#Atop The World Trade Center

[david6of7]

Atop The World Trade Center

Photography by David Velez

#davidvelez #david6of7 #originalcontent #film #worldtradecenter #wtc #architecture #history #nyc #observationdeck #bw #blackandwhite #leica #m6 #night #southtower #twintowers

#Atop The World Trade Center #Photography by David Velez #davidvelez #david6of7 #originalcontent #film #worldtradecenter #wtc #architecture #history #nyc #observationdeck #bw #blackandwhite #leica #m6 #night #southtower #twintowers

[sixteenseveredhands]

Stone Turtle of Karakorum, Mongolia, c. 1235-1260 CE: this statue is one of the only surviving features of Karakorum, which was once the capital city of the Mongol Empire

The statue is decorated with a ceremonial scarf known as a khadag (or khata), which is part of a Buddhist custom that is also found in Tibet, Nepal, and Bhutan. The scarves are often left atop shrines and sacred artifacts as a way to express respect and/or reverence. In Mongolia, this tradition also contains elements of Tengrism/shamanism.

The city of Karakorum was originally established by Genghis Khan in 1220 CE, when it was used as a base for the Mongol invasion of China. It then became the capital of the Mongol Empire in 1235 CE, and quickly developed into a thriving center for trade/cultural exchange between the Eastern and Western worlds.

The city attracted merchants of many different nationalities and faiths, and Medieval sources note that the city displayed an unusual degree of diversity and religious tolerance. It contained 12 different temples devoted to pagan and/or shamanistic traditions, two mosques, one church, and at least one Buddhist temple.

As this article explains:

The city might have been compact, but it was cosmopolitan, with residents including Mongols, Steppe tribes, Han Chinese, Persians, Armenians, and captives from Europe who included a master goldsmith from Paris named William Buchier, a woman from Metz, one Paquette, and an Englishman known only as Basil. There were, too, scribes and translators from diverse Asian nations to work in the bureaucracy, and official representatives from various foreign courts such as the Sultanates of Rum and India.

This diversity was reflected in the various religions practised there and, in time, the construction of many fine stone buildings by followers of Taoism, Buddhism, Islam, and Christianity.

The prosperous days of Karakorum were very short-lived, however. The Mongol capital was moved to Xanadu in 1263, and then to Khanbaliq (modern-day Beijing) in 1267, under the leadership of Kublai Khan; Karakorum lost most of its power, authority, and leadership in the process. Without the resources and support that it had previously received from the leaders of the Mongol Empire, the city was left in a very vulnerable position. The residents of Karakorum began leaving the site in large numbers, until the city had eventually become almost entirely abandoned.

There were a few scattered attempts to revive the city in the years that followed, but any hope of restoring Karakorum to its former glory was then finally shattered in 1380, when the entire city was razed to the ground by Ming Dynasty troops.

The Erdene Zuu Monastery was later built near the site where Karakorum once stood, and pieces of the ruins were taken to be used as building materials during the construction of the monastery. The Erdene Zuu Monastery is also believed to be the oldest surviving Buddhist monastery in Mongolia.

There is very little left of the ruined city today, and this statue is one of the few remaining features that can still be seen at the site. It originally formed the base of an inscribed stele, but the pillar section was somehow lost/destroyed, leaving nothing but the base (which may be a depiction of the mythological dragon-turtle, Bixi, from Chinese mythology).

This statue and the site in general always kinda remind me of the Ozymandias poem (the version by Horace Smith, not the one by Percy Bysshe Shelley):

In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,

stands a gigantic leg

which far off throws the only shadow

that the desert knows.

"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,

"the King of Kings; this mighty city shows

the wonders of my hand."

The city's gone —

naught but the leg remaining

to disclose the site

of this forgotten Babylon.

We wonder —

and some Hunter may express wonder like ours,

when thro' the wilderness where London stood,

holding the wolf in chace,

he meets some fragment huge

and stops to guess

what powerful but unrecorded race

once dwelt in that annihilated place

Sources & More Info:

University of Washington: Karakorum, Capital of the Mongol Empire

Encyclopedia Britannica: Entry for Karakorum

World History: Karakorum

#archaeology #history #anthropology #artifact #ancient history #mongol empire #mongolia #karakorum #middle ages #ancient ruins #art #turtle #bixi #ozymandias #poetry #mythology #genghis khan

[somethingclevermahogony]

Hey, it's Worldbuilding Wednesday! If the Green Sea had an equivalent to the 7 Wonders of the World, what would go on the list? Natural or constructed wonders are both included.

Happy WBW! Since you specifically asked about The Green Sea I won't include things from other regions of Kobani, like the moving palaces aka Zawuk of the Makurians or the Ruins of Shaotsu far to the east in Mu.

Please excuse my crappy Microsoft paint diagrams

The Seven Wonders of the Green Sea as Recorded by Taruku the Traveler

The Marvels of Taruku as listed in order. 1 The Tomb of Tamel, Labisa, Kishetal 2 The Garden of Metal and Glass, Near Chibal, Kishetal 3 The Gates of Nashawey 4 The Arkodian Furnaces, Miminat, Korithia 5 The Vases of Stars, East of Kotsa, Kishetal 6 The Cavern City of Unkhatet, Knosh 7 The Cliffs of the Boticii, Western Ikenii 8 The Dunes of Nosina, Aguru Desert 9 The Ruins of Lake Opala, Tuwa, Namut 10 The Gardens of the Giants, Jonluria 11 The Palace of Irutilikugal, The City-State of Irud, Perhibaha 12 The Menagerie of Meshnangul, The City-State of Girumu, Perhibaha 13 The Zawuk of Kibud, North of the Kimikasan Mountains, Makia 14 Port of Turqouise, Kingdom of Saqaetaba, Nuret 15 The Temple of Pandhatrajun, Kingdom of Janpadran, Sinru

Continues below!

Taruku of Chibal was the son of a somewhat successful tin merchant in the Kishic City-State of Chibal. His father’s trade gave the young man access to a great deal of travel throughout the lands of Kobani. He traveled personally as far north as Jonluria, where he met a clan of giants, as far south as lake Opula in eastern Pyritia where he recorded several Pre-calamity ruins, and as far east as the Kimikasan Mountians north of Sinru, where he noted the Zawuks. In his writings about his travels, The Winds, Tarkul describes many aspects of the Green Sea and some of the areas beyond. The most famous section of the book is Taruku’s “Marvels” those natural or non-natural phenomena which Taruku felt were most extraordinary. There are 15 of these in total but for the purposes of this paper I will only be listing the 7 found in the lands which line the Green Sea (Highlighted in Green in the list above.)

1 The Tomb of Tamel

Kishic monarchs are traditionally buried in what are known as Jasheboli, or living mountains. These pyramid-like structures contain the bones of the dead rulers along with various treasures and goods. Kishic funerary customs dictate that the body first be exposed to the elements and typically consumed by local scavengers. After this the remaining bones are collected and buried. The bones of the poor are often buried near rivers or sacred groves, but the wealthy often have elaborate tombs. This is especially true of the massive burial structures of monarchs, which in some cases such as the Tomb of Tamel, may be topped with a temple to the city's patron god. Traditionally the first couple layers of a tomb are covered with plants such as fruit trees to create the illusion of a verdant mountain, thus the name. The Tomb of Tamel is the first such structure, made for the first and only Ruler of the Kishic Empire, the spiritblood Tamel. He likely based the idea for the tomb on the burial mound tradition of his homeland, Shabala. The Tomb of Tamel stands prominently in the center of the city, as opposed to the typical custom of such structures being built on the outskirts of Kishic cities. Perhaps the most notable facet of the Tomb is its sheer size, though hundreds of tombs have been constructed in the wake of Tamel, no tomb has reached its massive scale. The second largest, the Tomb of the Warrior Queen, Seha III, is approximately 30% smaller. The temple atop the Tomb of Tamel is dedicated to the Goddess Humbalibal. The trees growing on the tomb are fig, date, and pear. Visitors to Labisa often pay to purchase these fruits from the priests. It is believed that using one of the fruits from Tamel’s tomb for a sacrifice or offering will serve to better win the favor of the gods.

2 The Garden of Metal and Glass

The Garden of Metal and Glass is the name given to a mysterious forest which sprouts from the otherwise arid grasslands which lie to the east of the city of Chibal in Kishetal. Plants which grow there are not characteristic of that region, and indeed are not found natively except for in regions hundreds or even thousands of miles away. Fauna are similarly odd, several species found within the Garden are found only in that small area and nowhere else in Kobani, or else may be found in far away exotic regions in Makia and Pyritia. Their presence in Kishetal is as of now, unexplained. The Forest surrounds a massive set of Pre-Calamity ruins, the largest in Kishetal. The exact nature of these ruins is as of yet unknown. Though the Garden is renowned for its verdant beauty, it is said to be home to several powerful and aggressive Forestfolk tribes as well as a number of particularly impressive spirits, for this reason the Garden has not been settled or otherwise exploited by humans.

3 Gates of Nashawey

This massive structure is found in the Apunian capital at Nashawey stretches across the Putla River where it acts as a sort of tollbooth but also as a defensive structure. The Gateway was constructed by the Fapacha Rutamatep five-hundred years before the events of The Testaments of the Green Sea. The gate itself is composed primarily of sandstone and marble with heavy gilding on its columns. Carvings depict various stories and battles from both the Fapacha who ordered its construction and his successors. It is not unusual for Fapacha to have the carvings of their predecessors chiseled away in order to make room for their own pieces. The Gate is the first thing that visitors see upon entering the city.

4 The Arkodian Furnaces

The Arkodian Furnaces, located in the modern Kishic city of Miminat are a part of the city's Arkodian predecessor, Myminat. It is here that the ancient city's smiths and sages worked together to create the famed and magical Arkodian Bronze. At its peak it was the largest such structure in Kobani. The furnaces were destroyed and subsequently abandoned after the sack of the city by Kishic invaders. Today the ruins are appreciated for their grand scale and the perceived inspiration that can be gained from being in the presence of the soot stained stones. Hundreds of poets, artists, and philosophers travel to the ruins in order to find inspiration. Much of modern Korithian architecture is directly inspired by this site.

5 The Vases of Stars

These vases, located in southern Kishetal are all that remains of a mysterious tribe, known as the Rekita, which once inhabited the region before the coming of Tamel and the founding of Kishetal. Nobody is sure what happened to this group, though they may be related in some way to the Rechiru people who now inhabit Jezaan. They left behind no buildings or roads, only massive stone jars/vases, some large enough to fit an average adult man, haphazardly strewn across an area of grassy hills. What makes the Vases special are the spirits which have taken residence inside of them. The majority of spirits are invisible to all but sages, seers, and spiritbloods. The Vases are one of the few places in Kobani where spirits are observable by ordinary people. The spirits are typically seen as colorful balls of fire, sages theorize that they are a particularly shy variety of fire spirit. If a person is quiet they may observe the spirits as they bob lazily around the Kishic countryside.

6 The Cavern City of Unkhatet

The City of Unkhatet is a massive network of interconnected tunnels, caverns, and rooms forming a subterranean city which is home to approximately 12,000 people. The tunnels stretch over an area roughly the size of Kishic city of Labisa. While not the only subterranean community which can be found in the Green Sea, it is the largest and the most complex. The origins of the city are forgotten to time and theories abound. Some believe that the initial tunnels were created in the Pre-Calamity era. while others believe that the first tunnels were dug for Forestfolk or else by ancient flint miners. Regardless, the city exists as a semi-autonomous entity beneath the Knoshic kingdom of Juta. The city is reliant on the surface for most foodstuffs and textiles, while those below provide mined goods, including flint, gold, and iron ore.

7 The Cliffs of the Boticii

These massive cliffs, found on the western coast of Ikenii, are named for the tribe which ruled that particular region when Taruku visited that area. The beautiful striped black and white stone is composed primarily of a mixture of chalk and black flint, with occasional sections of sandstone, and iron heavy deposits adding flashes of yellow, red, and orange. The cliffs are home to thousands of examples of fossilized sea life, including certain ancient species of sea-dragon. Unfortunately the site is heavily exploited as these fossils, and particular teeth and shells, have become popular for artistic, medicinal, and even militaristic purposes. Thousands of pounds of chalk and fossils are taken from these cliffs every year, destined either for other regions of Ikenii or else for other parts of the Green Sea and beyond. Interestingly enough, the Boticii, for which the cliffs are names, are one group who have historically refrained from looting and exploiting the spoils of the cliffs, as they believe that the cliffs and the sea below are inhabited by dangerous spirits, who may lash out at those who invade their territory. Judging by the number of shipwrecks and drownings which occur in the region, these beliefs may be more than mere folklore.

This region was also once home to the last Giant Clan in the Green Sea, though this particular group went extinct 600 years before the events of The Testaments. Today giants can only be found in the frozen regions of the Daturic.

@patternwelded-quill @flaneurarbiter @skyderman @blackblooms @roach-pizza @illarian-rambling @dezerex @theocticscribe @axl-ul, @persnickety-peahen, @surroundedbypearls

#writeblr #writing #fantasy #worldbuilding #fantasy writing #fantasy world #testamentsofthegreensea #creative writing #fantasy map #fantasy novel #fantasy worldbuilding #narul #world building

[telleroftime]

Mario Odyssey made the Mario world so much larger with the variety of locations you could travel to and you can bet I'll be using all the information handed to me to make fic ideas with the most varied of settings. The game suggested there is little to no limit for what could exist.

Though I'm mainly thinking of Reader ideas at the moment.

Imagine a mole-like kingdom that looks all fragile from the surface but it turns out to be a very developed race with an unique culture centered around the tunnel system. The Reader could be one of those humanoids (mostly human, a little bit mole). They could be in charge of establishing a relationship with the Koopa King and the whole thing would be lighthearted as they show him how to thrive in the tunnels.

Or maybe they're like giant ants and label any outsider an 'ant-eater' and automatically deem them dangerous. The Reader was a human that was adopted by the ant royal family and one day Bowser ends up stuck within the Kingdom and is overpowered by the inhabitants (Come on, anys are strong). Of course, Reader being Reader is curious.

There could be a kingdom placed atop of an ocean made entirely from boats. There's boats on the water. There's ships in the sky. There's even ones underwater. They'd be known for fishing and trading and they could shift and move with the currents. Every once in a while they float close enough to the Koopa Kingdom to trade and the Reader, giving pirate vibes, could meet Bowser who travels down with his kids.

There could be a kingdom adapted to lava more than the Koopa Kingdom could ever hope, where the Reader can swim through the molten rock. A kingdom which buildings are set within massive geodes and empty caverns. Just picture the Reader showing off to Bowser by walking on lava where he is both horrified and surpsied because not even he can do that at his normal size.

Maybe there's a kingdom of cupids, or at least home to a cupid-like species - wings and all. They were asked by Princess Peach to aid with a battle against Bowser because of how elite their archers are and the kingdom agreed. Maybe the Reader gets lost or gets capture first, but with cupids being so closely entwined with love they end up falling in love with Bowser even though he's supposed to be the enemy.

That's all I have for now but I adore coming up with unique sounding settings so do expect more.

#bowser x reader #bowser #super mario #fanfic ideas

[seventh-victim]

Dolly Parton hugs comedian John Belushi during a party at Windows on the World, atop the World Trade Center, New York, New York, May 14, 1977

#black and white photography #Dolly Parton #john belushi #world trade center #1977

[celestial-coordinates]

Introduction

Finally decided to make a Tumblr for my sci-fi project that's been languishing on Amino for literal years.

The City

Astar City sits in the heart of the Atlantic, an artificial island that breaches the boundary of earth and the greater reaches of space. I is here that the greatest minds are trained, taught and cultivated to carry humanity forward in the pursuit of betterment--and to avoid the mistakes of the past. Guiding them are our allies and friends from beyond the stars, each bringing to the table something unique that enriches the lives of those living with and without gravity keeping them on the ground.

At the northernmost point stands the base of the great Gravern-Tybbs Space Elevator, the hub of planetary travel and resource management for Astar City and the very reason for the island to be built. The city itself consists of three 'rings' with the outermost zone being subdivided at the cross-quarters:

Northeast: the docks that import and export goods from the elevator to the rest of the world.

Northwest: the factories that shop materials used in the city itself or to be exported.

Across the midline is the Elgiss Channel that separates the industrial zone from the rest of the outer ring.

Southeast: Glassgow Park, a touch of nature to greet the incoming visitors and new citizens of Astar City.

Brightside amusement park lies at the southern tip of the island, full of neon and fiber optics.

Southwest: Elysium Square, named for the fields of heroes, this part of the outer ring is a type of nature reserve where festivals, recreation and camping occurs.

The secondary ring is the widest and most densely populated, hosting the library, museum, businesses, apartments, the university, etc. Different zones have developed based on local population and need, with various cultures carving out corners of the city for themselves, each connected by the monorail that covers the middle ring.

The inner ring is also known as Pillar Place and hosts only three buildings the locals refer to as "the ladies of Astar City" for their nicknames: Astrid, Ingrid and Ester.

Astar Technology, Research & Development (AsTReD) is the jewel of the city where the greatest minds of all species bring their skills together to move forward. There is a direct landing zone for small ships on the roof of the building which stands the tallest at 123 floors.

The Inter-Global Resource Department (InGReD), or “trade center”, manages the accounts and resources of Astar City, regulating repairs, jobs, money and relationships between earth and the colonies. Boasting 119 floors, it is the second tallest building in the city.

The third building is colloquially called “the ambassador apartments” but it's legally named the Exo-Endo Suites for Terran Relations (EESTeR) which are somewhere between a hotel, a timeshare and an apartment block for political figures to stay and to house the ambassadors of the Kuana which handle the translations and interactions on behalf of their patrons. The Lofted Gardens sit atop the spire, capping it at 115 floors.

No building in the city is allowed to exceed 100 floors as to not conflict with The Ladies.

The digital currency of the city is the kibb, which has an exchange rate of 100KBB=1.25 USD (kibb are counted like Japanese yen with no decimals or fractional dollars).

The Citizens

Boasting a colorful array of denizens, Astar City boasts not only the greatest diversity of new-earth cultures in one place, but also the most non-earth cultures as well. In the wake of The War for Change (also dubbed WWIII or the Eco-War), many cultures and countries on earth were fractured, lost or sub-divided as populations were deposed and borders redrawn. In an effort to preserve history and their memories, surviving groups were approached to document their culture and struggles post-war; some of these survivors eventually migrated to Astar City for work, settling in the new districts and reshaping their identities into what they are today.

Of the races/species represented, there are:

Humans, both Enhanced (robotic) and Modified (gene spliced)

Robots, the smallest faction, consisting of pure synthetic 'life' developed from rapidly advancing AI made by humans

Viispaa, currently majority Primes, some Curantis and Puer, a few Inimicus and Artifex (other subtypes coming soon)

Aska'a Thani, the second most common non-human under Viispaa

Kuana, though they remain in orbit and rarely come to the surface

Ravulcaba Mercs and Merchants, the most recent inclusion to the roster having appeared after responding to distress caused by stray Miscreant activity

Lem'iran, a single individual currently in hyper sleep with an unknown wake date

The System

By the onset of the 3030s, earth (also known as Terra, Geos or Gaia) and its resident sapient species, the humans, have touched the corners of their solar system and set up stations of one kind or another on most available surfaces. In 2375, the three races agreed that all space within 40 AU of Sol/Helios (our sun) would belong to humans by right and thus determined by them how it would be distributed and moderated. [dates are temporary and under reconsideration]

Moon/Luna/Selene: colonization of the moon started in 2260 as the first major unification project between the Kuana, Aska'a and humans. However, political and bureaucratic policies on earth forced the colony to declare independence in 2269, dubbing themselves the Greater Alliance Lunar Commonwealth, later dubbed Galuc. They celebrate the birth of the first off-world infant which opened the filed of psionics in 2272, with the colony town developing into something of a college-town. The University of Galuc is the only facility in the system greater than Astar University in terms of academic scope, with focus on the study of psionics, low-gravity survival and colonization of hostile landscapes, and deep-space communications and observation through the use of Arecibo II. Sim chambers are a staple of the lunar economy, with the short ride from the space elevator to the docking bay being little more than a train ride for citizens of Astar City.

Mercury: around 2380, in response to changes in the judicial system of earth, a high-security "reformation" station was built on Mercury though everyone knows its a prison. Intended to 'make use' of those who failed to contribute to society, the station ensures escape is impossible due to the harsh terrain of Mercury and its abysmal climate. Considered a one-way trip, the facility doubles as a factory for manufacturing and refining certain materials while utilizing a system similar to the moon's for being solar powered. After a failed uprising by inmates cause massive losses around 2600, the guards were replaced in majority with AI.

Venus: despite rovers surviving for upwards of 36 hours on the surface, in 2400 Venus was deemed "still hell" and quarantined as a waste dump for materials that don't decay, such as plastics; lack of terraforming technology has made planets like Venus "unsuitable" for colonization. Some materials such as radioactive waste are ejected into the sun for removal.

Mars: in 2375, after the Galuc colony debacle settled, Mars was considered for a new base of operations. The founding colony was established as a terraforming research facility, however as they gained space and samples, our alien allies began bringing embryos from other planets to help diversify our resources and fill niches that had not been needed on earth. While the technology for proper terraforming hit wall after wall, advancements in robotic AI allowed for opportunities to better mine asteroids for material. The Mars colony itself turned its focus to conservation and study of exotic animals, becoming the system's largest wildlife preserve and only place currently allowing the display of non-Sol species.

Belt: under control of the InAMi Corporation (Inner Astroid Mining Corporation) since 2727

Jupiter: with the onset of gravity-assist launching methods becoming standard practice and trial runs of quantum radio broadcasting, the year 2572 saw the beginning of Jovian lunar colonization to help facilitate asteroid mining. By 2586, the Jovian Lunar Bases dominate the field in terms of mining exports and AI development for industrial workplaces.

Saturn: while Saturn's moons were under observation for colonization since 2586, the first bases weren't established until 2601 due in part to the fuel requirements and resource limitations, but also from the mysterious, radioactive wreck found floating between Saturn and Uranus in 2590. The make of the ship was not familiar, life signs were absent and no race claimed a missing ship, thus it was hauled to an asteroid base for study and dubbed The Shell. High levels of radiation and no comparisons for deciphering the salvage brings the study to a crawl.

Uranus: 2697 saw the first attempt to colonize Uranus, however energy requirements caused major hiccups along the way, forcing the orbital station to be shut down until alternatives are found. Inami Corp funds a smaller station to facilitate the development of electro-magnetic generators while supplying fossil fuels to the station. A gamble is taken on whether or not Neptune's moon, Triton, has liquid water which could be used for hydro-electric power. After the prototype solar-powered hypercells are perfected, the colony station comes back online on restricted power in 2836 with a focus on using magnetic fields for energy.

Neptune: in 2735 the gamble paid off and a team was sent to try and establish a power facility in the back half of the system. Despite this, tensions arose between the sentient races regarding the withholding of technology, creating The Frozen Period where advancement and colonization effectively stopped until 2825. Proper colonization of Triton begins in 2862, growing it into a power station and foothold to the Kuiper belt by 2870.

Pluto: In 2881, a unknown signal from outside the solar system is detected; origins are unknown and unclaimed, but the possibility of more life on their level existing encourages a project for converting Pluto and the other demi-planets to be fitted with signal transmitters to boost and detect further broadcasts. In 2891, after siphoning most of the unstable radiation from The Shell and spending a considerable amount of time breaking down the remnant of a language, it's discovered the console received a signal whose imprint matched the mysterious signal from a decade prior, which had previously been written off as interference from sunspots. In 2913, the Exo-Solar Communications Station (ESCoS) comes online.

Kuiper belt: under control of Inami Corp's sister company, OKAMi (Outer-Kuiper Asteroid Mining) since 2878.

#scifi #world building #astar city #aliens #modified humans #robots #futuristic #ecopunk #solarpunk #humans are not space orcs #everyone gets a fancy hat #human x alien #human x robot #alien x alien #progressive utopia #we broke it #they fix it #writing project #solar system

[werdlewrites]

masterlist(fixed!)-ao3-twitter @ djomamma

share support through likes, comments, reblogs, or donating to my kofi!

summary: “You’re safe, you hear me?” Safe. Autumn hears this word dance in the void, spoken by the same man to cause harm and fright. It holds no meaning. A false word to give a sense of protection while your world was torn in two. warnings: blood, violence, ptsd? wc: 3,134

Color invades in multiple hues. The girl is faced with a woman, her expression concealed by the low tilt of her head. A delicate hand rests just over her chest, taking cover beneath a dress of angelic white. There’s a gasp from the woman that echoes in the emptiness. A wince just at her lips as fingers tighten around the fabric - unseen pain coursing through every nerve. Yet as quickly as it all starts, it seems to come to a sudden halt. Her discomfort is now gone, posture straightening with shoulders held back, decorated by pinned curls. Their eyes meet, and the girl begins to feel sick. This woman was once shrouded in mystery beneath the afternoon's glow and is now painted with more concrete features, making her all the more real - yet somehow still an illusion of the mind. She shows softness - kindness swimming through saddened eyes and a forced smile on tinted lips. Questions hang heavily in the girl’s chest, suffocating when all she seeks are answers she cannot reach. Lips would part to speak, words vanishing into the abyss, forever left unheard. The brilliant smile soon falls to a flat line as crimson pools at the corners of her mouth, falling to stain the material. The frail hand begins its slow departure from her torso, revealing a darkened spot - a hole. Torn through precious cloth and ripping through flesh, bleeding and dancing through her dress like heavy rainfall.

She’s been here before - watching with wide eyes as the bloodied hand reaches out. The woman doesn’t aim to grab at her, pulling her down into the pits of suffering with her. The palm is instead faced up, waiting for the other to reach back and accept an offering. She begins to consider this as an opening - a chance to see more into something that may leave her scarred, yet full of understanding. She reaches back, cautious steps carrying her inch by inch until she can feel the chill of the woman's skin just beneath her palm.

But they are not alone in this space.

Something firm, and cold as ice grips her ankle, giving the teen only a second to notice its presence before it rips her foot out from under her. The girl's body is sent downward, chest crashing into the blackened surface with wrists aching from the fall. She’s not yanked backward into the mouth of Hell, the unknown thing instead slipping into the darkness the moment her breath was stolen, coughing from the force. She anticipates the helping hand of the woman - though she’s gone from sight. A small wooden bird lay in her place instead. It stands atop a pedestal, a piece for a game of chess. Its surface darkened, with every curve and edge beginning to shine as radiance spilled in from just behind the girl. She turns to look, finding nothing but the checkerboard in brown and black before her. Every piece accounted for, safe for the ones set off to the side. It’s an even trade - she counts every scattered tiny structure, studying the paled hand as it moves the peacock just a little closer. They don’t speak, and her gaze is burning into the wood, bitter and bored of this game forced onto her. A small hand raises, finger hovering just over the raven and watching as it begins to slide across the surface with ease, and without contact. “No,” a voice interrupts. Fingers coil back, hand slipping away with hesitation before the man continues. “You can do better.” And so the hand falls to the girl's lap, fist wound tight against thighs as she stares at the piece - pressure building at the center of her mind until the raven settles in its new square. There’s a breath of relief and a chuckle of approval across the way, “Excellent.” The child goes to smile, focus lifting to the challenger before it all becomes a haze. Poison enters her veins, a prick of something sharp against the flesh of her neck and her eyes squeeze shut. A frail hand reaches to grip the skin as the shock sends her tumbling from the chair. There’s no more light, stronger hands pressed firm against the abyss she lays across as it all shifts. When the pain fades into nothing, she makes a move to stand - pausing as her sights fall on his back, dressed in white linen and a deep gray vest. His hands are hidden, and his silver hair is perfectly styled - a shocking contrast to the blackness he stood within.

The girl ducks low, eyes now fallen shut with purpose as she fights through the heaviness. “No more, no more-” She waits until it’s felt in her grasp, laced through her fingers like something soft and angelic. She pulls, catapulting herself forward into the light.

It’s a weighted curtain to pull back, almost too much for one person to handle. Carrying the burden on their backs and ripping it across the stage with force. Autumn can barely make sense of it all, staring at the wood paneling to bask in the morning glow as though it were another dream - as if nothing was ever real. She’s sleepy-eyed and full of ache - bricks laid against Autumn’s chest to keep her from leaving this cocoon of discomfort. But little by little, the pressure is lifted. Fingers begin to move across the fabric - coarse against her skin, nothing like the softened sheets she once knew. Pillows are flat, well-used, and hold the smell of cigarettes and beer. It’s only then that she truly soaks in the change of scenery. Dull, and lacking life while her own sanctuary bloomed with wonder. The shock comes as a struggled gasp, ragged as she pulls herself from the bed far too quickly. The teen seeks support against the barren wall, letting the blood pool and spread to numb limbs and a mind filled with only static. She remains, waiting with impatience as murmurs fill the haze - the ringing slowly fading out to give way to voices in the distance. When the sights push back into her view, she can see shadows shift and sway just outside the room. With a body still weighed down by dreams, she searches her confinements. Old, dilapidated, and echoing with something unsettling. It’s all so unfamiliar, and knowing this encourages Autumn to reach for a tall lamp, with no bulb and no shade but filled with a new purpose as a weapon. In doing this, she studies the bed made out for her. A raggy blanket, and rather than a pillow as she assumed, a folded-up jacket, crumbled and well used by her questionable time in the darkness.

The cord is tangled up in her fist, fingers wound tightly around the pole as she begins to move through the space with care. Each step is tested by the tip of her toe, waiting for the creak to give away her location. But all ideas of an ambush seemed to dissipate at the sound of Steve’s voice, with no fear in his tone, only mumbles as he made casual conversation. The tension falls, but her grip remains as the girl takes a bold step out into the opening, eyes wide and mouth agape in surprise. Hopper and Steve seemed equally astonished to see her standing just at the edge of...the kitchen if that’s what it could be called. She takes them in in the moment of silence shared. Hopper stands just as he had the night previously, while leaves clung to every fiber of the boy's socks, his palms stained by Earth with fingers enclosing on a sandwich wrapped in plastic. He’s quick to rise up, slack-jawed as if she were a mere hallucination conjured up by budding stress. After hours of sleep, he wondered if the girl would ever wake despite Hopper’s reassurance. “Autumn,” her name floats with elegance, whispered and still disbelieving. Her eyes are vacant, revealing a mind not entirely with the company yet still looking to them for comfort. Someone to reach out and pull her into safety, while she risks to drift further out into madness. “How’re you feelin’, kid?” The older male asks, his own chip bag now set aside on a paper bag to keep full focus on the girl. He’s all too familiar with that far-off look the girl holds, chest filling with rapid and shallow breaths. “You with us?” It’s all rhetorical, never meant to be answered, only to draw attention. He knows she’s somewhere else, and his offer for help is slow-moving. Too fearful to scare her away.

Autumn’s eyes are ever drifting. This was no home - but the familiar smell of incense was still locked in memory, coating every sense as if she had only just been there. It’s like fighting through quicksand. Body weakened and weighted down by the devil's trap as every reach for the light only forces you deeper down. A battle of the mind, silent and torturous until something takes hold, pulling her to the surface. But there is no reprieve, only painful realizations that what should have been a nightmare, was real. A man standing in her home, wearing a kind smile and sharing honest words while his intent was foul and frightening. The sound of his steps are muffled against the carpet he moves across, though she can hear the echo of tile beneath his feet. He moves like a predator, circling the prey until surrender is given. Fearful eyes look at Steve as he moves in closer, only stopping as a strong arm acts like a bar to hold him back. But with his advancement, she retreats. Back colliding with a tall stack of boxes that she reaches out to steady, reeling back the moment once clean hands were now tainted with blood. The fear is rising, and she can hardly catch her breath as her fingers rub together, unable to feel the slick on the surface. “Hey!” A voice calls at her back, encouraging Autumn to spin on bare heels to meet Hopper’s intense gaze. “Look at me. Keep your eyes on me, okay?” There’s a brief glance back down to her hands, now pristine and clear. She rubs them along her pajamas, just in case, and provides a silent, tearful nod. “You’re safe, you hear me?”

Safe.

Autumn hears this word dance in the void, spoken by the same man to cause harm and fright. It holds no meaning. A false word to give a sense of protection while your world was torn in two. But, there is no silver-haired man in this room, and the security comes from someone who has yet to fail her trust. So, she nods once more in acknowledgment. “I’m not going t’let anything happen t’you.” A hazy gaze begins to shift onward, looking to Steve and his worrisome eyes. The same look he held before her sight was consumed by darkness. That veil threatens to come again, drowning out his freckled skin as sadness fills her sight. “Can you talk t’me, Autumn? Anything-” he begins to plead, silencing himself as he sees the twitch of her lips, struggling over the barricade. “A-a man. There was - there was a man.” There’s a hard swallow in Hopper’s throat, watching as the kaleidoscope of memories flashes before her eyes. He nods a silent confirmation, and he expects the girl to ask - to question what’s happened between then and now. But something else spills from her lips, whispered with uncertainty, “Two.” The officer spares a confused glance back toward the boy, seeking clarification but he remains equally lost and sympathetic. “Two,” she says again, earning a look of concern. Had there been someone else Hopper had missed in the home? “Two what, Autumn?”

Blocks scattered across the floor, chairs toppled over with shards of glass lost in the shimmer of clean floors. Small hands tangle in the collar of a hospital gown, ripping a small frame up from the floor to crush them against the wall. There’s hatred in his eyes - malice. There had always been this tension. No allied relationships as children were forced against one another, proving strength and witt. It was a competition for them, but an in-depth study for onlookers. She grows tired of his closeness - his frustrated attempts are now sloppy as exhaustion creeps in. Then, he’s gone. A child's gown ripped as he’s forced back, feet scraping along the destruction and leaving a crimson trail in their wake. The anger blossoms like something poisonous, full of death. A hardened stare between the two creates an invisible, yet solid barrier. Unseen yet felt as it lays against their skin, seeking a victory that fails to come. His stance wavers, and like a flash of light, she’s now sat cross-legged before a tall pane of glass, watching as a disc tumbles downward. There’s a gentle thud of double doors swinging wide open, making way for the silver-haired man to stand tall and proud at the center of the room. He watches with adoration as the children scatter, collecting in small lines at either end of the room. Heads hung low, but not low enough to ignore the seething glare from a boy across the way. “Good morning, everyone.” “Good morning-”

“Papa,” the word washes through the small space like a tidal wave. Violent, startling, and taking prisoners down into the depths. Fingers pull along the counter, nails scraping as Hopper forms a fist against the surface. Another young girl had spoken the same way - a look of something peculiar in her eyes. There was fright, tangled in a web of conflict and love. Dr. Brenner had spun the silk, entrapping those unable to protect themselves, giving them the only home they could ever know. Autumn had somehow slipped through the gaps. Or was she kicked from the nest into the hands of another? He goes to speak but watches with care as her eyes move between the two men, and just beyond where the entryway remains open, leaving a view of sunlight and a cluster of trees that beckoned her. He calls this place a safe haven; a sanctuary tucked away from curious eyes and evil intent. She calls it a prison no matter his soothing words, watching as the wood shifts to pearly white, holding reflections of herself and the children she could not name. The doorway molds and stretches until two doors swing, revealing freedom just on the other side, an escape. She chases after it. "Autumn, wait!" Steve’s panic goes unheard, watching with wide eyes as Hopper captures the girl in a stronghold. It's an attempt to keep her under his protection - ignoring the nails that dig into his forearm while she continues to push forward. Autumn can smell his cigarettes, familiar and working to pull her back into reality. But his arms drag her back to a time when others ripped and pulled a small form down the hallway, the leather cold against her skin before she’s free from their grasp. And free from his.

Something pulsates, exploding outward to send both men tumbling back through the small space. Steve is laid out over the sofa, limbs strewn across while Hopper’s back cracks against the counter. There is no pause to apologize, to ask if they were okay. There’s only the overwhelming sensation of fight or flight, and now she’s left with the latter. Autumn is spun on her heels, retreating back into what should have been a place of familiarity. Instead, rustic scenery is morphed into white tiles - the wood peeling away to let the slick surface shine through. A mangled bed changing shape into something of perfection. A nightmare was unfolding, and monsters dressed in suits lingered within the shadows, her name falling from their tongues. The girl is left feeling faint, chest heaving with panicked breaths as silhouettes come into view just at the doorway. Jim can see the girl he’s always known frozen in place, but her eyes are of someone else. Someone unrecognizable and he’s unsure if she truly sees him in their moment connected. But all is lost as the door slams in his face, the door handle twisting in every direction while his shoulders press to the surface. Something holds them back - keeps them out, for their safety or for her own. “Stop, stop!” Steve’s body collides with the other, effectively pushing him away from her room so that he could instead stand guard, fingers tight around the handle. “You’re making it worse! You’re scaring her,” he scolds, keeping a watchful eye on the taller man as frustration builds. His chest huffs and fingers run through his hair before swinging outwards in surrender. Jim refuses to leave him, or the girl, so instead, he lingers at the countertop with arms crossed and eyes glued to the door. Steve does all he can to not buckle under this sudden pressure, cowering against the entryway with an ear pressed against the cold wood. There are faint sounds of desperation trickling through, something unsettling as she chokes back a sob and the sounds rip away at his heart. Throughout their life spent together, the boys witnessed her climb to the highest peak before plummeting. Her survival was expressed through wide eyes filled with tears, grateful to have been pulled from the darkness, yet fearful of what lay inside.

Her voice is fragile, barely heard above the sniffles and heavy breathing. Purposefully muffled by a long pajama shirt pulled towards her face. Yet, he still hears her, “I want t’go home.” The plea reaches through the barrier, pulling at Steve’s collar to beckon him closer. To give a weakened girl some shelter in the storm she was engulfed by. Taking care of her was something of second nature, knowing the warning signs and what she needed in the moment. But something new was blossoming, difficult to understand, too supernatural to accept. Yet, the boy tries. His forehead rested against the door, as if she were there, with a tight grip on her hands to soothe the worry. “Home’s not safe anymore, Aut,” he states in a somber tone. There’s a faint gasp just beyond the blockade like his response had taken her by surprise. As if the girl was opening her eyes for the very first time, no longer trapped in the whirlwind of her mind. There’s a long pause shared between them, a sniffle that he cannot see before her final words come. “What’s happening?” A faint smile dances at his lips, nothing joyous and only sympathetic at the pain in her voice. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington x original female character #steve harrington angst #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington ff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things ff #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #angst #slow burn #jim hopper #dr brenner #dr martin brenner #martin brenner #ao3 #archive of our own

[barbie-sequel]

Barbie's Unexpected Journey: From Glitz to Grit

A Dream Unveils an Unforeseen Path

"This is a great film script" - Lee Rathbone

October 6th, 2023, 5:38 AM - A Dream Unveils an Unforeseen Path

In an unexpected turn of events, Barbie finds herself in a senior assisted care home, far from the glitz and glamour she's known for. In this unconventional setting, she's juggling multiple roles - cooking, waiting tables, bussing, and washing dishes. Amidst this chaos, a young girl is trying to convince the elderly residents of Barbie's iconic status. However, these ladies, the youngest of whom were born in the 1940s, are oblivious to Barbie's fame. They grew up in a world before Barbie dolls became a childhood staple.

In the background of this bustling environment, Barbie overhears the young girl conversing with her great-grandmother. For Barbie, there's a sense of relief in her anonymity, as it shields her from a looming legal predicament involving her longtime companion, Ken.

Flashback to the Catalyst: Ken's Ambitious Space Venture

The narrative takes us back to where it all began. Ken, now going by the name Jordan Noone, has embarked on a grand space endeavor with his "New Space Company," directly challenging the monopoly of the "Old Space Company." The latter, having deeply entrenched connections with politicians and having received a trillion-dollar investment from the government, views Ken's innovative and efficient approach as a threat to their established order.

As Ken's company inches closer to a groundbreaking Mars mission, a storm brews in the form of fabricated legal charges. Faced with 91 charges, ranging from insider trading to ludicrous accusations about his dogs, Ken's dream teeters on the brink of collapse. The charges are so absurd they point to a clear manipulation by higher powers to thwart his mission.

A Night of Desperate Decisions

One night, under the cloak of darkness, Ken, accompanied by his loyal dachshunds, ascends the launch tower. With assistance from HAL, his AI supercomputer, he evades security and prepares for an unsanctioned launch to Mars. Ken's decision is driven by the belief that the only way to escape the corrupt clutches of his adversaries is to take his mission off-planet.

Ken's Philosophical Reflection

Atop the tower, Ken muses on the harsh reality he's faced with, a sentiment encapsulated in his words to his dogs, "Once they know you have dogs, you are F____'d! Come on kids, load up." The scene is both poignant and a stark departure from the Ken we've known - a symbol of his transformation from a dreamy entrepreneur to a resolute astronaut.

Barbie's Unwavering Loyalty and New Challenges

Meanwhile, Barbie, unaware of Ken's exact whereabouts, is thrown into a whirlwind of her own. Their communication is sporadic, often occurring during her drives, like when Ken calls her from space as she's waiting in a long line at a Starbucks drive-thru.

The government's pursuit of Ken escalates, leading to a search warrant for the AI computers at the New Space Company. Ken tries to shield Barbie from the chaos, but the reality is dire - if the AI is seized, Ken's survival in space is jeopardized.

Barbie's Sacrifice and Resilience

In a twist of fate, Barbie, on a whim, finds sanctuary in a senior center, Royal Estates. Mistaken for a Mary Kay representative due to her pink Cadillac, she seamlessly blends into this new world. She becomes a beloved figure, teaching makeup, art, and even helping out in emergencies like a tornado. Her skills as a mechanic come to the fore as she repairs a generator and windows post-storm.

Amidst her new life, Barbie's bond with a young girl living with her great-grandmother at the facility grows. The girl's attempts to reveal Barbie's true identity add an element of danger to Barbie's stay.

Ken's Perilous Situation in Space

As the government seizes the New Space Company, turning off the AI computers, Ken's situation becomes dire. He's now reliant on his limited skills and Barbie's assistance from Earth. The narrative highlights Ken's vulnerability and Barbie's growing role in ensuring his safety.

Barbie's Humanity and Compassion

The climax of the story reveals Barbie's profound humanity. As she assists a dying resident in her final moments, missing Ken's historic Mars landing, her compassion and selflessness are illuminated. This act cements Barbie's journey from a symbol of glamour to a beacon of empathy and strength.

The Resolution: Triumph Against Adversity

Ken's successful landing on Mars and his subsequent revelation to the world through social media catalyze a shift in public opinion. The politicians and corrupt forces retreat, allowing Barbie to emerge from hiding. The emotional reunion and the community's celebration of Barbie's unheralded contribution to Ken's mission underscore her significance beyond her public persona.

In the end, Barbie and Ken's story becomes a testament to resilience, innovation, and the power of unwavering support. Ken's success on Mars marks a new era for space exploration, driven not by government agendas or corporate interests, but by the indomitable spirit of individual pioneers.

As the news of Ken's landing spreads, the world watches in awe. The public pressure generated by his achievement forces the corrupt politicians and the Old Space Company to retreat into the shadows, their plans foiled by the sheer force of Ken's determination and Barbie's support.

The return of Barbie's iconic pink Cadillac, towed away by the authorities as part of their investigation, becomes a symbol of justice and vindication. The community at Royal Estates, now aware of Barbie's true identity and her role in Ken's mission, gathers to celebrate her bravery and kindness. The elderly residents, who once knew nothing of Barbie, now see her as a hero in her own right.

The story culminates in a grand celebration in Wichita Falls. The mayor honors Barbie with a medal, acknowledging her contributions not just to Ken's mission but to the community she embraced in her time of hiding. Fire trucks and police cars parade through the streets, a vibrant display of support for Barbie and Ken.

Ken's return from Mars brings another surprise. The AI supercomputer, seized by the government but incompetently handled, is finally returned to the New Space Company. The engineers, once arrested for obstruction, are released and hailed as heroes for their role in the mission.

The narrative closes with Barbie and Ken reunited, their love and partnership stronger than ever. Ken's journey to Mars and Barbie's unexpected adventure at Royal Estates have changed them, deepening their appreciation for each other and for the simple yet profound moments of human connection.

Their story, a blend of adventure, drama, and romance, leaves a lasting impression about the power of dreams, the resilience in the face of adversity, and the enduring strength of love. Barbie and Ken, once symbols of youth and fantasy, emerge as embodiments of courage, innovation, and compassion, inspiring a new generation to look beyond the stars.

https://barbiesequel.com/

#Ken's Movie #BArbie Sequel #BArbie #BArbie Movie

[david6of7]

Atop The World Trade Center

Photography by David Velez

#davidvelez #david6of7 #originalcontent #film #worldtradecenter #wtc #architecture #history #nyc #observationdeck #bw #blackandwhite #leica #m6 #night #southtower #twintowers

#Atop The World Trade Center #Photography by David Velez #davidvelez #david6of7 #originalcontent #film #worldtradecenter #wtc #architecture #history #nyc #observationdeck #bw #blackandwhite #leica #m6 #night #southtower #twintowers

[taraross-1787]

This Day in History: American unity after 9-11

On this day in 2001, a firefighter stands atop a fire truck in the middle of the World Trade Center’s smoldering remains. Bob Beckwith was retired, but he’d volunteered to help after the 9-11 attacks.

Now Beckwith hoped to catch a glimpse of the President, who was scheduled to visit. He looked at a command post that had been set up nearby. Surely the President would use that? He figured his spot atop the fire truck would give him a clear view.

Just then, a Secret Service agent walked up, asking about the truck. Was it stable? Beckwith responded in the affirmative, then jumped up and down, as requested, to demonstrate that the truck would not move.

The story continues here: https://www.taraross.com/post/tdih-911-unity

#tdih #otd #this day in history #history #history blog #America #American #USA #sharethehistory

[figsandphiltatos]

Lend to me your Hallowed Gaze Tonight

Read it on ao3 here!

Story: Braved by your Heart's Resolve

Chapter: 5/? "Let us Live in the Sun"

Characters: Telemachus of Ithaca, Peisistratus of Pylos, Athena, Polycaste of Pylos, Nestor of Pylos, Diocles of Phera

Pairing: Telemachus/Peisistratus

A hazy halo of red hugged the world’s horizon, climbing the edges of Diocles’ hall’s humble silhouette. Peisistratus did not need a good view of the palace, much smaller than his home, to know what it looked like. It sat atop a wide hill, with a usually stunning view of the sea to its south. Now, the waves were gray and pallid in the waning day’s light. The sound of crashing waves climbed to the castle walls, where the shouting voices of men came down to join the steady roaring noise. Even as Peisistratus pulled on the reins, bringing his team to a stop, he knew that men were announcing their arrival to Diocles. 

The old king came to meet them at the gates. He was hunched and withered, a few years younger than Peisistratus’ own father but he bore his age like a mortal man. Still, his wrinkled face brightened at the sight of his guests. 

“Young prince Peisistratus!” He called, voice brittle from generations of use. He was an honorable man, and knew the customs of their people well. Peisistratus had no doubt that he had many questions for the son of Odysseus, but now was not the time to ask them. “Come, we’ve prepared a banquet for you and your companion. A crier sent by King Nestor told me you would be resting here before continuing on your journey.”

More likely a crier sent by his mother, Peisistratus knew, but made no correction. “Thank you for your hospitality, King Diocles.” He said, inclining his head in reverence before easily hopping down from the chariot. 

Telemachus was unsteady on his feet behind him. Even Peisistratus’ joints, well acquainted with the strains of horse and chariot riding, cracked with the sudden movement. Telemachus wore his soreness plainly, his gait slightly uneven, favoring his left side, and a grimace curling at his lips. Sneaking a glance in his direction, Peisistratus had to hold back a smile, startled by the sudden, fierce fondness beating against the cage in his chest. 

Diocles eagerly ushered them into his halls, dim and cramped in comparison to Peisistratus’ home. Tapestries hung from the walls, thick and adept at holding in the meager warmth supplied by torches and fires. The sea’s wind was merciless here, especially in the colder months. Peisistratus and his brothers had visited Phera frequently enough as children, rushing up and down the halls and shouting excitedly while their mother and Echephron discussed politics in stuffy studies and throne rooms. They passed a fine tapestry depicting the story of Arachne and Peisistratus searched it for the small tear he and Polycaste had accidentally caused during a particularly rambunctious game over a decade ago. It disfigured the faultless embodiment of Athena at the center of the tableau, a small jagged imperfection on her sandal. 

Servants passed them with increasing frequency and urgency as they neared the great hall. Before they could lay eyes on the feast, the smells reached them. Warmth spilled from the well-lit room beyond the antechamber, along with rich smells of roasting meat and the tang of honeyed wine. Before they could enter, Diocles turned to the side, leading them down a row of dark, narrow halls. 

“The serving girls will bathe you, and then lead you to your banquet.” The baths were not the polished, raised things of richer kings, but large man-made pools dug into the floors. Communal bathing was common for the kinds of cleaning which didn’t serve a ritual purpose. Steam rose lazily from the water, and the floral, earthy smell of sage undercut by coriander’s citrus sting rose with it. Perfumes must have been added to the water, likely received from the halls of Pylos’ own palace in exchange for Diocles’ plentiful wheat or other such goods set aside for trading.

The young princes took their turn thanking the king before they were set upon by serving girls. Their hands were deft with practice, and rushed by the late arrival of their guests. Unlike the night before, in Peisistratus’ chambers, Telemachus was not so shy with his gaze. Peisistratus felt it on him as he was stripped down and eased into the warm water. He caught Telemachus’ eye when the serving girls turned their attention to him. 

A dark, rosy color dusted Telemachus’ cheeks, tinting the tip of his nose in bashful radiance. It felt as though a small eternity had passed before they were alone, the serving girls scurrying off to find clean tunics for them to wear after inspecting the state of their grass stained chitons. 

“This water.” Surprisingly, it was Telemachus who was first to speak. “It smells like you.” 

Peisistratus thought about sharing a bed the night before, the careful way he had cataloged Telemachus’ smell—earthy like the forest after rain. Had Telemachus been doing the same? Something about the thought balled up a fist in his chest.

“Pylos makes many perfumes. We have traded with Lord Diocles for as long as I can remember.” He admitted, his mind too scattered to supply much else other than an explanation for the similarity. 

“It’s very pleasant.” Telemachus practically hummed, sinking down until he could submerge his head under the warm water. It was less pristine now than it had been when they had entered, the dirt of a day-long ride relentlessly scrubbed from them by the hands of serving girls. Still, Peisistratus watched as curls, colored a deep brown when wet, floated stubbornly above the water before being pulled under as well. Telemachus surfaced, water running lazily down his chest.

Peisistratus tried to tear his eyes away, looking instead at the way ripples disturbed the bath as a result of the motion, but they were always pulled back. Telemachus’ curls looked much darker now, no traces of red visible, as they hung limply into his eyes. He brushed them back with an easy motion and offered Peisistratus a sheepish smile. He was not skilled in hiding when he felt a certain way, Peisistratus realized with that same strung-tight fondness thrumming in his chest like a bow string pulled taut waiting for release. 

“Thank you,” was all Peisistratus had time to say before they were once again swarmed by overeager serving girls. It was a small mercy because he found himself unable to think of what else he might have said. 

They were dressed with striking efficiency, and guided back down the long, narrow hall towards the great hall. The chattering of dinner guests met them before the light from fire and torches. A feast stretched across well-adorned tables, a show of limited wealth which Diocles nonetheless managed to make look impressive. 

Rather than the feast itself, Peisistratus paid more attention to the way Telemachus’ eyes raked the table tops with awe. To impress a prince from the land of rocks and goats, perhaps this was enough. The thought was warm and nestled itself somewhere in Peisistratus’ chest. He had never been so graciously welcomed into another king’s halls, either, with hospitality befitting a son of Zeus. Telemachus’ wonder stirred some of his own, though he suspected he did not feel it half as strongly as his companion. 

Being barred by custom from questioning them before they had eaten their fill, Diocles and his advisors spoke among themselves. Telemachus, left to his own devices with only his charioteer as company, excitedly heaped his plate full of food. 

“You know,” he spoke again, allowing wine to be poured into his decorated, ivory cup. “I was under the impression that riding in a chariot was an easier way to travel. I believe I would be less sore now had I walked from Pylos to Phera.” 

Peisistratus laughed, almost inhaling an olive. “You wouldn’t have arrived yet had you walked.” He countered easily, though Telemachus was more than likely right in his assessment of soreness. Charioteering was, in all reality, much more about the appearance of wealth than it was about practicality. 

“Hm,” Telemachus seemed to take this into consideration while he sipped his wine. It was ruddy and strong, only diluted enough that it wouldn’t be seen as uncivilized to drink. It was probably the best thing Diocles had in his stores. 

“Finishing our ride to Sparta will be no easier. It is a land of caves and valleys there; the terrain is littered with loose rocks.” Peisistratus had never traveled so far before in his life. He had heard that caves were plentiful around the shining Spartan city, but knew little else of what it was like there. He only spoke to antagonize Telemachus, perhaps to encourage him to say more. 

He earned a quirked eyebrow and a piercing, glancing gaze from his companion. But, before he could respond in earnest, Diocles spoke. “Visiting King Menelaus are you, young lords?” 

“Yes, sir, we are.” Peisistratus spoke first, not out of a desire to be recognized, but because something in him was sure that Telemachus would prefer it. “Telemachus is hoping to find news of his father, who fought at Troy.” 

Peisistratus remembered the expression Telemachus had made when he called him son of Odysseus. It had been stony and distant, completely dissimilar to the way Telemachus looked at him ordinarily. If Telemachus wanted to be introduced by his father’s name—and Peisistratus doubted that he did—he could do it himself. 

“Ah, I have no news of that damned war. Death took my two sons, my only heirs, on the fields of Troy.” Peisistratus had still been young when news of the fate of Crethon and Orsilochus had reached their homeland. His mother had fallen into a silence which filled the halls at Pylos. She had not known the twins hailing from Phera so well, but it had reawakened the fear for her own children which had grown easier to manage in the years since their departure. Antilochus had joined them, enfolded in his own doom at the gates of Ilium, before another year could pass. 

“I am sorry, lord, for your loss.” Telemachus spoke for the first time, then. His words were gentle and compassionate. 

“Sailing on those black ships brought death and disaster to more families than just mine. A father without his sons is pitiful, but he is his own man in the end. To have lost a father,” Diocles shook his head, a frown etching itself into his worn features. “Though I am unable to help you, I pray the gods bring you success in your search for answers.” 

“Thank you,” Telemachus inclined his head respectfully. Serving girls came with more wine and, though there was food yet to be eaten, no one touched it. 

“You should speak with Menelaus, while you are a guest in his home, Peisistratus,” Diocles spoke again, suddenly. His voice was brittle with old age. “I would sooner see my kingdom turned over to you or one of your dutiful brothers than subsumed as part of the Atreides’ sprawling sphere of influence. King Menelaus would surely see the benefit in gifting the son’s of Nestor with such a gem of Messenia.” 

Peisistratus stared in quiet shock before remembering himself. With the comportment of a prince, he humbly bowed his head. “I would be honored to speak in your place, Lord Diocles, if you wish.” 

The offer brought about a ringing in Peisistratus’ ears. It was a grand gesture of generosity, even if Diocles himself had no power to grant it. Should Peisistratus inherit the throne of Phera after his passing, he would still be a king subservient to the Atreides, but he would be a king nonetheless. He tempered his ambition, and boyish hopes. If Diocles truly offered such a boon, he would have to offer it to the rest of Peisistratus’ brothers as well. It would have to be some clever trick of fate for the opportunity to truly fall to him. 

“It would please me greatly.” Diocles affirmed. 

After dinner, Peisistratus and Telemachus were led to where they would sleep for the night. The palace sat on the edge of a cliff overlooking waves crashing against rock and the room Telemachus and Peisistratus shared was walled only by columns leading onto a balcony on the side facing the sea. The smell of sea spray filled the room and clung to the linens. 

“I cannot sleep.” Telemachus said before they had even had the opportunity to try. They had only just been left on their own, the first moments of genuine solitude since their arrival at Phera. But he sounded so sure of himself that Peisistratus did not think to challenge him. 

“Then we won’t sleep yet.” He answered with a small shrug, walking out toward the balcony. The sea stretched impossibly far from that point, onwards till the edges of the world. “There is a small beach not far from here.” Peisistratus suggested. Sneaking down from the balcony would be no trouble at all. The stones on the exterior of the palace had been worn smooth from years of withstanding the whipping wind, but the ground was not so far below them that they could not jump down and pull themselves back up again. 

“Have you spent much time here?” Telemachus came to stand beside him, then. He rested his weight against the parapet. It was clear from the way he leaned that the soreness had not yet stopped bothering him. 

“Some.” Peisistratus said. He could not name anyone with whom it was easier to talk, aside from Polycaste. “My mother would bring us when she came to discuss politics with Diocles, while my father was still away at Troy. We came with a small army of nurses, and even they could not contain us for long. Polycaste and I used to play games in the halls, and sneak away to the beach.” 

“You are close with your sister.” Telemachus said, looking out at the sea rather than at Peisistratus. To be without his gaze was something tangible, like a cool breeze reminding a man he is bare. 

“Yes,” Peisistratus remembered that, even now, his father and mother were putting together her bride price. What would Telemachus say when confronted with it? Should Peisistratus have warned him it was coming? Should he have counseled him to say no? Why should the Ithacan prince listen to him? 

“I often wish I had siblings, but my family’s line is that of only sons.” 

Peisistratus tried to think of how to explain the curses and blessings that came with having siblings, but his tongue fell short. He did not think he could explain the way it felt to be known by someone as well as he and his sister knew one another, and he could not explain the way he resented his older brothers without sounding bitter. “I have siblings to spare, if you would like one.” He said instead. 

Telemachus chuckled. It was a pleasant sound, starting somewhere deep in his chest. “I would like to see the beach, if you’ll show me.” 

Peisistratus would. He helped Telemachus down from the balcony, careful of the way he grimaced when expected to lift his legs too high. Past heroes shaped by stars shone down on them, and the moon’s full bodied light kept their path clear. The hill they climbed down was steep, but Peisistratus guided Telemachus between briar patches and familiar worn stones which he knew were too loose to be stepped on. At times Telemachus appeared about to lose his footing, and Peisistratus offered him a hand. 

The beach’s white sand was dull with the night’s darkness. Beyond it the sea appeared like a calm, impossibly dark thing. Waves rolled gently onto the shore, but beyond them nothing seemed to move. 

“Do you swim?” Telemachus’ words cut through the silent night air. 

Peisistratus scoffed. “I am descended from kings born of Poseidon. Yes, I swim.” 

He was surprised by the expression he saw on Telemachus’ face, then. It was soft and amused and a little exasperated. It was sweeter than the honeyed wine they’d shared at dinner, and even quicker to leave Peisistratus feeling drunk. His eyes looked like dark saucers in the low light. “Then come.” 

Telemachus pulled off his tunic and ran for the dark, cold water. Peisistratus followed his example after recovering from observing the sharp lines of Telemachus’ body racing towards the surf. They splashed in the water then like children, Telemachus diving eagerly into the cold water to avoid water pushed his way. Peisistratus had not expected for something to grapple with his knees under the water, dragging him below as well. When they surfaced again they were breathless and wracked with giddy laughter.

As the moon shifted slowly across the sky, they relaxed and became numb to the cold water until it was the night air which left them feeling stripped raw. Peisistratus floated lazily on his back, hand making smooth motions underneath the surface of the water, as Telemachus stood and stared out toward the horizon. 

“My father is out there somewhere.”

There had been nothing but silence between them for some time now. Peisistratus quickly righted himself, so that he was standing near Telemachus instead of floating. He had not expected such a confession. They had barely spoken about his father. 

He said the only thing he could think of: “Then we will find him.” 

He meant it as fiercely as he had meant anything before in his life. Odysseus had been gone for a decade since the Trojan War. The odds were good that he had died in some foreign land, or drowned after a shipwreck too far from civilization to be reported. And yet. If Telemachus believed he was alive, and wished to find him, Peisistratus would do everything in his power to aid him. 

He was met with only silence, and then a grin. 

It was as if all the drowsiness which had overcome them was gone. Still grinning, Telemachus bounded for Peisistratus and tackled him under the waves. They grappled there, under the water, until their lungs screamed for air. Peisistratus started to swim for the shore, only to feel a tug at his ankle. With huffs of breathless laughter, Telemachus pulled him back. 

Peisistratus had been raised on stories about fate. He had heard of heroes pulled toward their own doom, even as they fought against it with every breath. He had heard of men granted brilliance or strength by the gods in order to overcome some obstacle fated to fall before them. His experience, then, with fate was not so grand, but he had never felt something more certain to be the workings of the Moirai then when his lips met with Telemachus’. 

Whether he had closed the distance between them or Telemachus had was beyond him as they pressed closer. Strong hands held his arms, then wrapped around him and pulled him closer still. Peisistratus’ hands were preoccupied with burying themselves in the shining curls he had wanted to touch for nearly a day now. Their bare skin was warm against one anothers and, as they pulled away to catch their breath, Peisistratus felt a warm bead of desire growing in the pit of his stomach. 

He let his eyes meet Telemachus’ cautiously, afraid that he might have imagined all the stolen glances and compliments. The fear was a savage beast inside him, but it was quieted the moment their eyes met. Telemachus’ warm brown eyes were soft, still glazed over as if he were dazed by the sudden passion, but his expression was so laden with desire and affection that Peisistratus felt his knees weaken. 

They were desperate with their touches at first, on the beach, drinking in each other like parched men. The passion which overtook them didn’t account for tenderness or patience. And then, when they returned to their room, their senses returned to them too. Their touches lingered and, even in the darkness, Peisistratus sought to memorize every line of Telemachus’ muscles, the way he moved when lost in pleasure, and the sounds he made. 

Come morning, neither one of them was particularly well rested. For his part, Telemachus was perhaps more sore than he had been the night before. When servants were sent to rouse them, Telemachus hid his face in the linens which smelled of sea-spray and coriander and almond oil.

“Tell your lord that we will rest one more day before our departure.” Peisistratus spoke more into his pillow than to the servants, still half asleep. Sparta would wait for them. 

The young prince had been uncertain about how best to act, whether to draw out his time away with Telemachus or rush back to Pylos in hopes of finding an ill-prepared bride price, but now the weight of certainty rested soundly in his chest. He would make these days last, however he could, for as long as he could.

#telestratus #peisistratus of pylos #peisistratus/telemachus #pisistratus #pisistratus of pylos #pisistratus/telemachus #telemachus #the odyssey #fanfic #my writing #bbyhr #braved by your heart's resolve

[is-solarpunk]

Solarpunk Writing Prompts #7

Here you can listen to original podcast

Here is the source of the podcast's transcript you can read below

Solarpunk Prompts - The Great Infrastructural Project

Hello world. I'm Tomasino.

This is Solarpunk Prompts, a series for writers where we discuss Solarpunk, a movement that imagines a world where technology is used for the good of the planet.

In this series we spend each episode exploring a single Solarpunk story prompt adding some commentary, some inspirations, and some considerations.

Most importantly, we consider how that story might help us to better envision a sustainable civilization.

If this is your first time here, I'd recommend checking out our introduction episode first, where we talk about what Solarpunk is, why you should care, and why this series came into being.

Today's prompt is: "The Great Infrastructure Project"

There is a small, rural town next to whom A Great Infrastructural Project was built. It was a dam, or a huge solar & wind power plant, or a gravitational battery, etc. Over time, the corporations and the government forgot about them and in order to avoid a catastrophe they need to work with unusual, driven activists who came from all over to help them.

This is a living reality for many small communities around the globe.

The village of Xiananshen in southern Zhejiang, China, was an idyllic, historic location which had fallen into disrepair due to depopulation from 20 years of migration. It was chosen for a program called Adaptive Reuse because of its beauty and close location to Lishui city. Local government brought in sponsors and worked with the historical heritage group to update and renovate all of the original houses regardless of condition. Space was rented out from locals. A downtown set of homes were converted to a boutique hotel. Cafes, library, exhibition hall, restaurants fed by the local farms, public parks, and more were designed and built in a cooperative mode called "historic village plus crowd innovation". Employment rates increased, as did tourism. Farms were given a steadier income, especially during the off-season. Designers competed in house renovation competitions for public prestige.

This village may not be built atop a hydro plant, but it shares the experience set forth in our prompt. This type of infrastructure maintenance and revitalization was made possible by a combination of internal and external communities working together.

In their case the goal was the restoration of their infrastructure, but that won't always be the case. Your story may be about a town's need for the safe deconstruction of infrastructure.

The World Wildlife Fund has this to say about infrastructure:

Most categories of infrastructure aren't inherently good or bad—it's all about context. The right dam in the right place can provide benefits with minimal negative impacts to the environment. But the wrong dam in the wrong place can do considerable and far-reaching damage. For infrastructure to be beneficial, planners must consider the long-term impacts, risks, and trade-offs. They must take biodiversity and climate change into account, develop a plan for long-term governance and management, and engage local communities at the earliest possible stages of planning.

It should come as no surprise that many infrastructure projects today do not achieve all these goals. Without long-term governance and management accounted for at the beginning of the project, many projects are left to age, crumble, or fall as burdens to local communities whose survival depends on them.

As stated in an article from the Earth Law Center in 2017:

Due to the high cost of maintenance and safety, many of the world’s dams get more dangerous as they age. The Mosul dam in Iraq and the Kariba dam in Zambia rank among the world’s most dangerous. Should the Mosul dam fail, it could result in the death of 500,000 people and deprive millions more of power and water. The 58 year old Kariba dam could result in 3.5 million dead, leave 40 percent of South Africa without power and cause untold damage to surrounding wildlife, plus the destruction of another nearby dam, the Cahora Bassa. https://www.earthlawcenter.org/blog-entries/2017/12/dams-climate-change-bad-news

And according to a paper published by the International Institute for Environment and Development:

Disconnecting from government energy services to develop independent energy sources, such as micro-wind or biogas can help to build resilience for vulnerable groups.

The paper has a special focus on Vietnam, where fishermen face particular challenges when the electricity goes out. Lack of refrigeration and transportation options can cause great difficulties and losses getting their products to distant markets

The country's power grid as a whole is vulnerable to disruption and failure from extreme weather and flood events. This means that vulnerable populations are dependent on a system that is prone to collapse.

In Gorakhpur, India, and in the Philippines, local committees provide an opportunity for community participation in infrastructure design. After being left out of the conversations for so long and suffering the brunt of the consequences, these communities are eager to exert some control over their lives.

So what does that look like?

Kerry Scott, a social scientist, says:

The primary purpose of infrastructure and our built environment is serving the needs of communities, delivering better social outcomes and improving the quality of people’s lives.

He later adds:

Integrating social outcomes at the start is a must if we want to leave a social legacy.

Our prompt today deals with a legacy infrastructure project, one which clearly didn't take into account the present situation. It must either be maintained or decommissioned safely. It may require conversion to some new method or function. That may require technical skills they don't have, hence the need for outside help. But do these outsiders have an understanding if this place, this environment? Do they know the needs of this community?

One of our opportunities for tension and drama may lay between the community itself and the newcomers trying to fix the project. There may also be tension between these groups and the government or corporation originally responsible for the installation. This two-way or three-way intersection of communities can be very Solarpunk, but it can also easily fall into the style of other genres if we aren't careful.

If, for instance, the corporation responsible for the project is made to seem as an antagonist and the local community must throw off their oppressor in order to self-govern, that is just another form of cyberpunk. The struggle there is about technology being used for oppression rather than about it being used to find a sustainable civilization.

Be wary of blending genres in these stories as well. The atmosphere and aesthetic of Solarpunk can easily be diluted by other genres until it's unrecognizable. A cyberpunk/Solarpunk hybrid will just look like cyberpunk.

As a writer you may want to use that style of relationship between the communities, but be wary of how you frame it. Is the community your protagonist? Are they achieving their goals through Solarpunk ideals?

There is drama inherent to the infrastructure as well. Adding a time limit on action immediately increases tension, so maybe the infrastructure project has an imminent failure coming. The outsiders and the community must work together to save it from disaster even though they don't trust the other fully. The point here is to show some hands-on work with social stakes greater than just us vs them.

We can also zoom in on the specific dynamics of the incoming activists and engineers a bit more. Are they strictly a professional bunch? Do they set up a separate camp with their own rules, schedule, and daily order? Or is it a hodgepodge assortment of skilled people without a prior relationship who move-in to whatever is unoccupied? Perhaps they must stay and board with the locals in their homes. Or perhaps the outsiders are a sect of their own determined to save the locals even if they don't want it.

These decisions will affect how your communities must interact, especially if there's a higher need at stake. Naturally antagonistic relationships could be forced into reluctant collaboration due to circumstance. Such a story would be more difficult to align to the Solarpunk aesthetic, but if well done could act as a moral lesson and strengthens the ideals.

Finally, we should consider what daily life looks like in this small town. Is life oriented around the great infrastructure project or is it a backdrop? Perhaps the boom of construction jobs is over, the children left elsewhere. Is it one of dying cities, where people want to be left alone? Have they been asking for help but no one has answered so far? Are they already self-reliant and happy or working to get there?

One of the most difficult aspects of speculative fiction is the imagining of how everyday life might change due to some unrelated technological advancement. We'll discuss this concept more in further episodes, but for now, try to consider the great infrastructure this town is dealing with and what it does. Is it a power generator, or does it make goods, provide a service, or ease a difficult task. Then, take that purpose and scale it up in your mind. If it was a power generator, now it makes unlimited free power. If it eased a difficult task, now that task's time is reduced to zero. And finally, try to think about how that change would affect the unintentional, everyday things.

When the airplane was invented and fast travel between continents became a reality, nobody ever envisioned a future where you could pop off to London for a stag party weekend.

What is the equivalent mundane change in your world?

Have an interesting idea? Share it with me. This podcast publishes on Mastodon, a federated social network. Our address is in the show notes. Come join us and lets start a conversation.

Until then, I'll talk to you soon on the next Solarpunk Prompt.

Music in this recording is New Unity Dawning, by Bathroom Plants from Global Pattern's compilation Solarpunk: A Brighter Perspective

#solarpunk #writing prompt #solarpunk writing prompts #solarpunk loredumps #solarpunk here and now #solarpunk real stories #infrastructure is sexy #but there is no easy solutions #human/environmental context #not man vs nature

[my-never-ending-nightmare]

Some photos of the view yesterday evening from the observation floor & restaurant atop One World Trade Center - the tallest building in North America.

06/16/2023

#my photos #mine #world trade center

[newstfionline]

Tuesday, May 16, 2023

TSA tests facial recognition technology to boost airport security (AP) A passenger walks up to an airport security checkpoint, slips an ID card into a slot and looks into a camera atop a small screen. The screen flashes “Photo Complete” and the person walks through—all without having to hand over their identification to the TSA officer sitting behind the screen. It’s all part of a pilot project by the Transportation Security Administration to assess the use of facial recognition technology at a number of airports across the country. The effort comes at a time when the use of various forms of technology to enhance security and streamline procedures is only increasing. TSA says the pilot is voluntary and accurate, but critics have raised concerns about questions of bias in facial recognition technology and possible repercussions for passengers who want to opt out. Travelers put their driver’s license into a slot that reads the card or place their passport photo against a card reader. Then they look at a camera on a screen about the size of an iPad, which captures their image and compares it to their ID. The technology is both checking to make sure the people at the airport match the ID they present and that the identification is in fact real. A TSA officer is still there and signs off on the screening.

NYC converts hotels to shelters as pressure mounts to accommodate asylum seekers (AP) The historic Roosevelt Hotel in midtown Manhattan shuttered three years ago, but it will soon be bustling again—reopening to accommodate an anticipated influx of asylum seekers just as other New York City hotels are being converted to emergency shelters. Mayor Eric Adams announced Saturday that the city will use the Roosevelt to eventually provide as many as 1,000 rooms for migrants. Across the city, hotels like the Roosevelt that served tourists just a few years ago are being transformed into emergency shelters, many of them in prime locations within walking distance from Times Square, the World Trade Center memorial site and the Empire State Building. A legal mandate requires the city to provide shelter to anyone who needs it. Even so, Adams says the city is running out of room for migrants and has sought financial help from the state and federal governments.

Title 42 Is Gone, but Not the Conditions Driving Migrants to the U.S. (NYT) Relative quiet has prevailed along the southern U.S. border since Friday, despite widespread fears that ending a pandemic-era policy to immediately expel most migrants, even asylum seekers, would set off a stampede from Mexico. A surge in migrants did in fact happen. On some days last week, apprehensions reached about 11,000, among the highest recorded. But the lull could be the calm before another storm. Beyond U.S. borders, political instability, gang violence and climate change will continue to spur emigration. Much of the developing world, from Africa and Asia to South America and the Caribbean, is still reeling from economic ruin wrought by Covid-19 and exacerbated by the war in Ukraine. “Everyone is looking at the arrivals at the border, but the root of the problem lies in push factors inside countries of origin that are going to persist,” said Justin Gest, a political scientist at George Mason University who studies immigration. “When crises occur, they generate northbound flows,” he said. And, beyond the factors pushing migrants out of their home countries, the magnet drawing people to the United States is the labor market. Unemployment stands at its lowest level in decades, yet there are millions of unfilled jobs.

France pledges more military aid as Ukraine’s Zelenskyy makes surprise Paris visit (AP) France pledged additional military aid for Ukraine on Sunday, including light tanks, armored vehicles, training for soldiers and other assistance as the Ukrainians gear up for a counteroffensive against Russian forces, following surprise talks in Paris between the Ukrainian and French presidents. Ukraine’s Volodymyr Zelenskyy and France’s Emmanuel Macron met for about three hours at the French presidential Elysee Palace—an encounter kept under wraps until shortly before the Ukrainian leader’s arrival in Paris from Germany on a French government jet, extending his multi-stop European tour. With Ukraine planning to go on the offensive hoping to retake Russian-occupied territory, military aid was a top agenda item. Macron’s office said France will supply dozens of light tanks and armored vehicles “in the weeks ahead,” without giving specific numbers. Also promised were more air defense systems, but again details weren’t made public.

As Ukraine Makes Inroads in Bakhmut, Devastation Still Reigns (NYT) For nearly a year, Ukraine has been simply trying to hold on in Bakhmut as Russian forces pressed in on the city from both sides while at the same time laying waste—block by bloody block—to what had once been a vibrant salt-mining city of 80,000. Over time, Bakhmut has taken on an outsize importance: a symbol of Ukrainian defiance and of Russian leaders’ determination to blast their way to a small victory in a little-known corner of eastern Ukraine. Last week, for the first time, Ukrainian forces launched a series of coordinated counterattacks and in a matter of days won back territory north and south of the city that it had taken Russian forces months to capture. But Russian forces still control more than 90 percent of the city, according to Russian and Ukrainian officials. The commander of the 24th Motorized Rifle Brigade, who goes by the call sign Prince, said on Saturday that after taking a short tactical pause, Russian forces were furiously assaulting the city again. “Artillery fire, rocket and airstrikes do not stop for a minute,” he said. “Every meter of the city is now under shelling.”

The Ivy-educated opposition leader who could end Thai military rule (Washington Post) For nearly a decade, Thailand has been led by an authoritarian military establishment—but Pita Limjaroenrat, an Ivy League-educated business executive and leader of a liberal opposition party, is seeking to change that. The results of Sunday’s election appear to have gone largely in his party’s favor, potentially setting the stage for Pita to become the country’s next prime minister, but rules set in place after a 2014 military coup could complicate that process. At 42, Pita is nearly 30 years younger than Thailand’s current leader, retired general Prayuth Chan-ocha, who took power after the 2014 coup. Pita was born in Thailand but raised in New Zealand before he returned to his native country and completed an undergraduate degree in finance and banking at Thammasat University in Bangkok. He went on to earn master’s degrees in public policy and business from Harvard University and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, according to his legislative biography. Before becoming a member of Thailand’s parliament in 2018, he worked as the head of ride-share company Grab’s operations in Thailand and earlier as a consultant at Boston Consulting Group. He has pledged to move Thailand out of what he calls a “lost decade” of slow economic growth. Part of that plan, he says, includes diversifying Thailand’s tourism-dependent economy and spreading it out beyond the capital, Bangkok. In a televised interview with Bloomberg last month, Pita said three main points of his agenda are to “demilitarize, de-monopolize and decentralize.”

China launches projects to build ‘new-era’ marriage, childbearing culture (Reuters) China will launch pilot projects in more than 20 cities to create a “new-era” marriage and childbearing culture to foster a friendly child bearing environment, the latest move by authorities to boost the country’s falling birth rate. China’s Family Planning Association, a national body that implements the government’s population and fertility measures, will launch the projects to encourage women to marry and have children, state backed Global Times reported on Monday. The projects come amid a flurry of measures Chinese provinces are rolling out to spur people to have children, including tax incentives, housing subsidies, and free or subsidised education for having a third child. China implemented a rigid one-child policy from 1980 until 2015—the root of many of its demographic challenges that have allowed India to become the world’s most populous nation. The limit has since been raised to three children.

China sentences 78-year-old US citizen to life in prison on spying charges (AP) China sentenced a 78-year-old United States citizen to life in prison Monday on spying charges, in a case that could exacerbate the deterioration in ties between Beijing and Washington over recent years. Details of the charges against John Shing-Wan Leung, who also holds permanent residency in Hong Kong, have not been publicly released. Leung was detained April 15, 2021, by the local bureau of China’s counterintelligence agency in the southeastern city of Suzhou. Relations between Washington and Beijing are at their lowest in decades amid disputes over trade, technology, human rights and China’s increasingly aggressive approach toward its territorial claims involving self-governing Taiwan and the South China Sea.

Off-grid solar power brings light to remote villages LAINDEHA, Indonesia (AP)—As Tamar Ana Jawa wove a red sarong in the fading sunlight, her neighbor switched on a light bulb dangling from the sloping tin roof. It was just one bulb powered by a small solar panel, but in this remote village that means a lot. In some of the world’s most remote places, off-grid solar systems are bringing villagers like Jawa more hours in the day, more money and more social gatherings. Now, villagers frequently gather in the evening to continue the day’s work, gather to watch television shows on cellphones charged by the panels and help children do homework in light bright enough to read. Some 775 million people globally lacked access to electricity in 2022, according to the International Energy Agency. Sub-Saharan Africa and South Asia are home to some of the largest populations without access to electricity. Not having electricity at home keeps people in poverty, the U.N. and World Bank wrote in a 2021 report.

Massive new US embassy complex in Lebanon is raising eyebrows (CNN) A massive new US embassy complex in Lebanon is causing controversy for its sheer size and opulence in a country where nearly 80% of the population is under the poverty line. Located some 13 kilometers (about 8 miles) from the center of Beirut and built on the site of the current embassy, the US’ new compound in Lebanon looks like a city of its own. Sprawling over a 43-acre site, the complex in the Beirut suburb of Awkar is almost two-and-a-half times the size of the land the White House sits on and more than 21 soccer fields. Many Lebanese on Twitter questioned why the US needs such a large embassy in their capital. Lebanon is smaller than Connecticut and has a population of just six million and few American tourists go to the country. “Did the US move to Lebanon??” tweeted Sandy, a social media activist. “Maybe you’ll have enough room to work on all those pending visa applications,” tweeted Abed A. Ayoub, national executive director of the American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee, responding to the grandiosity of the new complex.

#headlines #news

[longlistshort]

If a picture is worth a thousand words, Timothy Lai’s paintings for Double Wall at Jack Barrett may be worth a few more. Everything feels tense and uncertain in the work, leaving the viewer with questions that they must answer with their own stories.

From the press release-

“Memory is a choice. You said that once, with your back to me, the way a god would say it.” 

– Ocean Vuong

In Timothy Lai’s exhibition Double Wall, things left unsaid reside in waiting. Silence crouches as an omnipresent figure living within the familial unit, unleashed sometimes as performative protection, and at other times, leashed as a placeholder against emotions that cannot or will not be articulated. Amid this verbal lack, Lai’s work materially bristles. 

The works in Double Wall reflect their domestic setting, showing vignettes of encounters between family members. These encounters are pushed compositionally, almost theatrically, to the foreground, pulling the viewer to witness these skirmishes. The works in Double Wall teeter on the precipice between conflict and resolution. In Apologia, Apology, the figures reside in the margins, in a non-confrontational stasis of pause. The air vibrates with the “dot dot dot” of feelings inarticulable.  This tension Lai builds up in heavy impasto; the architectural negative space becomes an actor within the dynamic. 

If Lai’s previous body  of work centered around the misrecognition between father and son, Double Wall reads the effect these patriarchal structures have on the parental figure, and how inevitably, they are the heirlooms that make up the next generation’s inheritance. In Coronation, a person stands atop a stool with their back to us, arms hanging limp at their side as a shadowy figure in the background configures the suit jacket around their body.  The suit, a uniform to gain social currency, and a mantle of white-Western authority, trickles down patriarchal economics to bestow the role of family leader on a new individual. The sharp geometric lines of the suit trap the fleshiness of the central figure.  The transference uncovers the mutable masculine roles of father and son. Inherent in this piece is a subtle formal nod to the Crucifixion; Lai deftly gestures towards how the embodiment of these patriarchal roles can be similarly sacrificial, trading individuality to conform to the family unit, to become martyr.

In the other works, silence also sires assimilation. Mirrors appear often. In the work, To Contain Less… or More? a figure, bound up in the suit jacket, is caught between a chinoiserie and a colonial eagle mirror. Lai explores the triangulation of these three elements as a space that reflects the nuanced ontology of existing as a person of color in the United States. The figure departs the composition, leaving suit behind, alluding to the difficulty of choosing to engage, assimilate with and perform into these predetermined frameworks. 

The uncertain site between the binaries of stasis and movement, silence and conflict are a running theme throughout the show. Depictions of a window-framed outside world are too small to envision moving through. A hand held mirror resting on an armchair reflects a closed door. Double Wall makes this tension visible, and Lai offers us no clear resolution. We are forced to sit within the pauses, breath held and on the cusp of speech.

This exhibition closes 4/15/23.

#timothy lai #jack barrett #jack barrett gallery #nyc art shows #art #painting #art shows

[mediicusvitae]

@muselexum​​ said: ❛ you shouldn’t be out here by yourself. ❜ //from Rayleigh :3c

The mangrove trees of the Sabaody Archipelago towered in the sky, lit by moonlight. Bubbles popped high above. The air was crisp and fresh, the scent of soap omnipresent, no matter how many beer bottles and cigarette butts littered the grass. The Polar Tang anchored in a secluded patch of mangroves to avoid attention, though it was a longer walk to the bustling center. After the Headquarters' base had been moved to the New World, the Navy's influence had weakened and the Sabaody Archipelago became even less safe and more difficult to protect. Freed from any government regulation or central authority, the worst of the worst found solace here. Pickpockets grabbed at anything that flashed and the bulge in your pants was more often than not a dagger. One wrong move, one glance to the wrong person, and a blade would be at your throat.

The first twenty-nine groves were a lawless area where pirates and bounty hunters ruled ruthlessly, expanding their empires of crime, the thriving slave trade supported by no other than the Tenryuubito themselves. Lamy made a face. She faintly wished for Mugiwara to return so that he could punch some more of them, calling forth another insurrection against heaven in the spirit of their troublesome bloodline.

Lamy had heard the stories about what had happened on that fateful day in the Auction House a few years ago. Penguin and Shachi were prone to overblow details while recounting events, but it matched with what Bepo and her brother had told her. She wished she'd been there to witness the chaos. But Mugiwara wasn't the only D. who seemed to attract trouble, Lamy thought sullenly. Of course the crooks of Sabaody weren’t brazen enough to try anything funny with the rest of the Heart Pirates in the vicinity, let alone the Surgeon of Death, but they were taking advantage of the late hour to make their own play for potential new black-market 'goods'. Regardless if they had recognized her wanted poster or not, they had spied a woman on her lonesome and decided that they could overwhelm her with sheer numbers. “Why don’t you come with us?” The leader of the gang inquired, and she heard the subtle, mocking threat beneath his courteous tone. The glow from the lantern flickered over the gleam in his grey eyes and the slowly forming smile. “I'd rather not,” Lamy replied conversationally, eyes scanning for the fastest escape route. She could probably take them in a fight, but it would be a hassle, and she'd prefer not turning her evening stroll into a bloodbath if it wasn't necessary. His gaggle of followers snickered.

“Just for an hour, or two... I'm not a fastidious man.” Lamy made a face as if she had just bitten into an unripe lemon. Yuck! Her finger curled around the trigger of her concealed flintlock pistol as he leaned even closer, one eyebrow twitching. Hadn't her brother complained about the near empty state of their morgue? A gust of wind swept past her, making the loose bangs that fell from her hair clips dance. Suddenly, the man's grey eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his mouth went slack. Lamy watched on as his knees buckled, as did those of his companions, and suddenly they were all dropping around her like flies. She blinked, dumbfounded, surveying the carnage. A figure melted from the shadows then, drawing her gaze. Rayleigh sauntered toward her like a stray alley cat, keeping one of his hands in his pockets as he greeted her with a cheerful wave. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself,” he chided gently, though there was a gleeful twinkle in his eyes.

“Ray-san!” Lamy exclaimed in surprise, relieved to see a familiar face in this sea of ill-intentioned strangers. She quickly skipped over the unconscious bodies littering the ground, stepping atop the oily leader's crotch for good measure. The Dark King gave her a charming smile as she reached his side, politely offering his elbow for her to take. He presented himself as an ordinary, unassuming ship coater, but behind that mysterious little smile and provocative humor slumbered a power that could wipe out armies with a single glance, befitting for somebody who had 'Right-Hand Man to the First Pirate King' written in his résumé. Conqueror's Haki wasn't like Observation or Armament. It wasn't something a normal person could learn — It was something you had to be born with, and Lamy felt fortunate to be under his protection. He asked her if she was hurt, and Lamy temporarily managed to pull herself out of admiring the flex of his biceps brachii—had he always been this ripped?!—to shake her head. “No, no... thank you for your help, Ray-san,” she smiled brightly. “What are you doing out here this late, if I may ask?”

#{ Dark King in shining armor 😩✨ } #{ The Hearts are having a collective aneurysm somewhere off-screen agshdjdkssgdhjdjfhs } #{ thanks for sending!! >:3c } #muselexum #Verse { submarine's smile. } #{ ic. } #{ asks. }