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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

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upon his grace 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: friday!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You are summoned to the queen’s chambers shortly after your arrival. You come together with the other young ladies from courtyard in the corridor just before a set of painted doors. Within, Queen Margaret keeps court with her ladies, of whom you are to be one of. The thought alone has you devilishly unnerved.

The guards in their livery greet you with dull eyes. The groom announces your purpose and receives little in return aside from the one soldier’s lazy reach to tap upon the door. He lifts the lever and eases a space between the wood.

“Your highness, you’ve some ladies requesting an audience,” he drones through.

There is some movement from within. A lady servant appears in her white cap and beckons you inward. You are further intimidated by the formality of it all. Marcia and Marigold rush ahead to be first and the three earls’ daughters from the White Plans take up their train. You glance over at Calliope and trail after her.

The doors shut at your back and the lady maid retreats, her soles scuffing amid the murmur around you. You look around the skirts of the other debuts and see women in recline, others perched upon cushions and stools, all at leisure with needle, book, or frame. There is another at the window, sat between two ladies on the bench, the late afternoon breeze stirring the long waves that hang around her face, the rest of her chestnut hair twisted up behind her hood.

The lady maid stands at the wall in deference, “your highness.”

The brunette raises her chin and her eyes narrow at the lot of you. You can barely see much past the shoulders of the twins and the other ladies clustered closely in shared apprehension. Still, the twins stand tall and the other ladies hardly seem as wrought as you in the ceremony of it all.

“The twins of...Mawsley, is it?” The queen declares, “yes, your father proved himself a valuable asset, didn’t he?”

“Your highness,” the twins recite in unison and bow, “Marcia,” the first introduces herself, “Marigold, the second adds.

“How keen,” the queen chimes, “you look as the same person. How amusing.”

“Thank you, your highness,” the sisters chirp.

“And those gowns, wonderful. I may have to ask after your tailor,” Queen Margaret preens, “and where is the Countess’ daughter? I recall I met you once when you were still a child.”

Calliope steps dutifully, “my mother sends her regards.”

“Oh, yes, that poor widow,” the queen bemoans, “she is ever steadfast despite her plight.” She takes pause as you sway to see her, “and the rest of you, forgive me, these last days have been a whirlwind and I’ve heard an endless slew of names one after another.

“Lady Selene,” the very lady proclaims.

“Lady Ameri,” she bows in quick succession.

“Lady Dorida,” the last shows her courtesy in an elegant bend.

As you come forward, the twins push their arms together as if to block you out with their sleeves. You sidle side to side and sweep around their skirts with an ungraceful stumble, “your highness,” you greet as if you have something stuck in your throat. You swallow before you can muster your own name and title.

“Woodsdam,” the queen tilts her head and looks from the lady at her left shoulder to the one on her right, “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Neither have I,” the leftmost agrees.

“Farmland,” the right says.

“Yes, your highness, my father is a farmer, but an earl as well,” you supply.

“Mm,” the queen looks down her nose as her lips thin, “it appears the Woodsdam style is much... defined. I don’t think I’ve seen that style gown since my grandmother was still on earth.”

You look down at your modest cotton. The square cut of your bodice is much different than the other ladies’ rounded collars. Your mother crafted the dress from pieces and the seams are tidy, yet it does lack a similar flair to the others around the chamber. You raise your eyes and keep your composure as best you can.

“Many thanks, your highness.”

The queen scoffs, “quaint, indeed.” She sits straighter though her posture is already unyieldingly staunch, “ladies, please acquaint yourself. And be certain to pay heed to these ladies who know well the ways of court. For all that’s changed in these past years, we will retain as ever our elegance and our etiquette.”

You peer around, uncertain what comes next. A lady stands and calls to Calliope, “Lady, it is me, Gwendolyn, of the Spades. Near Clovers, you will know it?”

Calliope accepts the initiation and there is a swift storm of voices swirling around the lot of you. You flutter hopefully that someone might think of Woodsdam or might’ve been to the waterfall near Aquil, not far from your father’s hold. The twins confer still with the queen and her ladies, trilling and giggling, as Serena and Dorida marvel over another ladies’ sewing frame, and Ameri is overly familiar with a lady swollen with child.

You drift away from the centre of the chamber, trying not to draw unwarranted attention. It would do little for any to note your insignificance. You’ve all to soon faded into obscurity. No one cares for a farmer’s daughter.

“Eh, do you read?” The question startles you and has you spinning to face its speaker. She looks as she sounds; squawkish. Birdlike. Her blond waves are woven with strands of silver and her hooked nose is not unbecoming.

“Yes, lady, I do,” you answer, uncertain if she is genuine or she means it as jab.

“Have you read Corswin? He wrote a fair tale about a shepherdess.”

“I’ve not heard of him,” you recover your confidence at her interest. It is clear she humours you, that she is speaking to only keep you from floundering.

“I must lend you a book or two,” she insists, “come sit with me. These old hens grow tiresome.”

“Many thanks, my lady,” you accept and claim the stool next to her, shifting it closer.

“Sarah,” she gives her name, “Woodsdam. I’ve never been. I hate the swamps.”

“Oh,” you nod, “yes, it isn’t very swampy. Only in the rainy seasons but we get the sun.”

“Mm, still, I’ve been down Ashton and I hated the place. My horses caught some sickness there,” she gripes, “perhaps though, your home is more pleasant. A woman old as me, though, I don’t venture far as it is.” She tuts and taps her oval nails on the book in her lap, “if my son wasn’t so foolish as to take up his sword, I’d still be in my library, hidden away from these chits.”

You clasp your hands together and smile. She’s amicable and you wouldn’t want to bother too much. She flutters the pages of her book and huffs. You look around, sensing some intrigue from the other ladies though they do their best not to let their flitting eyes be caught.

“All these birds know how to do is cloister themselves up like nuns,” she bemoans, “I’d as soon be out in the sunlight. If I were home, I’d be in my courtyard with a better book than this,” she wags the volume in agitation, “and you, lady? What is it you do on the farmstead? Chase hens?”

“We have geese,” you say, “though they aren’t truly kept. They sort’ve linger around. And some cattle.”

“It does sound rather bucolic, this must be all so drab to you, castle walls and dusty tapestries.”

“Oh, it’s all so wonderful,” you expound.

“It is?” She drawls tritely, “aren’t these ladies of ours so polite? The way they whisper about our hems and our titles. Don’t let yourself be fooled, though I suppose that should be as good a warning against myself. Ladies of the court are like crows; the like shiny things and the hold grudges, and sometimes, they needn’t even a reason to peck your eyes out.”

You close your lips and swallow. Her tidings only underline the unwelcome forged in the queen’s introduction. All you might forgive is at least she seems genuine in her girding. You look down at your skirts and run your fingers down a crease.

“The dress is not so hideous,” she assures gently, “some of the ladies do forget we did just fight a war. There are those without silks and without food in their bellies. They should weigh their fortune that they are still alive and well.”

Your eyes meet and she looks a little less stony. She turns her head to the window and her gaze drifts into the distance. You follow them with a sense of solemnity. Again, you snare a few glances from the others. Many men died, women and children too. It wouldn’t do to care so much for what people think of your wardrobe.

👑

Your first day at the castle ends in a fine supper of freshly baked bread, beef with gravy, and seasoned scallions, onions, and sweet herbs. It is not so hearty as your mother’s stew which you share as often with the servants nor so delicious. It’s a different sort of taste but not unpleasant.

You retire at the queen’s behest. She declares she must see to her husband and several of the other ladies claim the same of their own. You rise and wait courteously to tail after other ladies, not wanting to get underfoot as you so often did on the farm. As you stand aside, Lady Sarah swats you with her book.

Skirts swish against the rows of chairs and benches that line the long table. The dining chamber is set with the portrait of peregrine and similarly hawkish depictions woven into tapestry and tablecloth alike. Despite the uniform decor, the furniture is mismatched and the hews of wood and metal alternate with each piece.

“Don’t fear the stampede, little calf, run with it,” she chides, “ah, I’ve decades upon these sows and they plod like heifers.”

He uncouth words draw your surprise. She laughs at the look you send her and waves you off with the hardcover. She shoulders past you without pause.

“One day you will see, it is better to speak the truth than let it shred up your soul,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Ah, naivete, how entertaining you are.”

Her voice carries and you notice how the other women shy away from her. There’s a glint of deference to the tilt in their chins as they part for her like a like drawn in the sand with a stick. You wonder how she can be so bold and why the other might tolerate it. As Queen Margaret girded, you are to maintain propriety. Sarah seems to carry the same manners as any farmhand you’d known.

You hurry to meet Calliope near the door as she departs. She seems the tamest of the lot thus far. Sharp-witted but not needlessly cruel. She turns her head slightly in acknowledgement of your presence.

“There you are,” she mutters.

“Did you enjoy the afternoon?” You ask brightly.

“Enjoy? I tempered it,” she retorts, “I’ve the measure of most ladies.”

“The measure? They were all quite friendly.”

“You are too friendly,” she admonishes, “this is court, you cannot be so simple. Each lady is attached to a lord, thus they work upon his purposes. Her ears are always listening, eyes always seeing.”

“What do you mean?”

“You represent your father and though mine may be in the ground, I carry his mantle all the same. We are our houses, not ourselves here,” she keeps her voice low and slows markedly to keep away from the others, “you should count yourself fortunate for my wise counsel, lady, for no other would give it.”

You chew on her words, tasting their bitterness, “so why do you, Lady Calliope?”

“For I despise those twins and I know they aren’t so keen on you,” she sighs, “and I saw you as any other did with the dowager.”

“The dowager?” You echo.

“The king’s mother, Lady Sarah,” she sends you a sharp look, “don’t tell me you didn’t realise?”

“Oh? No? She spoke of books and her gardens, she didn’t mention...” you peter off and snap your mouth shut. But she had, she did say her son ran off to war. “Oh!”

“Oh! Indeed,” Calliope mocks and shakes her head. “Look, I’ve not the patience for these women, but you’re not so bad. You don’t speak without meaning. Shall we be companions?”

“Pardon?” You let your surprise bleed through.

“I need at least one person I might stomach, how about you? I don’t think the others are so eager to be friends. Marcia did say how you look like a peasant.”

“She did?” You frown.

“Hm, you need me,” she insists, “you can’t let yourself be so whimsical. Never mind what they say or think. What do they care so much for anyhow? They are a duke’s daughters, they will do well enough.”

You carry on next to her. You feel as if you’re being pulled in all different directions though all tell you just the same. Be wary

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #series #steve rogers x reader #upon his grace #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #au #medieval au

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talonabraxas · 3 months ago

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Veil upon Veil you hide The well-spring of the Infinite, The blue that delights, Pierces the heart, And produces a sapphire jewel.

Celestial Deity Talon Abraxas

"The light of the sun is the source of the colour we see reflected in the world. It begins in gamma rays whose wavelengths are a million times too short to see. By a process of absorption and re-emission throughout the sun's body, these spread out into longer wavelengths which travel through space and are further altered by interaction with the atmosphere. If there are no dusts or gases in the heavens, the sky appears black, as it does ten miles out from the earth's surface where the atmosphere thins out almost to the vanishing point." The old man adjusted himself in the chair and continued: "The colour of the sky, child, is closely associated with the way light, falling on matter, is scattered in all directions. The amount of scattered light is greater for shorter blue wavelengths than for longer red ones." Here the learned mariner became more technical and spoke slowly, using his hands to explain. "The intensity of scattered light is inversely proportional to the fourth power of the wavelength. Because of this, blue light loses more energy than red and its scattering is dependent upon low atmospheric content. In the atmosphere of the earth, molecules of gases scatter the blue waves in all directions while the red waves are absorbed, causing the sky to appear blue. The more rarefied the air, the greater the scattering of these short waves and the deeper the colour of blue. But when there is considerable dust or moisture in the air, the layers of particles scatter the longer red waves and cause the sky to become whiter. The red and blue light mixes to produce the whitened sky so common in higher latitudes where moisture particles hang in the air. So the dust rising in a hot, dry clime bleaches out the heavens until a heavy rain settles the earth and leaves behind it a deep saturated blue. Men long for that blue, child. They always dream of travelling south into the azure intensity that has inspired poets and painters for countless years. So thus they gaze out over the horizon as you do, trying to penetrate its vastness."

“Blue color is everlastingly appointed by the deity to be a source of delight.” — John Ruskin

Appointed by the Deity, it is the abode of the gods, their intrinsic attribute and celestial surrounding. It is the colour of the Queen of Heaven and the feminine principle of the Great Deep. It veils the impenetrable void of chaos and yet recedes into its folded mystery. It is the colour of the cloak of Hera and Zeus and clings to Diana's fleet, forested shape. It is reflected in the blue robes once worn by priests at the grave and by the Levites who called their garb the livery of heaven. 'The Blue' is a synonym for heaven and all that is divine. In the darkened depths of its expanse lies Nature's solitude, wrapped in a cold noumenal glow whose purity is incomparable. By its grace, the sea takes on its colour and draws the ocean of space into the world, but the purity of 'the Blue' remains aloft to be viewed from mountain tops on perfectly clear and blessed days.

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janjanenrico · 8 months ago

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Repainted Livery

Rosato Transport 886188

Coach Builder: Zyle Daewoo Commercial Works (South Korea) Model: Daewoo BH115E Royal Economy Series Coach

Originally Made on February 12, 2023 by Eddrian Dhale Enriquez on Facebook Repainted on May 3rd, 2024.

CTTO: Aspiring Bus Enthusiast (Kyle Agullo) Inspired by: @wristwatchcollector-2024, and @compulsivewriter

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anyca786 · 9 days ago

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"VISERYS IS DEAD"

Daemon Targaryen x sister/aunt!Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen

WARNINGS: canon typical incest/targcest (brother & sister &niece) poly relationship, mention of dead, miscarriage.

Series

Two days have passed since they arrived back on Dragonstone, much to everyone's relief. The Keep had practically been suffocating enough and knew that if they stayed any longer, it wouldn't end well for both parties.

As the first rays of dawn, pale and rose-tinted, crept through the heavy drapes of their bedchamber, painting the room in soft light. Daenys stirred, her pale hair a tangled halo around her face on the plush pillow.

Daemon, already awake, lay beside her, propped on an elbow, his purple eyes fixed on her with a fond smile. He gently brushed a stray strand of her pale hair from her cheek, his touch feather-light.

"Good morrow, my love," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

Daenys blinked sleepily, her lips curving into a soft smile as she met his gaze. "Morrow, husband." She stretched languidly, a small, contented sigh escaping her.

He watched her, a warm feeling spreading through him. He loved these quiet moments, before the demands of court and family intruded. He traced the delicate line of her jaw with his fingertip, his eyes lingering on her soft expression.

"You are so beautiful in the morning light," he whispered, his voice husky.

Daenys blushed slightly, her cheeks tinged with pink. "You say that every morning, Daemon" she teased, though a pleased smile played on her lips.

Daemon chuckled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "And I shall continue to do so, for it is always true." He paused, his gaze becoming more serious, though a playful glint remained in his eyes. "It makes me think… we should add another little dragon to our nest."

Daenys’s eyes widened slightly, and a deeper blush bloomed on her cheeks. She looked down, a shy smile gracing her lips. The idea of another child with Daemon filled her with a warm, happy feeling.

"Daemon…" she began softly, her voice barely a whisper.

He gently cupped her face in his hands, tilting her head up so he could meet her gaze. "I am serious, Daenys. I would have many children with you. Make it equal for both my wives" He chuckled softly.

Daenys bit her lip, her heart fluttering at his words. "Rhaenyra is due to give birth soon," she reminded him gently. "Perhaps… after the babe is born, we could… try."

A wide grin spread across Daemon’s face. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, his hand gently resting on her stomach. "That is all I needed to hear, my love," he murmured against her lips. "After the babe arrives, we shall try for another. Perhaps, one more princess like you” He winked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Daenys laughed softly, her blush deepening, but her eyes sparkled with happiness. She rested her head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear.

However, the warmth of their embrace was broken by a discreet knock at the bedchamber door. Daemon groaned playfully, pulling away from Daenys with a mock sigh.

The door opened slightly, revealing a guard in Targaryen livery. He bowed his head respectfully. "Your Graces," he announced, his voice low and formal. "Princess Rhaenyra requests your presence in the court room"

🥀

In the courtroom, Daenys had arrived to find Rhaenyra already there waiting. The Heir held a protective hand over her belly and looked up when the doors swung open to see Daenys going straight to her, "Should we be worried?"

"Princess Rhaenys was seen on dragonback," Daemon said, who was the first one to reach the courtroom.

"Princess Rhaenys hasn't arrived yet. She's most likely coming though," Rhaenyra stated, also anxious about what was happening.

"Maybe something went wrong in Kingslanding." Daenys suggested but shook her head at the thought, "Maybe we shouldn't worry and wait for what Princess Rhaenys has to say. This could be about the Stepstones. Has something happened to Lord Corlys?" Daenys blunts out.

Daemon was quiet and was in the middle of thinking of the worst possible scenarios.

Daenys placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort. Daemon gave a false smile as he placed his hand on top of hers.

The doors opened to reveal Princess Rhaenys, accompanied by a guard.

"Thank you, Ser Lorent." Rhaenyra thanked them and gave her wife a look for her to follow. Daenys held out her arm to help her walk but also for comfort.

Princess Rhaenys' presence became known when she walked in. Daenys gave her cousin a smile and nodded, "Cousin Rhaenys."

"Daenys, it's good to see that you are well," Rhaenys replied.

"Princess Rhaenys," Rhaenyra greeted. "Might we hope for Lord Corlys' recovery," she smiled.

"Viserys is dead," Rhaenys announced.

It was as if Daenys was thrown into cold water, and if she wasn't holding onto Rhaenyra, she would've fallen.

She looked at Daemon and grabbed his hand. Her eyes held worry seeing the expression on his face.

She could feel Rhaenyra choke up a bit at the news and hold her arm tighter.

Viserys, her elder brother. Her backbone. The one who always stood up for her and loved her like a father was no more.

"I grieve this loss with you, Rhaenyra," Rhaenys told her, she too was still processing her cousin's death. They may have had their ups and downs, but he was always kind to her. "My cousin, your father..possessed a kind heart."

Daenys eyes stung, recalling the moments of the Keep. The memories of her, Viserys and Daemon's childhood together. How Viserys used to protect her from everything. How he used to make her laugh. He always took her side when Daemon and her used to fight.

Daemon looked like a ghost. The regret was seeping inside him for not being there for him and how their relationship ended so horribly. And as for Rhaenyra had lost the only parent she had left.

"There is more," Rhaenys continued.

"How could this have happened?" Daenys spoke up, sounding both hurt and angry. Grief clouded her vision and found herself leaning into Daemon. He held her tightly, boiling in anger.

Suddenly, Rhaenyra felt a pain in her stomach, making her wince.

"Nyra!" Daenys yelled in concern, "What happened?"

"I'm okay," Rhaenyra uttered and stood up straight once more before looking at Rhaenys. "They crowned him..?"she asked quietly, feeling devastated as she looked at Rhaenys for confirmation.

"How did Viserys die?" Daemon asked sharply, speaking up for the first time since he heard the news.

"How long ago?" Daenys asked.

"A day passed, perhaps two. I was made a prisoner in my quarters while the Queen made her preparations." Rhaenys explained,"Viserys has been slain-,"

"Alicent demanded you declare for Aegon," Rhaenyra concluded, adding the pieces together.

"She did," Rhaenys responded with a nod.

"But you had refused," Daenys started earning a nod from Rhaenys. They wouldn't just let her go. Not without trapping her from leaving. The thought of anyone harming her cousin made Daenys angry a bit, "How are you still-"

"Alive? The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit. I witnessed it myself just before I fled on Meleys,"

Rhaenyra felt another course of pain but ignored it.

"They crowned him before the masses," Rhaenyra said painfully as if she were stabbed in the heart. Almost in tears, maybe it was the fact that Alicent had been the one to agree to the plan despite coming together once more at the dinner.

Daenys felt betrayed as well. She had thought that they were getting somewhere by moving past everything and was willing to start over their friendship.

The Princess placed a hand over her scar on the collarbone,"So that the masses would see him as their rightful King,"Rhaenys said.

"That whore of a Queen murdered my brother and stole his throne, and you could have burned them all for it," Daemon yelled angrily. His brother was dead, and the crown was stolen that was meant for Rhaenyra, his wife.

"A war is like to be fought over this treachery to be sure," Rhaenys told him, justifying her actions. This was not her fight, at least not yet.

"Hmm," Daemon hummed but angry.

Daenys paced back and forth while her hand rested on her thigh where her dagger rested underneath. She was itching to lash out and bring blood but refrained due to Rhaenyra and Daemon's loss. Her thoughts train to 0tto Hightower, how she wanted to put his head on a spike... or Alicent's, no longer did she hold any sympathy for her or the Greens.

"But that war is not mine," Rhaenys told him with a glare, "I only rushed this morning to tell you out of loyalty to my husband and my House... The Greens are coming for you Rhaenyra, Daenys, and your children....You should leave Dragonstone at once."

Hearing those words out loud about how they would come for their children made Daenys furious. Imagining someone hurting their children made her blood.

Rhaenyra groaned once more in pain before looking at her wife panicky, "Daenys, there is something wrong," she moaned in distress.

Daenys looked at her alarm and helped her with her dress. Rhaenyra pulled up her hand to reveal blood.

"No..." Daenys muttered fearfully for her wife and the babe,"The babe is coming," she said, slightly panicked. They weren't supposed to come this early.

🥀

"Daemon...Daenys.." Rhaenyra shouts echoed all over the castle.

Even though Daenys wanted to be with Rhaenyra, she couldn't. Not while Daemon is fuming and wanting to plot against the Greens. She can not let that happen without Rhaenyra's presence in the court.

"Daemon-" she tried to stop him but he ignored her.

Suddenly, Rhaenyra's shouts became louder and louder, calling for her husband and wife. Daenys couldn't bear it anymore and ran towards her wife, crossing Jacaerys, who was walking towards the courtroom fuming.

When Daenys entered the birthing chamber, she met the most gruesome scene ever. Pool of blood everywhere. Rhaenyra holding their still born and deformed daughter. Their Visenya. Rhaenyra's only daughter. Daenys let out a small whimper at the sight, she could've sworn the babe resemblance to an actual dragon. The child had appeared with scales, and twisted limbs that looks like wings.

"They took my Visenya" Rhaenyra muttered, in misery as she carefully cradled the dead babe back and forth in her arms, "They took our daughter, away from us" she continued.

Daenys held her close, trying to console Rhaenyra while she let out a mournful wail. Rhaenyra hummed at the feeling of her wife's arms caging around her like a security blanket.

"We will get our revenge, my love. They will pay for it." Daenys's eyes darkened as she made the promise to her wife. Tears streamed down her face and grieved over the loss of their child, "I will make them all pay,"

"I want to be alone with her," Rhaenyra stated.

Daenys understood and stood up, placing a kiss on her forehead and cupping the dead babe's face, "Visenya, you'll never be forgotten," she whispered.

With that, she walks out of the chamber as Rhaenyra herself cleaned and dressed Visenya for the funeral. Bidding her only daughter, a final goodbye.

A newfound respect for Rhaenyra grew within Daenys, how strong her wife is, for she could never imagine what she would do if something like this ever happens.

When she reached the balcony, she saw Daemon standing still on the sea shore, devastated. He excises a lifetime of pain and grief and loss.

A wave of nausea washed over her, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. It was a cruel twist of fate, a blow that struck her core. On this day, Daenys Targaryen made a promise to herself that she will seek vengeance for their daughter, her wife and husband.

A/N: I know I haven't updated for a long time. My favourite uncle died a month ago. Got diagnosed with autoimmune disease myself. I'll try to finish the season one before New Year's.

#daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x reader #hotd #daemon targeryan #hotd daemon #rhaenyra targaryen #x reader #house targaryen #tumblr

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maxwellscorner · 9 months ago

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Hii me again🥲 anyways another question. Out of the four of your little gay trains was there one that was the most difficult to design or to think of a design for?

(also just thought i'd say how much I love your designs especially your James design ugh so beautiful and how you do hair oh how I would kill to learn hair😭)

I believe the hardest face was Gordon, I'm still coming and going with his face and i'm still not 100% satisfied, I believe after a few more months drawing him I'll find a place where I'm content with his design

As far as clothing certainly James because I wanted him to have something to call back his black livery and a nice placement for the golden details, but it was really fun coming up with his design, I love something more extravagant. I always had an idea of their hairstyles, the only one who changed was Edward, if you see my older drawings of him, but the others were easy finding a fitting hairstyle

Hair is a whole journey to go through, i'm still in the middle of mine ahsaushasuash i showed here how i do his hair, i hope it's a little informative!

#maqui's askbox #ttte james #sketch #maqui talks #thank you for your nice words!#rileyfreeman14 #i love showing the process to draw ^^#tutorial sorta

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runwayrunway · 1 year ago

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THE MAN ON THE TAIL: AN ALASKA AIRLINES WHOISIT

Last time on Runway Runway...

The short answer, reiterated: nobody knows.

The long answer: Nobody knows. A lot of people have no idea or have never even thought about it. Many people have a person in mind they think he resembles, but they know that it's probably wrong. A non-negligible number think they know, but they do not necessarily agree with each other. After the research I have done on the topic, I believe that I do know who this face is, but this is not going to be an argument for my position - merely a presentation of this logo's origins and the theories as to who this face represents, a few thoughts about community and feeling like something is part of yours, and the story of an incredible man.

But first, a content warning, and a disclaimer:

This post will discuss use of an outdated term used to refer to Inuit and Yupik peoples which is broadly considered offensive. It is, unfortunately, inseparable from the story of the face on Alaska Airlines' tailfins. While I have discussed somewhat heavy subjects, including racism, on this blog before, it has generally been in reference to statistics or vague allusions to commonly held offensive sentiments, and I think that discussing a specific word which has caused pain to a group of people requires a little bit more of a specific warning.

Below the cut, there will be discussions surrounding Alaska Airlines' use of said word, with a bit on its broader context. This post is not meant to be a downer, and I don't think it ultimately is. But there is a lot to the story of the "happy face", and there is no use telling the warm and fuzzy parts inside the hood of the parka while ignoring the temperature outside of it. There is so much more to this story than outdated language, but it is still a part of it that can't be left out without overlooking the very people who the tail represents.

I imagine the context of that warning, unfortunately, becomes clear immediately.

Indigenous Alaskans make up 15% of the state's population, made up of various groups of what are called 'circumpolar peoples', who historically lived in the very northernmost habitable parts of the planet - Alaska, Siberia, Greenland, and parts of Canada and Scandinavia. While these groups are broadly somewhat related they are distinct in culture and history.

Alaska, specifically, has over 200 federally recognized tribes, around the same number as is present in the entire rest of the country. (That has its own context, but my point here is to illustrate the diversity of indigenous Alaskan background.) These cultures include the Athabaskan, Aleut, Eyak, and the two that those without personal familiarity tend to think of - the Yup'ik and Iñupiaq. All of these terms themselves further comprise multiple communities, and indeed Yup'ik and Iñupiaq refer to specific groups of peoples from the larger groups of Yupik and Inuit peoples - the groups in question being the ones who live in Alaska rather than Siberia or Canada.

The reason this is important is that it is generally agreed that the face on Alaska Airlines' airplanes is an Alaskan Native, and specifically a member of one of these two groups. A few people apparently assume him to be Abraham Lincoln or Bob Marley or some other famous person (in fact, I am editing this to say that one of the replies to my first post was someone saying they'd always thought it was Abraham Lincoln) but I doubt these theories are ever serious. It would be weird to put a representative from Kentucky on a livery for Alaska Airlines (...which admittedly is based in Washington). The reasons for this assumption are fairly straightforward - it's a reasonable leap from a face surrounded by what looks like a fur hood being identified as Alaskan. But I wouldn't be making this post if the answer was just 'eh, some Alaskan Native'. (And I would find using the generic ornament of an indigenous group as branding more than a little tasteless, in all honesty.) It is broadly thought that this logo is based on the likeness of a specific individual. The question is who.

MEET OUR MYSTERY MAN

So, let's start at the obvious place. He's their logo, so...what does Alaska Airlines say about the identity of this mystery man? Let's take a look at the press release for their 2016 rebrand.

I'll be honest, I wasn't keeping up with airline livery news in 2016. Indeed, I wasn't keeping up with much of anything and I can't recall much from that period. So I...did not know about this, and it took the wind out of me a bit when I learned it happened.

So, let's begin with that term. 'Eskimo'. I feel gross even typing it. This is an exonym used to refer broadly to Yupik and Inuit peoples, though many who use it aren't necessarily aware that the term refers to multiple distinct cultures. I've heard it used for the Alaska Airlines man, and I had always assumed this was out of the ignorance of individual people. I live in the United States, where it's still often used casually (as are a few other unfortunate terms other places avoid - the country seems to have perpetually not gotten the memo, so to speak). In Canada, it is more or less universally considered to be offensive, due to the groups in question expressing their opposition to its use, and this seems to be the general trend over time in the US as well. So while, unfortunately, I do hear people casually say it from time to time, that's mostly annoying classmates. I didn't expect to hear it from Alaska Airlines.

The phrasing, however, is just as much of a problem. 'Our' Eskimo, as a probably unintentional consequence of phrasing choices, implies ownership of not just the logo but the man himself. I don't think I particularly need to explain why some might take issue with this.

And take issue they did. There was a petition! The hashtag #notyoureskimo was started on the website formerly known as Twitter. Anchorage Daily News quotes user angelascox making a statement I think really cuts to the quick of it: "No, @AlaskaAir … you don't own an Eskimo."

Alaska Airlines did listen.

Well, that's..........better, I guess. Unfortunately, it does still use the word 'Eskimo'. And I should note that it isn't universally considered offensive and I've found Alaskan Natives who state that they don't mind use of the term, but these seem to be the minority, and as time goes on it's being phased out further and further. In the context of Alaska Airlines' use, the Anchorage Daily News provides a few perspectives:

Maria Shaa Tlaa Williams, director of the Alaska Native Studies program at the University of Alaska Anchorage and Tlingit, said in an email the broader issue is about the use of "a somewhat antiquated word." "(Eskimo) is a colonial term and it should be: Inupiaq, Yup'ik/Cup'ik, Siberian Yupik or even Inuit, or even generic term such as Alaska Native," she said. Bobbie Egan, media relations director for Alaska Airlines, said the company made the decision to keep using the word "Eskimo" after conducting focus groups with Native leaders throughout Alaska, but she did not have details about those focus group results. "Many of our employees and customers commonly refer to themselves as Eskimo and we've always sought the input and counsel of employees and customers," she said.

I do wish those focus group results were made public, but all the same this isn't particularly surprising. Whenever a term begins to be considered offensive this opinion is generally adopted in a bit of a mosaic fashion, with typically younger people first expressing discomfort and those from different walks of life having their own opinions - some more swayed by the distasteful aspects, while others refuse to let that stop them from using a word they've called themselves their whole life. This is broadly true across all sorts of contexts. I do think it's never an outsider's place to critique someone's choice to use whatever language they feel best represents them, but if there is a large portion of the group in question who find it derogatory we should avoid using it ourselves. There are certainly 'outdated' terms I use for myself but would feel a bit unhappy seeing used carelessly by someone who didn't understand what it meant and was using it, bluntly, because they didn't know better or didn't care to know better. If you are from a group which has historically been derided by others you can probably fill in your own example here.

There are a few reasons for the distaste many have for the word 'Eskimo'. To begin with, it's an exonym. This term was not used as an identifier by any of these groups, but by outsiders to refer to them, and particularly by Europeans and settlers who heard these words from other groups they encountered earlier and then never bothered to ask the people in question what they actually called themselves. Beyond the inherent issue of self-determination, the fact that these were the historical users means that it was often pejorative and othering and ought to be left behind with terms like 'oriental'.

The term is generally thought to have originated from a corruption of an exonym used by one or more Algonquian-speaking groups. The most popular conception is that it stems from a Cree term meaning 'raw meat eater', which people understandably find pretty offensive. There are a number of other theories, and recently linguists seem to most support an interpretation that it is derived from an Innu-aimun word meaning 'one who laces a snowshoe'; it could have evolved from both of these terms or neither, and I don't think it matters when it is already widely perceived as meaning something offensive. 'Well, actually'-ing somebody who says a term is offensive to their ethnic group by pointing out a benign linguistic origin is a pretty pointless thing to do - we've had this conversation before about the name Lufthansa. But beyond that, basically every slur I can think of was once a completely innocuous word that just needed someone to invent a hateful enough way to use it. And people have been using this word rather hatefully for centuries. Regardless of origin, it is a dated exonym, and if the groups it refers to don't feel it represents them that's enough reason for me to stop using it.

The other reason that this term is broadly bad to use is that it's just not a good way of conveying which people you're talking about. 'Eskimo' is generally agreed to encompass Yupik and Inuit peoples, which are two large and diverse populations spread across Siberia and North America. These may be closely related and similar cultures but they are not interchangeable. 'Inuit' has recently seen more frequent use as a replacement, which is at least a step away from the language, but is often outright factually incorrect, as it will be used to refer to Yupik people - who are not Inuit, but are the largest indigenous population in Alaska. 'Alaskan Native' and 'circumpolar peoples' exist as umbrella terms which are understood to be umbrella terms by just about everyone, but there is a legitimate misconception that these groups are all the same because of the use of a single term for them.

Maybe Alaska Airlines uses the term because they think 'Alaskan Native' is awkward for a slogan and they don't want to tie themselves into knots by committing to specifying whether the man is Yup'ik or Iñupiaq. That would be a problem, as they don't actually know who he is.

Beyond the term, there is the issue of objectification on a larger scale than phrasing. Annie Wenstrup, the writer of the petition linked earlier, makes an important point - if the Alaska Airlines man is the likeness of a real person, that person has not been paid for its use. Beyond that, Alaska Airlines is using the very concept of an indigenous Alaskan to market itself. There is definitely a dehumanizing element to it. Alaska Airlines is far from the only company to have ever used ethnic groups as branding, and I think that ultimately it's not my place to linger on this topic. It would be wrong to not mention that this is an element of his story, that people do raise this issue, and that this is a discussion that should be had. I, however, don't have a fully developed opinion. This is a conversation for Alaskan Natives to have, I think - I just don't understand the context of their relationship with the airline specifically, and I have no more ownership of the man pictured than Alaska Airlines. Because he was not an object. There is every likelihood that he was a real person.

WHO IS THE MAN ON THE TAIL?

The website mentions a short film. Unfortunately, the Way Back Machine didn't manage to get it, but it did catch the associated article. The thing this article communicates most clearly is that nobody knows who this man is.

Whether the artists were inspired by [a real person] remains a mystery to this day – both within the company and without – as no official documentation has ever been uncovered indicating that [...] the Eskimo [...] was based on a specific person. Even Alaska’s archivists, a team of retirees and long-time employees passionate about preserving the company’s history, can’t agree.

As someone who is myself studying to be an archivist, I am currently tearing my hair out and flinging tables at people mere decades ago for never keeping any records!!! What is wrong with you people?! Why do you never think of me in the future wanting to know the context of things you probably think are obvious?!

Well, anyway, this might indicate that he's just a generic representation of an Alaskan Native. That would not just be a disappointing answer to this mystery, it would also be pretty offensive. I know that the NFL (an organization known for its racial sensitivity, as I think we're all aware) is a bit slow to catch onto this but I think at this point in history we're all on the same page about using indigenous groups as mascots, right? It's weird and dehumanizing. But that's generally in reference to a stock character based on a stereotype of this group, and often one which is an offensive caricature. Given the percentage of Alaskan Natives in the population, some of whom were certainly involved in making Alaska Airlines what it is, isn't there a chance that this is a loving homage to the group native to the land this airline represents? A way of saying 'this is who this airline connects to faraway places'? I think this was certainly at least the intention, and whether this is still tokenizing, whether the phrasing on the website - a warm, welcoming presence and a reminder of commitment - stirs up an uncomfortable feeling is ultimately a question for Alaskan Natives, and one with a far less unanimous answer than that of outdated terminology.

However, I'll say this up front: he is not a generic representation. He is a specific individual. If he weren't I wouldn't have written a whole post about him.

So let's go all the way back to the beginning. If we do this we find our mystery man was actually not created to be a generic literal face of Alaska Airlines. The intention was not an indigenous mascot, but to represent Alaska's heritage...in more than one way. Mr. Alaska Airlines was once a jellybean.

YOU MIGHT AS WELL PUT HIM ON THE TAILS

image: Vic Warren

In 1972 a set of four new "Alaskana" liveries were introduced for Alaska Airlines' relatively small 727 fleet, replacing the older 'Gold Nugget Jet'. (I will definitely be reviewing those one day.) They were designed by Vic Warren and meant to represent the heritage of Alaska's population, and came in four variants:

"The Prospector" - in red, a miner with his pick, representing the people who flocked to Alaska from the lower 48 during the Gold Rush

"The Totem Pole" - in green, a totem pole design representing Southeast Alaskan indigenous groups such as the Eyak, Tlingit, and Haida - I wish I could be more specific but I can't seem to find the specific totem pole this is based off of

"The Onion Dome" - in fuchsia, today I learned that's actually what those are frequently called! They are meant to represent the history of Russians in Alaska.

And, "The....you know. Him." He's in blue. You may notice he looks a little bit less genial here. , and there's a bit of lighter color detail. No elaboration needed.

It does feel distinctly less tokenizing when there's a white prospector right next to him. In fact, the rephrasing in the quote taken from the archivists is actually because they were referring to both our mystery man and the prospector, whose identity is even more lost to history. This feels quite a bit less sinister than naming your football team a racial slur. It's like if an airline representing Massachusetts (keep reading, Cape Air, this is a free idea for you) had a set of jellybeans featuring a Wampanoag person, a furious man in the process of being given a traffic citation, a whale, a large textile workers' strike, a university-aged Dunkin Donuts employee who can just barely cover the rent at the two-bedroom apartment they share with seven roommates, Giles Corey being pressed to death, Paul Revere, the Harvard University logo, and Tom Brady. It goes from feeling exclusively dehumanizing to

Over the years, though, use of the other three designs dropped off. I'm not sure why it did (well, I can hazard a guess about the Onion Dome) but that's just the reality. Maybe the totem I understand being difficult to immediately identify as a totem when it's in monocolor with little detail on a large plane. I do think it's a bit of a shame - I love jellybeans and I love representing more than one culture in a place as large as Alaska - but I get it, their fleet was small.

As for why our mystery man won the deadlock with the Prospector, that's beyond me, but it almost feels like it was destined given he was the initial basis for the concept at all. Again from Vic Warren:

The first time the Eskimo art was used was in a large newspaper ad promoting Arctic Tours. [...] Since it was a newspaper ad, the initial appearance of the Eskimo was as a large, strong black image. The marketing director at Alaska hated it, even though the ad performed well. [...] A few months later, [I was] given the assignment to create a new corporate image for the airline [...] At this time the airline [...] only flew from Seattle to Alaska and within Alaska. They had recently moved their headquarters from Anchorage to Seattle and were taking a lot of political flak for abandoning Alaska. Our direction from the airline was to “create something very distinctive and modern, yet totally Alaskan.” In retrospect, it sounds easy, but I worked for three months on every kind of jet design I could think of. [...] the airline’s account executive was sitting with me in my office. [...] He stood up and stomped out of the room, shouting, “Oh, to hell with it! You might as well put that damned Eskimo on the tails!” Ta-daaaaaa! [...] I looked at the history and culture of Alaska and came up with four designs [...] But it shortly became evident that the Eskimo was the most popular image. And it was expensive to use all those different designs, so the other three left.

And thus Mr. Alaska Airlines was brought on board properly. And people were very attached to him. The thing mentioned earlier, that the airline was getting flak for losing their Alaskan identity - that comes back later in 1988, when the airline considered replacing him with a logo of a stylized mountain in the shape of the letter A. People hated this new logo so much I cannot even find a picture of it. This attempted replacement was for reasons unrelated to the criticisms I've mentioned earlier - he looked bad when printed small, was difficult to recognize, and might suggest to the people of California that Alaska Airlines only flew to Alaska. People were so incensed about this idea, however, that the state legislature decided this was a problem for them to tackle. From the LA Times:

The Alaska Legislature, which went into session on Monday, will consider a resolution asking the Seattle-based airline not to junk the colorful logo for one featuring a stylized mountain, said state Sen. Tim Kelly of Anchorage. [...] Alaska’s 20 state senators have voiced support for the resolution, he said.

Do they not have anything better to do with their time? No...zoning laws or tax brackets or ordinances? I mean, they've got some experience in aviation, I guess - they did make it illegal to push a moose out of a plane, or to look at moose from a plane. You also can't get a moose drunk. Actually, they have a lot of oddly specific moose-related laws, which I think is a form of environmental storytelling. You also can't wake up a sleeping bear to take a photograph of it. Safety is a priority, though - it's illegal to sell a child a stun gun and you need a concealed-carry permit for slingshots, so their priorities are clearly in important places.

Regardless, one thing Kelly said stood out to me. Emphasis mine:

“It may not be the best representation of an Eskimo, but it’s our Eskimo,” he said. “(Alaskans) feel an affinity with the airline. Alaskans feel it’s their airline.”

Okay, so this could be one of two things: a coincidence (more plausible, I guess, since it's not that weird of a combination of words) or an intentional reference to this statement by the company, which I think I would respect a bit more - a nod to history, all that - but if this is the case it seems quite strange they wouldn't have mentioned it as context for the use of their phrase when apologizing for it. Not important, just wanted to bring it up.

Despite the fact that the airline got a letter of support - “a graphic designer who is related to a pilot thought it was good"- they obviously did not replace him. Vic Warren actually weighed in himself on the topic:

My position was that if the airline’s image was confusing, it was because of the name Alaska Airlines, not the Eskimo logo. If they wanted to be a more amorphous regional carrier they should change their name to a version in the Air West mold or, at any rate, something less specific than Alaska.

And I do think I agree with him. You can choose between being relatable to everyone or having a heritage, making your brand just as much about where you started as where you are. I prefer the latter, but I have the opposite mindset of an airline. I am all about history and expression, and don't remotely care about attracting customers or making money. There is a reason Alaska Airlines doesn't have a tumblr blog.

“The Eskimo is a friendly, human symbol of the north, of the spirit of Alaska,” wrote Satch Carlson, an Anchorage Daily News columnist. “Take him off the Alaska planes in favor of some abstract, hip, meaningless design, you’re taking one step closer to that impersonal austerity that characterizes most other airlines today.”

...wow, so even in '88 they were tired of Eurowhite, it seems.

THAT LOGO THAT LOOKS LIKE MY TIO

So of course they kept the face. He got tweaked over the years - the 'fly with a happy face' campaign adjusted him to look a little bit less stoic, and of course the details were updated as graphics technology improved. But this is The Alaska Airlines Guy now. People are attached to him. An interesting effect of this attachment, though, is that a lot of people are pretty sure they know who he is, and that he's from their town.

People already recognize him as any number of a massive slew of celebrities. I find this extra fascinating because I actually have congenital prosopagnosia - I cannot recognize human faces, and while I can generally identify people in daily life by context like voice, posture, fashion sense, and hair, recognizing people from photographs is far more difficult. Unless I have two pictures next to each other and can compare the individual features it's basically useless - I never get that sort of 'click' of recognition - so it's been really interesting reading all the different associations people had, of which I have seen literally dozens if not hundreds. Reddit user DaBigBird27, in one of my favorite anecdotes, relates an experience where he was told by an LAX employee to look for the logo that looks like "his tio". And isn't it incredibly fascinating how that works? How you can tell someone you've only just met to find the picture that looks like your tio, and they'll know what you mean?

Look, there's something about grandfathers. I don't know what it is. (Uncles too, probably - I don't have any, though.) I hope I'm not insane for saying this, so any other grandfather enjoyers can weigh in, but I feel like grandfathers occupy a certain formative place in everyone's mind. He is one's earliest exposure to an old man and thus becomes their fundamental conception of one. Unless he is phenomenally cruel this ties him together, part and parcel, with the features of old men that can bring you comfort and happiness. I certainly experience this with my grandfather, despite having known him for a really tragically short length of time. If I were able to recognize faces, I think there's a very real chance that I would have thought the Alaska Airlines man was him for a moment.

And this seems extra true for those from Alaska. The Anchorage Daily News continues to provide a lot of anecdotes of locals discussing the universal feeling of proximity to the logo.

Perry Eaton, an Alutiiq artist who is originally from Kodiak Island but now lives in Anchorage, said that some people insist they know the Eskimo's true identity. "It's always been sort of a tongue-in-cheek conversation," Eaton said. "Nobody's gotten emotional over it, it's just sort of interesting. He's very iconic. Some folks are adamant that they know who it is."

“If you’re from Barrow, you think maybe he’s from Barrow. If you’re from Kotzebue, you think maybe he’s from Kotzebue. If you’re from Nome, you think maybe he’s from Nome,” says former mayor Lukin. “I have not met an Eskimo elder who doesn’t sort of smile like that.”

Another piece of writing, although accompanying a story that (as far as I can tell) is fiction, or at least dramatization, contains some context that is definitely not:

By the way, that page also had a lively discussion which included a number of other theories about the origin of the image, a number of people claiming a family relationship with the person depicted [...] Whatever the case, the image has obviously evolved and become less stern over the years. When the image was digitized there were further touch-ups and adjustments made. Most sources agree, though, that a remarkable number of native Alaskan people say that the person: “looks just like my grandfather!”

Even Alaska Airlines' own (archived) website describes this phenomenon.

“When I was a little kid, we all thought it was our own grandfathers,” says former Kotzebue mayor Maija Lukin. “We all thought it was our tata. Even if it didn’t remotely look like our grandfathers.”

Well, let me finally get to the point, because at least some of these people are correct. While he was intended to represent Alaskan Natives as a whole, the man was based on the likeness of a real person. There are two leading theories thought to be plausible. Both were real Alaskan Natives with ties to aviation who lived memorably in the proper timeframe to have inspired the logo.

CHESTER SEVECK

I'll begin with Chester (his full name seems to have been Chester Asagaq Seveck Downey but he is most frequently called Chester Seveck), who is the more common theory. (And indeed the man on the tail is frequently referred to as 'Chester' by people who think this.) The above-quoted Kotzebue mayor, for example, is convinced it's Chester, who was himself a Kotzebue resident. It's a remote place which relies on air travel to provide necessities, and Chester was said to have greeted passengers and crew as they left the airplanes together with his wife. He was often mentioned to be a reindeer herder, but I was afraid that this would be all I could find about this man who clearly was beloved by so many people that to this day he's remembered this widely.

Thankfully, unlike so many people who pass into history with only vague and distant reference to memorialize their full and remarkable lives, Chester Seveck has written a memoir, published by a bush pilot who considered him a close friend. It's called Longest Reindeer Herder and is available in its entirety for free, with the pilot and friend in question, Frank Whaley, including a selection of photographs he himself took of Chester. I really recommend everyone read it. It's not very long but it's extremely dense with information, giving a first-hand account of the development of airborne connections between remote regions from the side that doesn't normally get to tell their story. It also tells a lot about Chester, his family, and the incredible things which happened to him. One that really stuck with me was the time he was shot with a rifle but unharmed, because his parka absorbed the force of an entire bullet! It reads almost like a journal, very matter-of-fact and brief recounting of events which would have at the time been whirlwinds of emotions and little details now lost to the steady flow of history, but all of this was put to paper at once, and it's staggering just how much one life really is, how much we can learn from just some of one man's memories. About him, about the world he lived in, and about reindeer herding.

When it comes to aviation, Chester's experiences are a joy to read. He recounts his first time coming to the US, together with his wife.

Then Jack Whaley take us to Los Angeles. We flew in night time. We saw the lights down under us. I remember when we newly married in the year 1912 July 12th, I was dreaming my wife and I we saw the stars and sky under us. We were above the sky and stars I told my wife. Now my dream come true.

Eventually Chester, too old to continue his work with massive herds of reindeer, retired and began to work for Wien Airlines, traveling for promotional tours and guiding tours in Kotzebue. He refers to this as 'herding tourists'.

There are stories of the Lower 48, too, of the tours he went on with his wife. He mentions appearing with Steve Allen, Art Linkletter, and even Groucho Marx. He appeared in a minor role in "Ice Palace" (1960), a very poorly reviewed film which also happened to be the motion picture debut of one George Takei.

The final section of his memoir:

For long live and joy life, I believe these things--Keep busy and do good work. Have much good exercise. Eat good food, no waste anything and every day enjoy what it gives and do not spoil this day with much worry of tomorrow. Be happy. I know this way how I be "Longest Reindeer Herder." Start 1908, finish 1954, altogether 46 years herd reindeer.

Chester was undeniably a gregarious person. He seemed to really genuinely enjoy the high profile his partnership with Wien brought him, not for any material gains but because seeing the world and showing it to other people made him happy. He had a high opinion of himself that he wasn't afraid to share but there wasn't an ounce of pompousness in it; he just knew what he was worth. He loved talking about himself and his story - I found at least one other interview he gave. If more people were like Chester I think the world would be a much happier place. I really envy the people who got to have him show them around Kotzebue.

His memoirs were taken down in 1973, and the ending sort of reads as if he's right at the end of his life, but that's not true. He lived until 1981, dying ten days after his ninety-first birthday. He has many living descendants, with 172 grandchildren and great-grandchildren at the time he wrote his memoir. I actually saw a couple of them in the wild while researching, talking about growing up and being told he was the face on the airplanes.

Chester is by far the most common claim for the Alaska Airlines face. People from Kotzebue are proud of this. I saw another Reddit commentor, who has since deleted their account, mentioning their mother telling them about him growing up.

I think Chester is a fantastic person to feature. His connection to aviation and his warmth and kindness, eagerly welcoming tourists into his home village, makes him a fantastic symbol of Alaska. This post has been my favorite to research of any I've written. Reading people's warm memories of BWIA and learning about the incredible history of aviation in Sri Lankan folklore are both things I cherish, but reading Chester's account of his own life was genuinely almost overpowering. I am a history student. Sure, I study public history specifically, but I still study history. I read about history. I read long textbooks, in-depth research documents, and primary sources. I read old newspapers, memoirs, observations by travelers. My sophomore seminar was an in-depth study of remarkably preserved legal documents from one specific witch trial in 17th-century Germany. It's rare that something comes around like Chester's memoir that reminds me how much I adore humans. We have always had so much to give. There is a legitimate debate about the ethics of Alaska Airlines monetizing the likeness of an indigenous group, but I'm happy that they put a face on their tails if only because it means I got to read Chester's writing. I wish more people did.

But there's one other person frequently speculated to be the face of Alaska Airlines, and it would be remiss not to discuss him.

OLIVER AMOUACK

There is less available about Oliver than there is about Chester - at least, less I could find. He appears to have lived from 1895 to 1987, and unlike Chester, who I only ever saw called 'Eskimo', Oliver was known to be Iñupiaq. In the 1950s he was a performer in a travelling show called "It's Alaska!", but that's about all you can find with search engines.

image: Alaska Airlines Corporate Archives This is more or less the only image of Amouack I could find. He's the man on the left. Look familiar? That's not a rhetorical question. I'm face-blind.

That isn't all there is to be found, but what else there is I don't have access to at present. Brenda Ritchey, Oliver's granddaughter, has written a biography of him - "Know the Happy Face: Biography of Oliver Amouak", published 1997. The thing is, this book is crazy hard to get your hands on. Buying a copy is definitely way out of my price range. It's hard to find them for double-digit dollar amounts, and they go up over a thousand. There are several copies held by public libraries but most are in Alaska, which is pretty far away from me. Thankfully, there is one in a collection in New York, and I'm trying to get it on interlibrary loan. If I can get access to it, I'll make a follow-up post, hopefully adding context to Oliver's story like I did for Chester's. Clearly, his granddaughter thought it was worth telling.

Although Oliver is the less frequent claim, a few people are very confident that it's him. And it is impossible to prove conclusively whether it's him or Chester, or neither...or is it?

POINTING THE FINGER

This is where history ends and speculation begins. What you read from here is not fact - it is my own conjecture, made by someone with around a week's worth of research - someone who is literally unable to distinguish human faces, no less - and I encourage questioning it. But I'm going to make my argument: I am loosely convinced that the face on Alaska Airlines' airplanes is, in fact, Oliver Amouack.

The first set of reasons are contextual. Oliver, when he was in "It's Alaska!", was directly employed by Alaska Airlines, while Chester, though he did greet tourists for the airline, seemed to have much closer ties to Wien Air Alaska. If someone was looking for inspiration in Alaska Airlines' archives I think it's far more likely that they would have stumbled on Oliver's likeness than Chester's.

The second is, admittedly, rather weak, but I still feel it's worth mentioning. While the modern "happy face" is smiling, the original Alaskana image was not.

Take a look. This man is very poised, but he's also definitely got a bit of a stern look.

Now, while there do exist images of Chester Seveck where he isn't smiling, they are rare and mostly candid, taken while he's focused on doing something, like herding reindeer or singing, and often faced mostly away from the camera. They also tend to be from when he was younger, which the man in the image is clearly not. Given how frequently he was seen looking overjoyed just to be wherever he was, I find it a little bit unlikely that Chester would inspire an image I would go so far as to describe as 'frowning'.

image: Vic Warren

Now that's a bit more like Chester, but this isn't the original image. Rather, it's a later edit to make him smile, for Alaska's "fly with a happy face" campaign. I find it somewhat hard to believe that, were this Chester, it would have needed editing at all.

I also think that, were he to be the basis for the image, Chester would have brough it up when putting down his story. His memoir is from 1973, and the livery was introduced in 1972 with an even earlier newspaper ad featuring the same image. Chester had the healthiest high self-esteem I've seen in my life and he would definitely have mentioned this with pride. Maybe he was never told, but I suspect if this were the case he would have asked about it. It would be a little hard to not notice your own face on an airplane while greeting its occupants.

There's a major spanner in the works, though. That spanner is Vic Warren, designer of the initial Alaskana liveries, himself. Although it is no longer up, the Way Back Machine has helped me find an old post on his blog, discussing the logo and his design process. When I quoted him earlier, that's where I got it from. And he does kneecap my theory quite a bit - he outright states it's Chester.

Back in 1973, when I designed the Eskimo, an elderly Eskimo gentleman in Kotzebue was working as a greeter for the airline on its Arctic Tours. You got off the plane in Kotzebue and he was one of the folks who came up and helped you into a fur-trimmed parka to protect you from the cold. It was sort of an Eskimo version of the Hawaiian lei. We had photos of him and others during the welcoming procedure. I used one of those photos as the basis for the art. His name was Chester Seveck Downey. Surprisingly, lots of rumors have announced that the art was based on all sorts of people, including Richard Nixon. Once, I heard a story that he was really Bob Marley!

So that should settle it, right? Maybe. Actually, though, I think Vic Warren may be misremembering. I don't mean to gaslight this artist who created an extremely recognizable and enduring logo, but he already states that the design was done in 1973, which is impossible because the liveries were introduced in 1972. He actually gives 1973 as a date throughout the post multiple times, even though I've seen it claimed the design was in the works as early as 1970. The post was first written in 2014, so I think it's perfectly reasonable for your memory to slip over 40 years.

Getting a date slightly wrong and forgetting who you based a logo on are two different levels, but I'd like to further argue my earlier point - if the reference truly was Chester greeting passengers I am absolutely sure he would have been smiling, and I can't imagine why Warren would have changed this in his art. I think it's possible he misremembered, and I also think it's possible he assumed the photograph of Oliver was of Chester somehow. Far be it from me to accuse someone I've never met of racism, but, look, most people fail implicit association tests. I think it is entirely plausible a (presumably) white man contracted by an airline he didn't work for personally could see a photograph of one indigenous man and just assume that it was of a different one he was more familiar with, especially if Oliver and Chester have similar faces, which I assume people who can tell think they do.

I don't think any of that conjecture is particularly convincing. I wouldn't personally be convinced by it. The burden of proof here is a lot higher than 'maybe he was confused'. But what finally swayed me to believing Amouack is most likely our man was a post on, of all sites, the digital sewer pipe known as Quora.

An aside: Quora has introduced a feature where at the top of the page you are given a response by ChatGPT. While this is going to give you an answer of higher quality than many of those provided by the 'human' users of the website, I find the answer it generated for this question both incredibly factually wrong and somewhat disrespectful.

So the most obvious thing is that ChatGPT is misgendering Oliver/Chester. This immediately makes it clear that this answer is fully nonsense to basically anyone sentient, though it still may well fool some Quora users. The 'names' given, Tlingit and Haida, are both those of indigenous Pacific Northwest peoples. As in ethnicities, not individuals. Fred Kabotie was a real person, and a real artist, and accomplished and prolific, and someone you should absolutely learn about, but he was not Tlingit - he was Hopi. As in, from Arizona.

image: Grand Canyon National Park

I am rather confident Fred Kabotie has nothing to do with Alaska Airlines.

What really disturbs me is that, while there is an option to ask more questions in an app, and an option to downvote, there is no place to state that the information given is wrong, never mind to correct it. Even the app formerly known as Twitter has that.

Beyond that, there's no way to give this feedback to the bot. Downvoting isn't the same thing as actual negative reinforcement. This means that there is no way to stop the bot from giving the same answer to the same question in the future, even though it is wrong, and even though in this particular case a major aspect of its wrongness is that it seems to believe all North American indigenous people are one coherent group to the point it considers Hopi the same category as Iñupiaq, which is a bit like lumping together Spain and Norway.

So, not to pontificate, but this is one of the reasons ChatGPT is so potentially dangerous. It can generate text which seems quite a bit like an answer while being completely gibberish, and it could certainly fool people. Deep-learning algorithms, as of right now, are not capable of fact-checking. You should never rely on them for answers.

Besides that, though, there are actual human responses. Most of them are, as you may expect of Quora, total dreck. But sandwiched in between someone who seemed to be under the impression that it's ambiguous if Chester was from Kotzebue or Nome and someone who appeared to believe the term 'prop' didn't encompass turboprops was an answer given by Keith Holmes, whose qualifications are 'knows Dutch'.

That doesn't sound promising, but he actually came with evidence. I'm going to give you the short version, but you should read his answer. Here is his method:

He took the original image of the logo, then flipped it horizontally to match the image of Oliver Amouack from the It's Alaska! poster.

Then he overlaid them and very slowly lowered the opacity. Like, it's torturously slow, so I'll just show some 'keyframes', but that slowness means that even I, faceblind as I am, could clearly see that they line up nearly perfectly.

In the 1970s, this process would have been done with physical paint. But nowadays it's incredibly easy to just up the contrast and lower the saturation on an image. So Holmes (aptly named) did precisely this.

...yeah. I mean, there he is. I think we found him.

AN IDENTITY UNCOVERED

So, there it is. People's opinions vary about who this man is and whether he should be on the tails at all, but I think it's Oliver Amouack. But I want to finish off this post, which has had its ups and downs, on a somewhat open-ended yet positive note.

No matter who this face is, there are people who love him. And I'm not talking about people who love making money off him, or about senators. I mean regular Alaskans. Even Annie Wenstrup, in the original text of her petition, acknowledged that there is a warm fuzzy feeling that people have about him. Though its inclusion is definitely potentially a bit sinister, the Alaska Airlines page discussing the history of the logo released concurrently with the rebrand touches on it.

“When I see that face, I feel proud. I feel like I’m home,” says Sallee Baltierra, a concierge in Alaska’s Anchorage Board Room airport lounge. “I love to see that Eskimo on the tail in other cities that we fly to, from Liberia, Costa Rica to Nashville, Tennessee. It makes me feel like there’s a little piece of home there waiting for me.”

The ethics of how it is done in this particular case are worth discussing, and whether the logo as it stands now should be retired is not something I am in a position to weigh in on. For better or worse the happy face is part of Alaska Airlines' history. The mystery has been put out there for people to solve, and it won't go away if they take him off the planes.

And while there are good reasons, reasons I agree with, that people scoff at the idea of representation being the same thing as justice, particularly when those with no skin in the game are making millions off it, Alaskan Natives are most of the history of Alaska, and they have propped up Alaska Airlines from its earliest days. They have been pilots, cabin crew, ground crew, maintenance, customer service, passengers, and, yes, tour guides. They have been there from the earliest days of McGee Airways, and when Alaska Airlines finally goes under they will be there on its very last flight. There is a difference between acknowledgment and objectification, and that line is not one for me to draw, but it is at least good that the question of who this man is can lead people to the stories of the real people who are so often forgotten.

The fact that I believe the happy face is Oliver doesn't make that reality. It could well be Chester. It could be someone else. It could be your grandfather. It definitely isn't my grandfather, but I showed my mother a picture and she did say that he looks very much like my grandfather...we are not Alaskan Native, I think it goes without saying. I don't think anyone I'm related to has ever even been to Alaska.

But I think there's something positive to be taken from his anonymity to most of the world. There are certainly negatives, the sticking points of profit and objectification, but were it not for the fact that there was a mystery here to dive down I would have never known Chester Seveck existed, never mind read his memoir. I wouldn't have known Oliver Amouack existed either, and I hope I can read his memoir too. If there is any reason for me to 'well, actually' someone who says the face is definitely Chester - and I'm not sure there is - it wouldn't be because it isn't him, but because I want to give Oliver the same recognition.

And I hope other people wonder who the face is, and look for the answer online. My blog isn't very large, and I'm entirely happy with that. I love writing my incredibly niche posts about airlines, and I'm not doing this with any expectation or hope of fame. But given the small amount of articles on the topic I hope that my blog shows up in the search engine results, maybe on the second or third page, and that maybe it can direct someone to Chester's story. I am overjoyed to have read it and I want other people to read it too. His life was a unique and meaningful one and I am grateful that he chose to share it with the world. I am excited to pass it on to all of you.

I set out to find the identity of the man on Alaska Airlines' livery. What I found was the story of a man who touched far more than Alaska Airlines. The happy face could be anyone. He could be your grandfather. He could be (and probably is) Brenda Ritchey's grandfather. In a sense I think, although his literal family should be compensated for use of his likeness, he is your grandfather - not because he is literally your grandfather, but because he carries that poised warmth that so many grandfathers have. I think there is a real benefit to leaving this open-ended - at least enough to keep that mystique that drives people to make that Google search and learn about the overlooked and thought-to-be-nameless indigenous men who make Alaska what it is. Maybe the real happy face was the grandfathers we thought he resembled along the way.

And Alaska Airlines be damned, Chester Seveck herded reindeer for 46 years and had his dream of stars and sky beneath him come true. That's more valuable, to me, than having a famous picture based on you. Pictures reflect reality, but Chester was real, and it is accounts like his which make history human.

#double sunrise #alaska airlines #era: 1970s #jellybeans #region: north america #region: united states

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voraciousvore · 4 months ago

Text

Giganterra (Chapter 51)

Prologue/TOC | Previous (50) | Next (52)

Content Warning: Blood and gore, violence, death

Word Count: 2.4k

------ Chapter 51: Hunting Expedition ------

Candy feared that the king was legitimately going to murder her in a fit of rage. His violence was escalating, to the point where he came close to mangling her beyond repair on a regular basis. The servants, along with his family members, avoided him as best they could, lest they become the unlucky target of his wrath. Nobody wished to be beaten—or worse, executed—for a petty error.

After being thumped hard on the skull when the king lost his temper, Leon suggested that he go hunting to blow off some steam and sate his bloodlust. To his relief, King Richard agreed with enthusiasm. He summoned Sir Maneater, his squire, and the dog trainer to his study and ordered them to prepare for a hunting expedition. Joey and Martin saddled up all the horses, collected their weapons, and set out into the woodlands surrounding the castle with the king.

The king, despite the sharper edge in his words and gestures, was in high spirits at the prospect of hunting. He enjoyed the thrill of the chase, the excitement of the kill. Unlike some men of higher station, he relished the opportunity to personally skin and gut an animal, to soak his hands in blood. Ajax, riding alongside him on a gargantuan coal-black stallion, carried the king’s gilded bow and hunting knife for him.

Hardon chattered on to Martin about hunting techniques and the best game, with the knight giving brief and polite responses in turn. Joey rode on Martin’s right in silence, unsure what to say or if engaging in the conversation would be rude—not that he wanted to speak to the depraved king anyway. Ajax scanned the trees like a hawk for potential threats. The dog trainer urged the army of greyhounds ahead of the horses to seek a game trail.

“I’m hoping to snag a few red foxes,” the king prattled on. “They have such lovely pelts, perfect for lining a new coat for the upcoming winter.” As he spoke, he idly scratched at his chest inside his shirt and plucked out Candy, chained to his necklace. “I want to keep my little darling warm, after all! Assuming she makes it another season without pissing me off!” He snarled and snapped his teeth at her, eliciting a shrill shriek that made him laugh wickedly.

“Of course, I wouldn’t mind hunting rabbits or deer either. They make the most delicious stews. She could always stay warm in my belly too!” He chuckled while Candy turned dreadfully pale. She glanced over at Martin with pleading, watery eyes. He averted his gaze with shame. There was nothing he could do for her.

Candy broke inside, seeing the handsome knight of her dreams dressed in the king’s livery of silver and purple—the colors of the enemy, complete with the sable wolf adorning his breast. He wasn’t on her side, and he was never going to help her. She choked out a sob, prompting the king to squeeze her with irritation.

“Enough of that nonsense now. Unless you want me to give you a real reason to cry,” Hardon growled. He was growing weary of Candy’s near-constant melancholy, so different from Millie’s cheerfulness. She bit her tongue hard, struggling to hold back the rising tide of grief. Luckily, loud baying from several of the hounds distracted her tormentor. The dogs surged forward in a stampede; the riders spurred on their horses in excited pursuit.

“Tally-ho!” the king exclaimed gleefully. “Ajax, my bow!” The guard passed him the weapon with an arrow already in position and the king took a shot. The fox, its red fur standing out among the brown and green brush, darted to the side and dodged the arrow. Joey sent an arrow of his own in swift succession, piercing the fox in the nape of its neck. The creature squealed and collapsed on its side, thrashing and panting.

“Ah, a direct hit!” King Richard shouted victoriously. “Let me finish it!” The dog trainer stayed the hounds and the king leapt off his horse with a bloodthirsty, triumphant leer. He drew his knife and approached his dying quarry with confidence.

“Be cautious, Your Majesty!” Martin warned as he dismounted his own steed. “That fox will fight to its dying breath!” The king ignored his warning and approached recklessly. The fox yipped and feebly scrabbled at the dirt with its paws, but couldn’t get away fast enough. The giant crouched over the fox and raised his dagger to plunge the blade into its flesh.

The fox lunged forward at the threat, in a last-ditch effort to defend itself. Hardon recoiled in surprise. Candy screamed as the giant animal’s maw, bristling with sharp white teeth, rocketed towards her as she hung in the air from the king’s neck. The huge jaws snapped shut inches from her toes, barely missing her, as a strand of thick saliva splashed on her calf. The giant kicked the beast into submission and stabbed it in the gut with a splatter of garish crimson.

“Gotcha!” he gloated, dragging the blade up the creature’s belly to its collar as it barked in agony. A spray of scarlet sprinkled his hands and torso, including Candy. She wailed in an earsplitting tone, horrified by the carnage and still reeling from nearly being bitten in half.

The king winced. “Ugh, Candy. Do you have to make such a racket? That’s really annoying.” Candy tried to stop, but her body was wracked with heaving sobs. She choked and cried and gasped in a most undignified display, unable to hold in all her feelings and fluids any longer.

Hardon groaned. “Uggghhhh. Stupid human,” he muttered. He turned to Martin, who happened to be wading through the vegetation towards him. “Hold this whiny little rat for a second.” He unclipped Candy from his necklace and tossed her at Martin, who scrambled to catch her in shock. His breath hitched in his throat as he held her in his gloved palm. She looked terrible, with flecks of blood and saliva on her sickly skin, and snot and tears running down her puckered face. Her body was dotted with purple and gray bruises from the king’s violence.

When she realized she was sitting in Martin’s hand, her cries stopped. She sucked in a sharp breath and gazed up at him with desperation. She was too upset to speak coherently, but her eyes spoke for her. Help me. HELP ME. HELP ME PLEASE!!!

Martin’s heart stopped. He'd obsessed over this woman’s lamentable fate, schemed about stealing her away from the king, regretted his decision not to help her every night, and mentally flagellated himself for his powerlessness and ineptitude. And here she was, by an extraordinary stroke of fate, sitting in his hand: unguarded and ripe for the taking. He glanced over at the king, who was preoccupied with slitting the fox’s throat and tearing out its entrails. His back was to the knight, oblivious to the frantic machinations in Martin’s head.

Martin slowly backed away from the king, step by step, as he closed his hand over Candy protectively. He knew he was throwing away everything he had worked so hard for in a flash, but he had never been so certain of a decision in his life. He tried to act casual and inconspicuous as he mounted his horse. He stuffed Candy into one of the pouches on his belt to keep his hands free, in case he needed to fight. Joey tilted his head in a questioning gesture, not comprehending what Martin was plotting. Martin urged on his horse and trotted away.

At the sound of horse hooves, the king spun around, still clasping the fox’s liver in his hand. His eyes blazed with outraged recognition when he realized what Martin was doing. “Ajax! After him!” he bellowed, pointing towards the knight. Martin, hearing his order, spurred his horse into a gallop. Ajax kicked his own beast into pursuit. Joey froze up, eyes wide.

“You too, you damned fool!” the king yelled at him. The squire, flustered, hastened to catch up. The king swore explosively as he threw away the liver and wiped off the blood soaking his hands.

Martin leaned into his horse with desperation. The trees flew by in a blur as he rapidly crossed through a grassy clearing. The heavy hooves of Ajax’s steed pounded behind him, getting closer and closer, as loud as his own hammering heart. Joey brought up the rear, straining to catch up. He drew his bow and aimed it with a steady arm. He was not, however, pointing it at Martin. His arrow, hungry for blood, was fixed on Ajax, at a chink in his armor.

Joey let loose the arrow. His aim was true, and the projectile sailed directly into the flesh of the massive guard’s back. To Joey’s shock, the guard flinched slightly from the impact but otherwise was unaffected. The squire shot another arrow, this time into his neck, and the guard absorbed it like nothing more than a bee sting. He ignored Joey and continued his pursuit relentlessly.

Ajax was gaining on his prey. Martin glanced back to behold the terrifying image of the guard with an arrow tip sticking out of his throat, completely unfazed as a river of blood ran down his chest. He urged on his horse, but the trees were growing thicker and the horse was forced to slow down. Leaves and branches slapped at Martin’s face, obscuring his vision. He heard the cracks of wood breaking from behind him, dreadfully close.

A thick branch whacked him hard in the torso and knocked him off his horse. His skull collided with the ground, causing his vision to explode into a kaleidoscope of stars. The horse whinnied and darted off into the trees, disappearing in seconds. Martin groaned, dazed and winded, as the hooves of the gigantic stallion clomped down next to his head, followed by huge leather boots. Martin’s hand strayed to the pouch attached to his belt; fortunately, Candy hadn’t been crushed in the fall.

A beefy, hairy hand grabbed his shirt and hauled him into the air. His legs dangled uselessly beneath him. Martin tried to retaliate, but the world spun around him at a nauseating rate, and his head lolled down to his chest. He grunted incoherently and flailed his arms like limp noodles. The guard, with his singular eye, stared at him impassively before turning his attention to the approaching gallop of hooves.

Joey’s horse careened through the trees close behind. He saw the menacing shadow of Ajax’s figure standing through a veil of leaves. At first, he hoped to trample the man with his horse, but he was forced to curb his momentum when he saw Martin hanging from his hands before him. His horse stumbled over a thick root and Joey flipped backwards over its hindquarters, smacking into a tree trunk. He crumbled to the ground, but clumsily recovered his footing as his enemy lunged at him, tossing Martin to the side.

The squire heard the smooth schlink of a sword sliding out of its scabbard. He managed to draw his own sword just in time, narrowly parrying the blade thrust from his opponent. Ajax’s blade slid across his with a squeal of metal and impaled the tree behind him with startling force, sinking into the bark almost completely to the hilt. The giant strained with tremendous muscle to rip the sword out in a flurry of splinters.

He jerked back, momentarily off-balance. Joey saw his opportunity and darted in with intent to kill. He landed a direct hit in his broad midsection, stabbing him brutally below the sternum. Ajax didn’t slump over or scream, merely glaring at him coldly. Joey twisted the blade savagely, but despite a hot gush of blood, the guard still failed to show any indication of pain. Joey gaped, incredulous.

With a roar, Ajax retaliated and swung his sword. Joey hopped back, relinquishing his weapon to his enemy’s body, but he failed to evade the vicious slash that cleaved him diagonally from hip to shoulder. He cried out in pain as he lost his footing and collapsed against the split trunk behind him. Ajax raised his arm to deal the killing blow.

Martin jumped him from behind and wrenched back his muscular arm with a feral cry. Knife in hand, the knight swung it wildly at the guard’s face, hoping to perhaps blind him if the other fatal wounds wouldn’t stop him. He missed his good eye, instead thrusting his dagger into the empty eye socket covered by the eyepatch. To his surprise, his knife contacted an object inside the skull with a gravelly crunch, something very unlike flesh and blood but rather stone. The guard convulsed violently and dropped to the earth like a puppet with cut strings.

Martin pulled his knife from the guard’s eye socket with confusion. Stuck to the other end of his blade was a glowing runic stone, cracked in the middle. The blade tip had caught in the carved symbol and distorted it, diluting the magic within. Martin pulled the stone off his knife and threw it away, then rushed over to his loyal squire, who was lying on his back.

“Joey! Oh God, Joey!” Martin exclaimed, examining the sizable gash. Ajax’s sword had cut through his clothes and roughly cleaved his flesh apart. The wound oozed blood, saturating the torn fabric.

“I’m okay,” Joey gasped. “It’s not a fatal wound, and it’s not as bad as it looks. It’s a shallow cut. It just... really hurts.” He grimaced. “I don’t think I can move...”

A shroud of horror darkened over the knight as the howling of hounds sounded off in the distance. “Oh no! C’mon Joey, we need to go!” He wrapped his arms around the squire, fully intending to carry him.

“NO!” Joey protested. Martin recoiled at the vociferous protest. “Go without me! Now!”

“But Joey-”

“I’ll be fine! I’ll survive! I was chasing you, remember? Following the king’s orders.” He sucked in a sharp breath as a spasm of pain shook his frame. “The guard is dead. Nobody will know that I betrayed him. But you... if you’re caught...” He gritted his teeth as the excited barks and baying waxed closer. “There’s no time. GO!”

“Alright.” Martin brushed Joey’s sweaty face with his glove. “Thank you, Joey. If I never see you again… just know, I’m proud of you. You’ve blossomed into a good man.” Without any time to spare, he ran.

Chapter 52

Tag List: @yummynomms @maybeiamdownbad @tinycoded360

#giant #g/t #g/t writing #tiny #giant/tiny #giant tiny #g/t story #gianttiny #gt writing #gt story

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