the temperature and inject some Base Food Components into the tank as his sensors and systems detected an impending inquiry. “Hello, sir. Please let me assist you when you are ready.”

Lucky for Zimp, no other Tanizars were around to see the smile he wore as he waved his device over the Curator. The Curator processed his request and hung for a moment to ensure the Base Food Components were assembling properly. They formed inside the Base Food Tray to look like a Wek III consumable for this specimen. A tiny, scaled, many legged thing. Its exterior a dull gray.

“This specimen here would suit you perfectly, sir! It is one of our newest inventory. Taken from Wek III just last Lune!”

Zimp quickly looked at the creature within the tank. It was fascinating. Like a large black oval combined with a serrated hemisphere at the end opposite its large brown eyes -- with no lids! It had a faint blue tinge to its front and… Zimp almost sucked in his limbs with excitement. There was something orange attached to its side… Something… Synthetic. Something not removed… Something created by a primitive of Wek III?!

He quickly swiped his device over the Curator once again.

“Very good, sir! Please wait as the delivery box forms.”

Water poured out of the thousands of small holes on the inner sheathe as it shrank down to a carriable size, bringing the H2O specimen with it. When the final size was reached the holes filled and a box containing his new specimen was released.

“Enjoy the remainder of your Rise, sir!” The Curator hummed before returning to its tasks.

The excitement of a new specimen -- one containing a primitive’s handywork no less! -- colored his world vibrantly. Zimp gazed out at the two yellow balls of fire that his little homeworld of Tansant orbits. The Twins. He thought on all the different species he’d learned about in his Extronomy courses. Wek III, he tried to remember, it’s... 70% “H2O”?

His vehicle arrived in the queue and he was back at his apartment a moment later. Hurriedly placing his new specimen into his tank, the box expanded to fit his tank. From up close, Zimp could even make out the individual scales of this creature. He froze the tank for a moment and looked at what was injected in between its gleaming scales.

He waved his device, transcribing the black text onto it: 0016.

“I wonder what it means…”

June 15th, 2024

Narragansett, Rhode Island. Earth.

Another beautiful day in Narragansett. John took a look at his little white house: chipped paint, the discolored step on his porch, his hose that hadn’t worked in a couple years. “Future projects…”

He slammed shut the door of his ‘97 pickup and started down toward his Skipper’s house. The bright orange light of sunrise reflecting off the dew on the jalopy’s hood. Before he could even get the radio to a good channel he was at his destination.

A skinny man in a Stormbreaker shivered, cautiously traversing his damp yard.

“Can’t believe you’re still driving this thing, man.” The Skipper quipped as he shut the door.

“What do you mean ‘this thing’, there, Skip?”

“I heard you used to have a Porsche. Why you driving this thing around?”

“It’s all a bucket of gears, Skip. Just a box that gets me from one place to the next.”

“Yeah, yeah, but it ain’t a Porsche, Captain.”

“Look, at least I got a car!”

Skipper looked over at John with half a smile and shook his head. “That’s a whole other thing, man. Anyway, you heard about that ‘AAV’ siting up in Maine?”

“AAV? What are you talking about?”

“It’s basically UFOs. Started calling ‘em ‘AAV’s back when the Navy confi-”

“Skipper… Look, you’re a great man on ship but sometimes…”

“I’m serious! They confirmed ‘em back in like 2019 or 2018.”

John begrudgingly looked over at the Skipper. “I mean, I definitely think there’s something else out there… but if they could fly here, why wouldn’t they also just be invisible?”

“I don’t know, Cap. They keep seeing ‘em around the ocean. They even got protocols for ‘em for the fighter pilots and stuff...”

The rest of the ride to the harbor was shared quietly. John waved to another crew setting up for a lobster run when they got there.

Skipper rolled down the window. “Catchin’ some Black Sea Bass today, boys!” One of the younger guys from the other crew let out a hollar in return.

The captain of the crew waved John to park near him. When he pulled up the captain started yelling toward John’s window. “Hey, John. URI is tracking some of the bass…”

“Thanks, Phil. I’ll be sure to let ‘em know our counts.” John said as he stepped out onto the weathered parking lot.

“Heard they got some new GPS they’re putting in the ones they tag. Guess they’re tracking migration or something...” Phil heaved a netted sack over around his shoulders.

“That’s interesting. Wonder if they’ll share that with us when they’re done.”

Phil huffed. “Probably not. You know how they feel about us.”

The two shared a knowing nod.

It wasn’t long until they were out on the sea. Skipper seemed to be more focused than usual, the weather was a nice overcast, and no big ships were going to be passing by all morning. Even the beers were still cold from the last run. It was a bit foggy, but he knew these waters well enough.

John lit up a smoke, cracked a beer, and settled in for a couple hours of smooth sailing.

An hour into the trip, John was halfway through redesigning his house’s plumbing when he could hear the Skipper scrambling around at the front of the vessel.

“Hey… Captain… John!” The Skipper was pointing starboard with a look on his face he’d never seen in him.

“What? What’s over.. there.”

John saw it. Right at their destination, he estimated. A white ovoid. Hovering like a star. Was it a star? That wouldn’t explain the breakers around it… It was too big to be a star… It wouldn’t overlap with the ocean like that.

“A. A. V. Motherfucker!” Skipper wildly punched the air, keeping his eyes and ears toward the strange object.

John couldn’t get out a word and just looked onward.

He looked closer… Is that some kind of... Net around a… Cube?

“Is it sucking up fishes?”

John looked away from its center and could barely make out over the seafoam some small, black dots being brought up through the weird white net around the cube.

“What in the world am I looking at?”

Then, instantly and without a sound, it was gone.

The two looked at each other. Skipper’s mouth was agape. He unsuccessfully tried to say something but his jaw wouldn’t allow it.

“I just can’t beli-” John’s words were cut short by something ricocheting off the vessel’s railing, hitting him right on the temple.

June 17th, 2024

Kingston, Rhode Island. Earth.

Nicole didn’t know who to call. Kingston Police? The Environmental Protection Agency? “This is just such absolute… Bullshit!”

After all those meetings with her advisor, writing that entire proposal, finally getting the grant. Her entire PhD was about to be undone by some losers shooting, of all the fish in the Atlantic, her fish out of some kind of cannon? She looked at the GPS trajectory again on her laptop, tracing the upward trajectory and rapid horizontal acceleration, before smacking the table.

Some guys drop this off claiming that it was “shot out of a UFO.” Nice. How’s that homeless problem, Kingston? She looked at her tagging gun and stack of foy tags. She shook her fist toward the ceiling.

“0016, I will avenge you!”

submitted by /u/mumike [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2pMQWFc

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: Redefining American Art Through an Intersectional Lens

Marlena Myles, “Dakota 38 + 2 Prayer Horse” (2017) (all photos by the author for Hyperallergic)

ST. PAUL, Minnesota — There’s something about having a president who openly promotes hate and fear that makes a country reconsider its foundational values. We are the society that created Trump, that created Dylan Roof, that opened the door for a white supremacist madman to drive his car into a street full of protesters. Something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Perci Chester, “Old Soles with Holes” (2015)

So it’s time to go back to the drawing board. What are we teaching our children in schools? What are the statues that tower over us in public places? What is the art that visitors see in museums? And if these cultural artifacts embedded in our institutions don’t lay the right framework for creating the open, respectful society we want, perhaps it’s time to do some rethinking.

It’s in this context that the Minnesota Museum of American Art presents We the People, a group exhibition organized by four curators who each grapple with the question of how to reshape our American social contract. The show follows up on a similar investigation the museum undertook two years ago when it presented American Art: It’s Complicated.

Like the earlier exploration, We the People takes an intersectional approach to the question of what makes American art, but this time around, the curators push things a little further in the direction of art with a message and protest art, with many pieces that grapple not only with American identity but with an all-out call for revolution.

Bobby Wilson, “Dakota War Coat and Shirt” (2017)

Unsurprisingly, there’s a strong Native American presence in the show, with works that reflect on Standing Rock, Native American mascots, and the recent local controversy surrounding Sam Durant’s “Scaffold” that was briefly erected at the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden, before protests against the Walker Art Center prompted its disposal.

The Twin Cities is a hotbed for Native artists, with at least six galleries that feature either specifically Native American artists or indigenous artists from the Americas more broadly. Two of the four curators for We the People are based in these indigenous communities. Maggie Thompson runs Two Rivers Gallery in Minneapolis, which features Native American artists, and Mary Anne Quiroz is part of the Indigenous Roots Cultural Arts Center, which features Latinx and indigenous artists as well as artists of color.

Josué Rivas, “Standing Strong” (2016)

For this exhibit, both curators chose artists who represent current struggles that face Native people. Among Quiroz’s selections are Josue Rivas’s “Standing Strong” (2016), a stark photograph of a scarf-wrapped figure standing on top of a hill, with an encampment in the background. The image captures the harsh conditions that faced the “water protectors” for months as they camped on the banks of Cannon Ball River in hopes that they could stop the Dakota Access Pipeline from being installed.

Cannupa Hanska, “The Weapon is Sharing (This Machine Kills Fascists)” (2017)

Cannupa Hanska’s “The Weapon Is Sharing (This Machine Kills Fascists)” (2017), selected by Thompson, offers a bit of a tongue-in-cheek take on the ephemeral nature of documentation, particularly within a resistance movement. Hanska transfers what appear to be cell-phone photographs of Standing Rock onto ceramic tiles, giving the social media–type images permanence and critiquing the notion of art that “stands the tests of time,” suggesting that a snapshot holds just as much value as a more permanent structure.

That tension — whether a political piece of art can last beyond a particular moment in time — does present itself as a problem in some of the works selected. Beyond a piece of art losing its relevance once a current event is no longer current, there’s a danger that work focused solely on one issue can come to lack nuance. For example, Marlena Myles’s swirling digital-vector print, “Dakota 38 + 2 Prayer Horse” (2017), which takes on Sam Durant’s “Scaffold” sculpture, feels a bit flat, especially since that issue has been, for the most part, resolved.

Holly Young’s “Native Nations Rising” (2017), meanwhile, nods to historical uses of ledger paper to create Native American art. Young depicts three figures wearing long skirts and holding umbrellas, each with some element in their outfits that shows off their Native identity. The figures face away from the viewer, looking toward a Native American protester across the street and, farther off, a national monument occupied by tipis. Like Myles’s work, this piece feels like a document of a moment, though Young’s is less specifically placed on a single issue.

Holly Young, “Native Nations Rising” (2017)

Johnnay Leenay’s contributions as curator bring personal reflections by artists within the realm of political art. Many of Leenay’s selections are LGBTQ artists, which, perhaps inherent in issues revolving around those identities, draw on intimate stories of the self and relationships. Dustin Yager’s “Untitled (Trash Can)” (2015) includes a life-sized porcelain garbage can with a drawing of a gay couple on the outside. It stands in front of a mirror, with a roll of paper hung to one side. There’s a note instructing visitors to write a letter to a past, current, or future lover — and then throw it away in the bin. The piece navigates vulnerability, exploring a kind of banal cruelty that comes with romantic relationships. Yager’s work is more personal than political, though perhaps even in our post–same sex marriage era, centering a gay couple is itself political.

Josh Schutz, “Something for Everyone” (2017)

Similarly, “Something for Everyone” (2017), Josh Schutz’s erotic tower of porcelain sacs (they look vaguely like condoms filled with sand, or perhaps male organs, though more squishy), promotes a “we’re here, we’re queer” kind of message. More than that, Shutz enters into a titillating exercise with the viewer, due to the sexual nature of the monument.

The final curator, Christopher Harrison, adds an element of abstraction into the mix, choosing works that investigate form as much as content. Tia-Simone Gardner’s installation “Slap!” (2017) features the frame of a screen door standing about a foot in front of a large piece of paper, where a reverse shadow of the door is apparent, plus added textures of perhaps a crocheted table cloth. The work evokes notions of home and safety but also hints at violence. James Maurelle’s intriguing sculpture, “Nile” (2014), constructs copper pipes into a stately form. He transforms objects that usually lie beneath the earth into a moment of beauty, and in doing so, alludes to the labor associated with people than install and clean such pipes. It’s as if he is attempting to upend hierarchies with his work.

Tia-Simone Gardner, “Slap!” (2017)

Like American Art: It’s Complicated, We the People doesn’t offer a definitive answer to what being in American society is supposed to look like. Rather, the four curators ask viewers to reflect on the somewhat messy task of engaging with American discourse through an intersectional lens. In the end, there’s no one answer, but rather an open dialogue from different perspectives.

We the People continues at Minnesota Museum of American Art (141 East 4th Street, Suite 101, St. Paul,) through October 29.

The post Redefining American Art Through an Intersectional Lens appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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[romeoandjulietyouwish]

Whumptober Prompt 27 - Ransom

Read on ao3

Summary: Morgan and Pepper are held for ransom

TW: kidnapping

Penny and Tony received the ransom demand at 2:00 that Thursday afternoon. An email notification pinged on Tony’s phone, neither of them thought anything of it. Lab time was sacred, they mostly didn’t answer texts or notifications. But when FRIDAY says, “Boss, you should look at that email,” Tony and Penny finally lift their heads from their work.

FRIDAY never says anything like that. So what is going on? Penny and Tony crowd around Tony’s computer as he opens the email. The most recent one is subjected: OPEN AS SOON AS RECEIVED. The two exchange a nervous glance as Tony opens the email. Inside is no writing, only an embedded file of a video. Tony plays the video.

On-screen is a woman with sharp features wearing dark lipstick, “Hello, Mr. Stark,” she greets. Her voice is almost kind, but Penny knows better. “It seems that somethings of your have fallen into my possession.” She steps away to reveal Pepper and Morgan being held by two muscly men. Both of them are gagged. Pepper had a large cut on her forehead and bruises up and down her arms. Morgan’s eyes are overflowing with tears, her cheeks red from crying. She doesn’t seem as hurt as her mother, but she also has large bruises on her arms. Pepper jerks roughly against her captors.

Penny’s hand covers her mouth as Tony is frozen. Tony pauses the video, “FRIDAY, is this real? Where are Pepper and Morgan?”

“I am unable to locate either of them within the tower, boss,” FRIDAY says. “They both went out to lunch approximately four hours ago.” Four hours ago. Penny takes his hand and gives it a tight squeeze. They keep watching.

“Now,” the woman says, “you can either give me 12 million dollars in cash by noon tomorrow, or you can watch your wife and daughter die.” She smiles wickedly, “It’s your choice.” Pepper and Morgan’s muffled screams serve as background to her words as the video ends.

“Oh my god,” Penny says softly. “Tony, what do we do?” She looks over at Tony who is just staring at the screen. His eyes are brimming with tears. “Tony?”

“We need to save them,” Tony says, not looking over at her. “We need to track them if we can.” He bites his thumb, “If we can’t find them by midnight, then we need to prepare to meet them in person.”

Penny nods, “Okay.” She has FRIDAY summon the Avengers in the lab. They all enter with somber expressions and pat Tony’s shoulders. He doesn’t acknowledge them. “How do we do this?” She asks Natasha.

The woman sighs, “Leave that to us.”

Penny frowns, looking at all their faces, “What? Why can’t I help?”

Sam walks up to her and gently touches her shoulder, “Penny, let us take care of this. You’re too close to Pepper and Morgan to let your head guide you, not your heart,” Sam explains kindly. “You and Tony are going to go upstairs and let us work on this.”

“Sam, no-”

“He’s right, Penny,” Tony says. All eyes whip to him.

Penny glares at him, “You of all people should be on my side!” She shouts. “It’s your family on the line and you don’t even want to help?!”

Tony sighs, “Penny, don’t yell.” She crosses her arms. “I know how you’re feeling, Pen. Trust me, I do. But right now the best thing for us is to go upstairs, get some food, and go to bed. Neither of us will be any help to them right now.”

“Listen to Tony,” Steve says calmly. “We have some of the best spies in the room right now, if anyone can find them it’s us.”

Penny shakes her head, “We need to work fast, wouldn’t it go faster if you had more people?”

Natasha gives her a sympathetic look, “Not when those people are too overwhelmed with fear and anxiety to be of any use.”

Penny doesn’t get the chance to defend herself, “C’mon, Penny,” Tony stands and begins dragging Penny out of the room. She tries to fight him but is too distraught to. Penny yanks herself away from Tony once they’re in the elevator.

She tries her best to take slow and measured breathes, but inside all she wants to do is panic. She wants to scream and shout and plow down everyone in her way between her and finding her family. Which is why she snaps at Tony when he tries to get her to sit down on the couch, “Don’t touch me!”

Tony sighs, “Penny, really? You’re mad at me right now?”

Penny sets her jaw, “Of course I am! My little sister and my mother,” she doesn’t even have time to think about what she just called Morgan and Pepper, “are being held hostage who knows where and none of you will let me help!” Her voice echoes through the large room. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t have much of a family anymore! Everyone I love has been taken from me and there was always something I could have done to prevent it! I never did!” Penny shrieks. Tony’s face fills with guilt and remorse and something...softer. “So now I have a chance to save them and you won’t let me?! You expect me not to be upset with you?!” Penny shakes her head, “You have no idea what I’m going through right now, Tony.”

“You don’t think I’ve lost people too?” Tony asks softly. “You don’t think I worry about you, Morgan, and Pepper every second of every day? Because I do.” He takes a deep breath. “Penny, there is nothing I want to be doing more than finding my daughter and my wife, but I know that if I were to go down and help I would be a useless member of the team. You and I owe Pepper and Morgan a team who can focus on just finding them without letting their emotions get in the way. Don’t you think?”

Penny shakes her head, “Did you not see that video? They were hurting them, Tony!” Tony flinches. “Who knows what could happen to them in the hours it will take to track them? They could be dead by morning-”

“Go to bed,” Tony says coldly. The sudden change is jarring. When Penny doesn’t move he adds, “Right now, Penny.”

Penny groans in frustration, but runs out the living room and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She stomps on the floor, screams, and repeatedly punches one of her pillows. But none of it makes her feel better.

“FRIDAY, can I go down to the lab?” She asks once she exhausts herself.

“Boss has temporarily restricted your access to only your bedroom unless you need food or are planning on apologizing,” FRIDAY replies. Penny groans again, falling down on to her bed. She kicks her legs angrily, why does Tony always have to be one step ahead of her?

Penny lays on her bed, too tired to move. She stares at one spot on her wall for what seems like hours before someone knocks on her door. “Penny?” It’s Tony. “I made some dinner, do you want any?” Penny doesn’t reply. “Pen, I know you’re not sleeping and I know you can hear me. Do you want any food?” Penny is too stubborn to let him see through her cracks. Tony sighs, “I’ll leave it outside, it’s spaghetti with some homemade sauce I know you love.” He’s not wrong. A few seconds later he says, “Goodnight, Pen.” Tony walks away.

Penny bursts into tears. Why did she do that? Tony cares about her. Why would she push him away. He made her dinner even though they were mad at each other. She tugs her blankets over top of her and just cries. SHe cries for herself, for Morgan and Pepper, and for Tony. But soon she runs out of tears, and her sadness gives way to exhaustion.

In Penny’s dream, Morgan and Pepper are calling out her. They beg her for help. They accuse her of letting them die. Pepper’s neck is cut wide open, blood covering her front. Morgan’s eyes are glassy, her neck is twisted past what it should be. Penny screams loudly, waking herself up. She sobs into her arms, curling up into a ball. Penny’s bedroom door opens, flooding it with light from the hallway. Someone runs across her room to pull her into their arms. She clings to them, seeking comfort.

“It’s alright, Penny,” Tony whispers, brushing a hand through her hair. “It’s alright”

“Tony?” She whimpers.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Tony says calmly. “It’s okay, it was just a dream.”

“Pepper and Morgan...” She gasps.

“I know, I know,” Tony shushes her. “They’re going to be here soon, okay? They’re just fine.”

That is not what Penny was expecting. She pulls away from Tony, wiping at her cheeks, “What?”

Tony smiles softly at her, gently touching her cheek, “They found them, Pen. Steve and the others are bringing them home.”

Penny’s eyes blow wide, “They’re okay?”

Tony nods, “They’re going to be here any moment.” Penny throws herself into Tony’s arms, biting her lip to keep from crying any further. Tony holds her tight.

“I’m sorry,” Penny says. “I’m sorry I yelled and I’m sorry for everything I said-”

“It’s alright,” Tony says. “We were both upset.”

Before Penny can reply, a knock comes on her door. Both of them look up to see Pepper and Morgan standing in the doorway. Both look a little worse for the wear, littered with white bandages, but otherwise okay.

“Penny!” Morgan says happily. As fast a light she runs across the room and throws herself into Penny’s arms. Penny sobs into her sister’s hair. She’s really here. She’s really okay.

“Hi, Mo.”

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