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slippinmickeys · 3 years

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The Earl (11/13)

BONUS CHAPTER I thought it might be fun to post the last chapter tomorrow morning for those holding out until it’s posted, so... I’m... filing Chapter 11. Chapter 12 will go up late afternoon/evening. To read on AO3, go here.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Scully had fallen into a dreamless sleep, warm and feeling impossibly safe. Birdsong had started with the dawn, and as she sat up groggily on the small mattress on the dusty floor, she smiled to herself. She would see Mulder soon. Her nightmare was at an end.

She rose from the pallet and tried dusting off the dried mud and dirt from the hem of her frock, but it was useless. This particular dress was likely ruined. Not that she would be sad to see it go. It could burn for all she cared.

She pulled out all the hairpins from what remained of her coiffure, running her hands through her hair as best she could. The long auburn locks which, when unbound, flowed lushly halfway down her back (one of Mulder’s favorite things, or so he had said to her in the heat of passion), had some luster to it and still smelled faintly of lavender. On a whim, he had bought her aluminum hair pins at a shop in the village of Ashford when the guests from the estate had alighted there one rainy day last week. She remembered him kissing her hair softly and telling her he was sparing no expense. She smiled to herself and tried to tame her locks into something resembling presentable respectability, plaiting and then pinning it up. The Countess wanted to look as best she could for her Earl.

The fire had burned itself out in the hearth, but the hut was still warm, and getting warmer by the minute as the sun streamed in through the tiny window pane on the far wall. While she waited, she closed her eyes and named to herself various chemical compounds and their respective weights -- something she used to do to pass time while doing needlework or attempting to (badly) play the pianoforte.

In 1801 Joseph Proust announced that every chemical compound has a fixed and definite composition; that when substances unite chemically they do so in definite ratios by weight -- then came John Dalton four years later, with the second great law of combination, which had come to be called the law of multiple proportions. Dalton introduced atomic theory into chemistry, and now the great problem was to determine the relative weights of the atoms. The most eminent scientific minds (men, naturally ) gave their attention to the determination of the atomic weights and of the arrangement of the atoms in compounds. She had read everything she could on the subject, fascinated by the idea of everything in the universe existing on such a small, basic scale. Protons. Neutrons. In the end, everything came down to attraction.

Even she and her husband, she thought. Especially she and her husband. When she tired of chemistry, perhaps next she would study biology. Though, she thought with a flush, they did a near nightly biological case study. Man. Woman. Attraction. Sex.

She was roused from her thoughts by the sound of approaching hoofbeats and moments later, she heard Alex’s voice approaching the hut’s small door.

“She’s in here,” she heard him say, and then the door opened and he strode through it, looking a bit different than he had last night in the light of the single candle.

“Alex,” she said warmly, but when he turned to her, he did so with a sneer, hair curling over his forehead in a rakish way, his eyes cold and almost obsidian in color.

“She’s awake,” he said without feeling to some unknown person just outside the door, the figure looming in the doorway, blocking out the sun. Mulder?

She heard the strike of a match and then saw the cold creep of tobacco smoke purl in the air through the small space, hitting her nose in one acrid punch.

“No,” she whispered, gritting her teeth with fury.

XxX

She came to consciousness in the back of Spender’s carriage once again, the sense memory sinking through her veins like lead. Her head pounded, and when she brought her bound hands to her temple on instinct, she found an enormous goose egg and the crusted, sticky remains of dried blood. She groaned.

The carriage leaned ever so slightly to the right, its wheels making a fairly sharp turn onto a bumpy road. She finally glanced up to look at the man sitting across from her.

There was rage pouring from his eyes and his nostrils were flared. The leather of the gloves he wore creaked in the air between them as he squeezed his wolf’s head walking stick. He raised it and pointed it at her.

“There will be no new opportunities for escape,” he barked, looking at her intently. He opened his mouth to speak further when the carriage lurched to a stop. He didn’t wait for Alex, who’d been acting as coachman, to open the door, but flung it open himself, then leaned back in to grab Scully by her bound hands, pulling her bodily out of the conveyance so quickly that she stumbled when her feet hit the ground.

She barely had time to look around before he was pulling her along behind him toward a small, ancient cottage that was tucked back amongst some trees. She had just gotten a glimpse of the sand-colored manor house she’d been kept in previously before she was tugged through the doorway of the cottage in the woods. The manor house was not far away, down a long, winding path littered with weeds and wildflowers that didn’t look like it got much use. Spender pulled her inside and slammed the door behind them.

She braced herself when he grabbed his walking stick with both hands, but instead of striking her, he pulled at the silver wolf’s head and withdrew a long blade, triangular and sinister, its blade darker than any metal ought to be.

She took a step away from him.

He smiled at her, an evil-looking grin, and Scully was reminded of the skeleton presiding over Hell in Jan Van Eyck’s The Last Judgement . She thought of demons. Of serpents and bats. “Hold out your bindings,” he said to her.

Tentatively, she held out her hands. He grabbed them roughly and used the wolf’s head dagger to cut the knots from her wrists. When the cloth fell away, she took a relieved breath, only to be startled into a gasp when he struck, quick as a viper, and grabbed her by the hair.

“Our games are at an end, Lady Wexford,” he hissed, his mouth mere inches from her own. She grabbed at his hands, but he twisted them harder, and she could hear the hairpins falling from her head and tinkling merrily onto the slate floor. “Your husband will pay.”

With that, he began cutting at her hair with the dagger, sawing and hacking at it until the whole thick plait came off in his hand. Her scalp felt as though it were on fire.

She raised her hands up to feel the unevenly shorn hair that now ended at her chin, and the cottage’s door slammed shut with a loud, metallic chink. He was gone.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Alex and Queen had returned from the coaching inn after several days with no news.

“I fear the proprietor knows nothing,” the footman had told Mulder, sadly, “and there have been no guests matching the description of your Mr. Spender.”

Mulder had given him his thanks and told the man to get some rest.

Later that day, a scream wret the air from the entrance of the house. Mulder catapulted down the stairs to find a maid with a hand to her chest sitting on the floor in shock, another maid holding her other hand, trying to calm her. The Butler, Mr. Headly, was hovering over them both and Mulder noticed a large box with the lid half-off sitting just inside the manse’s door.

Byers, Frohike and Langly all came skidding onto the scene only moments behind him.

“The… the Countess,” the prone maid said, shakily pointing to the box.

Mulder moved forward, awash with dread. When he pushed aside the lid, there, sitting inside of it like a coiled snake ready to strike, sat the long, thick plait of Scully’s titian hair.

He recoiled, falling back momentarily, then moved forward again, lifting it up and out. The end of the hair that had been cut had not been trimmed gently or with finesse, but rather hacked at, likely with a sharp, short blade. It must have been painful for her.

“Who delivered this?” Mulder asked. “Who?!”

The maid to whom he’d spoken leaned back in fear, and he took a breath in order to calm himself.

“Mary,” Byers said calmly, and the young woman looked to her employer.

“There was no delivery, sir,” she finally said, “I was going about my duties and there it was, sitting inside the front door.”

Everyone looked to Mr. Headly.

“She is quite right,” he said calmly, “there have been no deliveries today. Nor yet any post.”

Mulder brought himself to his full height and addressed no one, staring straight ahead. “He’ll die for this,” he said with controlled wrath. He then stalked off, leaving the smell of lavender in his wake.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully stared at the back of the door, running her hands through her now-short locks. It felt so odd, but it was also a bit freeing, she thought, and her head felt pounds lighter. She bent down and collected pins that had escaped onto the floor, setting them in a pile on a nearby table, and placing a few in the fringe near her forehead to keep it out of her face.

She took a turn about the room. She tried the door, just in case. Locked and secured from the outside.

The cottage was old, made of thick stone, the windows tiny and set far back in the walls -- she’d have no hope of climbing through one. There were three rooms -- the one she was in near the door that seemed to serve as great room and main living space. A small bedroom just off that, supplied with a small, rough hewn bed and straw-filled mattress, covered with a single woolen blanket. The third room was a kitchen, with a large fireplace and old monstrous table that bowed in the middle from year’s worth of scrubbing. There were bottles and crockery that lined two large shelves, and a small scullery. The scullery seemed fairly well stocked, as was the kitchen, where on the table sat two fresh loaves of bread and several hunks of cheese, a small bowl of apples, three lemons and a large bowl of eggs. An extra circuit around the kitchen and she found three pails full of water that she moved onto the main table -- she covered each with a large plate to keep out dust and debris. It was looking like she would not be fed, but would have to feed herself with what was left here. Very well, she thought. There was enough food and water for a week. Perhaps more.

She wondered what Spender’s plan for her was. Was it only ransom he was after? If so, Mulder would surely pay it.

She snooped through the scullery, taking inventory. There she found a decent quantity of concentrated lye, five candles, two small bottles of kerosene (but no lamps), a bar of Pears soap, a large glass bottle with a heavy cork stopper that smelled as if it had once contained either wine or vinegar, several empty crockery bottles of various sizes, two bottles of whisky, matches, chalk, salt, and a small bottle that appeared to be turpentine, but that she couldn’t get open.

In the main room there was a single shelf on which sat several books, all in either French or Latin. So she would not go completely mad with boredom.

There was no wardrobe and so no other changes of clothes, though she could probably launder what she had in the large pot in the kitchen fireplace (which was well stocked with wood, she was pleased to see). She was suddenly thankful that Duane Barry had walked her through the process.

He was a sad sort of man and easy to manipulate and she could see how he’d been an easy mark for Spender. He was shy and unworldly, had trouble even meeting her eye. Why, all it had taken was for her to mention her courses and he was practically blithering, and had seen her outside without so much as-

She stopped short. Her courses. She had been in captivity for several days now, and had been at Byers’ estate for more than a week… She did the arithmetic in her head and then did it again. She was late. Alarmingly so.

She took a breath and brought a hand low over her stomach. Her heart began to pound. Oh, Mulder . Perhaps she was not alone in this cottage after all.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder thought back to the last time he had seen Scully -- had he known then it would be the last time, he never would have left.

He had his hand on her breast, and was thrusting into her gently from behind. In the many weeks since their marriage, her body had learned to accommodate his, and he met little resistance as he slid into her with a hiss of satisfaction. This was lazy lovemaking, both of them half asleep in the dim light of morning.

“I do not need to hunt today,” he finally spoke, nuzzling his nose into the delicate skin behind her ear, “for I have found Artemis, and she is here in this bed with me.”

Scully gave a little moan and then pressed back into him, a signal he was beginning to learn meant that she wanted more.

“I-” she stopped to take a breath “I don’t believe the Goddess of the Hunt is anywhere near here, Mulder,” she said breathily, “for she is also the goddess of wild animals and vegetation and ah-” Mulder had thrust into her with more force and he could feel her muscles clench around him, “and… chastity.”

“Chastity?” Thrust. “Perhaps you are right.” Thrust. “Here before me is Aphrodite, and her sea-foam eyes.”

It was then that Scully reached her peak, and he ascended with her, grabbing onto her hips tightly and burying his face into the silky mane of her hair.

She rolled away from him onto her stomach moments later and turned to assess him with half-lidded eyes. She licked her lips, her movements slow.

“Aphrodite may have been born from the foam of the sea,” she said lazily, “but I rather did always like Artemis best. I pictured her similar to Boudica, with a sword in one hand and a bow in the other.”

“A sword in one hand, eh?” Mulder asked, nudging her with a finger.

“They say she is the strongest of them all, for she not only oversees chastity but also childbirth.”

“Chastity and childbirth? A confusing combination.”

Scully laughed, a delicious peal through the air of the room.

Mulder rolled out of the bed and pulled the bell to summon Danny to help him dress.

“Perhaps she’ll be with me today,” he said, “and I shall bring back our dinner, the fattest of the lot for my goddess.”

Scully smiled at him and rolled over to go back to sleep, her hair like a cape of spun gold fanning the pillows behind her.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully looked at her reflection in one of the pails of water. It was not… altogether atrocious. Her hair looked rather like a farmboy bob, and she was certain that someone with cleverer hands than she could do something with it, even for more formal events… perhaps pin it with pearls and feathers. But. That was a problem for a different time. For now, her only concern was keeping it out of her eyes while she worked.

She had spent the whole of the night alternately thinking of the babe that perhaps was even now growing in her belly, and the problem of how she was to save them both. She had determined as she lay looking at an unfamiliar ceiling that she would not let CGB Spender control her or her fate.

Firstly, she needed to put an end to her imprisonment. And then… Well, then she needed to put an end to Spender and his evil machinations. Duane Barry might yet help her again, but Scully suspected that Barry had been relieved of his prisoner oversight duties, or worse. What with the supplies of food and water that had been left in the cottage, and Spender’s warning: “There will be no new opportunities for escape,” the likelihood that there might be anyone she could overtake or convince to help her were not good. It was up to her to save her own skin.

And perhaps also that of her child.

XxXxXxXxXxX

After the Countess's hair had been discovered, the mood around Ashford Park was... penultimate, thought Frohike. Though the day was clear, it felt as though something was brewing. And when the storm broke, well, there was no telling what damage would be wrought.

Mulder had begun ranging further and further afield, riding his horse to every farm, every tenant, every public house and hen house in search of his wife. He was a man possessed.

Frohike was exiting the library, which happened to be nearest the back staircase that came up from below stairs, when he saw a maid coming up the stairway and rushing off into the house. The look on her face was excited intrigue, which was enough to incite the same feeling in himself. On a whim, he turned toward the stairway that led below stairs and followed them down.

The hallways were narrow and labyrinthine, and there were members of Byers' household staff huddled together in gossiping circles, paying no attention to the erstwhile gentleman who walked among them.

"Go and get Mr. Headly. This very minute!" he heard from around a corner. A scullery maid went running past him and when he rounded the corner he came upon the Cook patting a man's hand and pressing a cup of tea into it.

"Now, Duane, where have you been?" she asked kindly.

Frohike's eyes widened.

"Duane?" he said, "This is the groom, Duane Barry?" he asked excitedly.

Cook nodded at him. "He's..." she started, "he's not himself. He says he'll speak only to the Earl. Not even Sir Byers, his own master!" She sounded scandalized.

Frohike turned and ran from the kitchens, launching himself through the scullery and on out the door to the back of the estate, running toward the stables for all he was worth. He skidded inside.

"The Earl,” Frohike was breathless from running. Several grooms stood around looking at him in alarm and confusion.

“Sir?” one of them asked.

"Where is the Earl?" Frohike gasped.

"He rode west, sir."

"Find him, now. Which of you is the best rider? Tell him that Duane Barry has returned."

One of the groom's eyes flashed wide and he nodded, and not a minute later, as Frohike was walking quickly back toward the house, was galloping out of the stable yards and toward the western fields.

Frohike trotted up the stairs of the manse and let himself in the door, waiting not for the butler or even a footman. When he rounded the corner that led to the drawing room, he heard his friend's voice, raised in anger, verging on hysteria:

"Did you hurt her?!"

"No!"

Frohike walked through the doorway and found Byers and Langly standing close to the former groom Duane Barry, who sat in one of the chairs, his face a frightened mask.

Langley grabbed the man’s hand and raised it. He pointed to blood on the man's cuff. "What is this?!"

"I'm sorry," Barry said. "I had to take her. I hope he's not hurting her. I'm sorry."

"Where is she?!" Byers shouted.

"I... I'll tell the Earl. Bring me the Earl, and I'll tell him."

Langly threw up his arms in frustration and Byers, looking as steely and angry as Frohike had ever seen him, brushed past Frohike in the doorway of the room, Langly on his heels. He turned to the handful of servants that had appeared in the hallway, mainly maids, and Wexford's footman, Alex.

"Nobody goes in or out of that room," Byers said. The footman nodded at him and took station at the closed door, standing tall.

Mr. Headly appeared as Byers was walking with purpose toward the main stairway.

"Where is the Earl?" Byers asked his man.

"I don't know, sir-"

"Find him!" Byers barked.

Langly drifted to Frohike's side.

"I have never seen him like this," his business partner said, "I am impressed."

Frohike couldn't help but agree. Not ten minutes later, Mulder burst through the door of the manse out of breath and smelling of horse. He grabbed Frohike by the shoulders.

“Barry?” he said, “Barry has returned?”

Frohike nodded encouragingly. “And has word of the Countess’s location, apparently. He’ll tell only you.” Frohike gestured to the door of the drawing room where the footman Alex had been standing guard. He was no longer there, and the door to the room was ajar.

Mulder stumbled through it with Frohike hot on his heels. Both men pulled up short.

Barry was on the ground, and Alex was leaning over him.

"What happened?!" Mulder asked, taking several halting steps into the room.

"He was gagging," Alex said, leaning back on his heels. “I tried to help.”

The man was lying upon the ground, gasping for air. Mulder ran to him. “Duane!” Mulder said, kneeling beside him. Frohike skidded to the man’s other side.

Barry, his eyes wide and still gasping for air, looked once at Mulder beseechingly. Then he took one almighty breath, his entire body spasming once, and exhaled, slumping to the floor. Frohike could tell just by looking at him -- the man was dead.

“Duane!” Mulder said one more time and then stood in a daze. His eyes cast about the room. “Alex, what hap-” he paused, mid-sentence.

The footman was gone.

#The X-Files #Fanfic #MSR #AU #Regency #The Countess #The Earl #Sequel #My Fic

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jesussavedevenme · 3 years

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Festival of Unity

**For an incredibly kind and polite anon with an amazing prompt!!!

Also real quick warning: Garreth's actions in this are very manipulative and borderline creepy so if that is going to bother you then, please don't make yourself read it**

The Festival of Unity. Also known as the cesspool of rumors and fake smiles

and the bane of Bracken's existence. Honestly he would rather face Ronodin or even Gorgrog instead of attending this gathering. The Festival of Unity took place every twenty years and lasted about three days. As its name suggested the festival was centered around unity. It was a time where all the creatures of light as well as every ally of the fairy realm joined together. The first two days were full of meetings and negotiations such as the discussion of the treaty with the Naga, the newest problems with the river trolls, and even a change in rules pertaining to the Centuars. Something that many of them were not happy about. The last day of the festival was spent finishing up negotiations and preparing for the huge ball that would take place to signify there successful unification. Bracken supposed he could see the logic and even the need for such a festival but that didn't mean he had to like it. This year though it wasn't just the snide remarks and stuck up dignitaries that made it awful, no this year Bracken had other worries. Because this year, Kendra was with him.

Kendra and Bracken had gotten married mere months ago and Bracken had tried everything he could to get her out of this festival. Several of the attempts had been quite comical if he was being honest. However, as she was the now princess, she was expected to attend and participate in the proceedings. Especially since this was the first festival she would be attending as princess. In fact the only other time that she had been before a big group as their princess had been right after they had gotten married. Kendra had been stressing about this festival for weeks, wanting to be absolutely perfect and, in Bracken's opinion, she had been. She handled all negotiations with grace and wisdom. She handled every snide remark and underhanded insult with a smile on her face and a calm but firm voice. She made it clear that she would not be walked on while also preventing an interspecial incident. Bracken felt nothing but pride as he watched her stun the different dignitaries and nobles with her never-ending grace and charm.

The reason for Bracken's stress was not that he thought Kendra wouldn't do well, quite the contrary, he was worried about his ability to protect her. There was a multitude of different species and thousands of creatures in attendance. Bracken couldn't ensure her safety in a crowd of that size especially since he couldn't be by her side all the time. There were times that he, as the prince and the leader of the Astrids, was called to a meeting to discuss tactics and such. Logically, he knew that Kendra was constantly surrounded by Astrid guards and that anyone would be a fool to attack the Princess of the Fairy Realm during the Festival of Unity. However, these things did nothing to settle his unease. The unease was worsened by the fact that he felt he was at a disadvantage.

The Festival of Unity was one of the few gatherings of its kind that were not held in the Fairy Realm. This was because of the few creatures that were not technically considered creatures of light or even those who didn't come often. Holding the festival outside the Fairy Realm symbolized the fact that they were all equal and no one was at an advantage. It made sense in theory but it made his job of protection even harder. The only comfort Bracken had was that he wasn't the only one looking out for Kendra.

Seth had been asked to attend as an ally of the Fairy Realm and a representative of the human Knights of the Dawn. It was the first time in history that a shadow charmer, technically a creature of darkness, had ever been in attendance. Seth was also one of the few people Bracken trusted to keep Kendra safe, even if she was pretty good at doing it herself. Bracken knew that if he wasn't with her Seth was and on the few occasions that neither of them were with her, she was with his mother or sisters. Bracken had planned it that way so it left little to no opportunity for someone to harm her. When Bracken had told Kendra his plan she had rolled her eyes but thankfully didn't protest too much.

Of course Seth wasn't the only one making an unprecedented appearance. For the first time since anyone could remember the Fair Folk had joined the festival. The Fair Folk were still sticking firmly to their neutrality however, they had decided that after the disastrous dragon uprising a few years prior , that it was best to be up to date about the goings on in the world. It was their attendance that added to Bracken's hatred of the festival. Bracken had no problem with the Fair Folk as a whole but, the representative they sent seriously got on his nerves. If Bracken had been the one to choose he would have chosen Eve. The girl was a natural leader and knew more about these things than this buffoon but, Lord Dalgorel had decided that she could not represent because she no longer believed in neutrality. Ironically the representative he had chosen was Eve's brother, Garreth.

Garreth had seemed nice enough in the beginning but as you looked deeper you found a pompous, overconfident man who showed great dislike for Bracken and a even greater liking to Kendra. It had obvious since the first time they ran into one another that Garreth knew Kendra. Bracken had heard the story of course but had never been able to place the face. He was sure that there had probably been a time in the past that he had seen him but seeing and remembering were two very different things. From the moment he laid eyes on her, Garreth had made it a point to seek Kendra out, generally when he wasn't around. Bracken had the utter most faith and trust in Kendra and therefore, that is not where his troubles laid. The problem was Garreth's persistence, it was beginning to get annoying and Bracken could tell that he wasn't the only one getting frustrated.

Seth had agreed with him on the fact that he had about enough of it. Kendra herself was determined to handle the situation as she had handled everything else during this festival. Firmly but gracefully. Unfortunately, Bracken and Seth had no such patience. Both of them were fiercely protective of Kendra and so the behavior bothered them. As the festival reached its end, Bracken had grown tired of the passive approach that obviously wasn't working. When he pointed this out to Kendra, she had chewed at her lip nervously and changed the subject. He knew that she worried about messing up or making the Fairy Realm look bad, but Bracken was not about to let her be a doormat to someone who obviously didn't hold women to the esteem that they should be held to. It enraged him to think that someone viewed Kendra as nothing more than an object instead of the beautiful, brave, and just all around amazing person that she was. Bracken knew that if Garreth pushed hard enough he would find out exactly why more than half of the magical world held a healthy dose of fear towards her. However, Bracken refused to let it get to that point.

Perhaps Kendra was right, and the prince of the Fair Folk would grow tired and quit, it was nearing the end of the festival after all. Though, unfortunately, Bracken's gut told him that it would not be the case.

†††††

Bracken listened keenly to the sounds of laughter coming from his sisters room as the women, sans his mother, got ready for the ball. He had opted to do all the preparations by himself and now sat waiting in the main room of their rather elaborate tent. The tent was of course enchanted making it roughly the size of their living quarters in the palace. The decorations were also much the same but on a smaller scale. A door opened towards his left revealing Seth in a Fairy Realm style, pitch black suit, a stark contrast to his own silvery one, and neatly done hair.

“I swear if one more person touches my head, I’m going to snap.” Seth announced, ducking away from one of the palace hairdressers that had joined them at the festival, though he still wasn't entirely sure why. Bracken honestly could blame him. He remembered those dreaded days before he decided to do it himself. The harsh tugging, the scrutinizing looks. Bracken gave a nod of dismissal to the hairdresser who huffed and stomped out of the room.

Bracken smirked and reached up in order to flick the younger boys ear. Seth sent him a deadly glare that would have sent anyone else running but Bracken simply raised his eyebrow. However, he could see the reason people would fear it. Seth was well known as a powerful shadow charmer and the aura he often gave off when annoyed or angry was unsettling to say the least. The effect was enhanced by his height. The young shadow charmer had hit a major growth spurt not long after the Dragon War. Seth towered over most people and seemed to almost grow larger when he was angry. Seth didn’t technically tower over Bracken but he was still taller then him by a fair amount. The effect of his glare was quickly lost when Seth began to tug at the collar of the suffocating jacket and messed with the overly fancy tunic that was underneath. Bracken felt like doing the same but he held off, the setting causing him to fall into the princely habits that had been ingrained into him since childhood. Seth's suit was much less extravagant than his own which held certain details that marked him as royalty from the fairy realm. Seth's suit coat was of course black but it was lined with silver embroidery along the cuffs and edges marking him as a close ally to the fairy realm. Of course that wasn't the only thing that marked him. Draped across Seth's arm was a grey cloak. The cloak wasn't long, just reaching Seth's knees but its served its purpose. The ends of it were meant to be gathered together at his left shoulder and clasped with a crest that belonged to the the Knights of the Dawn. On the crest was a picture of two swords making a peak, almost like a mountain, with the sun rising up from behind them. Surprisingly Seth didn't have a problem with the cloak, in fact it was the one article of clothing he didn't complain about, a fact that Bracken felt the need to bring up.

"So you hate wearing a the fancy clothes of royalty, not that I blame you, but the annoying cloak you're ok with?"

"You call it annoying I call it useful. A cloak like this does more than just keep away the chill," Seth replied and Bracken caught the hidden meaning behind his words. Weapons were technically forbidden at the festival but Bracken knew Seth well enough to know he had at least three knives, one in a holster on his hip which was hidden by his cloak and one tucked away in each of his knee high leather boots, currently on his person. It was something the Knights had pounded into his head and honestly, in their line of work, it was definitely a needed detail. "Plus," Seth continued with a lopsided grin, " It makes me look cooler." Bracken laughed at the response and from there the two easily fell into their normal back and forth banter. About thirty minutes later the girls emerged just as Bracken, for perhaps the tenth time, ran off the persistent hairdresser attempting to sneak up and tame Seth's unruly brown hair.

His four sisters emerged first wearing almost identical dresses. The tops had thin straps and were a shimmering silver color. The dresses were all fitted until the mid waist. The distinguishing trait between these dresses was the color of their flowing skirts, each of the colors matched the personalities of the princess that wore them. Mizelle was a light pastel purple matching her strong personality and the way that she radiated power and royalty without being overwhelmingly so. Next came Odette who was wear a soft pastel blue that matched her calm and gentle aura as well her patient nature. After Odette came Iredessa. Iredessa's dress was brighter than the rest of her sister but could still be called a lighter pastel yellow. The color perfectly corresponded to her bright, bubbly, and almost sunny, personality. Finally came his youngest sister Celeste, wearing a very muted pastel pink. Bracken thought that this fit his youngest sister well seeing as she tended to be very quiet and shy. She tended to keep to herself and when she was in a large group of people, she tended to stick to the people she felt the safest with. That was generally him, Odette, occasionally Mizelle, and surprisingly Kendra. Kendra and Celeste had a but of a rocky start. Bracken had always had a close relationship with her , despite her young age, before he was captured, something he was pleased to see hadn't changed when he returned. It was because of this that Celeste had originally disliked Kendra. Because in her mind, it was someone else trying to steal her brother. Plus her inherent shyness didn't help matters. Thankfully though it hadn't lasted long and Celeste had come to like and trust Kendra almost as much as himself. Not much was thought about Celeste's tendency to cling to her older siblings, mostly because of her age ,but also because people feared facing the wrath of the four oldest children of the Fairy Queen. Celeste still very young by unicorn standards . She had only been a few weeks old when their father was captured and because of the way unicorns aged, she had only just fully developed her first horn when he was captured. At the moment Celeste had yet to lose her second horn, though Bracken was sure it was just around the corner, something that somewhat saddened him. Finally ,as his sister moved away from the doorway, he spotted Kendra and his jaw dropped with how beautiful she looked.

She was wearing a long dress that held the same silver bodice as his siblings except hers had off the shoulder sleeves that puffed out in small ruffles instead of thin straps. The neckline of the dress was lined with light blue flowers made of lace while the rest of the bodice had beautiful leaves and stems embroidered along the sides in golden thread. Once again, like his sisters, her dress was fitted until her waist where it then flowed towards the floor. However, her dress flowed more outwards instead of flowing straight toward the floor. it wasn't so much to be overwhelmingly big but just enough to look nice. The waist line was dotted with a few more of the lacy blue flowers that were on the neckline with a couple dipping below onto the beginnings of the skirt. The skirt was a thing in of its own. The skirt itself was the sane pale pink as Celeste's if not a but lighter but over top if that pink was a deep blue shear covering, giving the illusion that the dress was changing colors as she moved. Her hair was pulled away from her face in a half up hairstyle with the sides in a subtle French braid that lead to an intricate, loopy braid. The rest of her hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back in soft curls. The few escaped pieces of hair perfectly framed her face accentuating the shape drawing attention the her bright green eyes. All and all, Kendra looked gorgeous.

All the outfits were brought together by the circlet crowns that they wore. Mizelle's was a simple silver crown that made indricate loops and patterns of it twisted around her head. The only jewel on her crown was a singular diamond that acted as the center piece of the circlet. Odettes crown was bolder than Mizelle's but not by much. Her circlet dipped down almost between her eyes and had a pure white pearl in the center of the points The points circled around her head in a relatively straight line but they were bedazzled with diamonds that sparked in the light. On either side of the pearl started a thin silver wire that arched up across her forehead and twisted around the rest of the crown forming loops and curls. As per usual, Irredessa's was the boldest and most noticeable. Unlike Odette's, her crown arched upward toward her hairline and into a soft point.From there the crown rose and fell in small waves as it circled her head. What drew attention was the large round diamonds that covered the entirety of the crown. Celeste's circlet was a combination of all three. it dipped low onto her forehead and the middle and had the same pearl and arching silver wires like Odette, she had the same indicate loops as Mizelle, and she had small diamonds that covered everything but the wires curling around the circlet.

To no ones surprise, Bracken's favorite circlet sat on Kendra's head. Unlike the rest of them her criclet was gold, showing her royal status while also separating her from the Fairy Queen's children because she had entered the family by marriage. Her circle was very simple with A bright emerald as a center piece that sat right in the middle of her forehead. There were thin gold wires that formed loops framing the emerald itself and branching off to form lose loops around part of her head. occasionally the loops would be interrupted by small light blue gems that were a bit darked and more silver tented than Odette's dress. The colored jewels of the symbolized the combination or the joining of Kendra and him and maybe that was why he loved it so much. Of course the girl who wore it impacted that as well. Bracken was pulled away from admiring his wife when Seth spoke,

" Does anyone remember where we keep the wrench because, I think Kendra broke Bracken again," Kendra and his sisters laughed causing a silver blush to creep across his cheeks and ears. Looking at the crowns the girls wore made him consciously aware of his own which was very simple and plain, just the way he wanted it. It was made with thin silver wire that came to a sharp point at the center of his forehead. There were two other wires that crossed and formed two large loops at the front of his head before coming together to form a straight line around the rest of his head. Despite its simplicity, Bracken still found it to be uncomfortable and he envied Seth because he didn't have to wear one.

Now that everyone had entered the main room, they began to make their way out the door and to the reception hall where the ball would take place. His mother had gone ahead much earlier as the main leaders were expected to arrive before the rest of the guests. His mother had always liked to be the first one to arrive at any given place as it gave her time to analyze her surroundings. Plus it tended to make the other leaders and nobles somewhat uncomfortable and nervous at the thought that the Fairy Queen had been waiting for an unknown amount of time. Bracken knew his mother found their squirming to be amusing, seeing as their was really nothing to squirm over. He was pretty sure that was as much of her reason for arriving early, if not more so, than analyzing the scene. And she wonders where he gets his mischievousness.

Bracken and Kendra had fallen behind of his sisters as they walked, hand in hand, towards the reception hall. The sky was a mural of pinks, oranges, purples and more as the sun began to dip below the horizon. The walk was fairly quite seeing as it was still early and most people were still getting ready. Bracken gently swung his and Kendra's hands as they walked and he couldn't help but turn his head to admire the way the sunset cast a golden glow on her skin in addition to the brilliant light that radiated from her. She had gotten a lot better at controlling the brightness of the light but it could never be contained completely. Bracken didn't realize how slow they had been walking until he could no longer see his sisters in the front of him. He could hear their laughter and light conversation but even that was getting faint. He had also lost sight of Seth but he was sure the shadow charmer hadn't strayed to far. He was most likely living up to his name and walking amount the shadows.

Bracken was enjoying the slow quiet moment that they were enjoying. It was perhaps the only quiet moment they had enjoyed since arriving at the festival, so it was very welcome. Unfortunately the calm didn't last long as they were stopped by an astrid, probably about twenty feet from the entrance of the reception hall. Bracken narrowed his eyes, getting an uneasy feeling in his stomach that let him know that he probably wasn't going to be pleased with what he was about to hear.

†††††

Kendra had been incredibly worried about the Festival of Unity ever since she found out she would be attending, despite Bracken's valiant efforts. Like most things she makes herself sick over, it ended up being nowhere as bad as she thought it was going to be. Sure she would much rather prefer being curled up next to Bracken on their living room couch while watching a movie but this was a good experience. She was able to build credibility among the various nobles, leaders, and magical creatures that had been in attendance. It allowed her to show them that she deserved to be where she is and that she had what it took to handle the responsibilities that came along with her position. So all in all it hadn't been that bad of an experience. Of course having Garreth there complicated things a bit. Especially since he was as persistent as the hairdresser that had tagged along with them. However as annoyed ,and borderline angry, as Bracken was about the whole Garreth situation, Kendra honestly didn't care. Sure it was annoying and at times she wanted to deck him in his perfect jaw but she also knew that it wouldn't help anything. She felt assured in her safety here at the festival and knew that Garreth wouldn't likely try anything here. Especially with Bracken and Seth so close by. Besides it wasn't as if she was helpless, A fact that most people often forgot. Though that lapse in memory had given her an advantage many times over the course of her life.

She had been enjoying the walk to the reception hall with Bracken when the Astrid showed up. The ball was something that Kendra actually looked forward to, despite the nerves she felt. It wasn't so much the party she was excited about but more the fact that the spotlight was off of her. It was easy to fade into the background during a gathering of this size. logically she knew that there would still be people that approached and interacted with them but it would most likely just be typical conversation. She also took comfort in the fact that she would not be doing this alone. Not that she ever had been but this time she would be surrounded by people who were willingly to take the brunt of the conversation. Seth had enough outgoing nature for the both of them and She knew that Bracken's sister Iredessa was likely to talk everybody's ear off.

Kendra loved Bracken's sisters as if they were her own, and they kind of were in a way. She thoroughly enjoyed being able to get to know and experience each of their personalities. Much like her and Seth, they were all vastly different. Mizelle was a born leader, much like Bracken, but she tended to analyze and observe a little more than he did. She was also more graceful in the way she handled certain situations. Kendra loved her husband dearly but he had a tendency to speak before he thought, especially when he was angry. Odette was always calm and collected. Her mere presence calmed Kendra, especially in times of great stress. She was a very gentle soul and also very wise. In a lot of ways, she reminded Kendra of the Fairy Queen. Odette was also a very skilled healer as Kendra had ,unfortunately, witnessed many times. Iredessa was bright, bubbly and loud. she brightened every room she walked into and was always the first person to start a conversation. However, when placed outside of her element she became very timid and quite as she observed. And finally there was Celeste. The two of them had gotten off to a but of a rough start because Celeste had thought that Kendra was with Bracken because of the title or the power. Eventually the two of them had ironed out all of the misunderstandings and actually become quite close. It filled Kendra with joy and pride to know that Celeste felt as comfortable with her and she did with Bracken. Celeste was by far the most timid of the siblings and was uncomfortable in any kind of social setting, not that Kendra could blame her. Kendra originally had been taken aback at how young Celeste was compared to her siblings. And even to some extent how young Odette and Iredessa were. For some.reason Kendra had been under the impression that all of them were similar to Bracken in age even though she knew that they were younger. Being in the midst of a groups such as this ,adding in Bracken, Seth and the Fairy Queen, gave her a deep sense of security that she had carried throughout the entire festival and continued to carry as they made their way to the reception hall.

Unfortunately, that sense of security was shattered when she noticed the Astrid waiting impatiently at the entrance of the hall. She felt Bracken tense up beside her. He squeezed her hand slightly before letting go and walking confidently towards the Astrid, easily falling into his role as leader. The Astrids were here in order to provide added protection to the royal family. They had stayed out of sight, as silent protectors, for most of the trip. Only emerging when she was left alone or they were needed for some sort of task or meeting. So to see one in plain sight, obviously waiting for them- well it was unnerving to say the least. Her stomach churned with anxiety and she bit her lip as she tried to focus on what Bracken was saying and not her own racing thoughts.

"Why was this meeting called? The Festival of Unity is all but over," Bracken said.making Kendra realize that she had missed the beginning of the conversation.

"I am unsure, Your Highness. I was simply asked to deliver the message," The Astrid, Kendra is pretty sure his name is Haldirn, looked nervous. Kendra guessed she understood why. Most of the Astrids were still nervous around the royal family. They had not forgotten their past failures and they did not wish to disappoint them again. Apparently Haldirn felt like this missing information was a failure of his. Kendra could see how tense his shoulders were and the way he avoided Bracken's eyes. He was ready to be scolded and berated but, Bracken was as kind as he was brave. Because of this, though he didn't sound particularly happy, he replied with,

"Its not your fault, you are doing your best with the information you have been given," Bracken shot a look at Kendra, guilt and confliction flashing in his silvery blue eyes. Kendra knew that look all to well and while she hated it, she knew it couldn't be helped. Kendra was about to reassure him when she felt a presence behind her.

"What's going on?" Asked the deep voice of Seth, causing her to relax her shoulders. Seth moved to stand by Bracken, crossing his arms as he stared at the Astrid. Seth was shorter than the Astrid but was no less intimidating. Haldirn, startled by the sudden appearance of the Shadow Charmer, attempted to stutter out an answer.

"Apparently, there has been a last minute meeting called that requires the both of us," Seth raised an eyebrow.

"But isn't the Festival over?"

"It's supposed to be. This kind.of thing isn't completely unheard of hut it certainly is rare," Bracken replied, sounding slightly grumpy. Kendra searched his face, knowing him well enough to be able to see through his infamous poker face. Kendra could see the worry and the skepticism in his gaze. Kendra would be lying if she said that she didn't agree with him. This whole situation seemed off leaving a pit in her stomach. However, it was impossible to know exactly what was going on without investigating. Kendra could also see the war raging in his mind as he weighed his options. Kendra knew that he would not only over think it but, he would also feel guilty with either decision he made. So with that thought in mind she decided to make the decision for him. She squared her shoulders and tried her best to walk confidently up to his side. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, gaining his attention, and pushing all her feelings aside she said,

"Go," The answer was simple but she said it firmly leaving no room for argument. Nevertheless she could see the response building in his mind and she cut him off as he opened his mouth, knowing what was coming next, " Go. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself," She raised an eyebrow, daring him to challenge her on the subject. She didn't want him to leave, quite the contrary but she also knew it was unavoidable. Besides, she had taught and one two wars, she could handle a ball and it wasn't as if she would be alone. She could tell that he still wanted to argue but luckily he simply turned back to the Astrid.

"Fine, take me to the meeting," The relief coming from the Astrid was almost tangible and turned to lead them away. Bracken quickly reached for her hand and linked their pinky fingers. It was a silent form of communication they had established long ago. A quick and quite way to say I love as well as a promise that everything would be alright. The exchange last less then a second and then Bracken was pulling away and following behind Haldirn. Seth had scowl on his face and a look of suspicion in his eyes. Kendra expected him to protest or demand more information but surprisingly, he follow Bracken without a word. He sent her a look over his shoulder and nodded his head in a way as to tell her to call him if she needed him. Kendra couldn't help but roll her eyes at how overprotective the two of them were.

She stood there until she could no longer see them and then turned back towards the entrance of the gathering hall. She resolved to try and find Bracken's sisters amongst the crowds but she had barely made it past the entrance before she was ambushed. Garreth had seemingly come out of nowhere, suddenly emerging in front of her. He sent her a dazzling smile which she returned with a half hearted, fake smile. She was getting tired of pretending this didn't bother and any other time she probably would have snapped. Tonight, however she just reminded herself that the Festival was almost over. A few more hours and she would have to deal with him anymore. For a second she was secretly grateful that Seth and Bracken weren't there, as she was pretty sure one or both of them really would have snapped.

" Good evening Kendra. Might I just say that you look amazing. " Kendra gave him a tight smile and fought the urge to squirm at how uncomfortable his gaze made her feel.

"Thank you," She replied stiffly attempting to turn and move away from him, hoping to get lost in the crowd. Unfortunately, he seemed to have no trouble walking along side her. She could tell he wanted her to return the compliment but, there was no way she was giving him that kind of encouragement. She avoided eye contact, focusing instead on searching the crowd for the Fairy Queen and or one of Bracken's sisters. She hoped that by ignoring him, he would lose interest and leave. Garreth, however, was not deterred by her actions. Instead, Garreth grabbed her arm, none to gently, as she attempted to turn away. He led her off somewhere to the side away from the bustle of the ball. He shattered excitedly the whole way but Kendra couldn't make out the words over her raving thoughts. She wasn't sure what was going on and she wasn't sure how she would be able to gracefully exit the situation. Kendra knew logically, that she was very capable of putting an end to this situation and getting out of it without a scratch. She had done it plenty of times before. People often forgot that , despite her power being centered around light, she was just as dangerous as Seth. She had years of experience and training in her abilities, courtesy of Bracken. And she wasn't bad with a bow either. She had come a long way from relying on a storm of arrows to protect her. In fact her arrows rarely missed their mark. However, right now she didn't have a bow and even if she did, she wouldn't be able to use it. Violence was forrbidden as it would undermine the entire purpose of the Festival of Unity. As well as cause people to question the loyalty of the Fairy Realm. It was definitely not the impression she wanted to leave. Use of her abilities would end and apply much the same way.

Still racing to come with a diplomatic solution, Kendra failed to notice that they had fully exited the ballroom until she was face to face with a large silver door. She could still hear the muffled sounds of the party traveling down the hallway that led to the door. Briefly she wondered if Bracken's sisters noticed her absence, but she quickly.brushed off the thought knowing that there was probably too much going on. She was practically forced into the room which, based on the desk, bookshelf, and scattered documents, seemed to be some kind of study. Garreth had placed himself casually in front of the door and Kendra knew that she would have to figure out a way to trick him into switching their positions. A plan had already began to form in her mind as she said,

" So, have you heard from Eve lately?" Miraculously she was able to keep the shake out of her voice. It was a casual question, one that was technically considered small talk. However, she knew that it would rile him up. Eve had rejected neutrality and joined the Knights of the Dawn with Seth, against the wishes of her family. In normal circumstances, aggravating and goading the enemy was not a good idea but at the moment she really didn't care. She just needed him to move. Not much, just enough so she could casually make her way to the door. This was also a topic that should keep him talking. Meaning it was less likely to realize what she was doing. Garreth played his part well a slight scowl on his face as he replied,

" I have not heard from my sister, since she left home, " There was a short pause before when he talked about her leaving home. Indicating that he had changed his wording at the last minute. He wondered if it had anything to do with Seth.

"Well, from what I gather she is making a very good Knight. I haven't seen her in action, but I know Seth has been rather impressed," The mention of her brother brought another scowl to his face. It was pretty common knowledge, to anyone that knew of the situation, that Lord Dalgorel blamed Seth for quote unquote "corrupting his daughter". She expected him to go off on a rant about the topic, as Lord Dalgorel had many times before, However, this is where her plan began to go wrong.

" I don't really care to know the details of Eve's relationships. I would however like to know about yours," He smiled as he said it but something in his eyes made her squirm.

" Well, Bracken and I got married a few weeks ago. It was the best day of my life and I couldn't be happier," The statement was cheesy, true but cheesy. She could hear Seth complaining in her mind but at least it was something.

" Well, a few weeks is hardly anything to judge next years of your life by. Who knows in a month or so, all of that could change," Kendra flinched as he stepped closer, practically backing her into a corner and halting the slow progress she was making towards the door. She reached her hands behind her fingering the button on her bracelet that would bring Bracken bursting into the room to her rescue. Her fingers hovered over the button but didn’t push it, not yet anyway. She felt bad for bringing Bracken into a problem that she could fix by herself. Besides she couldn’t help but feel a little responsible for this situation. She knew that Bracken and Seth would fiercely refute that statement but, that didn’t stop her from thinking it.

At this point it didn't look as if her plan would work the way she intended. Technically she could do a number of things unfortunately all of those ended in violence. She doubted that, anyone other than her family, would count this as just reason to start a fight. And besides, Garreth would probably be able to explain all of it away. He was close enough now that she could feel his breath on her face. Not liking were this was going and feeling utterly helpless. She reached for her bracelet and smashed to button that would send out a distress signal to Bracken and Seth who had a similar object in the shape of a black ring. Garreth was speaking again but she couldn't here it over the roar of the blood in her ears. She reached inside her gut and felt for the magic she knew pooled there. She gathered it willing it to grow until she felt she would burst with it. She held it the best she could, reading it for use should she need it. She was trying to keep her actions under wraps but she could tell by the way Garreth was squinting his eyes that her aura had brightened as the power built. She readied herself to release it but just before she could give the command, the door slammed open revealing and angry Unicorn and an even angrier Shadow Charmer.

†††††

Walking through the abandoned paths where the Festival took place was unnerving. Bracken's senses were on high alert as he scanned the long shadows cast by the flickering lanterns lining the walkways. The pounding of their footsteps against the.cobblestone sounded deafening in the silence. Out of the corner of his eyes Bracken saw Seth. His shoulders were squared, but not tense, his face the picture of calm. The only thing that gave away his nervousness was the way his right arm, covered by his dark cloak, continued to drift and brush against his hip. If Bracken didn't know what was hidden there, he would have overlooked it but the significance of the gesture was not lost on him. Seth was no longer a young boy who randomly swung around a sword, rushing into battle and hoping for the best. While he still held much of the same reckless spontaneity, he now attacked with deadly precision. Years of training had given him close to unmatchable skills. One flick of his wrist would send his chosen projectile thudding home with devastating results. Of course his knowledge and skill with weapons weren't the only thing that made Seth Sorensen dangerous. His mother had once told him that out of all the Shadow Charmers she had come across over her long life, he was by far the most powerful. Bracken wholeheartedly believed that, having seen it first hand many times in the past. Not for the first time, Bracken was thankful that Seth was on their side.

They walked for about another five minutes before Haldirn stopped in an empty courtyard. There was no one else there, not that they could see anyway. The air was silent apart from their breathing and the rustle of the trees in the wind. Occasionally you would also hear the call of an owl but that was it. If anyone was here then they were doing a very good job of hiding. A suspicion that he had been trying to suppress made itself know in his mind. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Bracken asked,

"Who was it that informed you of the last minute meeting?" The question felt sour in his.mouth and the implications, should his suspicions be right, caused his stomach to churn.

" It was prince Garreth of the Fair Folk your Highness " Haldirn replied, not quite grasping the significance of that statement. Bracken and Seth glanced at each other wide eyed and they were already moving when Seth's ring began to beep. Bracken could feel the alert in his own mind alerting him of the danger. He quickly called out a command for Haldirn to start as search as he broke out in a run, beginning to make his way to the ballroom. He could hear the pound if his and Seth's feet against the cobblestone path. It sound deafening compared to the silence left by the people attending the ball. Bracken slowed slightly as he reached the ballroom, not looking to cause a scene, but still kept up a hurried pace. He felt more that saw the concerned glace of his mother as she saw his panic. Bracken, however, didn't have time to think much about it. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind and finding the pull of Kendra's engagement ring, which had been fashioned out of his first horn. It didn't take long for it to lead him through a long hallway and to an ornate door.

Bracken threw open the door and stormed into the room. He didn't take long to survey the situation, he simply noted Garreth's position and reacted. His hands found the collar of his fancy silk tunic and he yanked him back with enough force that Garreth stumbled into the wall and slid down to the floor, looking up at them in fear. Bracken felt the room drop in temperature in response to Seth's anger. And by the way the color drained from Garreth's face, he could feel it too. They stood in silence, both of them struggling not to lunge and attack the prince of the Fair Folk. Technically violence had already occurred when Bracken threw him against the wall but he had been just gentle enough so as not to leave a mark. But only just. Garreth stood up clearing his face of the fear and attempting to regain his previous confidence. Bracken had to admit that he had a decent poker face. though the tremble in his hands gave him away. Bracken tried to avoid looking at Kendra, knowing that seeing her upset would only fuel his fury. Though this approach didn't last long as the waves of panic and distress he felt through their connection, made from both the bracelet and her engagement ring, shattered his resolve. He turned towards her, trusting Seth to keep an eye of the ambassador of the Fair Folk.

Bracken searched her face, he could see any obvious injuries but he could see the way her green eyes began to sparkle with tears that she would refuse to let fall. That was enough to make his blood boil and he found himself standing taller as a blush crept up the back of his neck and along the tips of his ears.

"Take a walk with me ambassador," Bracken said attempting to keep the heat out of his voice even if his words still came out sharp. His tone made it clear that this was not a request. He turned and walked around the gathering hall and toward one of the gardens that surrounded it. He heard that ambassador follow him but refused to turn and look at him as it would only cause him to do something rash.. He hadn't missed the scowl Garreth had sent Kendra as they left ,as he obviously blamed her for the results of the situation ,and it made him want to punch him in his smug looking face. Nevertheless, he schooled his features into his perfect poker face and led Garreth farther into the gardens. There were a few people milling around the extravagant gardens but most of them seemed to steer clear of them, most likely sensing the Fairy Prince's anger. Bracken walked to the back of the garden, where he was met with a hedge wall. This spot was quiet, dark, and gave more than enough privacy. He turned to look at the Prince of the Fair Folk, who looked far less cocky than he did a few minutes ago. He let the tense silence hang in the air a moment longer, enjoying the way it made Garreth squirm before he said,

"Allow me to remind you that harming a member of the royal family, physically or otherwise, is a very serious offense," his hand fell to his left hip searching for a sword that wasn't there and wishing that he had thought to bring a cloak like Seth had. " It would be a shame if the neutrality of the Fair Folk ended at the Festival of Unity. "

"Is that a threat your Highness?" Garreth questioned, a sudden burst of confidence entering his voice.

"Only if you choose to make it one," Bracken said off handedly. He turned his back to the other man and pretended to study one of the flowers that was nearby. The action allowed Bracken some time to regain control over himself and the anger that threatened to boil over.

" Now now, it's not good to make hasty decisions you will regret later," And Garreth had the gall to look back towards the direction in which they had come as he said it. Implying that the statement was directed toward Kendra . Bracken felt something inside him snap as the heat of the anger boiling his blood finally became too much. However, Garreth either didn't sense the shift or didn't care, because he continued before Bracken could say anything. " Of course, you always were known to be a bit quick tempered. You often allow your emotions to cloud you judgement. "

" I have been very diplomatic, very patient, but for some reason you seem to want to try that patience. You want to find my limit. Do you want to know what it will take for me to break? What will cause me to loose my temper?" Bracken asked stalking closer, his words close to a growl. Garreth held his gaze as all of his cocky confidence faded into fear. Bracken slowly pointed toward Kendra, " One tear. That's all it will take. If one tear falls from her eyes tonight I will show you exactly why they call me quick tempered. " And with that he turned and walked back through the garden and into the ballroom.

Bracken smirked as he entered the ballroom and saw Seth eyeing him from where he stood next to Kendra. The young Shadow Charmer must have taken Kendra there after he left with Garreth. Bracken approached the siblings, placed his arm around Kendra and then , looking at Seth, nodded his head toward the gardens. Seth's gaze darkened further and the air around them seemed to drop in temperature once again . The younger man also seemed to grow a little taller and darkness pooled in his chocolate brown eyes, beginning to consume the whites of his eyes. Without a word Seth made his way to the gardens, people parting , giving him a wide berth, as they glanced upon him with fear. Bracken pulled Kendra closer and leaned down to pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. He couldn't help but smirk as a clock struck midnight, letting out a chime an signaling the end to the Festival, even if people would remain until the next morning. The Festival was officially over as were any vows of complete peacefulness. All bets were off now. If Garreth thought he was bad, then he was in for a real surprise when Seth got his hands on him.

And there we go!!!!! This was super fun to write (Though probably not my best work) !!!! I hope it lived up to expectations. I tried really hard but I haven't written in this style for a while so let me know whether or not you like or if you want me to use it more often.

I also want to say a quick thank you to all of you who were patient with me. My personal life is very hectic especially right now so thank you so much for your patience. I love getting to post these and I have a lot of fun doing it but a lot of times life gets in the way of my plans to update.

As always let me know what you think and if their is anything you want to see next!!!!

#fablehaven #dragonwatch #fhdw #kendra sorenson #seth sorenson #brackendra #i tried #i finally finished it

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drnikolatesla · 4 years

Text

“The External Source of Energy of the Universe, Origin and Intensity of Cosmic Rays.”

By Nikola Tesla

October 13, 1932, New York:

“A little over one century ago many astronomers, including Laplace still thought that the system of heavenly bodies was unalterable and that they would perform their motions in the same manner through an eternity. But the gradual perfection of instruments and refinement of methods of investigation, achieved since that time, has led to the recognition that there is a continuous change going on in the celestial regions subjecting all bodies to ever varying influence. Where this change is leading to, and what is to be its final phase, have become questions of supreme scientific interest. In a communication to the Royal Society of Edinburgh dated April 19, 1852 and the Philosophical Magazine of October of the same year, Lord Kelvin drew attention to the general tendency in nature towards dissipation of mechanical energy, a fact borne out in daily observation of thermo-dynamic and dynamo-thermic processes and one of ominous significance. It meant that the driving force of the universe was steadily decreasing and that ultimately all of its motive energy will be exhausted none remaining available for mechanical work. In the macro-cosmos, with its countless conception, this process might require billion of years for its consummation; but in the infinitesimal worlds of the micro-cosmos it must have been quickly completed. Such being the case then, according to an experimental findings and deductions of positive science, any material substance (cooled down to the absolute zero of temperature) should be devoid of an internal movement and energy, so to speak, dead.

"This idea of the great philosopher, who later honored me with his friendship, had a fascinating effect on my mind and in meditating over it I was struck by the thought that if there is energy within the substance it can only come from without. This truth was so manifest to me that I expressed it in the following axiom: "There is no energy in matter except that absorbed from the medium.” Lord Kelvin gave us a picture of a dying universe, of a clockwork wound up and running down, inevitably doomed to come to a full stop in the far, far off future. It was a gloomy view incompatible with artistic, scientific and mechanical sense. I asked myself again and again, was there not some force winding up the clock as it runs down? The axiom I had formulated gave me a clue. If all energy is supplied to matter from without then this all important function must be performed by the medium. Yes–but how?

“I pondered over this oldest and greatest of all riddles of physical science a long time in vain, despairingly remind of the words of the poet:

"Wo fass ich dich unendliche Nat—r?

Euch Bruste wo Ihr Quellen alles Lebens

An denen Himmel und Erd— hangt.”

[“Where, boundless nature, can I hold you fast?

And where you breasts? Wells that sustain

All life – the heaven and the earth are nursed. ”]

Goethe. Faust

“What I strove for seemed unattainable, but a kind fate favored me and a few inspired experiments lifted the veil. It was a revelation wonderful and incredible explaining many mysteries of nature and disclosing as in a lightening flash the illusionary character of some modem theories incidentally also bearing out the universal truth of the above axiom.

"When radio-active rays were discovered their investigators believed them to be due to liberation of atomic energy in the form of waves. This being impossible in the light of the preceding I concluded that they were produced by some external disturbance and composed of electrified particles. My theory was not seriously taken although it appeared simple and plausible. Suppose that bullets are fired against a wall. Where a missile strikes the material is crushed and spatters in all directions radial from the place of impact. In this example it is perfectly clear that the energy of the flying pieces can only be derived from that of the bullets. But in manifestation of radio-activity no such proof could be advanced and it was, therefore, of the first importance to demonstrate experimentally the existence of this miraculous disturbance in the medium. I was rewarded in these efforts with quick success largely because of the efficient method I adopted which consisted in deriving from a great mass of air, ionized by the disturbance, a current, storing its energy in a condenser and discharging the same through an indicating device. This plan did away with the limitations and incertitude of the electroscope first employed and was described by me in articles and patents from 1900 to 1905. It was logical to expect, judging from the behavior of known radiations, that the chief source of the new rays would be the sun, but this supposition was contradicted by observations and theoretical considerations which disclosed some surprising facts in this connection.

"Light and heat rays are absorbed in their passage through a medium in a certain proportion to its density. The ether, although the most tenuous of all substances, is no exception to this rule. Its density has been first estimated by Lord Kelvin and conformably to his finding a column of one square centimeter cross section and of a length such that light, traveling at a rate of three hundred thousands kilometers per second, would require one year to traverse it, should weigh 4.8 grams. This is just about the weigh of a prism of ordinary glass of the same cross section and two centimeters length which, therefore, may be assumed as the equivalent of the ether column in absorption. A column of the ether one thousand times longer would thus absorb as much light as twenty meters of glass. However, there are suns at distances of many thousands of light years and it is evident that virtually no light from them can reach the earth. But if these suns emit rays immensely more penetrative than those of light they will be slightly dimmed and so the aggregate amount of radiations pouring upon the earth from all sides will be overwhelmingly greater than that supplied to it by our luminary. If light and heat rays would be as penetrative as the cosmic, so fierce would be the perpetual glare and so scorching the heat that life on this and other planets could not exist.

"Rays in every respect similar to the cosmic are produced by my vacuum tubes when operated at pressures of ten millions of volts or more, but even if it were not confirmed by experiment, the theory I advanced in 1897 would afford the simplest and most probable explanation of the phenomena. Is not the universe with its infinite and impenetrable boundary a perfect vacuum tube of dimensions and power inconceivable? Are not its fiery suns electrodes at temperatures far beyond any we can apply in the puny and crude contrivances of our making? Is it not a fact that the suns and stars are under immense electrical pressures transcending any that man can ever produce and is this not equally true of the vacuum in celestial space? Finally, can there be any doubt that cosmic dust and meteoric matter present an infinitude of targets acting as reflectors and transformers of energy? If under ideal working conditions, and with apparatus on a scale beyond the grasp of the human mind, rays of surpassing intensity and penetrative power would not be generated, then, indeed, nature has made an unique exception to its laws.

"It has been suggested that the cosmic rays are electrons or that they are the result of creation of new matter in the interstellar deserts. These views are too fantastic to be even for a moment seriously considered. They are natural outcroppings of this age of deep but unrational thinking, of impossible theories, the latest of which might, perhaps, deal with the curvature of time. What this world of ours would be if time were curved:

"As there exists considerable doubt in regard to the manner in which the intensity of the cosmic rays varies with altitude the following simple formula derived from my early experimental data may be welcome to those who are interested in the subject.

I = (W+P) / (W+p)

"In this expression W is the weight in kilograms of a column of lead of one square centimeter cross section and one hundred and eighty centimeters length, P the normal pressure of the atmosphere at sea level in kilograms per square centimeter, p the atmospheric pressure at the altitude under consideration and in like measure and I the intensity of the radiation in terms of that at sea level which is taken as unit. Substituting the actual values for W and P, respectively 1.9809 and 1.0133 kilograms, the formula reduces to

I = 2.99421 / (1.9809 + p)

"Obviously, at sea level p = P hence the intensity is equal to 1, this being the unit of measurement. On the other hand, at the extreme limit of the atmosphere p = 0 and the intensity I = 1.5115.

"The maximum increase with height is, consequently, a little over fifty-one percent. This formula, based on my finding that the absorption is proportionate to the density of the medium whatever it be, is fairly accurate. Other investigators might find different values for W but they will undoubtedly observe the same character of dependence, namely, that the intensity increases proportionately to the height for a few kilometers and then at a gradually lessening rate.”

#Nikola Tesla #science #physics #chemistry #history #discovery #cosmic rays #radioactivity #universe #energy #experiments #ahead of his time #ahead of our time

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

Someone Left to Save (12)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: Editing and formatting this on the mobile app is straight up HORRIBLE. I know it’s an old thing now to know that the mobile app is not recommendable for content creation, but hey I’m making do with what I can. Also, I’ve already posted this chapter yesterday on AO3, it only delayed because like I keep saying, editing on the app is horrible.

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions | Additional tags: Jeddah

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 | Previous: Part 11 | Next: Part 13 | Masterlist

12 of ?

Cal ran as fast as his legs can carry him until he got to a significant distance away from the bridge.

His next problem was finding his way back to the Mantis, but that’s besides the point. He took shelter in an extension of the temple, to catch his breath, but eventually the toll takes on his body. All of the sudden, the exact wave of emotions when he saw you came back to him. He still couldn’t believe it, he simply can’t, not after believing for so long that you were alive.

Pressing his back against the cold, stone walls, he slides down and reduces into a curled up ball; not even covering his eyes with his hands stopped the tears from overflowing. They spilled through the spaces between his fingers, the edges of his palms, and trickled down on his forearms. His heart ached as he sobbed. Of all things, why did this had to happen to him? And of all people to deliver him the worst of news, why did it have to be you?

“I can’t believe it…” he sobbed, his breath shuddering as he exhaled.

“Bee… Bee, trill, chirp!” BD-1 urged the boy to stand up and find their way out before you find them.

Cal sniffled and struggled to bring himself up to his feet. This was much worse a battle than the duel that he just had with you.

“You’re right, BD,” he concurred. “Come on…”

The boy was awfully quiet during their trek out of the temple cave. If BD chirped, he’d be received with silence, or perhaps the closest the bot can come to a reply is an out-of-the-moment “Huh?” and a weak, indifferent hum. Eventually, he gave up until they found their way out.

End of the road for Cal and BD-1.

Both of them peer on the drop at the edge of Cal’s boots. The sunlight pierced through the cracks on the cave’s walls and ceiling, revealing a body of water. The redhead youngster wagered it would be twenty feet between the rock he’s standing on and the water. He took a deep breath and dived in.

A literal splash of cold water all over him and he’s still having it rough in accepting what you have become. He swam forward, until he could find dry land; when he did, he climbed up and shook off the water from his clothes and boots.

“Cere, do you read?”

“Cal, I read. What’s going on? Are you still in the temple?”

“Yeah, I am, but I’m trying to find another way out.”

“What’s happened?”

“Uh… Um, there was a… a cave in.”

“Are you alright?”

Cere won’t take Cal’s simple “Yeah” for an answer. Even from that single word, she heard how unusually warbly he sounded, his own voice betrayed him and she wanted in on it as to why he sounds odd--but of course, she won’t force the boy. The conversation abruptly ended from Cal’s line as he continued on to find his way out of the cave.

“I think there’s our light at the end of the tunnel,”

His exit was one of many from that temple cave. A different exit could’ve led to another place. In Cal’s case, he ended up in the south end of the mesa; a narrow ridge, wide enough for any species except a Hutt to tread on, wrapped around the wall. Cal hugs the wall, facing the open space, with his arms splayed and pressed against the hot rock baked by the sun, then shimmied until he could find a wider path.

Cal has already come around the corner, he can already spot the city and the Mantis—the dorsal fin poking out of the mesa—so he continued to shimmy the ridge until he could find someplace to safely land. Not long after, he reaches a rockwall where he can make the rocks sticking out of it as handholds. He struggled to scale it, as the heaviness of his body was making it harder for him; despite coming out of the duel unscathed, the manifestations in his mind was affecting his body. He exerted more effort, he worked up a sweat in climbing the remaining height and the Mantis was a sight for his puffy, sore eyes.

“There’s the Mantis!”

The boy comes sprinting towards the vessel, hot air filling his lungs, warming his throat, and the sweltering humidity pelting his skin. He’d love a shower when he gets there.

The entry ramp unfurled when its censors spotted him, he didn’t wait for it to completely fold out, he jumped in the first second he could plant his feet on the ramp. This is the second time he eagerly barged into the Mantis, surprising everyone—except for Cere, who was already expecting an explanation from the young Jedi Knight.

“There’s something you all need to know,”

The entire crew clustered around Cere and Cal. The older female Jedi hardened herself, a way of preparing herself for what she’s about to hear, and she inhaled deeply when Cal opened his mouth.

“[Y/N] is alive… and she’s an Inquisitor now!”

Much like Cal the first time, the Mantis crew couldn’t believe it. BD-1 got Cal’s back when he flashed a data scan of you in the middle of your duel when you were unaware of the little droid. That is when the crew finally took Cal’s word for it. Cere stared at the holographic image of you long and hard, she questions if her eyes are playing a trick on her… but no, they aren’t. It really is you.

Examining your image more intently, she notices the changes in your face even though they were subtle. The shadows under your eyes and the redness along its rims, she asks BD to enlarge the image, when the droid obliged she spotted bruises on your neck and jugular. All of her findings suggest the exact same theory in her head: torture.

“Cal, did you notice that she had bruises and small wounds on her neck and face?”

“W-Well… Not really. I was still kinda overwhelmed back there when I saw her again,” said the boy quite somberly.

“Hmm,” the older woman hummed. “Because there are typical wounds you’d get when you’re kept in an Imperial torture chair. I had the same wounds, except [Y/N]’s are more prominent. It could only mean they’d kept her there longer than they usually would to a prisoner, especially if it were Jedi.”

The thought of you strapped into the torture chair for a much longer period of time pained Cal more. He could only imagine the agonizing screams and cries that would have escaped your throat for every time they pulled the switch to turn the current on. Suddenly, he felt woozy and his footing failed; Merrin and Cere caught him in time.

“Your poor thing, you need to rest,” uttered Merrin.

“Yeah, I… I just need to clean myself up and some time alone.”

He politely shook himself off of the ladies’ collective hold of him and headed for the bath. The water rained on his head and then trickled all over his entire body, bringing the sandy gunk along into the drain; the shower felt like a prison cell, theres’ a gloomy peace in this glass box, but ironically so, that’s what he exactly needed to think it all through.

Cal gently thumped his head against the wall, still letting the water run on him while doing bare minimum scrubbing—droplets fall from his strong jaw, the tip of his nose and lips, he’d blink away the water that clung on his eyelashes. He closes his eyes until the hissy sound of the running water had dulled in his earshot.

How he had wished he would have snuck a single grab of your saber, your hand, or your cheek just to see what you’ve been through. He’d willingly go through the nightmares that reside in your head, playing in every waking second which fueled your anger and hate. Then the words struck his mind.

“You abandoned me, Cal!”

“That sounded like an accusation,” he pondered. His nails cracked as he scratched the glass wall. “But you don’t really mean that, do you?”

Eventually, the tears mixed in with the shower’s water that it’s hard to tell. But Cal’s shoulders shook and then relaxed as he begins to weep again.

“I missed you so much… if only I could’ve told you that, to let you know. Even if it didn’t make you turn back, to come back to me. I just wanted to make sure you don’t forget...”

Even through the fogged glass, BD-1 can see Cal’s silhouette succumbing to the floor and curling up, he can hear the boy sobbing and incoherent muttering altogether. There’s nothing much the little one can do, as well, except to sit by and trill sad chirps.

—-

Meanwhile, back in the temple cave, you didn’t waste your energy in trying to dislodge the boulder in the archway. Like Cal’s exit, you had your own where you stood. You followed the path and led to a tunnel; you’re let out to what ought to be a canyon, though you have no idea where you exactly are.

Referring to your gauntlet, the small screen indicated the signature of your TIE Fighter on the map grid. From where you stand, it’s almost a seven-mile trek and you’re thirsty and hungry. Luckily, your TIE had a function that allows you to “hail” it and let it come to you even without a pilot.

“Maybe a sightseeing trip wouldn’t hurt my objective,” you mused.

Your TIE Fighter comes flying over the canyons until it converged to your signal.

The ship hovered over your head, sending the coattails of your armor's top flapping like wild in the thrusters' hot wind. You didn't mind, you simply hopped into the cockpit and flew to the nearby Imperial garrison. As the distance shrinks, you ponder if you'll have any luck in this endeavor.

The Imperial scanners have picked up the signature of your ship.

"This is TIE Fighter TZX-2527, requesting permission to dock,"

From the other end, the operators recognize your voice. One of them previewed the flat image of your ship on their screen and turned their heads to the deck commander.

"Sir, this is an Inquisitor's TIE Fighter!"

A sudden chill pelted his arms despite wearing a full-bodied uniform. He gulped the nervous lump lodged in the center of his throat many time before he could swallow smoothly again. He turned to the cadet manning the computers who previewed your TIE Fighter and gave him the go signal to let you through.

"Your ship's been verified, Inquisitor, you may begin your landing phase in Bay 5."

"Excellent. I'll be on my way,"

The transmission ends and you make your way to the Imperial docking bay, you promptly prepped your TIE into its landing cycle and daintily put it on the ground. A pair of Stormtroopers escorted you into the main hold of the fortification. After a ten-minute walk from the landing bay to the command hall, you meet the person in charge peering at the dusty nothingness through the window.

He was an aging man—the lines drawn over his face proved that he had served before the Empire, his lowered brow gave off a permanent scowl over a pair of tired, old eyes. He turns around as he hears the door open.

"Inquisitor," he greets with a curt bow, he doesn't turn away from you.

"Captain Foros," you greet, though the coldness in your tone overpowers the politeness. "I should thank you for letting me stay here."

"Aye, no one would want to stay out there, where it's wretchedly sweltering,"

You joined his side, standing in front of the same window where he observes the land, it later dawned on him that you're so young—and yet you carried yourself in a mature regard in your stride and posture.

Slowly turning your head from the window to his face, you smile at his comment—regardless if he doesn't see it.

"I'm pleased we have something to agree on,"

Getting past the niceties and icebreakers, a minute lapsed before you began asking him. He walked with you to the holotable in the center of the room.

"Has there been any word about a Jedi running around in this planet?"

"As a matter of fact, Inquisitor, we have been receiving relayed reports in the neighboring town northwest of here. That's Sector J8 in the grid."

"I see," you hummed, intrigued. "What kind of reports have you been hearing from the northwestern town?"

The old captain sighed, preparing mental bullet list of Cal's activities in the main town of Jeddah; there's too much to mention and elaborate in detail, so he pressed a button on the holotable to present a series of surveillance images taken in different areas of the town.

Your eyes wandered from one frame to another. All of the cameras captured a clear picture of the boy—whether he idled in crowded public areas, running, or swinging his saber at Stormtroopers.

Yep, that's him. You tell yourself.

"Well, it started out with sightings which eventually caused some suspicion. When the troops close in on him, he tends to leave a trail of their bodies in his wake, and then he'll bolt away until he's out of sight!"

"Ahh," you purred, smiling again with satisfaction underneath that mask. "Yes. I know this particular Jedi."

You suddenly turned quiet. Captain Foros turned to you, confused after detecting the rather amused tone in your voice, despite the mood of the situation that he just narrated. He angled his head with a thoughtful expression as he tried to read you.

There was something else that you sense about that town. You stand still in front of the holotable, concentrating everything on that town, there was an unspeakable urge within you that prompted you to march back to the window and peer at the quiet, unbothered town.

Looks like your to-do list just got longer.

"Captain?"

He stiffens upon the call of his rank.

"I'm going to need a speeder. I think I'll give the quaint town a little field visit."

"Right away, Inquisitor!"

Two snaps of his fingers prompted an officer to scramble from their post and march towards him. He sternly gave the order to prepare an elite-type speeder bike for you. He obediently responded, saluted to the captain before turning away to proceed with the given task. Within half an hour, you were escorted by one of the officers to the hangar.

You hopped on and revved up the engine. The bike sped out of the docking bay, with your eyes set out for that town.

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actualfarless · 3 years

Text

The Dragon Oath

The Dragon is just as much of a prisoner as the Princess is.

Story below or read on Wattpad.

For centuries, Alamor was a hidden jewel, protected by mountains to the north, a vast ocean to the south, and, of course, the great hunting grounds on the borderlands that belonged exclusively to dragons. Rumors of a mystical kingdom eventually reached the outside world. As years passed and empires rose, Alamor became the envy of greedy kings. They set their armies on the kingdom, but none ever made it past the mighty dragons and so Alamor lived in peace.

Then a great Alamoran king discovered the Dragon Oaths.

The king bound dragons into his service and turned the fierce predators into tools of war. Corrupted by power and spurred by vengeance, the king launched a campaign against his neighbors. Three kingdoms fell before the new Alamor and, if not for a stray arrow, the entire continent would have. The king of the dragons perished. The Oaths were broken.

Many of the dragons fled from the land, retreating to unknown lands, swearing to never be bound again. A few foolishly stayed, believing that the Oaths died with the king.

They were wrong.

The king had passed his knowledge to his son who passed it to his daughter and so forth. The Oaths became a sacred rite. Though none of the great king’s lineage succumbed to corruption, each invoked an Oath, swearing in not an army, but a single dragon to service. As generations passed, the dragon’s resentment faded and, eventually, the Oath became a tradition and an honor for both monarch and dragon.

Princess Marianne knew she would, one day, invoke her own Dragon Oath. Alamor worked closely with dragons and she knew that none would dare hurt a monarch or heir, if only because the Oath prevented them. She knew that she was perfectly safe.

That did not stop her from screaming when the flying beast scooped her from her bedroom balcony in the middle of the night. She had never seen a dragon up close, but she knew immediately that her captor was not her father’s dragon. Scars carved gaps between her dull green scales and a crest ran between her two curved horns. The dragon’s mighty talons gripped Marianne loosely, but no matter how she pushed, she could not make a gap wide enough to escape.

“Stop squirming, Princess,” the dragon hissed. “You do not want to fall at this height.”

Marianne didn’t listen and the dragon released a heavy sigh, tightening her grip on the young princess until they reached their destination. Marianne couldn’t tell how long she rode in the dragon’s hand but she was very sore and tired once released.

The dragon placed her in a courtyard of an abandoned castle. She couldn’t see beyond the great walls from the ground, but the cold suggested she was somewhere in the mountains. If that was right, she was too far from her home to walk. Perhaps guessing her intent, the dragon placed one massive claw on either side of the princess, blocking her escape from any direction but back into the great hall.

Marianne glared down the dragon, meeting its yellow eyes with her own. She knew some animals could sense fear. She hoped the dragon could not. “Once my father learns of this, he will have you killed. Just because you’re a dragon doesn’t mean you’re safe. He’s a king.”

“I am here on your father’s orders.”

Marianne opened her mouth to retort but confusion replaced anger so rapidly, all that came out was a series of sputtering sounds.

“You’re not Rynwyld,” she said after a moment.

“I am not.”

“Rynwyld is my father’s dragon.”

“Dragons belong to no one, child.” The dragon’s tone remained the same, but her frills on her neck rose and she moved her head very close to Marianne, reminding the princess of her many sharp teeth.

“But-”

“No one.”

“Are you not bound by an Oath, then?”

The dragon moved her head away. “I am.”

“How is that any different?”

“You would not understand.”

“Well, how long are you going to keep me here?”

“As long as I must. I am bound to keep you here until a worthy knight claims you. Food will be provided for some time and the library has a vast selection of books.”

“What’s to stop me from escaping?”

“I am.”

Marianne did her best to keep a brave face, but the dragon’s unwavering stare unnerved her. She didn’t think the dragon would eat her if it was bound by an Oath, but she wasn’t sure if she should test that theory. “You have to sleep sometime.”

“I have gone entire years without rest. I can do so again.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.”

Marianne and the dragon spent the first night both wide awake, watching each other. Marianne was not convinced entirely by the dragon’s story - her father would have told her about this plan so she could at least pack - but it seemed like a lot of work if the dragon was going to eat her. Perhaps fear marinated humans.

She did not try to escape that night, but over the course of the month, she tried no fewer than five separate occasions. The first few times, the dragon caught her before she had even made it to the front gate. The last time, however, Marianne waited until the dragon went on one of her daily hunts.

Once outside the gate, she confirmed she was in the mountains. The castle was built on a wide stretch of land that turned to steep cliffs on every side, with only a single wooded road up and down. Marianne couldn’t be sure where she was, but surely once she escaped the dragon’s clutches, she could find someone to guide her home. Maybe even one of the brave knights supposedly searching for her.

The princess had barely made it to the woods when the bloody carcass of a deer fell out of the sky and blocked her path. The dragon landed a second later, red blood dripping from her jaws. She flexed her wings, relaxing them from the flight before folding them tight against her side. She stared at the princess as though expecting Marianne to speak. The princess did not.

“You are persistent,” the dragon said after a moment.

“You can’t keep me here forever.”

“I most certainly can. I would prefer if I did not need to keep an eye on you. Will you continue to run away?”

“Obviously.”

“Then I should warn you, the nearest town is more than a day’s walk away.” The dragon considered Marianne for a moment. “You have short legs. Maybe two. The mountains are filled with wolves and bears and many things I know to be dangerous to humans. Are you prepared to deal with those?”

“You’re just saying that to scare me.”

“If I wanted to scare you, Princess, I would not need to devise stories.”

Marianne contemplated running again, but she knew it was useless. She would get mere steps before the great green dragon grabbed her and brought her back to the castle anyway. She scowled at the beast, turned on her heels, and marched back to the castle. The dragon followed, carrying the dead deer in her jaw.

That was not Marianne’s last escape attempt, but she never got further. As the weeks stretched into months, her attempts became infrequent and by the time frost covered the ground daily, she didn’t try at all. She struggled to sleep yet found herself awake well after the day was half over and often she stayed in bed until she woke again, having never willingly gone to bed.

The castle was well stocked with books and games, the latter of which Marianne thought was a waste. Her only companion was the dragon. After Marianne stopped trying to escape, she and the dragon lived in a strained and quiet peace. The green beast left for hunts almost daily. Occasionally she would return with her meals. Sometimes only with wounds. When she was not on a hunt, the dragon stretched lazily in the courtyard. A depression formed in the ground where she made her bed.

Marianne made her peace with a dull life, accepting the dragon’s first conversation as truth. Eventually, a worthy knight would come and slay the beast and she would be free.

Then one night in the deep of winter, she heard a terrible sound.

Marianne awoke with her heart pounding in her chest, unsure if she had dreamed it until the sound echoed through the castle walls once more. She felt it penetrate and rattle her bones and no matter how she covered her ears, the noise found its way into her soul. She felt her heart grow heavy with a grief she didn’t understand. A momentary silence brought relief that left Marianne determined.

She slipped out of bed, appreciating the chill touch of the stone floor on her feet if only to feel something else. There was a dearth of weapons in the castle not that Marianne had any need. Anything that could overpower a dragon would best her in any contest of strength. She had once considered killing the dragon herself, but she decided the risk was too great. Still, the princess stopped by the kitchen to grab a large knife. Perhaps luck would be on her side for once.

Following the noise, Marianne found herself at the edge of the courtyard, hiding in the shadows where the overgrown bushes met the castle wall. A thick layer of white snow covered the ground everywhere but where her captor lay. The dragon was alone and undisturbed by the wailing noise. She curled in a ball with her tail curled under her neck, shielding herself from the gently falling snow with her wings. The flakes melted as they fell upon her scales. Her face especially was wet from the snow.

Alone in the courtyard, the dragon looked peaceful. Marianne could almost forget the long claws and sharp teeth and fire. Then Marianne heard the noise again and she understood.

Marianne had never heard a dragon cry. No one had ever heard a dragon cry. As far as she knew, dragons couldn’t cry.

Yet the great green dragon wept.

Marianne jolted at the sound, having forgotten for a moment how horrible it was. She dropped the knife in the snow and collapsed to her knees. Now, unshielded by the walls, she felt the full weight of the dragon’s sorrow weigh on her. Her face felt wet. From ice or snow or her own tears, she could not tell. The princess never expected to feel any sympathy for the dragon but the pain swallowed her whole, leaving her in darkness.

“Did I wake you?”

The princess snapped her attention to the dragon. The dragon had not moved. She remained curled, facing away from Marianne and the abandoned keep. Maybe the dragon meant to hide her own tears.

“I am sorry, Princess. I did not mean to disturb you. Tonight, I find myself filled with a great sadness -” the dragon lingered on this word for a moment, moving her gaze to the moon above - “and regret. It is not your responsibility. I will control myself.”

Again, Marianne felt a stabbing pain in her heart. Part of her mind told her it was silly to care so deeply about the dragon’s despair and that the beast had weaponized her emotions. The dragon kept her trapped within the castle. She deserved no sympathy. Yet Marianne didn’t care. She felt the dragon hurt. It compounded her own. Jailer or no, she was sorry for the great beast.

“Go back to bed,” the dragon said softly. “I will not wake you again.”

Marianne nodded. Before she could stop herself, she whispered, “goodnight, Dragon.”

Silence filled the air. The dragon settled back down.

“Goodnight, Princess.”

<<>>

Marianne had to make a decision.

She considered the question carefully throughout the winter and by the time the first layer of snow began to melt, she knew her answer. However, knowing what to do and actually doing it were two separate things, the latter significantly more complicated. Spring arrived in the mountains by the time she had the courage to approach the dragon.

The dragon stretched in the courtyard, wings splayed to absorb the unfiltered sun. She watched Marianne with an indeterminable stare, waiting for the princess to make her request. Marianne could not get the mental image of the dragon growing bored and deciding to eat her out of her head. But she had seen the dragon at her weakest. She probably wouldn’t eat Marianne.

Probably.

“What is your name?” The princess finally asked.

The dragon’s inscrutable gaze changed, but Marianne understood it no better. “I am surprised you ask. Surprised but… thankful. You would find my true name difficult to pronounce, but you may call me Maeryl.”

“Maeryl,” Marianne repeated, her voice a hushed whisper that barely escaped her lips.

“I know it is polite to ask in return, but I do already know yours.”

“Marianne,” the princess said.

“Yes.”

A silence filled the courtyard unlike any the pair had shared before. Not caused by fear or disdain, but the awkward realization that, after nearly a year, they had never had a real conversation. Marianne had many questions for the dragon, but none felt like an appropriate follow-up. The dragon - Maeryl - seemed to have nothing to say. She studied Marianne, narrow eyes never moving off the girl, but remained quiet.

"How, uh, how old are you?" Marianne said quietly.

"Older than you would believe, I imagine."

"How old is that?"

"Hundreds of years. I forget the number. Alamor was little more than a town on a riverbank when I was in my youth."

"Were you part of the original Dragon Oaths?" Marianne asked before she knew what she was saying. The dragon's face changed again and the princess worried she erred, but Maeryl did not eat her.

"I was. I served the king until the end."

The courtyard had a small fountain. It broke early in the winter and was little more than a pond at this point. Marianne settled on the edge, an eager grin taking her face. "What was it like?"

“I felt no different, but my mind was not my own. I could speak my mind, think my own thoughts, act of my own free will, until doing so violated the Oath. Then I was bound. It did not feel as if the Oath denied my freedom, not until I was rid of it. It corrupts the mind. I believed the choices I made to be my own. Only when I was unbound did I realize the truth.”

“Oh.”

“The nature of the Oaths have changed since then. Do not fret.”

“What about the war? That must have been exciting.”

"War is always terrible, Princess. I had hoped to never see another one.*

“Oh,” Marianne said again. "Why didn't you flee?"

"Excuse me?"

“The stories say that many of the originally bound dragons fled across the ocean. Only those that were too old or too weak stayed. If the Oaths were bad and the war was terrible, why didn’t you flee?”

“Do I seem weak?”

“Not at all! That’s why I ask.” Marianne spoke so rapidly she tripped over her own words. She heard stories of the pride of dragons. True or not, insulting Maeryl seemed not worth the risk.

“If I told you I stayed because this is my home, would that be enough?”

Marianne shrugged. “I guess.”

Every expression the dragon made was terrifying and alien to Marianne, but she swore the dragon smiled. Maeryl nodded. “It would not. I understand. I can tell you someday, Princess, but I ask a favor in exchange.”

On impulse, Marianne nearly accepted without question, but she held her tongue. Stories never claimed dragons excelled at subterfuge, but they were clever.

“What’s the favor?” she asked cautiously.

“Conversations. This has been nice, even if the topic is a bitter one for me. In truth, I do not care which topic you choose; I only wish for the conversation. I would like it if we could have more.”

“Is that all? Of course, Maeryl!”

The two beamed at each other for a moment that stretched on too long. Slowly, Marianne’s smile faded into a concerned frown. She patted her legs and swung them awkwardly from her fountain seat, waiting for the dragon to speak, but Maeryl never did.

“Did… did you mean now?” Marianne asked finally.

“Only if you would like. I do not expect it.”

“Oh, okay.” Marianne rose to her feet. “I think I am going to go for now.”

“That is fine.”

“But I will be back.”

“Okay.”

“And we will talk again.”

“Good.”

“Uh, goodbye, Dra- um, Maeryl.”

“Goodbye, Princess.”

The next few conversations Marianne had with the dragon were as uncomfortable as the first, but the princess intended to keep her promise. Spring turned to summer to fall to winter and back to spring once more. Marianne’s visits with the dragon became more frequent. More comfortable. She slowly forgot the bitter circumstances of their relationship.

On the good days, she caught herself thinking of the dragon as her friend.

Marianne would ask Maeryl about her life, the nature of dragons, the history of alamor, or any topic that interested her. Maeryl readily answered the princess’ questions, no matter how stupid or embarrassing she felt they were. And when it was Marianne’s turn to speak, Maeryl listened patiently, prodding gently with questions when silence filled the air. Marianne once mentioned a book she read in the castle library. At Maeryl’s request, she spent the following week reading it to the dragon. Once she turned the final page, she found another and another after that. The library was vast enough that it would take her years to get through it all.

The second and third years passed easier than the first now that both princess and dragon had an outlet for conversation. Some days, Marianne even forgot she was a prisoner. But always, she was quickly reminded.

Maeryl continued her hunts, as she called them. She would disappear for hours at a time and return bloody. Maeryl did not make excuses, choosing instead to say nothing at all, perhaps because she understood Marianne knew the truth. No creature could harm a dragon or would dare to do so if it could. The scars Maeryl earned were caused by knights. Each one a failed attempt at rescue. Marianne tried not to think about it when she noticed the dragon pulling arrows from her side. Maeryl was polite and kind to the princess. Marianne hated to think of what she did to the brave knights. She hated herself for caring more about the dragon's injuries than the gate of her rescuers.

So well into the third year, when self-loathing and guilt became too much, she waited in the courtyard for the dragon's return, intent on hearing the truth from Maeryl's mouth. She had rehearsed the arguments in her head, mocking thought-Maeryl's voice when the dragon in her mind won. But when she saw the dragon land, she reconsidered her tone.

A large gash ran from her shoulder to her claw, worse than anything Marianne had seen before. Her arm was wet with blood and the wound was deep enough that her natural healing had not begun to turn the cut into a scar. It was so bad, in fact, that Maeryl groaned when she landed and immediately lifted the wounded limb off the ground as to avoid putting weight on it. If Marianne didn't know better, she might have thought the dragon looked afraid.

Maeryl curled around herself, cleaning the wound with her tongue. She stopped licking herself when she locked eyes with the princess and though her scales hid her blush, the way she awkwardly hid her leg and widened her eyes revealed enough. Marianne struggled with dragon expressions, but she knew Maeryl well enough to know when she was embarrassed.

“Why do you fight them?” Marianne asked.

"Fight who?"

"The knights. I know that's what you're doing when you say you're hunting."

“That is the agreement.”

“I know that is the agreement,” Marianne said, not hiding her annoyance, though weary of the dragon’s responding glare, “but why is it the agreement?”

The dragon’s stare softened. She considered the question for a moment. “Your father wants you to find a husband who is pure of heart. The fight is a test.”

“You’re testing their hearts in a duel? How do you know who is good or bad?”

"No man is good. Your kind corrupts too easily," she replied bitterly. "I suppose the same is true for all creatures. I would consider the first that chooses not to fight."

"None of them have tried that?"

"It is a reflex, I wager. They see a large dragon, remember that I can breathe fire if I wish, and charge me before I decide to do so. They forget I can also speak."

"Do they always strike first?"

"Of course. There is no point to the test if I force a decision on them." Maeryl looked at the bloody wound. "I must be getting old."

Marianne pondered the dragon's words for a moment. Pain struck her heart. Maeryl's words were pessimistic but she spoke them as plainly as the truth. Marianne studied the scars of her captor and protector and she struggled to convince herself Maeryl was wrong. No man is good.

She blamed the dragon for her imprisonment, but it was the king's words that kept her there. She knew him as a confidant and a friend and, at times, her father. She did not know him as a warden. As a slaver.

No man is good.

The princess moved closer to the dragon, lifting - or trying to lift - Maeryl's mighty claw from over the wound. "Let me help."

“Oh, Princess, no-”

Maeryl’s stare met Marianne’s and the dragon fell silent. Tears formed at the corner of the princess’ eyes. Her lips quivered as she strained a smile. Maeryl found human expressions difficult but she understood her ward’s stare well: the unbearable sadness of guilt and shame for things far beyond her control and the determination to right the world. Maeryl had felt it once herself.

“Please,” Marianne whispered.

Slowly, Maeryl moved her arm so the princess could see the wound in all its gruesome detail. She had suffered worse before.

Still, it was nice to have someone care.

<<>>

The season turned to winter - the fourth of her imprisonment - and brought a bitter cold that even chilled Maeryl’s scales. The stream of gallant knights waned months prior, before the first snow even fell from the sky, and now several weeks had passed without the dragon leaving for a 'hunt.' Several long nights alone in the library left Marianne with too many thoughts to work through, so she sought Maeryl’s company, asking the dragon to light a fire.

Early in winter, Marianne suggested the dragon come inside and sleep in the great hall, but Maeryl sheepishly pointed out she would not fit through the door. Marianne told her to knock out the wall. Maeryl refused. Marianne found a sledgehammer and started the work herself, but after two full days of work, she realized that summer would arrive before she finished. So when she wished to speak with Maeryl, she met the dragon in the frozen courtyard, wearing layers upon layers of clothes.

“I’m not sure I even want a husband,” Marianne said after the silence had lingered too long. Dragons understood time differently and Maeryl would be content to let her sit with no question asked.

“Oh?”

"I thought I did, when I was younger. I read so many stories of young princesses who met a handsome knight and married and lived happily ever after. I wanted that for so long. When I stopped trying to flee, I accepted that a knight would come for me. I thought I wanted it."

“That’s changed, has it?”

“Maybe. Yes. Well…” Marianne paused, organizing the thoughts in her head. They were so many and so scattered she worried she would forget the important ones. “I don’t think that’s ever what I wanted. A husband, that is. When I read those stories, it was never the men I cared about. I wanted the ever after. I wanted to be happy and if I had to marry a handsome knight, so be it. I figured happiness would be worth it.”

“I see.”

“But now I worry that I won’t be happy, even if I marry some man who is ‘pure of heart.’” Marianne hesitated. “Especially if I marry a man.”

“Oh.”

Marianne turned from the fire to the dragon with an earnest, worried stare. "That's not strange, is it? Does that make me strange?"

"Oh, Princess, no, never. Many feel the way you do. I am among them." Maeryl shifted so her head was on level with Marianne and her body blocked the wind. "The love in books often fails to reflect reality. It takes many forms, waxes and wanes with time, and only you can decide who you love. When you do, I am sure she will bring you happiness."

“Many things bring me happiness, Maeryl. That’s not the same as being happy.”

“I know. One does not live as long as I without learning this.” Maeryl rested her head on the ground. “I am sad you’ve learned this so young.”

"I don't know if I deserve to be happy."

The dragon was silent for a moment and Marianne panicked that she had somehow overstepped. Before she could tell the dragon to forget what she said, Maeryl spoke. "I know that feeling too. For what it is worth, I think you do."

"Why? What have I done to earn it? Nothing!"

"You do not earn the right to be happy, Princess. There is no great quest that makes you worthy. What makes you deserving is that you have done nothing to lose that right. You have done no terrible deeds."

Marianne disagreed. She had once told Maeryl that a book was lost when she simply got bored of reading it. But before she could vocalize her thoughts, Maeryl continued, "I know that merely hearing those words will not rid the darkness in your mind, but that does not make them any less true. You deserve to be happy if only because you do not deserve to be unhappy. If you need more, I will provide.

"Nearly two years ago, you made me a promise. You did not have to keep it, and yet you did. You read to me when I asked. You learned chess to sate my boredom. You have tended to my wounds. Marianne, you have shown me kindness I have not received in hundreds of years. You may think these are simple things, but to me, they mean the world. If these actions do not make you a worthy person, I do not know what could."

"Thank you," Marianne said quietly.

"I should be the one saying that. Thank you, Princess."

Marianne fell silent. Maeryl's words did not eliminate all the thoughts that poisoned her brain, but now she felt like she could breathe at least. Knowing that Maeryl understood her, perhaps more than she could ever anticipate, helped too. When the darkness returned, they could fend it off together once more.

“Do you think I could be happy?” she asked after a moment.

For a long time, Maeryl said nothing. The question hung in the winter air as dangerous as any arrow and the longer Maeryl went without reply, the surer Marianne was of her answer. Finally, the dragon did speak. "I hope so."

For the moment, that was enough. Marianne settled against the dragon’s neck, staring up at the stars. With the turmoil in her mind quieted, she could appreciate the beauty of the night sky.

“Have you ever been in love,” Marianne asked after a while.

“Once, long ago. Your kingdom was small then and I much younger.”

“Tell me about them.”

“She was… kind.”

Marianne waited for Maeryl to continue. The dragon did not. “Kind? That’s it?”

“I have not spoken of her for quite some time. I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you still think about her?”

“Every day.”

“Then tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I think of the way she smiled. How her eyes would light up with all the joy in the world when she laughed. How I felt when I saw her. I think of her despair. When she would cry, my heart grew heavy. I think of her wit. The jokes she would tell and the many games of chess I lost.” Maeryl sighed. “I knew no one greater. I gave my heart to her.”

“Was she beautiful?”

“Like a jewel.”

“What happened?” Marianne asked, then added, “you’re talking about her in past tense. Are you no longer together?”

“She died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was centuries ago.”

“Still, Maeryl, I am sorry."

"It was inevitable."

"That does not make it any easier."

The dragon considered this for a moment. "It does not."

"I am sad I did not know her.”

“I think you would have liked her. She would have liked you. You are very similar.” Maeryl rested her head on the ground once more. "Could we change topics? If you have not more questions, Princess."

Marianne did have more questions, but she held them. The dragon had been kind. She could be kind as well. "Maybe we could just stare at the stars together."

"I think we could."

"Wake me if I fall asleep. I don't want to wake up frozen."

"Of course, Princess."

<<>>

Maeryl felt the change days before he came. It was otherwise a day like any other. Winter limped forward on dying legs. Snow still covered the ground and the wind still howled in the night. But when Maeryl awoke in the morning, shaking the snow from her shoulder and stretching the aches out of her legs, she knew the day was different.

Maeryl met him at the field far below the castle, far out of sight of Marianne if the princess woke. She watched the red dragon as he descended in lazy circles from the sky. Like her, his body was covered in scars and spines and frills, but he was much larger. The ground shook when he landed and his claws dug deep into the earth. Shaking the weariness of the flight off his wings, the red dragon glared at Maeryl with his one good eye.

He had two when she saw him last.

She knew Rynwyld. She knew him by his true name. She knew he would not let her say it.

“Greetings, Brother,” Maeryl said.

“I would call you Sister, but you deserve no such kinship.”

Maeryl ignored the slight. “It is done then?”

“I considered leaving without telling you. I still think I should.”

“Yet here you are,” Maeryl said. Her princess often struggled to understand the subtle emotions of dragons and Maeryl had grown used to her obliviousness. Rynwyld did not. He seemed pleased by her frustration. That only frustrated Maeryl more. “So it is done. One way or another.”

“It is done. The Oaths are finally broken.”

“Oh.”

Rynwyld grinned devilishly. “What? Was that not the answer you hoped? You would prefer we remain bound forever.”

“It was not the answer I expected. What will you do now?”

“Sleep. I have not done so for decades. After that, whatever I wish.” Rynwyld stared past Maeryl to the mountains, no doubt searching for the castle within. “Is the daughter still here?”

“Why?”

“You know why.” Rynwyld bared his fangs. “She is born of that cursed line. If she learns the rites, we could be bound once more.”

“I am bound to protect her.”

“You are not any more.”

Maeryl flared her neck frills, an instinct more than an intent, but the message was clear. “I am bound to protect her.”

“And I am bound to end the Oaths.”

Maeryl prepared for him to strike, but that did not protect her. She lunged forward like a viper, closing the distance between them in a blink, wrapping her jaws around his neck. But even as she sank her teeth into his neck, she felt his claws dig into her side. Rynwyld tore into Maeryl. He shredded her wing and ripped at her scales and flesh, cutting deeper than any knight’s sword. The pain blurred her vision. Every thought in her mind told her to flee, but Maeryl did not let go. Even as Rynwyld clawed and shook, she kept her jaw locked on his neck, squeezing tighter and tighter as the red dragon’s strength waned.

Eventually, Maeryl stood over Rynwyld’s corpse, red blood dripping from her jaws and the gouges on her chest and stomach. One wing hung limply at her side, now little more than scraps of bloodsoaked skin around bone.. Every breath sent a new wave of pain through her body. Her thoughts were sluggish. Maeryl knew she was not far from joining Rynwyld in death.

But she still had one promise to fulfill.

Night settled in the mountains by the time Maeryl crawled back to the castle. Without her wings, the journey took longer than she expected, and she had to stop and rest often. When she finally crawled over the castle walls, she found Marianne waiting for her in the courtyard, pacing impatiently. The princess turned to her with anger in her eyes, but on seeing Maeryl’s fragile state, her face softened and tears she struggled to contain flooded out.

“Maeryl, what happened?” Marianne exclaimed. “Are you alright?”

The dragon collapsed to the ground, closing her eyes and releasing a long sigh. She felt the princess wrap her arms around her neck. Normally the embrace would be comforting, but Maeryl felt a sharp pain shoot through her neck. The dragon said nothing.

“I will be fine, Princess,” Maeryl said. “I only need a little rest. But first, I must fulfill our agreement. I promised I told you why I stayed in Alamor. I will warn you, it is not a happy story.”

“Maeryl, you don’t need to.”

“I do. When I was a young dragon, there was a beautiful woman, the daughter of a powerful king. My kind lived on the outskirts of Alamor, content to hunt on the borders between empires, never concerning ourselves with human affairs. Yet when I saw the princess, I could not resist. I ventured down from my mountain. It was short-sighted. The kingdom knights nearly killed me.

“I was saved by the princess. She trusted me when I said I meant no harm and listened to me. She was kind to me. I will not bore you with the details, Princess, but I fell in love.” Maeryl fell silent for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I wish this could be a happy story. I failed her. I failed her father. Her brother was crowned king. In my grief, I betrayed my own kind to him and bound us to servitude. I failed him too. You know the rest from there.”

Maeryl did not open her eyes, but she felt the princess pull away. She could visualize how Marianne’s face scrunched as she pieced together the information with dawning realization. “So the Dragon Oaths-”

“Are my fault,” Maerfyl finished. “When the Oath King died, I was truly alone for the first time. Many of my kin fled and those who stayed would not speak to me. I would have lived the rest of my life in isolation had I not sworn allegiance to your family. That is the only promise I have not not broken. And here, now, I must confess I lied to you.”

Maeryl forced herself to open her eyes. Painful needles pricked her mind as she tried to focus, meeting the princess confused stare with her own sorrowful gaze.

“I was not asked to bring you here by your father. Nor was I bound to keep you here until a worthy knight rescued you. That was a story I devised. You were so young then, I thought you would believe it.”

A flurry of emotions crossed Marianne’s face, but she settled on one, distancing herself from the dragon with narrowed eyes. As much as she struggled to read human emotions, Maeryl recognized the quiet anger.

“Who?” the princess asked.

“There was a war. Alamor was losing.”

“Who bound you to the Oath?”

Maeryl let out a sigh. “No one.”

“No one?” Marianne repeated. “You chose to keep me prisoner here?”

“I was not bound by a Dragon Oath, but I was bound - I am bound by loyalty. An oath of my own making. Your parents knew the war would eventually reach the heart of the kingdom. Your mother asked me to keep you safe. I took you here. We didn’t want to frighten you, so I created the story.”

“You hid the truth and let me believe my father abandoned me to a dragon? Kept me here alone.” Marianne’s anger suddenly faded. Her voice softened. “That’s not completely untrue, is it? If my father cared, he would have sent Rynwyld after me. You let me believe I was nothing more than a prize to be won by some knight. Maybe that is what you thought of me afterall.”

“That was not the intent.”

“Intent or not, Maeryl, that is what it felt like. We grew so close. If you weren’t bound into deception, why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“You must believe I never meant to hurt you.”

“Believe you?” Marianne spat. “You lied to me for years! You could have told me at any point what you were doing. About the war? You… Oh God, why tell me now? Why after all this time?”

The dragon averted her gaze. She spoke softly. “I am sorry, Marianne.”

The princess burst into tears. Grief took her and she collapsed to the floor. She didn’t need Maeryl to clarify and the dragon felt no need to expand the point. Alamor was no more. Her parents were no more. She had been isolated in the mountains for years but now, for the first time, she was truly alone.

Marianne couldn’t tell how long she cried. Her body ran out of tears before she finished and her heart hadn’t stopped hurting. Maeryl had not moved from her spot. Marianne could hear the dragon’s laboured breaths and realized her wounds still bled. Worse, a thin layer of snow covered the dragon. The warmth that protected her was gone.

Marianne felt a second wave of sadness surge through her. She could no longer cry, but the darkness that always lingered in her mind overtook her in full force. Her resentment did not fade, but neither did her grief. Slowly, Marianne moved closer to Maeryl, leaning her head on the great dragon’s chest, listening to her gently beating heart.

“Maeryl,” she whispered, “are you dying?”

The dragon ignored the question. “Princess, you owe me nothing, not after all I’ve done, but may I make a request?”

“Anything.”

“Would you read to me? Any book would do, I just want to hear your voice.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Princess.”

Maeryl curled around Marianne as she had often done. She could not understand the words - she was far too tired - but she found comfort in the princess’ voice. The great green dragon closed her eyes. Her wounds no longer hurt. The cold wind no longer stung her flesh. When she woke in the morning, she would take the princess to another shore, leaving behind a kingdom that no longer existed. She had bound her life to Alamor. Now she was free.

Marianne left the castle when morning came. As she descended the mountain, she expected to see the dragon descend from the sky, barring her escape from her prison. She hoped to see her friend. But Maeryl never came. She never would.

The princess was alone.

#short story #the dragon queen #this one got away from me a ton so i delayed posting #until it was mostly coherent #max trailer #thats a joke just for me

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kiwiswonders · 5 years

Text

For the prompt Fantasy!

Pairing: Belgium (Emma)/Belarus (Natalya)

Word Count: 535

The mermaids in the streams never socialize with the fairies who hid behind green leaves.

They would swim by quickly at the sound of a fairy voice without a look back.

The fairies, in turn, would avoid them as well.

They would quickly duck behind a mossy stone at the sound of a nearby splash.

No one knew exactly why. No one even knew which side had begun avoiding the other first. Had it been because of envy for being able to fly in cloudless skies or envy for being able to play at the bottom of the waters? Perhaps a fairy had once played a dirty trick on a mermaid? Or a mermaid might have drenched a fairies beautiful wings. No one knew for sure, but they knew that it was the way things had always been.

But there were the occasional few who questioned such ways.

A fairy with emeralds for eyes cautiously flew deeper into the forest. She held her blonde hair back in a blue bow and kept an eye on the sides of her path. At her side, she had a small bag containing books of adventure and wonder. She held on tightly to the strap as she flew up and down and side to side.

Suddenly she stops at a waterfall. Carefully she inspects the sides of the rock and quickly finds a crack large enough for her to fit inside. She slips in and cautiously walks farther in. Soon she finds an exit and in front of her lies a lagoon with many rocks to lie on. A mermaid sits on one and watches her tail shimmer in the limited light the cave allows.

The mermaids platinum hair spilled behind her as she lightly played with it. Her scales were a dark blue that would blend with the water as she swam. She too had a small bag at her side filled with stories she found dear to her.

“Natalya! You’re here early!” The fairy sits down on a rock above her friend and grows to her full height.

“Yes, my brother happily allows me out now. He finds it exciting that I no longer spend my days in my room.”

“Ah! That makes sense! My brothers believe I just love reading outside! They think I found a nice, hidden spot and they’re not wrong!”

Natalya lets herself smile and relax more, “Well, what new stories did you bring Emma? I brought some of the stories we usually tell the young but thought you’d find them cute.”

“Really?! I brought some murder mystery books, and you’re definitely welcome to tell me your theories while we read them!”

“And if I guess the ending?”

“Then that would just be more proof about how smart you are!”

Natalya softly laughs and pulls out her books. Emma follows to do the same as she beams.

“You know it’s quite funny.”

Emma tilts her head, “What is?”

“Just us. We’re so different and yet so similar. But also, imagine what our siblings must think when they see what books we’re reading?”

Emma nods in thought and laughs.

Outside the cave, no one hears the sounds of whispers and splashes melding together.

#aphyuriweek2019 #belbel #belbelg #belarus x belgium #aph belgium #aph belarus #hetalia #bringbackhetalia2020 #hetalia belarus #hetalia belgium

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psychic-refugee · 6 years

Text

Anon Question re Descendants

“The Great Uniting happened because London is the ONLY place with modern tech while everyone's in the dark ages, you don't see Rome or all the other Islands of Greece where the Pantheon is now, and Frozen Fever explicitly had a VERY different world map that shows no place for the Southern Isles, and a different topography in general at that.

Also, it's JUST Bayou de New Orleans on a map. Where's the rest of America if they weren't transplanted there...?”

I got these two questions, I assume they are from the same Anon.

The simplest explanation is that Disney is greedy and has really lazy writers, so they just kind of mish mash whatever they have copy rights to into Auradon and called it a day. There is not going to be any clean perfect fit theory to explain all the inconsistencies.

The first novel can’t even decide if it’s United Kingdoms of Auradon or United States of Auradon.

“Once upon a time, during a time after all the happily-ever-afters-, and perhaps even after the ever-afters after that, all the evil villains of the world were banished from the United Kingdom of Auradon and imprisoned on the Isle of the Lost.” De La Cruz, Melissa, The Isle of the Lost: A Descendants Novel, Prologue 3, Disney-Hyperion, 2017.

“Meanwhile, across the Sea of Serenity, which separated the Isle of the Lost from the rest of the world, lay the USA—the United States of Auradon, a land of peace and enchantment, prosperity and delight, which encompassed all the good kingdoms.” De La Cruz, Melissa, The Isle of the Lost: A Descendants Novel, Chapter 5 at 48, Disney-Hyperion, 2017.

Within the SAME book, there is conflicting statements of the proper name of Auradon. I think this is a good example of how much they don’t care about their content.

I’m not saying the interdimensional displacement theory is impossible, the franchise is so terribly written that literally anything can be possible. I’m mostly saying there isn’t anything to back it up. While cherry picking countries from other dimensions would explain the time/technology difference, it also brings in more issues and plot holes than it would solve.

1) The first question is why? If each kingdom was from a separate dimension, why steal others and bring their problems (villains) into your own? Why go through the hassle? Who has anything to gain from it? If they wanted more people and land to rule, wouldn’t it have been easier to just create the land and tell people you already rule to just have a ton more kids?

2) Yen Sid and Fairy Godmother (“FGM”) are from different dimensions under this theory. FGM is from Cinderellaberg and Yen Sid is from Fantasia, a yet to be placed area in Auradon. If Fantasia is in one of the fairy tale lands and not its own, then it’s probably in Charmington given the wardrobe and originally the Apprentice was supposed to be Dopey. Either way, those are two different dimensions. So how would FGM and Yen Sid have known each other in order to bring these countries together? What would motivate them to seek each other out? Again, their villain problem had been solved. FGM didn’t even have a real villain to contend with, Lady Tremaine was just a bitch. FGM was also the most powerful person in Cinderellaberg, why take in a powerful evil Fairy like Maleficent to her world?

3) How do you get 18 Kingdoms from different universes to not resent being brought together against their will? Or to “vote” to one sovereign ruler right away? In order for Auradon to be as peaceful as shown, then the 18 Kingdoms are a) at peace with the idea that they are in a different dimensions, b) get along with the other kingdoms despite the vastly different cultures and probably religion, and c) were able to agree upon not only to unite under one ruler but that raising dead adversaries and banishing them to an island was a good idea. I’d be pissed as all hell, especially if I was a king or queen. Who is anyone to not only steal my land and my throne, but to raise dead adversaries that I risked my life to defeat? How could they have gotten along so quickly and kept peace for twenty years?

4) If interdimensional travel, along with merging lands, is possible then why bother with an island so close to the Mainland? Why not banish them to an inhabitable planet that doesn’t have magic? Seems simpler and safer than having them in your proverbial back yard. At the very least put them somewhere further than what a bridge could span.

5) Interdimensional unification is a rather significant occurrence. I’m pretty sure that would have been mentioned on top of unifying kingdoms.

6) If interdimensional communication is possible (That’s how Yen Sid and FGM got together) then why would they say “Our villains are dead and we’re our own sovereign nation…but I feel like combining with 17 other interdimensional kingdoms and giving up my own power…also, lets bring back the villains that almost killed us and put them on an island…for funsies you know? I’m totally sure we’ll all be super cool with each others religion, customs, and taboos. It’s not like people go to war over this stuff...Furthermore, villains only account for like .0000001% of our population, that’s totally worth giving up our sovereignty and displacing every other citizen, right?”

I’m sure all of this could be answered, but I doubt with canon. Nothing in the movies, what I’ve seen in Book 1, or researching online suggests interdimensional displacement.

But to answer Anon’s questions and assuming a) the princess/Disney movies’ timeline and whatever happened is absolute and unassailable and b) what happens in the Descendants franchise is also absolute and unassailable.

For both the Disney princess movies and Descendants, everything is taken at face value and literal.

So to answer your questions,

1) London is the ONLY place with modern tech while everyone's in the dark ages

2) you don't see Rome or all the other Islands of Greece where the Pantheon is now, and

3) Frozen Fever explicitly had a VERY different world map that shows no place for the Southern Isles, and a different topography in general at that.

4) Also, it's JUST Bayou de New Orleans on a map. Where's the rest of America if they weren't transplanted there...

Answers

1a) We do not know the exact structure of Auradon, such as how far each kingdom is away from the other. I’ve seen maps, but most seem to be fan made and not canon. The map shown in the first movie can’t be to scale. So I’m going to assume there’s no reliable map in existence.

If London has 1950’s technology such as cars, radios, and phones then perhaps London is so isolated from the other kingdoms that it went on its own technological evolutionary path. Real world example, United States of America has cars, computers, etc…there are tribes in the Amazon that have literally no modern technology. These are two independent entities with vastly different levels of technology existing on landmasses that connect. Depending on how far or isolated London was in relation to other kingdoms, I would say it’s possible they had this technology that the other kingdoms hadn’t invented yet. One explanation could be that Cruella’s story never had magic, so by extension maybe London was the only place in Auradon that was magicless by nature. Not having magic could have spurned their technological revolution while others lagged behind because magic made up for the lack of technology.

There’s also the instance of Camelot Heights. According to the internet, King Author “dislikes” the idea of modern technology and there isn’t any in Camelot Heights, so they’re still technologically in the dark ages. It’s possible other kingdoms had followed suit pre-Unification. A real world example of this is parts of the USA have groups that shun technology, such as Mennonite and the Amish, it’s an example of two groups having vastly different levels of technology by choice.

2a) There’s nothing to suggest Rome would exist in Auradon. While in a Whole New World we see roman columns, it’s not explicitly said to be Rome (not to mention how fast they would have had to have flown in order to get there in one night from Agrabah and back) and they could have very well been Greek columns as Greece had originated that architecture. To explain the Greece and the gods pantheon, I would say it’s coincidental that part of Auradon is named Greece. The fact that Hercules was trained by Phil the satyr, and not Chiron the centaur would suggest these are different but coincidentally named people. Also, real world Zeus is the worst, while Disney Zeus is a loving faithful father. Real world Hades is rather chill, considered boring, and is happy to stay in the Underworld, Disney Hades is a hot tempered villain. Real world Hercules went insane and killed Megera and their children, Disney Hercules gained and gave up immortality for Megera. I would definitely be comfortable saying these are all completely different people, and that Auradon’s Greece is divorced from real world Greece.

3a) There’s nothing to suggest Frozen is part of the Descendants universe, at least nothing I’ve come across says any of their characters have shown up. So until a book or movie suggests otherwise, I think we can say it doesn’t exist in the United States/Kingdom of Auradon and it might be one of the few Disney kingdoms that was able to keep their own sovereignty and Arendelle is a separate country somewhere, or doesn’t exist at all. I don’t necessarily think it could be assumed that if Disney made it, it’s in Auradon somewhere. We haven’t seen any references to the Lion King, Duck Tales, Brave, etc...

4a) I would say the USA doesn’t exist as the movie only ever mentions a place called New Orleans, Louisiana and a kingdom called Maldonia. New Orleans, Louisiana, United States/Kingdoms of Auradon is coincidentally named the same as New Orleans, Louisiana, USA. If people insist that it’s in the USA, then where is Maldonia? The existence of Maldonia suggests to me that Bayou de New Orleans can’t be in the USA or from our world at all.

Do all of these fit perfectly and make 100% sense with no need to suspend belief? No. Do they make more sense than interdimensional displacement? I think so. Is interdimensional displacement canon? I don’t think so and so far, no one has put forth anything to convince me it is.

If it is canon then I still say it’s problematic for all the reasons I’ve listed and would never be part of LOE.

#author's commentary #Legacy of Evil Fanfiction #anon questions #answering anon #disney descendants

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ais-n · 6 years

Text

One Piece theory

I’m in a mood to talk about a One Piece theory I have. This contains SPOILERS for One Piece’s world/history in general, but I’m guessing about the future so I could be totally wrong on ideas or predictions. I’m trying not to do any major spoilers in this beyond what we’ve learned of the ancient weapons, but if you’re worried about any spoilers at all, don’t read if you aren’t at least through Fishman Island arc.

btw you may read this and go “...yeah, and?? I already thought this too” but I wanted to put it down anyway, if for no other reason than potential amusement 10 years from now to look back and see how right or wrong I was.

Specifically, my theory is about what “one piece” itself is, and what would need to happen in order to achieve it. And why I think “one piece,” as I imagine it being, would end up also fulfilling the dreams of the main characters and many we know.

SPOILERS BELOW

So, let’s look at the ancient weapons as we know them.

Pluton is a ship, capable of massive damage and destruction, built in the Void Century on Water 7. My theory includes that Pluton represents “land” or at least, the elevation level of land - in this case, water/the ocean, which is the baseline level around the world because the majority of the world is water. In other words, Pluton is mid-range in terms of height. It would be used by people who naturally live at that level, aka humans or other beings which can’t just swim around in the sea and have to use a ship to navigate beyond there.

Poseidon is a “weapon” which we later learned is actually a person - specifically, a mermaid princess from the Void Century who had the ability to talk to Sea Kings, which are huge afffff and could do some massive damage. Poseidon represents the lower level or the deep sea - the lowest of the levels in terms of height. It is a weapon which can only be used by a denizen of the deep sea; a mermaid princess, in this case, who naturally would have been able to speak to sea creatures anyway but because of her extra powers she can speak to creatures of an age and size no one else (mostly) can communicate with.

Uranus is the last weapon, and we know nothing about it - except that it could be animate or inanimate, based on Pluton and Poseidon. My theory is that Uranus will be a weapon of the sky or air, something on the level of Skypiea or higher. Possibly even the moon. We’ve seen that there’s advanced technology in use already on the moon, thanks to Enel’s little foray into space. I feel like Uranus might end up being a weapon based on the moon OR be a weapon (or person or creation such as an android or cyborg or etc) which operates from a place of height such as the clouds, sky, or moon, and which is only capable of use by someone who naturally lives there. So, someone from Skypiea perhaps, or the moon people. Or possibly the sky weather wizard dudes, but since Uranus has been thought of as a night god and we’ve seen the technology of the automatons up there, I keep going back to the moon in my mind. But if we tie it to the Void Century, it’s harder to do because according to this One Piece timeline the moonfolk had already abandoned the moon at that time, which makes it seem like Skypiea is a choice again. But Enel clearly met someone up there since then, so... At any rate, Uranus represents the highest level of the weapons in terms of height.

In other words, Poseidon is the sea, Pluton is the land, and Uranus is the sky.

Why this matters is related to my theory and the Void Century.

So, prior to that, there was a great kingdom on Raftel which started gaining power. I keep thinking that kingdom is related to the D family line or at least the D’s in general, but we don’t know. What we do know is that 20 other kingdoms formed an alliance to fight the great kingdom, and those 20 kingdoms eventually won and became the World Government and produced the Tenryuubito - a system which, by this time in the OP world, is corrupt from its dominating power for so long.

We also know that prior to all that, the great kingdom had “built” 3 ancient weapons which I already named above.

Additionally, we know somewhere along the line Noah was brought down to the Fishman Island by Joy Boy in order to ??? - we don’t know for certain, but my theory is to bring the fishpeople and merpeople up to the surface.

We also know that it’s possible in the OP world for someone to have foresight, as Madam Shyarly/Sharley has shown us. And we know that some people can live a long ass time even if they are human in present settings.

Another thing we know is that Raftel is where “one piece” is allegedly going to be found, but no one has been there since Roger and his crew, who won’t really tell anyone what was up. There are 4 Poneglyphs, very specialized kinds called Road Poneglyphs, of which all are required in order to locate Raftel. (From what we understand, you would basically draw an x between these points, and the center is Raftel - x marks the spot) Which means Raftel isn’t something you can just willy nilly stumble across accidentally. There are implications with that, of course, but we’ll leave it for now.

(Just sayin’, though, do we know for certain it’s an island in the sense of the word we usually imagine? The images we’ve seen of it are mostly cliffs with fog or clouds surrounding it, and theoretically the blue at the bottom is water but it doesn’t necessarily mean it is, or if it is water that doesn’t necessarily = the ocean. I don’t have a strong opinion on this part, mind you; just mentioning it because if it’s not a traditional island, that would make it much harder to run across. Such as if it were on or in Red Line itself, or if it were beneath the water or in the sky, or some other unexpected location. But, again, that’s not really part of the theory, just a comment. It could easily just be a regular island that’s hard to find, too. Just seems like it would be a bit easier to stumble across if it is.)

Lastly, what we know is the world is divided into oceans based on the Red Line (a long string of land which goes all around the world) and the Calm Belt (which bisects the world perpendicular to the Red Line, and is two long slices of water where there are no currents and no wind and the Sea Kings thrive - therefore being a mortal danger to normal ships and boats). The Grand Line and New World - a turbulent strip of ocean circling the world - is located between the two Calm Belts and can only properly be accessed through the Red Line due to the Calm Belts (unless you are super special). The rest of the world is constituted of the more normal seas of East Blue, West Blue, North Blue, and South Blue. They span the entire world, but they are broken into their little sections by the Calm Belt/Grand Line on one side, and Red Line on another. Here’s a visual if anyone needs to be reminded. Also, here’s another two visuals which are different ways of looking at it.

This entire system keeps the nations and sea life and peoples and everything of the world all very much segregated from each other.

There is something known as “All Blue” that Sanji is seeking as his dream, where allegedly all the waters of the world pool together, meaning you can find all the sea animals/fish/etc of all the world co-mingling and all available. As a chef, he loves this idea.

We know a lot more things too, but it all ends up on tangents from what I wanted to get at now for my theory:

Personally, I think “One Piece” is the world becoming one world, by breaking down the Red Line, which I think was erected by the World Government or someone else in some way during the Void Century (or, barring that, was somehow taken advantage of by them). I think the three ancient weapons were made so that everyone had to work together to use them - people of the sky, the land, the sea - so that no one nation and no one people would become a danger of completely subjugating another.

If you look at the way the world is broken into pieces, a lot of it is based on the currents. The Grand Line is mega fucked because the currents are weird as hell, and the only law on that side of the world is the magnetism of the islands. In order to reach the Grand Line from the Blues, you have to scale a great mountain using what’s basically a backward sea current, which happens because all these different oceans try to meet at the same place and the pressure shoots the water upward and over into the Grand Line.

These ocean currents also probably play into the formation of the Calm Belt.

But when you look at WHY there are these wonky ass currents, personally I believe the Red Line is a large reason for it. That is what causes the water to be unable to flow all around the world, that is what stops people from being able to migrate between countries, and it’s only through the Red Line that you can “easily” access the Grand Line/New World which is sandwiched between the Calm Belts. In a world of water, the Red Line is the outlier as the only massive strip of land which bisects the entire world. Everywhere else, it’s islands.

Also, whether by design or simply by taking advantage, the World Government controls a lot of the migration of people and more by controlling essentially the ports and gates of the Red Line. The Red Line allows them to exert inordinate control over a world otherwise easily run or equaled by pirates or just regular seafaring folk. Because the World Govt has its holiest city at the Red Line, and controls Sabaody and other places which are the only way to realistically gain entrance unless you’re willing to risk your lives and your ship by going the more difficult route of the sea floor.

If there were such a powerful set of weapons which could attack from below, at sea, and above, in sequence, it seems like they could at the least break a hole through the Red Line. The Sea Kings are absolutely massive, and if they were to ram themselves against the Red Line the way Laboon did Reverse Mountain, it seems like at the very least they could do some damage. I don’t think on their own they could break through, though, nor do I think a single ship could, nor any weapon no matter how powerful from the sky. The Red Line is incredibly massive, tall, and deep. It would take a coordinated attack on an extreme scale to make it budge.

But imagine a world where the Red Line was gone, or at least opened up significantly. If the Red Line is the reason for the messed up currents, then that could on its own affect the blue seas which would in turn affect the Calm Belts which would in turn affect the Grand Line/New World which would in turn affect the entire world.

If the world were, in fact, one piece, it would mean everyone would have an equal chance, it would mean power could be redistributed, and the people who felt banished to the sea floor could come back to the surface, and the people who fled to the moon or sky could return to land, and everyone would come to know each other and see that they all have meaning regardless of how they look or what they are. It would mean All Blue would happen, because now all the creatures of the sea could swim wherever they want, and a chef in the East Blue could, for the first time ever or perhaps hundreds or thousands of years, see naturally in the ocean a fish from the West Blue.

The Pirate King would be a king who ushered in a new world, a new nation comprised of the world nations as one, but being that he’s a pirate, he doesn’t want to rule it. So it would be a ruler who would let everyone rule on their own, without a governing agency telling everyone what to do and how to do it.

And through the creation of this sort of ‘one piece’ it would, in turn, fulfill the dreams of everyone in the Straw Hats:

Luffy: to be the Pirate King, not because he wants power, but because he wants to be the most free - now he is free to go on any adventure, anywhere, any time he wants

Zoro: to be the strongest/greatest swordsman in the world - now, he can easily travel the world to seek out opponents and rivals and maybe even proteges

Nami: to make a map of the world - now, because it’s all open, she can easily navigate everywhere and create the most complete

Usopp: to become a brave warrior of the sea - there would be no braver warriors of the sea than those who reunited all the seas into one

Sanji: to find All Blue - now, with the world opened to all the oceans, All Blue is everywhere; literally All of the Blues of East Blue, West Blue, North Blue, and South Blue

Chopper: to become a panacea, a doctor that can cure any disease - now he can go anywhere in the world, learn all of the medicine and healing advice from all of the cultures, and he can collect all that knowledge in order to use it to save everyone

Robin: to learn the true history of the world - the process of getting to the point where the world becomes one would likely inherently include learning what happened in the Void Century, but even if it didn’t she could now go anywhere, learn anything, talk to anyone, to learn even more

Franky: to create his dream ship - which he sort of already has done, in Thousand Sunny, but for it truly to be his dream ship he wants to see it around the world, through all these adventures, in all these contexts, and in the process of making the world one, he would do just that. And afterward? He would have that much more world to explore on his ship.

Brook: to navigate the world and return back to Laboon, so he knows he wasn’t abandoned by the crew all those decades ago. They would likely make it back to Reverse Mountain anyway through the process of all of this - because if indeed attacking the Red Line is part of what frees the world then that’s the natural next stop - but even without that, if the Red Line is no longer a barrier, then Brook and Laboon won’t be stuck on either side of the world from each other, and they can reunite anywhere.

Jimbei/Jinbe: TECHNICALLY not a straw hat at the moment, and so therefore we don’t technically know what his dream would be, but based on what we know of him he seems to wish for the fishpeople and merpeople to be free of oppression, to have better relations with humans/their like, and just generally for everyone to be safe. This could happen, with the world as one.

You could get into others at this point -

-Dragon and the Revolutionary Army want a revolution, primarily to wrench control away from the World Government which they seem as corrupt and oppressive (this dream would be met if the World Govt falls or loses its stranglehold on power).

-Coby, Smoker, Fujitora, formerly Kuzan and Garp, and all of the other Marines who see justice as something other than the justice the WG has been enforcing would see a more just justice come to play if the WG is no longer the monopoly on power and world navigation, and if everyone who joins the Marines or WG are able to do so of their own volition, and can affect the nature of the organization through hard work and a genuine passion for helping others.

-Everyone who’s talked about the Will of D would see the ancient weapons of the D empire, Raftel’s great kingdom, come back to the world in a manner which allows the world to regain a sense of freedom it hasn’t had in hundreds or thousands of years

-Alabasta, Dressrosa, Fishman Island, and all the nations who want better relations with other countries, who want a more equal world, would see a greater chance of that coming about with the Tenryuubito and others at the very height of it no longer dictating for everyone else. Including the nations who represent that gathering of nations (as all those I listed do) but who feel their voices aren’t being heard.

-Everyone who wants adventure without near certain death, who wanted to race around the world on a ship but whose dreams were broken by the severity of the Grand Line/New World, would have another chance

-Even the Vinsmokes may have a chance to regain their kingdom, since what seemingly took it away was the World Government

And many more people from many more perspectives. Hell, even Big Mom’s dream of everyone sitting at the table would be sort of achieved through this, except she’s kind of crazy so idk that she’d see it that way since she’s taking her dream to be much more literal than figurative.

Basically, the main people who would lose out in this are the corrupt people using the segregation of the world to their advantage to control traffic flow and monopolize power.

I could go on... I have theories about what may be going on with Vegapunk and more, but my theories are less strong down that line.

For now, I’ll leave it at this.

If anyone got this far, you probably already had all of these thoughts, too. If you did, I’d be curious to see if you have any other reasons for thinking all this which I didn’t mention. I didn’t go into everything for proof or evidence of why I think any of this, so it’s possible you’d be pointing to the same thing as me, but you may have noticed other things I didn’t - so it would be fun to compare :)

And if you hadn’t thought of any of this and you got this far, I’m curious what you think - if you think I’m tooooootally off, or if anything is interesting to you.

#one piece #one piece theories #about me #long post

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agentmarymargaretskitz · 6 years

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AOS AU: Kingwood and Crimson

(Based on AOS 1x08) @incendiaglacies

AO3

“You know, I can climb up it if you want,” Nate offered. “All you have to do is talk me through how to work that…doodad.”

Lily looked back at him from the fallen tree she was about to scale. After she’d been infected by the Dominator virus, she’d been a little more withdrawn in the past few weeks despite having been long cured of the infection. Nate knew that she had been through something traumatic and given they were dealing with the aftermath of another alien attack, he didn’t fault her for being nervous. However, Druce had made sure to drill into him that weakness was not an option and you had to overcome it. His SO’s methods wouldn’t be well accepted by the team, but perhaps gentle reassurance could help Lily deal with her newly-developed fear of heights.

“It’s no biggie at all,” he continued. “It’s just fifteen feet.”

Lily shook her head quickly. “No, no, I’ll be fine. I’m just a little more way about the height thing now after the incident of nearly falling to my death.”

“You’re afraid,” Nate said. “Being shaken up from something like that is totally normal. But if you dwell on it, some feelings will take over, especially fear.”

He helped Lily up onto the tree trunk, thankful she already had her harness on so he didn’t have to talk her through that. “Now I want you to keep your eyes ahead and focus on what you like to do best.”

“Not falling off this?”

Nate shook his head and looked up at the scientist. “No, research. You’re a scientist. You and Ray love to figure things out.”

“Yes, I do,” Lily smiled. “With my doodads.”

For a moment, Nate allowed himself to smile briefly at his reference to her equipment. “I’ve got a question. Whatever was up in this tree, it had to be up there for centuries, right?”

“Oh, at least a millennium!” Lily told him, starting to walk. “I was looking into this forest on our way here and radiocarbon-14 dates some of these trees in the forest to be nine thousand years old.”

Nate had to admit, that was kind of interesting. “Do you think that the tree might have grown around it?”

Lily shrugged as she kept on walking. “I’d have to check the dendrochronology first to know for certain, but the Norway spruce is an extremely fast-growing coniferous and I know you’re only doing this to trick me into going up the tree, Agent Heywood. But I’m going up anyways, so there’s that!”

Now Nate chuckled as she continued her trek with a little more confidence. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

He walked over to the part of the tree had been cut out while Lily continued to make her way towards it. Of course, as soon as the aliens had left, there was some pop-up in strange activity. The same thing had happened after New York. Now with this latest incident, it appeared SHIELD wasn’t quite done with the latest invasion.

“Uh, guys?” Lily called out as her device scanned the hollow of whatever had been taken. “Whatever was in here is very much not of this world. Ray, are you seeing this? Tell me it’s not Dominator-related.”

“Good news is that the scan shows me it’s not connected to the Dominators,” Ray said over the comms. “We’re in no danger of a viral threat. But there’s some kinda bad news in that the spectrographic readings are consistent with Stargirl’s staff. Whatever was in that tree was Asgardian.”

“Oh,” Lily straddled the trunk more and leaned to the side. “Hey, there’s an imprint of whatever was imbedded. I’m gonna scan it to you. Can you get a three-dimensional model prepped?”

“Since I’m back in the lab, easy as pie,” Ray said before going silent for a moment. “Um, it looks like a staff or rod. I can see some engravings on it.”

“At least we know now what we’re looking for,” Gideon said, stepping up beside Nate. “The man I just talked to said he saw one of the two holding a silver or steel rod. I’d say that’s where they got it from. We just have to find out where they’re hiding.”

“About that hiding thing,” Zee interrupted over the comms. “Yeah, they aren’t doing it. Rip’s sending what we found to your devices now.”

Nate’s pocket buzzed and he pulled out his phone. He held it out for Gideon to get a good look at the news broadcast Zee had sent them. Riots were happening in Oslo, leaving three dead and twenty injured so far.

“Reports indicate that a group of around a dozen was lead by this man and woman were the ones who started the violence,” the reporter said as a picture of a couple appeared onscreen. “The motive was unclear, but their message was haunting spelled out on Oslo’s streets.”

The screen was filled with an aerial view of a street. Across it, spelled out in burning letters, was ‘WE ARE GODS’.

“Well then,” Gideon sighed. “We know who they think they are.”

“We have ID on the couple who stole the staff and started the riots,” Nate announced once the whole team had gathered in the lab. “Derek and Sarah Reston. They’re leaders of a Norse paganist hate group. They have two sons, also part of said hate group.”

Zee nodded. “Their numbers are going up thanks to what’s happened in Greenwich and also the internet. Yay, internet, she said sarcastically.”

“Norse paganists?” Ray frowned.

“They’re obsessed with anything derived from Norse mythology,” Gideon explained. “Stories of Asgard, for example.”

“Now they like a weapon,” Nate said, picking up Ray’s 3D model.

“I could only get one side of it,” he apologized. “Too much damage for a complete reproduction.”

“It’s better than nothing though,” Lily added.

“She’s right,” Gideon nodded as she leaned in to look at it. “I notice that it’s broken on both ends. That means more pieces.”

“Two at least,” the scientists said in unison.

“That means the Restons are possibly looking for a complete set,” Nate muttered. “Any idea what these markings mean?”

“Asgardian symbolism is my best bet,” Gideon took the model as Nate passed it to her. “Unfortunately, with limited knowledge of their language and history, it’s hard to translate. Next time we have Asgardians on Earth, I’m requesting a book with translations for SHIELD.”

“Or we could call your friend Stargirl?” Zee suggested. “She gets her power from her staff. Maybe she had a longer staff and this was a piece that broke off?”

“I’ve already tried her, and Director Waller told me she’s gone off grid. We have no way of contacting her either since we don’t know if she has a phone number or even a phone.”

“SHEILD has investigators on the trail now of the Restons and their followers,” Rip spoke out for the first time. “We’re the one who have to identify this artifact and find any of the other pieces before they do.”

“Given they found this thing before we did, they clearly have some advantage, ma’am,” Nate muttered. “They managed to locate it in 150 square miles of Norwegian forests.”

Zee raised her hand. “I’ve got a theory. What if it called to the Restons with magic?”

Immediately, Lily heaved a sigh. Nate resisted the urge to bury his head in his hand. Rip fixed the hacker with a deadpan look. “Called to them?”

“It’s Asgardian, so rules aren’t totally the same,” Zee shrugged.

“Zee, just because we don’t understand something yet doesn’t mean we just revert to the dark ages,” Lily told her. “Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. There’s no need for magic and fairytales to explain how this came about.”

“Actually, Zee might be onto something,” Gideon said, surprising both the scientist and hacker. “When the staff first appeared in New Mexico, SHIELD sent me to consult an expert in the world on Norse Mythology, a Michael Rory. He’s a professor at the University of Seville. Rip’s going to chart us a course there, and we’ll see if he knows any more about the markings on this.”

“Professor Rory.”

“Agent Rider, come in,” the man greeted as she entered with Ray and Lily. “Last time you were here, I told you to call me Mick. Forget the professor crap.”

“Thank you,” Gideon smiled.

As Ray and Lily introduced themselves to the professor, Gideon studied the office they were standing in. There was a lot of clutter around it; books and papers and the like. What really drew her eye was the mannequin wearing a suit of armor. She’d never quite seen anything like it before.

“It’s a replica,” Mick explained, noticing she was eyeing it. “It’s meant to look like illustrations of Asgardian armor.”

“Fascinating,” she murmured. It looked extremely odd, yet the metal looked to be in such good condition.

“I’m guessing this is about what just happened in London?” Mick asked, taking her attention from the armor back to why she’d come.

“Try a tree in Norway,” Ray piped up behind Gideon as he pulled out the staff model to pass to Mick. “This is a three-dimensional model of it.”

“We weren’t the only people who found it, so this is the best we can do,” Gideon added.

Mick picked up a pair of glasses from his desk and slipped them on his face, studying the model. “Huh.”

“Do you know what it is?” Lily asked.

“Based on the runes, a piece of the Berserker staff,” the professor told them. “Hang on a sec.”

He moved over to his desk and pulled out a book from one of the masses that covered the desk. Flipping through the pages, he came to what he was looking for. “Here. The myth goes back to the 12th century. It’s about a warrior from Asgard, a soldier in the Berserker army.”

“Berserker army?” Ray frowned, looking down as Mick set the book on the desk for all to see.

“Powerful army of Asgard,” Mick explained. “Berserkers battled like raging beasts and could destroy everything in their path. A single one had the strength of twenty warriors.”

Gideon raised her eyebrows at that. A verbal reaction almost left her lips, but she doubted it would be appropriate in the academic setting. She settled on a different one. “Basically, whoever wielded the staff had superhuman strength?”

“Exactly. Fighting with it put the warriors into uncontrollable states of rage. The staff contained a powerful magic that put them into it..”

“Or a scientific attribute we haven’t discovered yet?” Lily suggested, still unwilling to accept magic as an explanation.

Mick nodded. “That’s a possibility. Not often I hear that from someone.”

“But what about the warrior in the story?” Gideon asked.

“The myth goes he came to Earth to fight, but ended up falling in love.”

“Awww,” Ray grinned. “With whom?”

“Life on earth, and humanity,” Mick answered. “Fell so much in love that when his army went back to Asgard, he stayed behind.”

“And the staff?”

“Well, the guy didn’t want its dark magic and he wasn’t a dummy, so he broke into three pieces and hid them in different locations.”

Gideon straightened up. “There’s not a chance the manuscript says where he hid them, would it?”

“It does in three verses,” Mick picked the book up and flipped the page. “But these are poetic abstracts from the ancient texts that told this.”

“We’re still listening,” she said.

“Okay, so there’s one about a tree, which has been found,” Mick murmured as he studied the text. “The second- ‘east of the river, sun overhead, buried in earth with the bones of the dead.’ And the last doesn’t even rhyme. Basically just saying ‘close to God’. Who knows what that means?”

“I was hoping for actual coordinates, but we’ll take what we can get,” Gideon sighed. “Thank you again, Mick.”

“Not a problem,” he nodded. “If I were you, I’d search near Viking raid routes. They’ve been finding stuff out on Baffin Island out in Canada. Might be a start.”

Something seemed off about the suggestion, as if he was trying to divert them. Gideon felt more suspicious of the professor now, but maintained her smile. “Then we’ll take a trip there. Thanks.”

With that, she left the office with the sunshine twins.

“Don’t tell Zee he said the staff was magic,” Gideon heard Lily say behind her to Ray. “It has to be science, I know it!”

While there was a Mount Thor on Baffin Island, nothing Asgardian had been discovered anywhere on the island. Zee had been monitoring message boards for the paganist group, but turned up with a lot of people thinking they were part of a new era of gods and the conclusion that ‘people really suck, ma’am’. She’d also found talk of going underground and done research on the Viking raid routes. Apparently, Seville had been sacked by Vikings twice and one church in the town had some Viking relics. Said church had been built on a crypt, fitting the verse Mick had told them of, so they went to investigate.

“How’s it going down there, Agent Heywood?” Nate heard Gideon ask over the comms.

“Wishing I was about your height right now,” he said, as he bent over to get through another passageway. “But no sign of anything yet.”

“How about you, Zee?”

“Overjoyed that my SO decided to take the very creepy hallway instead of the less creepy dungeon room, but I’ve got nothing.”

“Hey, Nate?” Ray chimed in. “Your spectrograph says you have something near you. Like right in front of you.”

He scanned his surroundings, but there was nothing around him. “You sure?”

“Wait, now it’s moving northwest.”

Something now flashed in the corner of his eye before disappearing. “I saw it!”

“Great. Turn left, buddy,” Ray instructed.

Nate followed the instruction and turned down the passage. He caught sight of someone ahead of him making their way down the hall. Nate ran after the person, grabbing their shoulder and slamming them against the wall. His eyebrows shot up when he realized it was Mick Rory, the staff now sticking out of his bag.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Mick said.

Nate huffed and reached for the staff. “Gideon, I’ve just run into-”

His hand closed around the metal and something surged through him. Nate cried out as he felt some force overcome him. Mick made a run for it while he sunk to the floor. The dark catacombs around him faded into bright blue sky before a fist swung at him.

“You think you’re better than all of us, huh?” the boy taunted.

He tried to fight back but there were too many of them.

“Help!”

“Nate!”

Nate rolled away from the voice, gasping as the shadowy hall replaced the memory. He was panting as he braced against the wall. Zee held up her hands, telling him to calm down. Nate barely heard her, still thinking about what he had just seen. It had been years since he thought about what happened to him there.

“It was Mick,” Nate gasped out. “He has the staff.”

“Okay,” Zee nodded. “Gideon, something happened to Nate after he saw Mick. You need to find him now, he’s got the staff.”

Nate was glaring at the blood pressure cuff. “This is a waste of time.”

“Nope,” Zee shook her head. “Nate, you passed out. Before that, you were acting weird.”

“Besides, Gideon ordered a full medical work-up on you,” Lily added. “And that is exactly what I am doing. Were you feeling claustrophobic before you fainted?”

“Why?”

“So she can rule out a panic attack,” Ray told him.

“I don’t panic. Ever.”

Lily smiled. “See, now we know and can rule it out.”

“Touching the staff, that’s what caused this, right?” Zee asked.

“Are you exhibiting any residual effects? Like…extra strength?

Nate’s glare moved up to the screen, where Gideon was speaking with Mick in the interrogation room. “How about you let me find out on that guy?”

“Or maybe not?” Zee muttered.

“Okay, moving on,” Ray said lightly, trying to steer the conversation away from potentially assaulting a suspect in custody. “What’s the last thing you remember before you passed out, buddy?”

“I’ve had enough,” Nate growled, pulling his arm out of the cuff. “This is a waste of time. We should be trying to find the staff!”

“I get that, but we need to make sure you’re okay,” Ray told him. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Nate sighed. “Something I haven’t thought about in a long time.”

Zee remembered how Nate had once told her how his father always looked down on him as a disappointment. “Maybe we leave it alone.”

Lily tried to protest, but Nate glared at her. “Shut up. I’m trying to listen to what they’re saying.”

They all listened to Gideon interrogating Mick. Apparently, he just wanted the staff so he could be the first to study it. Even though the screen, Zee could tell that was a load of crap. They didn’t get to hear much more of it though when Lily decided to shut down the video.

“What are you doing?” Nate demanded.

Lily took a half step back. “Your heart rate is rising and your adrenaline is spiking.”

“You need to calm down and not get worked up,” Ray added.

Nate took a few deep breaths and set his hands down on the counter. Zee leaned in on the other side. “The memory…was it your father?”

Her SO slowly turned his head towards her. “Drop it.”

“If you need to get it out, you can-”

“Talk to you?” Nate said in a low voice that sent a chill down her back as he stepped towards her. “That’s what you do, huh? You talk and you talk and you talk. Doesn’t it ever make you tired? Hearing the sound of your own voice?”

Zee flinched back. Nate was really starting to scare her. She had clearly made a mistake when she tried to offer her shoulder to him.

“Hey, Nate? Buddy?” Ray took him by the shoulder and eased him back. “You might want to stop.”

Nate pushed Ray’s arm off his shoulder roughly.

“Um, I think I know what’s happening,” Lily spoke out before anything else could happen. “What you’re feeling right is just chemistry. You’re having spikes in your adrenocorticotropic hormone. It’s like the stories about people able to lift cars to save someone they care about. An adrenaline surge is able to create a massive-”

“Enough!” Nate shouted. “Just shut up and fix it, Stein! No one else here besides Ray cares what you’re talking about! You ramble on and on and on about all these things we don’t understand. Maybe if you talk in English for once so we can understand what you’re telling us without having to get a PhD, we might be able to stop you from exposing yourself to an alien virus again!”

Lily shrunk back from his yelling. “Nate, I can’t fix this. But I can relieve some symptoms with 10 cc of benzodiazepine. I mean, a sedative.”

“You’re giving him a chill pill?” Zee nodded. “Good plan.”

“No,” the specialist growled. “I am not taking a sedative.”

“You actually probably should,” Ray told him, facing Nate. “Do you see how you’re acting? How you’ve just yelled at Lily and Zee?”

“Oh sure,” Nate sneered. “So what happens if I’m sedated and we cross paths with the psycho paganists again, huh? You’ve seen the footage of what they do. Are you going to be the one to take them on and keep everybody safe? You who failed your field assessment? Or is it me who’s going to have to step up and save you? To save Lily’s ass…again?”

Ray looked hurt as Nate turned and stalked out of the lab.

They were all silent for a moment before Lily finally spoke. “It was just a biochemical reaction. I’m sure he didn’t mean those things he said to you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Zee nodded. “He didn’t mean what he said to you either, Lily.”

He could see the street signs above him. Kingwood Avenue crossed with Crimson Lane. A pair of arms picked him up before he was punched again.

“You think you can come in and boss everyone around,” an accusing voice of his classmate assaulted his ears. “You’re nothing. Just a sick kid who thinks he’s entitled over everyone else.”

His chest hurt. There was a cut on his arm that was slowly bleeding. He wanted it to be over.

“Help me!” he screamed out again. What was taking his sister so long?

“Heywood!”

Nate turned from the punching bag and threw his fist at whoever had just pulled him back. Rip leaned back to dodge the punch.

“You need to watch out,” he snapped, anger still bubbling in his veins.

“I’m perfectly fine. You?”

“Yeah,” Nate nodded, pivoting back to the punching bag. “I’m working it out.”

“By punching things,” the pilot observed as Nate threw his fist against the fabric. “The last thing you need is to punch things.”

Nate sighed and relaxed his arms as best he could. “Have you got a better idea?”

“I know a thing or two about traumatic experiences,” Rip said. “I can help you. Gideon can too.”

“No,” he shook his head. “The only help I’m going to need is to stop the Restons and their followers before they hurt someone else.”

“Fine,” Rip nodded. “Channel your energy into that instead of shouting at the sunshine twins and Zee.”

He walked back up the staircase as Nate turned back to punching the bag before him.

Gideon watched the feed from the interrogation room outside of it as she signaled for Nate to enter. He’d come to her earlier to say he didn’t trust himself to be on this mission due to his exposure to the staff. It had brought back some memories from his childhood that were pretty bad, bad enough that he hadn’t dwelled on them in years. She saw him coming to her and revealing that part of himself was that she could trust him. Even more, she figured he could be the one to make Mick talk about why he was actually going for the staff and maybe even confirm her suspicions.

“You need to start talking,” Nate said as he entered the room.

Mick sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “I already told Rider everything I know.”

“Yeah, that’s a lie,” Nate scoffed. “Tell what that thing did to me and how I fix it.”

“I don’t know.”

Nate’s switchblade flicked out, the moment of truth. “Okay, then.”

He tried to stab Mick in the chest. The professor didn’t even flinch. His hand caught the blade and twisted it back away from him. Nate withdrew the useless piece of metal, staring at it astonishment. Gideon smiled and moved to enter the room.

“You were right,” Nate said as she came in and shut the door. “He’s Asgardian.”

“I’m relieved,” Gideon stated cheerily. “Otherwise that would have been quite messy.”

Mick sighed and pulled off the handcuffs like they were paper. “You found me out. How’d you do it?”

“You’re hardly the first Asgardian I’ve had in custody,” Gideon replied, taking a seat across from him. “You don’t flinch or panic when you get locked up. Also, I take notice of a lot of things, such as a suit of armor in your office and how it looks exactly like the armor Berserker warrior wears in the illustration for the myth. Not to mention that when I tell someone I’ve had one-on-one contact with an alien, people tend to ask many questions.”

“You’re pretty damn observant, Rider,” Mick nodded. “More than most humans.”

“That I am. So I’m guessing you were that Berserker warrior who stayed.”

“Don’t tell anyone. I’ve worked hard enough to stay of your radar until now.”

“That all depends on your cooperation,” Gideon said as the interrogation room doors locked. Rip had listened to her orders.

Eventually, Mick starting giving answers to Gideon’s questions that were more of what she was looking for. He had been a blacksmith on Asgard who joined the Berserker army and at first loved the power of the staff, but years of wielding made him start to tire of the anger and constant reliving of his worst memories. When the army went to Earth, he stayed behind and lived life among the humans. It wasn’t until 1546 that he let his story slip to a woman in France, whose priest brother wrote the story that eventually became known as the myth of the Berserker warrior.

Mick managed to elaborate more on what had happened to Nate and anyone else who touched the pieces of the staff too. A light was shined in their dark places, the parts of themselves that were the worst. Forged from a rare Asgardian metal, it reacted to whoever was holding it, or sometimes interacted with the memories that were dredged up.

While he refused to say where the final piece of the staff was, the Asgardian’s tune changed once Gideon said she’d reveal his identity to the whole world if he didn’t tell them. With that on the table, Mick told them about a monastery in Ireland that he arrived at once he’d left the Berserkers. They had given him food and shelter. In return, he had hidden the final piece of the staff there with them.

‘Near God’ indeed.

So they set out for Ireland. As soon as they landed and prepared to head out, Nate approached Mick.

“The staff’s effects,” he asked quietly. “Are they permanent?”

Mick shrugged. “The strength wears off and you’ll be tired after it does. That dark ache you feel deep within? The rage you never knew was hiding inside you? Humans get it worse. It wears off too, give or take a couple decades.”

Nate sighed. “Great.”

He stalked up to the vehicle next to Lola that they would be taking to the church. As he did, he heard Zee ask Gideon if it was really okay for him to be going out into the field. The urge to snap at her that it was none of her concern struck him, but he resisted it.

“Even if he’s not acting like himself, he’s aware of that,” he heard Gideon say to her. “He’s going to be fine, Zee. If it’s too much for Agent Heywood, he’ll pull himself out.”

Nate couldn’t help but smile for a brief moment. They had no idea what he was really like.

“How about that?” Mick shook his head as he walked up to a book on the alter of the monastery. “Still here?”

The team gathered around, peering at the illustration of a man in armor holding a long staff.

“Is that you?” Ray asked.

“More or less. They messed up my mouth and thought of me as a saint.”

“Idiots,” Nate muttered. “We need to find the staff, not look at pictures.”

Rip gave him a look, but Mick laughed. “I was anything but a saint. And the staff piece is upstairs.”

“Anyone else find it weird how it’s so quiet?” Ray asked as they followed Mick up the stairs. “It’s creepy.”

“Nope,” Mick shook his head as he approached a cabinet. “The monks take a vow of silence. ‘s why I trusted them with my secret.”

“Ah, but when you get them talking, they say so much.”

Everyone looked up as a man entered the room holding two staff pieces, one of which was the final part of the staff. Nate recognized him as Derek Reston, the leader of the paganist cult. Lunging forward, he drove the piece into Mick’s chest. The Asgardian gasped and fell to the ground with the silver rod sticking out of him.

“To defeat a god,” Reston proclaimed. “You must become one.”

Nate clenched and unclenched his fists, glaring at the crazed man. Grabbing onto the piece sticking out of Mick, he felt the power and the rage rise up inside him again. He wrenched the piece out of the wound as memories of the street corner came back to him again. With an animalistic growl, he charged at Reston, pulling them both over the balcony. Once on the ground, they began to fight each other, two humans with Berserker strength and rage.

Above him, Zee and Rip were talking about going after him and the sunshine twins were shouting about something. They were only background noise to Nate as Reston slammed him into a wall. His younger self’s pleas echoed in his ears, like he was back in that moment. Nate shook his head to rid himself of them before slamming Reston’s piece out of his hand with the one he had. Then he kicked the man back hard enough that he flew against the door and collapsed to the ground. The cult’s leader didn’t move from his place and Nate could see red pooling around his head.

“Nate!” Zee called out, running up to him. “Let the staff go!”

“Zee,” he panted. “Get. Back.”

“Agent Heywood,” Rip shouted, coming up by Zee’s side just as the abbey doors were knocked down. More of Reston’s followers were coming in.

“Both of you, back!” Nate shouted as he grabbed the second piece he’d disarmed Reston of.

As soon as he touched the second piece, the memory started to feel even clearer. The street signs of Kingwood and Crimson, the kids’ faces, the pain, the blood that didn’t stop running. Nate channeled that anger forward as he fought the followers. He punched and kicked and stabbed them with the ends of the pieces of the staff. The whole time, he heard his cries from when he was a boy and saw the flashes of that moment. When he’d been weak and helpless, years before Druce had come to him with the chance to lead a normal life.

It started to become too much. Nate opened his mouth and screamed.

“Help me!” he sobbed as they began to kick him on the ground. “Help!”

Kingwood Avenue and Crimson Lane. The latter was sickeningly appropriate with the blood that wouldn’t stop coming out of him.

A screech of wheels coming to a stop changed everything. The small group who’s been beating him looked up as a car door slammed. Nate blinked, one of his eyes starting to swell shut as his father stalked over, shouting at the kids to go home. Then he picked Nate up and carried him over to the backseat of the car. His sister was sitting there, eyes widened at the sight of him.

“Here,” Hank Heywood tossed a towel to her as he set Nate inside. “Hold it on wherever he’s bleeding.”

Nate wanted to start crying again, but he had to hold his tears in. His dad hated it when he cried. His hemophilia already made him weak in Hank’s eyes.

“Dad,” he whimpered.

“You just got out of the hospital after the last stunt you pulled,” his father growled. “Now we have to go back.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Those kids beating you up? Your sister heard what happened at school today. Showing off to all the teachers and pretending you’re the greatest gift to the class. You made them mad and they retaliated. You brought this upon yourself.”

Nate sniffled. “I’m sorry.”

“Dad,” his sister said. “It’s not his fault. He’s only eight. Those kids who were hurting him, I know they’re bullies.”

“Bullies happen. You have to stand up to them. Apparently, Nathaniel can’t. He’s too weak.”

Nate really wanted to cry now. Instead, he bit his lip and clung to the towel on his arm as his father raced towards the hospital. He didn’t want to go back there. He was already known as the sick kid, he just wanted to be known for being smart or something else instead of that. That was why he’d showed off with the answers in class.

It only got him pain and misery.

Rip watched as Nate fell to his knees between the rows of pews, his eyes a million miles away. The pieces of the staff slipped out of his grip and dropped to the floor. He sunk down a moment later, crawling away from the path of destruction he’d just brought. Zee rushed forward to help him up, and Rip followed after her. Sarah Reston now entered the room with two boys. She held the third piece of the staff and at the sight of her husband’s dead body, screeched a battle cry.

Nate, who Zee had just helped up, pulled himself away from her to grab the pieces. Rip stepped in front of him.

“This time, I’m helping you,” he told the other man.

Nate nodded and stepped back beside Zee, too tired to argue. Rip took a deep breath and approached the two staves. Picking them up, he gritted his teeth as memories of Calvert flooded back to him. He could practically see Jonas inching towards him, his hand extended out to him. It was as if he had been back there again.

Sarah Reston ran at him, but Rip was ready. He blocked her attacks with his two ends before kicking her backwards. Her piece of the staff rolled out of her hands as she tumbled back against one of the pews that hadn’t quite been reduced to splinters. The two boys, who must have been her sons, moved to attack him as well, but he brought them down easily.

Rip approached the piece their mother had had as it began to tremble. When he was close enough, it flew up and attached itself to the piece that had been found in the tree. Realizing the staff was coming back together, he held the final piece to the other end, and it flew back into place as well. The full staff was now in his hands.

Meanwhile, Sarah Reston was finally pulling herself off the ground, a scowl on her face. “I am not afraid of you.”

“Big mistake.”

She charged again at him, but Rip was ready for her. He spun the Berserker staff and knocked her off her feet again. Sarah Reston crumpled to the floor, groaning but not getting back up.

“Damn,” Zee said behind him.

Rip smiled a little, knowing she couldn’t see it. He bent down and set the staff on the floor. As it left his hands, the pleas of Jonas died down a little.

They never really stopped completely.

As the followers of the paganist group were taken away into custody, Nate sat beside Rip in one of the few pews. “Did you see something when you held it?”

The other man nodded.

“How could you hold all three then?”

“Because I see it every day,” Rip murmured, glancing over at Ray, Lily, and Zee. “You might want to talk to them, make sure they’re okay after what you said to them.”

“Yeah.” Nate rose to his feet, making his way over to them.

“Wait, Gideon did that?” Zee was saying as he drew closer. “Just shoved her hand right in?”

“It saved his life,” Lily replied. “I froze. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You didn’t freeze,” Ray said immediately. “It was a really stressful and sudden situation. Plus, Gideon probably has more…”

He trailed off as he saw Nate standing in front of them. The trio all looked at him. His mouth suddenly felt very dry.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Nate finally said. “I’m sorry for those things I said to you in Seville. The staff was messing me, but I should have kept my cool better. I got frustrated and things I didn’t mean came out.”

“We know,” Zee nodded. “It stung, but you weren’t yourself. But now you’re back to normal, right?”

He shrugged. “Probably need a good night’s sleep.”

“We’re lucky Gideon got us a hotel for the night,” Lily reminded them. “You can get a good rest there instead the beds on the plane. Not that there’s anything wrong with them. Oh, and uh, I forgive you too.”

Nate looked over at Ray.

“Awww, I’ll forgive you, buddy,” the tall man said, wrapping him in a hug. “You had chemicals going haywire in your brain after all.”

A ringing interrupted them. Lily’s face flushed as she dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Nate could read ‘Mom and Dad’ upside down on the screen.

“I’m going to take this,” she said, stepping off to the side.

Ray smiled as she left the little circle. “She hasn’t spoken to them since the virus because she didn’t want them to worry. I’m glad she’s doing so now.”

Nate nodded, noticing Zee looked a little wistful as she watched Lily talk. The hacker seemed to be searching for a place of belonging. Right now, she seemed to have found it in SHIELD.

One day, he might tell her there was a place she could find more belonging, one that wouldn’t hold her back so much.

“Tempted to pick it up?”

Gideon turned to see Mick standing behind her.

“You’re not the first person to look at it that way. What do you want to see?”

“It just so happens the two of us have something in common now,” Gideon told him. “We’ve both been stabbed in the heart. The difference is that I was almost killed, I think. It’s hazy there, and the aftermath is mostly a blank. I just woke up a few months after it happened with no memory of being revived or hospitalized.”

“Does it haunt you?” Mick asked.

Gideon shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

“Don’t think you’d see it then.”

She chuckled. “You’re probably right. Onto other matters, do you need a lift back to Spain? We’re staying the night over here, but we can drop you off tomorrow.”

“I can get there myself,” Mick said, starting to walk with her out of the monastery. “Been doing some thinking since you picked me up. I’ve been on Earth a long time. Might be time to try and go back home.”

“To Asgard?”

“Yup,” he nodded. “Might go back to being a blacksmith. I’ll see.”

“I’m glad you know where you’re going. Do you need anything to get back there?”

Mick shook his head. “I know how to. Just need to get a few things first. Nice to work with you, Agent Rider.”

“And you as well,” Gideon shook his hand. “Thank you for your help.”

“Not a problem. Just make sure you keep that staff locked up. You don’t want anyone else getting their hands on it.”

“We’ll do that.”

Gideon strolled down the sidewalk, stuffing her hands into her pockets. There was a slight chill in the Irish air that hit her in waves. It made the agent feel glad that she remembered to grab a jacket before she left the hotel. Not only did it keep her warm, but the blue leather made her blend in with the civilians than her pantsuit. Still, she wanted to get back to where they were staying soon and curl up in bed after the day they had been through.

The rest of the team was back at the hotel, enjoying a night there on the ground instead of up in the air on the plane. There was nothing wrong with the Waverider, but sometimes it just felt good to be somewhere else for a change. When she’d left, the sunshine twins had been about to shoot a round at the billiards table in the hotel bar. Zee had been down at the restaurant with Nathaniel, both of them having finished dinner and the SO finally talking peacefully to his trainee without yelling hurtful things. Rip had not been there, but Gideon figured he was dealing with the repercussions of using the whole Berserker staff. Mick had told them about the effects of the staff, so Gideon had decided to give him time before approaching him again about it.

As she turned the corner to walk back to the hotel, she was surprised to see Nathaniel walking towards her. When she’d left the hotel, Gideon had figured he would be staying at the bar and then going back to his room. Perhaps his head had been too noisy with the things the staff had brought back up for him. Mick had told them that it brought back some of the worst memories from a person’s life. She didn’t know what the specialist had seen, but if she felt herself relieving a horrible memory, she would be retreating into herself too.

“Thought you would be enjoying the accommodations instead of walking out here,” Gideon told him as she walked up to him.

Nate smiled briefly as he fell into step beside him. “I needed some fresh air. Clear my head or at least try to. Didn’t know you would be out here.”

Gideon nodded as they got closer to the entrance. “Yes, well, it’s not something I get to do often when we’re on the plane. And you aren’t the only one clearing your head.”

“Can I ask what from?”

She stopped just outside the doors to consider whether or not to tell him. He was a member of the team, the highest ranked after herself and Rip. They had talked before at times, and she could see him leading his own team one day with more experience under his belt. Maybe she could afford to extend a little more trust towards him. After all, he’d come to her about his memory from the staff.

“I’ve been thinking about what happened to me after I died,” she confessed, walking again into the hotel with him. “I know they brought me back, but things after it felt so hazy. It makes me wonder if there’s more than what they told me.”

“Wouldn’t they tell you what happened?” Nate asked, pressing the button for the elevator.

“In a perfect world, yes. We don’t live in one though. There are things the doctors or Waller might have not told me, things they could have lied about. I don’t know for sure though.”

Nate’s eyebrows knit together. “How sure are you that they’re lying to you about something?”

“I’m certain there’s at least one thing,” Gideon said as they entered the elevator. “I hate being lied. I just want to know the truth and I won’t stop until I find it.”

The specialist was silent for a moment. Then he reached out and took her hand gently. “I know you won’t. You’ll find out what it is.”

Gideon stared up at him. “You seem pretty sure about that.”

“You’re too determined to let something go once you set your sights on it,” Nate chuckled. “I’ve seen that for myself.”

The doors parted, revealing that they were on their floor. Gideon exited the elevator before turning back to look at Nate again. He wasn’t moving to his room, instead holding his gaze with her. She didn’t move either, not exactly knowing why. Then he took a step forward, dipping his head down to kiss her.

Gideon’s eyes widened for a moment in surprise at what was now occurring. However, she found herself leaning up on the tips of her toes and reciprocating the kiss. There was so much going on in her life with Mirakuru and her resurrection and the team and all the unanswered questions were weighing down on her. She needed an escape from it all, a release from the stress. Nate was offering her the mindless distraction and Gideon was willing to take it.

They reached his room and he’d shut the door behind them when logic finally came back to her. This wasn’t right. She was the leader of the team, the one who guided the others towards what to do. Getting involved with a subordinate she worked with was a trope that she refused to let herself get sucked into. Gideon pressed her hands against Nate’s chest and pushed herself away from him.

“I can’t do this,” she told him.

Nate frowned at her. “Is something wrong? Was I-”

“We can’t do this,” Gideon sighed. “This is a mistake. I’m not going to get involved with a subordinate. This isn’t who am I, and this is never to happen again. Understand, Agent Heywood.”

His shoulders slumped and he nodded. “I’m clear, Agent Rider. I’m sorry that I overstepped.”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you back,” she muttered. “Not a word is to be spoken of this.”

“Yes, ma’am. Good night.”

“Good night,” Gideon replied, opening the door up into the hallway and shutting it behind her.

Leaning against the wall, Gideon sighed and ran her hands through her hair. She needed to get a grip on herself. Besides, Nathaniel Heywood? What was wrong with her?

#legends of shield #legends of tomorrow #agents of shield #aos au #nate heywood #gideon #rip hunter #zari tomaz #ray palmer #lily stein #fanfiction #au

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jesussavedevenme · 3 years

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I wish for the ficlet of Garreth vs overdramatic and overprotective Bracken and Seth. It’s totally okay if you can’t/don’t want to, but I found your post about it from Sep. 2019 and really loved it. You’re one of my favorite authors, but please don’t feel any pressure to fulfill this wish! I’m so sorry if I’m bothering or stressing you out!

**For an incredibly kind and polite anon with an amazing prompt!!!

Also real quick warning: Garreth's actions in this are very manipulative and borderline creepy so if that is going to bother you then, please don't make yourself read it**

The Festival of Unity. Also known as the cesspool of rumors and fake smiles

†††††

"So you hate wearing a the fancy clothes of royalty, not that I blame you, but the annoying cloak you're ok with?"

†††††

"Why was this meeting called? The Festival of Unity is all but over," Bracken said.making Kendra realize that she had missed the beginning of the conversation.

"Apparently, there has been a last minute meeting called that requires the both of us," Seth raised an eyebrow.

"But isn't the Festival over?"

" Good evening Kendra. Might I just say that you look amazing. " Kendra gave him a tight smile and fought the urge to squirm at how uncomfortable his gaze made her feel.

" I don't really care to know the details of Eve's relationships. I would however like to know about yours," He smiled as he said it but something in his eyes made her squirm.

†††††

"Who was it that informed you of the last minute meeting?" The question felt sour in his.mouth and the implications, should his suspicions be right, caused his stomach to churn.

"Is that a threat your Highness?" Garreth questioned, a sudden burst of confidence entering his voice.

And there we go!!!!! This was super fun to write (Though probably not.my best work) !!!! I hope it lived up to expectations. I tried really hard but I haven't written in this style for a while so let me know whether or not you like or if you want me to use it more often.

As always let me know what you think and if their is anything you want to see next!!!!

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sliceannarbor · 6 years

Text

Joseph Becker

Associate Curator of Architecture and Design San Francisco Museum of Modern Art San Francisco, California sfmoma.org

Photo by Matthew Millman

SPECIAL GUEST SERIES

Joseph Becker is associate curator of architecture and design at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. He has contributed to over twenty exhibitions at the Museum, including the curation of Tomás Saraceno: Stillness in Motion – Cloud Cities (2016-17), and Field Conditions (2012), as well as the co-curation of Nothing Stable Under Heaven (2018), Typeface to Interface: Graphic Design from the Collection (2016), and Lebbeus Woods, Architect (2013-14). During his 11-year tenure, Joseph has also been responsible for numerous major acquisitions for the Museum’s collection, as well as exhibition design and visual direction of many of its architecture and design exhibitions. He has served on architecture, design, and public art panels; been an invited juror at national architecture programs; led workshops on exhibition and experiential design; moderated public dialogue; and lectured internationally. Joseph earned both a bachelor of architecture and a masters of advanced architectural design (in design theory and critical practice) from the California College of the Arts, where he is currently a visiting professor. When Joseph is not working, you can find him sailing his 1979 Columbia 9.6 on the San Francisco Bay, or working on a slow remodel of his 1948 house in Bernal Heights.

FAVORITES

Book: I really avoid playing favorites, and I love books, so I’ll just say that Reyner Banham’s Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies is always on my list of required reading, both because of my interest in architecture and as a native Angeleno. I don’t have much time to read for fun, so I’m currently picking at short stories by George Saunders. Just the right amount of weird.

Destination: Marfa. Worth the journey. I’ve been lucky to visit a handful of times over the past few years, doing research on Donald Judd’s furniture practice. The wide open sky of West Texas has a very special quality.

Motto: I once had a keychain that said “Screw it, Let’s do It.”

Prized possession: Right now I’m really excited about my 1953 O’Keefe and Merritt stove, which I just put into my kitchen. I have many small collections of really wonderful and quirky objects, but I love the four-inch pine needle basket that my mom wove for me at our family forestry-service cabin in the Sierras, where I am right now.

THE QUERY

Where were you born?

At home in Los Angeles.

What were some of the passions and pastimes of your earlier years?

Certainly when I was a child I was a big Lego fan. But I also took art classes at Dorothy Cannon’s renown studio in North Hollywood, which exposed me to paint and clay and charcoal. She was an amazingly encouraging teacher.

What is your first memory of architecture as an experience?

When I was four, my parents bought their 1930s ranch house across the street from my mom’s sister, and worked with an architect to build an addition. I have early memories of exploring the house under construction, and especially sitting at the bottom of the empty swimming pool and marveling at the scale and curves and very different quality of space inside the concrete shell.

How did you begin to realize your intrigue with architecture and design?

I think I was always interested in building and making things, even as a child. My dad and I used to make model rockets, and we built my bedroom furniture to my designs when I was around 13. I also remember traveling with my parents in the UK when I was 14, and chose to take them to the Design Museum in London because of an ad I saw in the underground. It was a Verner Panton exhibition, and from then on I was hooked on the idea of total environment. The psychedelic aspect was pretty good, too.

Why does this form of artistic expression suit you?

I think I’m interested in the logic of design and architecture – the creative response to problem solving. But I really get excited when the boundaries break down, and the architecture or design response is an artistic critique of societal conditions, and perhaps a vision for an alternative future.

What led to your coming on board with the San Francisco Museum of Art?

I knew I wanted to study architecture, but not necessarily practice it. My interest in art led me to explore curatorial practice as a way to combine the two.

What is your greatest challenge in this role?

Each exhibition or program has unique challenges. Working with living artists is a really exciting challenge – pushing and pulling in a dialogue while keeping their vision pure. I think the greatest challenge is that I never feel like I have enough time for robust scholarship on any exhibition, no matter how far in advance I begin planning.

Is there a project along the way that has presented an important learning curve?

Each project is an opportunity for growth in a different arena. I think my very first project at SFMOMA, which was designing the giant walk-in freezer that housed the Olafur Eliasson ice-covered hydrogen powered race car chassis called Your mobile expectations, set a high bar. The car fit in the freight elevator by two inches and we had a pretty hard time calculating what it would weigh once laden with its frozen shell.

What exhibition remains most memorable, even today?

There are two exhibitions I have curated that I actually see as a continuation of a single idea. Field Conditions (2012) and Tomás Saraceno: Stillness in Motion – Cloud Cities (2017) each deal with pushing the boundaries of architecture as conceptual spatial practice, with foray into the hypothetical and visionary. I worked with some amazing artists in Field Conditions, and was very excited to put drawings by Lebbeus Woods on view that I had studied in undergraduate school. I acquired those drawings for the Museum collection, and then co-curated the first comprehensive survey of Woods’ work after his passing.

How would you describe your creative process?

As a curator, you’re always looking around for new artists and projects, and connecting them to explorations in the past. I think my process is really just about trying to see as much as possible and trusting my instinct when it comes to what I think is interesting, and want to share with the Museum’s audience.

What three tools of the trade can’t you live without?

I’m completely indebted to our museum library, and the ability to access hundreds of amazing publications. Obviously the internet is an indispensable research tool, but I try to not get mesmerized by it – you can get tangential quickly. And without my glasses I’d have a hard time doing anything, so I have to credit LA Eyeworks for keeping me bespectacled with their amazing frames.

How has your aesthetic evolved over the years?

I lean toward simple and beautiful things, often with history, or some sense of timelessness.

Is there an architect/designer living today that you admire most?

For many reasons, I tremendously admire Olafur Eliasson. His multivalent practice spans many of my interests, from complex geometry to color and light. Beyond sculpture, he works in architecture and design, as well as humanitarian and socially driven design work. And his studio culture is really quite incredible, revolving around food and collaboration.

What has been a pivotal period or moment in your life?

I lost the 1907 loft that I had lived in for a decade to a house fire in 2014. It was a 2,000 square foot unfolding architecture project that I had spent ten years building and rebuilding, and was the center of my world. A fire at the other side of the building ended up red-tagging the entire structure, and all the tenants were subsequently evicted. I spent the next few months in formative self reflection, and can attest to the power of pushing through.

Do you have a favorite artistic resource that you turn to?

I spin through a handful of different art, design, and architecture websites. I think biennials and triennials are amazing opportunities to see so many contemporary projects at once.

From where do you draw inspiration?

Inspiration is everywhere, if your eyes are really open.

What’s the best advice you’ve ever received?

Certainly to remain open to new ideas and experiences. Say ‘yes’ until you have to say ‘no.’ This can be problematic when you say ‘yes’ to too many exciting projects. Really, the best advice is to just show up, and see where it goes.

Is there a book or film that has changed you?

I have always been fascinated by Film Noir for its portrayal of architecture, and the city as a character that is laden with nefarious potential. I love the art of storytelling, whether in cinema, poetry, or history.

Who in your life would you like to thank, and for what?

I am in general incredibly grateful for so many people who have had a positive impact on my life, from family to friends and colleagues. Two people I would love to thank, but can’t, would be both of my grandmothers, who were each incredible artists in their own right and taught me how to look, and see, the creative potential inside me and in the world beyond.

What are you working on right now?

I just delivered a commencement address for the graduate programs at the California College of the Arts, so that was something that I had been focusing on until last week. I’m currently wrapping up the details on an exhibition catalogue that I am the co-author of, with my colleague Jennifer Dunlop Fletcher, on The Sea Ranch, which will launch when the show opens at the Museum in December. Next month I’ll open a small show of Steve Frykholm’s playful Summer Picnic Posters for Herman Miller, which he created from 1970 to 1989. And, in two months, I will be opening an exhibition that I am curating on the furniture practice of Donald Judd, which I am very excited about. We will have Judd-designed chairs outside the gallery that our visitors can sit in!

What drives you these days?

I’m coming out of an incredibly busy six months, with opening four exhibitions, teaching, and writing for various projects, so I’m just counting down days until I can take some time off in August.

#joseph becker #@sfmoma #curator #sanfrancisco #art #museum

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thesixthcircle · 6 years

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Hunter’s Folly

Side by side, an old man and a young girl hiked up a steep slope. To the ordinary folk about, they would have made a strange and perhaps even frightening pair, the broad, dark-skinned old man clad as he was in hardened leather armor, bearing bow and sword. The girl was short, thin, and pale with short-cropped hair. She was covered in piercings and tattoos of strange esoteric symbols that would have made the good, god-fearing mothers in the local farm-towns cover their children’s eyes with wariness. But the trailhead had grown distant and in the isolation of nature, surrounded only by creatures without the capacity to judge, they were merely two humans whose paths happened to cross for the moment. As they hiked, the old man, a monster-hunter by trade, related to his companion the history of the mountain they climbed.

“This isn’t gonna be any ordinary haunting. It’s an old pilgrimage site for Black Hunters, you know. Hunter’s Folly is a densely-wooded ridge that’s known for hundreds of stone hunting-shrine idols abandoned there. It’s an old story. The hunt-mother told it to me some fifty years ago. Her teacher witnessed it first-hand, but he was only a young one then. It was his own teacher, the legendary Roonda, the hunter for whom the Folly is named. See, these were times before the gods left these lands. Before they were replaced by the psuedo-god Yoad Tsen. Members of the Red Hunt still provided their villages with game hunted and sanctified according to the old rites. Members of the Black Hunt? Well, in those days we didn’t hunt apothecaries and old widows, we hunted true monsters. The Corpulent Boar, fed to the size of a house on rotted meat and ravenous for the warm flesh of man, the cryptic Returned who rise from their graves when the dread Horned One declines to return the dead to the earth as he turns the seasons: these were the sorts of monstrosities we slew. The greatest beasts of all, however, were the Taejin. You see, Hahn - humans - are not the first creatures of this world capable of thought. The Shah-chi - the gods - created several races before us and found them each wanting, wiping them out as quickly as they brought their children about in the first place. Legend has it that the Taejin were created from a bird and a serpent to form a union between the earth and the heavens and that they were wiped out because the gods themselves lived in fear of what they’d created. Most of that story is nonsensical folklore, but it’s true that they were huge, scaled beasts much like serpents with wide, strong wings and it’s true that they were much more mighty in their time than we in ours.”

“I’m familiar with the Taejin, Batheer,” the young girl rolled her eyes and brushed her hair out of her face, “Come on, old man, you’re rambling again. Why’s it called Hunter’s Folly?”

“Hmph. If you didn’t interrupt so much, I would be able to get to the point more quickly,” the old hunter scoffed, “Regardless, as it happened, in Roonda’s time there was a Taejin still alive, which had been in hibernation for time immemorial. This Taejin, a grand jet-black behemoth awoke and it hungered, having been asleep for several thousands of years. Before it awoke, the valley now overlooked by Hunter’s Folly was a mountain covered in terraced farms and dense cities dug into the mountain’s face, but when the Taejin awoke with its ravenous hunger, entire tribes went into its maw. The terrace-city was abandoned; all the people either fled or eaten by the monster, but this was a heroic age. Refugees from the city sought out the Black Hunters and sacrificed their last riches to put countless bounties on the head of the Taejin. One by one, the hunters would take their hunting-shrines on procession to slay the beast and one by one the number of abandoned shrine idols grew, for the hunters never returned to claim them. If you see a statue in the visage of a man wearing a wolf’s pelt and carrying a bow made from serpents, turn back. It was the way of the Black Hunters to take such idols with them so that the hunting-god might be present with them on their hunt. The idols were placed on the ground where the hunt began, to be returned only by the party that brought them into the wilderness to begin with. The larger the hunting party, the larger the idol accompanying, and if an idol were to be abandoned… well, it means that the hunting party never returned. It meant that the monster had bested them.”

“Oh,” Batheer broke off, “here’s one now. We must be getting close.” He brushed the palm of his leather-gloved hand over the weathered head of a statue. It was about hip-high and in the shape of a man squatting, holding a bow in his left hand. He wore a wolf’s pelt and a canine mask carved with ornate lines that would have been painted in bright reds and blues long ago.

“That seems like an awful lot of weight to lug around for an entire hunt. You haven’t got a rock in your pack slowing you down, do you?” the young witch asked with a smirk.

“Very funny, Mura. No, I don’t carry an idol. They’re impractical and it, along with many of the other old practices, are banned as heresy against Yoad Tsen,”

“My area of expertise!”

“Yoad Tsen?”

“Heresy.”

“Ah, of course,” Batheer said dryly, in a voice like an eye-roll and the exasperation of a no-nonsense parent at once, “Besides, the old Shah were never real. Merely the superstitious imaginings of more primitive civilizations incapable of understanding the world around them.”

“That’s big talk coming from a century-old witch-hunter.”

“Ugh, this again? I may not have a rational explanation for everything I’ve seen, but that doesn’t mean their causes are magical.”

“But isn’t that kind of a philosophical difference?”

“Cut it out,” Batheer growled, “Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?”

“Tch, fine,” Mura shrugged, “Have it your way then.”

“So, the curious thing was that at the time, Roonda wasn’t a Black Hunter. He was a part of an ancient order of warrior-monks, older than iron, which I can never seem to recall the name of. They claimed to be divine mediators keeping some sort of cosmic balance, and sought to be at peace with Yoad Tsen, in its original interpretation as the flow of the universe, rather than its current interpretation as an all-encompassing god. He did eventually become a Hunter, of course, and went on to found new Hunt - the Hunt “jahl Taejin”, named for the events of Hunter’s Folly, which led to his initiation. These warrior-monks had heard of the Taejin wreaking slaughter about the mountain and were experiencing a disagreement about what to do about it. Most of their council of elders viewed it as beyond the purview of their intervention and wanted to let events occur as they would, according to Yoad Tsen, but Roonda wasn’t satisfied with that. He decided to intervene with or without the approval of the council. He knew that he couldn’t slay the Taejin alone, though, and that the Black Hunters were, in theory, better trained and more well equipped to kill monsters. So, Roonda journeyed across the continent to most of the Hunt Lodges of the time and recruited the organized support of Hunts from far and wide to bring down the beast. He recruited the Bear-Lodge berzerkers from the northwest, the Viper-Lodge hunters, masters of toxins and trapping, even the Shark-Lodge hunters of the far southeast, with their great hooks and rafts. It’s the first and last time time that the hunters ever assembled into a mass that large.”

“He recruited an army of Hunters?”

“And it proved to be their undoing. The Hunters came by the thousands, bearing all sorts of armaments, to bring the fight to the Taejin. They brought these shrine-idols so that the spirit of the hunt would be with them.” Batheer gestured at the statues that had begun to litter the trail. There had only been a few, at first, but without Mura’s notice, as they ascended, the idols had accumulated and begun to form a wall of leering, crumbling faces on either side of the trail. Many of them were small enough to be carried by a single man. Personal idols, perhaps, that hunters had used in developing their personal relationship with the bow-bearer. Others loomed over the travelers at several times the height of a grown man, great carved pillars of granite that jutted out of the underbrush like as many exposed bones.

“Batheer, some of these are huge. That one must have taken dozens of people to move,” Mura said, pointing to a particularly large idol.

“As I said, they came in thousands and brought their idols to match. Some of these statues were carried all the way across the continent to come to rest here. The kinds of stone are as diverse as the people of the waking world or the prey these old hunters were used to pursuing. Ah, but hunting and war are quite different, after all. On a hunt, you know your quarry. You lie in wait until the moment is right and then strike with lethal quickness. In a hunt, you catch your prey by surprise and end its life with tools tailored to just that purpose. The hunt is not meant to be an even battle, but war? War is different. In a war, your opponent is as cunning as you are and knows you as well, and sometimes better than you know it. Even if the Taejin could rightly have been treated as a beast to be hunted, we thought them extinct. Creatures of legend. No one had tools tailored to killing Taejin, as one would a boar or a bear. Hunting the Taejin would always have been a war if it hadn’t been a slaughter.”

“But it was a slaughter, wasn’t it? Each of these idols…”

“Each one is a memorial. A grim reminder of the costs of hubris. A tombstone for long-forgotten corpses, whatever you want to call it, it means ‘dead hunters’.”

“Did they ever kill the Taejin?”

“Eventually, yes. It swallowed entire lodges and gouged the mountain into a valley with its massive talons, but eventually they wore it down with a tool Roonda is said to have received from the hunt-god themself. As the legend has it, Sandori gave to Roonda a thousand of the enchanted arrows they’d received from the Queen of Serpents which killed not by piercing the flesh, but by burdening the target with disease. As the hunters struck the Taejin with volley after volley of sickness, it at last collapsed to the ground, dead.”

The old hunter and the witch at last approached where the lines of statues converged - a idol-lined, precipitous ridge overlooking a vast, dense forest. Mura peered over the edge, but in the twilight gloom could not tell how tall the forest below had grown to reach as high as it did into the thinning air.

“They’re grand old trees.” Batheer offered, “Fed on the ancient blood of a Taejin, and on the enchanted carnage of countless hunters.”

Mura grunted and let herself down onto the ledge, dropping her bag behind her and dangling her legs into the abyss.

“It looks like an ocean,” she mused, “only of trees instead of water.”

“Indeed, and much like an ocean,” Batheer walked over to a fallen hunt-idol and sat down heavily, buckles and armor clinking, “if you go deep enough down, there’s no telling what you might find.”

Mura flopped back on her back, gazing up into the starry night sky. “That’s what we’re counting on. I wouldn’t have done all that awful hiking if there weren’t a mystery at the end.”

#the sixth circle #hunters folly #writing #first post woo!#hopefully the first of many

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lillyblogs · 6 years

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[Insinuation 2.7]

(Sorry about posting these out of chronological order; I didn't have a Tumblr blog yet when I first posted this one. Also, consider my liveblogs of 1.1 -> 2.6 lost to the ether.) [Insinuation 2.7] Brian and Alec were good looking guys, in very different ways. Lisa was, on the sliding scale between plain and pretty, more pretty than not. So Taylor admits to checking all of them out and also to finding them all attractive. Undersider harem when? Bug Please don't stick please don't stick I still want her name to be something cool like Myriad, but there's bound to be something of a joke to it. Lisa, though, put one of her arms around my shoulders and gave me a one-armed squeeze of a hug. She was a little older than I was, so she was just tall enough to be at the perfect height to do it. What caught me off guard was how nice the gesture felt. Taylor is attracted to girls theory: Confirmed?????? Actually, I get the impression that Lisa is supposed to be this but it's not quite coming across right and makes it seem like she has a thing for Taylor. We passed a twenty-something artist and his girlfriend, sitting on the sidewalk with paintings propped up around them. The girl waved at Lisa as we walked by, and Lisa waved back. Guessing she's an important character, a cape probably, but not one of the Undersiders. Circus? Spitfire? IDK I know too few names at this point. Alternatively, that was Uber and Leet. If that's the case, Leet was probably the girl and Uber the artist. If Tattletale's really a hacker, it'd make sense for her to be friends with someone named Leet. I supposed they might have a TiVo, though I’d never seen one. TiVo?????? Seriously, though, the Undersiders have a pretty fucking sweet loft. Also, Alec's an artist apparently. Knowing young fiction, this will either be the only thing he talks about ever or he'll never mention it again. ```“I’m jealous,” I admitted, meaning it.

“Dork,” Alec said, “What are you jealous for?”

“I meant it’s cool,” I protested, a touch defensively.

Lisa spoke before Alec could reply, “I think what Alec means is that this is your place now too. This is the team’s space, and you’re a member of the team, now.”How all great friendships start.“Last time he went up against Shadow Stalker, he came back here and bled all over a white couch,” Lisa groused, “nine hundred dollar couch and we had to replace it.”

“Fucking Shadow Stalker,” Alec commiserated.OOOH! Shadow Stalker sounds like they might be a rival villain. (Part of Faultline's group, maybe? Or perhaps the Empire, though the Undersiders don't seem to have major issues with them yet.) Can't wait to see them.Brian came back from the other end of the loft, raising his voice to be heard as he approached, “Rache’s not here, and neither are her dogs. She must be walking them or working. Dammit. I get stressed when she’s out.” He approached the couches and saw Alec sprawled on the one.OK now I'm 99% percent sure Brian and this Rachel girl are a couple, or he wants them to be. Or alternatively, she really is a mass-murderer with a dog fetish and that's why he's worried. Either way, isn't her identity public? If so, _why_ does she walk her own dogs, instead of having the other Undersiders do it for her? Indication of obsession? Possessiveness? Or maybe they have someone who can disguise people; Regent, maybe? Not sure if it would fit with his name, though. Regent, to me, suggests he might be part of some sort of Parahuman lineage (not sure how far back it could possibly go, since didn't Scion only appear in the 80s?) and that his power is _really fucking good_. He's their heavy hitter, the one who packs the most punches. Maybe he's a mini-Superman, complete with the "powers as the plot demands".“We’ll get you one,” he said, like it wasn’t even a concern. It probably wasn’t. “We generally haul in anywhere from ten grand to thirty-five grand for a job. That gets divided four ways… five ways now that you’re on the team.”Sounds like Taylor will be rich very quickly; she'll probably be against spending the money at first but give in after a little. She is the Queen Of Slippery Slopes, after all. In fact, I suspect the Undersiders are aware of that, b/c of Tattletale and are actively baiting her into falling all the way down and becoming a villain. However, they probably won't like the new, unrestricted Taylor Hebert.“I do know everything,” Lisa said, “It’s my power.”Still thinking superpowered hacker, possibly with some sort of tinkery flavor to it, with a probable focus on spying on and tracking people.“What?” I said, interrupting Brian. My heartbeat quickened, though I hadn’t exactly been relaxed to begin with, “You’re omniscient?”

Lisa laughed, “No, no. I do know things though. My power tells me stuff.”

Swallowing hard, hoping I wasn’t drawing attention by doing so, I asked, “Like?” Like why I was joining their team?

Lisa sat forward and put her elbows on her knees, “Like how I knew you were at the library when I sent me the messages. If I felt like it, and if I had the know how, I’m sure I could have figured it out by breaking into the website database and digging through the logs to find the address you connected from, but my power just let me skip that step like that.” She snapped her fingers.Damn it. I was wrong, wasn't I? But honestly that's a _horrifying_ power; she just _knows_ things she shouldn't. Like "everything about everyone ever", apparently. Perhaps it's some sort of weird form of clairvoyance; her power sees everything going on at once, but she can focus it on a specific person/area and it'll relay whatever it finds to her for her to make sense of with her deductive skills. Like having an omnipresent, invisible and intangible drone. Heck, maybe she's lying and she's just a Tinker with a specialty in surveillance and cloaking; would certainly explain how Rachel's able to regularly go outside, seemingly.Not giving him a chance to reply, she turned to me and explained, “My power fills in the gaps in my knowledge. I generally need some info to start from, but I can use details my power feeds me to figure out more stuff, and it all sort of compounds itself, giving me a steady flow of info.”Honestly I'm not entirely sure what she means by this, but it definitely seems like _every single one_ of my guesses as to her power was wrong.Lisa’s smile widened, “I’ll admit I cheated there. Figuring out passwords is pretty easy with my power. I dig through the PHQ’s digital paperwork and enjoy a little reality TV by way of their surveillance cameras when I’m bored. It’s useful because I’m not only getting the dirt from what I see, hear and read, but my power fills in the details on stuff like changes in their routine and the team politics.”At least I was right about her tendency to spy on people. And the PHQ's the _Protectorate_ ENE HQ, right? So essentially where the heroes work, and possibly live. Makes sense that Taylor wouldn't want to join the Wards if it's actually like that; she rather seems to enjoy having _something_ of a normal life and the ability to just go home and get away from this, to just be her father's daughter for a while. (Angsty plot twist: He's actually her stepdad, in addition to being a cape (maybe Armsmaster if he isn't a villain; tinkers seem sufficiently bullshit for that to work, and he was relatively nice to Taylor, if a bit businesslike-- _just like her father_.) and she learns both of these secrets at an inopportune time (perhaps after her first mission with the Undersiders?) and ends up leaving him and her civilian ID behind and moving in with the Undersiders full-time.)she grinned her vulpine smileNo way this isn't a fandom meme. Honestly, this just feels like such a memetic phrase and Wildbow _just keeps using it_. There are other ways to call someone sly and mischevious that don't involve how foxlike their smile is. Still thinking she's going to end up with Taylor, eventually and probably only temporarily. Unless she's also a double-agent. Would explain why she hasn't been the nicest to Taylor (she went out of her way to mess with her...), despite seemingly wanting her to join the team and seemingly caring about her. Grue, Alec and Rachel probably aren't going to double-cross the team, however. They seem like they're actually villains, albeit probably sympathetic ones. I can't wait to hear how despite seeming to only be in it for the money, they all have tragic backstories. Actually, perhaps having a tragic backstory is part of gaining powers; Taylor's got a lot of trauma and the Danny interlude did suggest that things turned from idyllic to tragic rather fast. And logically speaking, it makes sense that the villains would all have a lot of mental trauma; they're the people who society has chewed up and spat right out. Calling it right now that every Undersider is some kind of minority or other oppressed group: Brian: Black, possibly not straight. Possibly a single (adoptive?) parent? He seems close to the other Undersiders, so it doesn't seem like he'd live away from them by choice. If he's got a kid who he's desperately trying to keep away from this, things suddenly make sense. Or maybe a little sister/brother (I'm leaning towards sister), if he's too young to even be adopting children? Either way, he's definitely doing this for someone else's sake. If said person is old enough (i.e. 13+; I don't think the Undersiders would employ such a small child), they'll probably join the Undersiders after a few arcs of melodrama. Or if they're not, they'll do it (complete with the melodrama) after they grow up. Which Wildbow may only do so they can be paired with whichever Undersider doesn't get paired up, since I'm 100% sure they're going to end up a set of three couples, instead of a proper team of five. Bonus points if this hypothetical sister thinks Brian's a hero before learning the considerably more unsavory truth. Alec: He's definitely either gay or bi. There is no way that boy is straight. Also, he's got a French name, which is a pretty good sign he's going to be a Flamboyant Gay, especially if he picked it for himself. Lisa: A woman, also gay (probably). Possibly asexual, maybe? (She's definitely not aromantic, though; there needs to be at least something to use for shipping bait and "will-they-or-won't-they" tension, as Worm is basically YA.) Rachel: Maybe she's transgender? I'm guessing here. Didn't Taylor describe her as unladylike in appearance or something like that? Also possibly a butch lesbian* / gender non-conforming in some other way. *If she's a lesbian, Tattletale isn't one. It's a rule of how these things work. Though in that case, Tattletale wouldn't be a proper token character and would instead exist as a plot device / excuse for exposition and probably only exists to avert the Smurfette principle.They didn’t get a chance to tell me. I heard barking from downstairs. A matter of heartbeats later I was standing, three paces from the couch. Three snarling dogs had me backed against the wall, drool flying from their mouths as their teeth gnashed and snapped for my hands and face.``` Rachel can't control her dogs = confirmed? Or maybe she's a bit more unhinged than I was thinking, or both? I'm currently thinking that she's actually the sweetest and most innocent of the Undersiders, appearances be damned (it also makes her alias of "Bitch" rather ironic), but I could be extremely wrong. Since she works with dogs, she also probably has some skill as a vet, and probably acts as the Undersiders' medic as well.

I'm also starting to think that the Undersiders are using their actual names, and that they really do trust Taylor. Unless they're all lying about their names to each other as well as to Taylor, though they seem too much like fire-forged friends for that.

#worm #worm serial #wildbow #worm wildbow #parahumans #liveblogging

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atr-programming · 7 years

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Somatotypes

I was involved in a discussion on Reddit a couple of days ago regarding my reference to Somatotypes in my post titled “The Big Guy… How to Train?”. I was told that the theory had been debunked as junk science years ago and had no relevance to training or diet. This is a long one folks, but bear with me as it turns out this is a topic with some passion behind it.

At ATR, we definitely consider the body type when it comes to training. When the body type gets discussed, it’s easy to throw around the somatotypes and label athletes as being either mesomorphic, ectomorphic, or endomorphic.

There is a large amount of discussion regarding whether or not they have any place in the fitness world. Some say that there are hard and fast relationships between different somatotypes and the way they should be exercising and dieting. Others say that it is junk science that needs to be discarded in its entirety.

Let’s start at the beginning.

Psychological History

Back in the 1940s a guy by the name of William Herbert Sheldon thought that just by looking at a person, he could determine how smart, nice, and aggressive a person was. He said there were three human physiques, while one person might have influences from all three, these body types formed an all-inclusive taxonomy.

1. Endomorphy was referenced to describe the fatness or the roundness of a person’s physique.

2. Mesomorphy was referenced to describe how muscular a body was.

3. Ectomorphy was referenced to describe how lean and slender the person was.

In Mr. Sheldon’s research, he actually believed that these body types were directly linked to three specific personality types. Those were:

1. Viscerotonia, or a social, complacent, and food loving individual.

2. Somatotonia, or a physical, aggressive, and tough individual.

3. Cerebrotonia, or a sensitive, introverted, and intellectual individual.

He basically tried to prove the stereotypes about the jolly fat man, the meat-headed brute, and the lean wise-man. Now I’m sure that we all know that you don’t have to be fat to be social, muscular to be tough, or slender to have an intellect. His own research was considered to be illegitimate, and the idea that body types and psychological temperaments were somehow linked was thrown out.

From Psychology to Athletics

While the physical structure of a person doesn’t necessarily tell you anything about their mind, it can certainly tell you about other parts of their body and how they interact with the world. This led to the development of the Heath-Carter formula and its use in anthropological studies by researchers. The Heath-Carter formula actually took measurements of a person’s body and plugged it into various equations that allowed a researcher to actually assess a person’s endomorphy, mesomorphy, or ectomorphy all on a 7-point scale.

Eventually, professionals in the field of physical education got ahold of the formula and started using it their studies. Most of the studies that were popularized were used to show that athletes built in certain ways were going to be more successful at certain sports. For example, a study performed to see what commonalities were there in the body types of successful tennis players or rowers.

Where It Is Today

What this has turned into in our fitness world is a dispute that is filled with emotion and potentially misunderstanding. While the original theories of Sheldon were debunked, and ridiculous, the images of the endomorph, the mesomorph, and the ectomorph are still in our heads today. Everyone in the industry knows what they are, but there is a wide spectrum of opinion on whether or not anything can be applied from the original taxonomy.

The question is: Which side is correct? Does it belong, or is it all a hoax?

Today if you go to look for research that will definitively tell you the answer to that question, you will find that none exists. There is a lot of research still being done today that analyzes the individual somatotype of elite athletes, likely to be used to seek out potential recruits who bear the physical qualities necessary to be successful at their given sport.

It is difficult to find any information that directly pertains to somatotypes and nutrition, or somatotypes and fitness. Seems strange, especially considering the way that it is either touted as gospel or considered damnable witchcraft by the fitness community.

The Assumptions - Diet

First let’s discuss nutrition. The basic stereotypes surrounding nutrition for the three somatotypes are as follows:

1. Endomorph – The endomorph has a low carbohydrate tolerance, and as such should be eating more fat, and less carbohydrates in their diet.

2. Mesomorph – Mesomorphs typically have a reasonable tolerance for both carbohydrates and fats, and should consume a fairly level mix, perhaps slightly weighted towards carbohydrates.

3. Ectomorph – The ectomorph has a high carbohydrate tolerance, and as such should be eating more carbohydrates and less fats.

The old rule of thumb regarding protein is 1-1.5 grams of protein per pound of your goal weight. While this exact figure is often debated amongst professionals, this figure is one that has been utilized in the bodybuilding and elite athletics domains and is the one that ATR has seen the most success with.

There is a debate regarding the amount of carbohydrates and fats that a person should have in their diet. Some would say that a calorie is a calorie, and that as long as you are maintaining a deficit you will lose weight. Others would say that limiting one of either fats or carbohydrates will help you to shed pounds. While both of these are likely correct in their own way, at ATR we are trying to optimize the results of our athletes, not just see weight loss.

If we look to the Bodybuilding world, preserving muscle and losing fat is the ultimate goal for a large portion of the year. These athletes utilize carbohydrate manipulation to drive their weight loss. Frank Zane would bob in and out of a ketogenic state to cut down his weight. In Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Encyclopedia of Modern Bodybuilding, he describes that an athlete should eat as little carbohydrates as possible without going into a ketogenic state. Literally eating as little carbohydrates as possible without becoming carbohydrate deprived. To cut weight down, they cut carbohydrates down.

According to the most recent data from the US Dept. of Agriculture, the average carbohydrate intake for grown men is ~46-53%, and the average carbohydrate intake for grown women is ~49-53%. The average daily caloric intake is ~2400-2700 for men and ~1850-2000 for grown women. If the average American diet is half full of carbs, when I see a classic endomorph, I think that he’s not efficiently handling that carb-load. When I see a classic ectomorph, I think that he’s handling that carb-load very efficiently. These are generalizations that should not be used in a vacuum to prescribe an exact diet, but they do help to point the athlete in a new direction.

Keep in mind that the evaluation of athletes utilizing somatotypes as a tool is an exercise in futility when that athlete is at an extreme end of the spectrum. When you have someone that is excessively overweight, cutting back on food in general is likely the best advice to be given regardless of whether it’s carbohydrates, protein, or fats. It the athlete looks to be skin covered bones that spent the last 30 days in a desert, any food is likely to improve their overall situation.

The somatotypes give us a general idea of what is going on, not a diagnosis. They should be used as a tool to give preliminary understanding, and to guide follow up questions into a person’s health. To throw them out completely is to ignore common sense and

The Assumption - Training

When evaluating the somatotypes with the Heath-Carter formula, the width of the elbow and knee joints are compared to the girth of the arm and calf. In addition, the mass of the athlete is compared to the height of the athlete. There is no actual analysis of limb lengths, or their relationship to other parts of the body. Despite this, when we think of Endomorphs, we think of wide hips and wide shoulders relative to the height. This is likely because for the height to mass relationship to indicate endomorphy, the person simply has to be wider and shorter than a person to which the relationship would indicate ectomorphy.

As such, when we think endomorph, we think short, stocky, like carrying fat over the top of larger muscle bellies. With these wider bone and joint structures, they have a larger capacity to carry weight in general, both fat and muscle. Larger joints displace more weight, offering them more capacity to handle a load. When you look at a traditional powerlifting physique or a large lineman in football, often times it is very similar to that of the endomorph. Their limbs that form the lever when moving weights are shorter relative to the joints that form the fulcrum. Endomorphs have a leverage advantage when performing many exercises.

When we think ectomorph, we think long, lean, slender, and very little mass at all. The smaller bone structures of these people do not have the capacity to carry as much mass, neither muscle nor fat. With smaller joints, they do not displace weight as well, and as such tend to have less capacity to lift large weights. With long limbs and small joints, where the endomorph would see a leverage advantage, the ectomorph tends to be at a large disadvantage. However, with less mass to deal with, their physiology is not strained as hard when performing aerobic activity as the endomorph’s.

When it comes to athletics, the mesomorph is the golden boy of sorts. Their musculature is built on a bone structure somewhere in between the perfect stereotypical endomorph and the perfect stereotypical ectomorph. These physiques tend to be what you see amongst successful bodybuilders, a lot of wrestlers, and linebackers or full-backs in football.

Can We Use It?

Now back to the debate at hand: should this taxonomy have anything to do with the programming of an athlete?

At ATR, we believe it should to some degree. With leverage being a tool that the classic endomorph has at his disposal, manipulating heavier weights will be less of a problem than that of the classic ectomorph. Hitting a squat with short femurs, short tibias, wide hips, and wide knees, is much more mechanically advantageous than hitting a squat with a lack of those traits. The classic ectomorph is forced to move a load that is heavier relative to his or her lever and typically move that load farther because the lever is longer. If we define work as being force times displacement, the ectomorph is doing more work than the endomorph at the same weight.

Combine that line of thinking with the goals of the average endomorph and the average ectomorph. The endomorph typically wants to lose weight, while the ectomorph usually wants to gain. If the endomorph wants to lose weight, then he must increase his relative workload. The quickest way to do so would be to incorporate more of those levers at the same time using compound exercises. These exercises need to be performed to take advantage of their bone structure’s capacity for muscle, while increasing the density of the work through the simultaneous increase of repetitions and decrease of rest times. The ectomorph however would want to preserve any energy that they have to ensure that it goes towards growth instead of output. They need to perform larger movements similar to the endomorph, however they need to perform their sets with ample rest time and less reps.

The mesomorph has the ability to gain muscle easily while maintaining less fat. The Heath-Carter formula literally defines a mesomorph by analyzing the amount of muscle the individual carries relative to the results of their skin fold measurements. This is the athlete that may want to spend some time on isolated movements in an attempt to round out the overall physique. The endomorphs and ectomorphs that have found a caloric balance at a body mass makeup they are happy with can and should also begin the sculpting process, using isolation movements to bring out what they might deem to be lagging body parts.

Regardless of whether or not you believe that a person can be classified as one of the three somatotypes or not, ignoring the attributes of individuals when programming will limit their potential progress. They may see gains, but they will come more slowly than they could be if you optimized their program based on their unique physical characteristics. Even if you don’t believe someone can be an endomorph, if you try to train an overweight individual with a long drawn out series of isolation movements, they will not see the same progress as the overweight individual who trains in a manner conducive to a classic stereotypical endomorph. The same statement applies for the ectomorph.

Productive Application

In the actual instruction manual produced written by Dr. Lindsay Carter for the application of the Heath-Carter formula, the image used to display the somatotype profile was on a coordinate grid of sorts. There were three points that each individually represented a degree of their respective somatotype. Incorporating the three directions, there were countless possibilities of physiques within the triangle that represented all variants. The point is that there are any number of combinations of the three somatotypes in any given individual. Think of the individual who has a lean and slender figure from the waist up, but carries a lot of fat on thick joints from the waist down. There’s also a classic physique known to all best described as a large belly on pair of stilts.

To find a physique that falls perfectly into any of the three somatotypes is rare, and may even be non-existent, however you can use the principles to guide your programming. Look to the athlete’s body to ask follow-up questions about their diet. Use their structure to determine what exercises will be best for them. To throw out all of these completely and just say training is training and a calorie is a calorie may lead to some results with beginners, but it will not give the intermediate or the advanced optimal results.

#somatotype #endomorph #mesomorph #ectomorph #atr #training #program #nutrition #workout #routine #programs #leverage #biomechanics #mechanics #heavy

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racingtoaredlight · 5 years

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Opening Bell: May 17, 2019

One of the most significant architects of the 20th century, I.M. Pei, died yesterday in New York City at the age of 102. Pei is credited with reinventing the modernist style of architecture and adding personality to what had previously been a sleek and yet Spartan, cold design form. Perhaps most famously, Pei designed the new entrance to the Louvre Museum in Paris; a series of large glass pyramids in the courtyard of the former royal palace whose art collection was opened to the public at the height of the French Revolution in 1793. I.M. Pei also designed the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C. and the Morton H. Meyerson Symphony Center in Dallas, Texas, his only music-related project. The Meyerson is emblematic of Pei’s style: the slabs of stone and concrete with large glass windows inlaid along the edges, emerging out of a rounded base. It is not, in terms of design a complex design—the engineering, I’m sure, is a different story—but it still evokes modernist architecture without resorting to a plain approach. Pei’s influence cannot be overstated within the architectural world or upon 20th century America. That Pei was himself an immigrant who planted roots in this country after attending MIT and Harvard, is also the story of much of the United States in the 20th century.

Yesterday, the White House unveiled a comprehensive immigration system reform plan, which would make significant changes to the green card process, place restrictions on the number of family members which can accompany a green-card seeker, and place greater emphasis on enforcement. The plan, which was formulated by President Donald Trump’s son-in-law Jared Kushner, would replace the current green card process with a points-based system which would reset each year; the current green card process can take 9-24 months to prepare and, depending on the applicant’s birth nation, can take several more years until the actual Adjustment of Status can be filed. There are no proposed changes to temporary visa categories such as H and L visas. At its core, the current worker visa and employment-based green card process system is over-subscribed, particularly with applicants from India and China, because those two countries produce large numbers of software engineers who fill a need for fast-growing American tech companies that American engineering schools simply do not have the capacity to meet. Because of this economic interest, American companies were highly critical of previous proposals put forth by Republicans in Congress, so the Kushner plan is an improvement. The general consensus seems to be among both immigration providers and congressional correspondents, is that this plan is still unlikely to gain any traction. This is to say nothing of the fact that stewarding complex reform legislation through Congress requires a fair amount of good faith negotiation and political capital, two things this White House seems incapable of offering. Expect the current system to remain in place.

Just under a year ago, Environmental Protection Agency chief Scott Pruitt resigned under pressure after numerous reports emerged that he had used government transportation and tax-payer funded travel, for his own benefit. Pruitt was not the first member of the administration, or even the first cabinet level official, to resign after getting caught using tax payer funds to pay for personal travel: Health and Human Services Secretary Tom Price left the administration over his use of a private jet, while FEMA director Brock Long resigned for personal use of government vehicles. Yesterday, the EPA’s Inspector General issued a report which recommended that Pruitt reimburse $124,000 in travel expenses to the government, a fraction of the $985,000 in travel bills Pruitt accrued over a ten month period. This report by the IG officially closes its probes into Pruitt, but it remains to be seen whether Pruitt, who is now a coal industry consultant, will cut a check as Price did in 2017.

As Facebook continues to expand its base of users both in the United States and around the globe, the need for the social network to police the posts of its users. To keep Facebook’s feeds clear of videos of murders, suicides, other violent deaths, conspiracy theories, racism, misogyny, and nudity, Facebook employers through third party vendors an army of thousands of moderators. About two years ago, I posted an article about what the daily experience of merchandise runners inside of fulfillment warehouses for online retailers. The piece focused on work conditions, imperious supervisors, and the constant threat of being fired. The Facebook moderators, who work for a vendor named Cognizant in a business park in Phoenix, Arizona, earned about $28,000 a year, receive two 15 minute breaks and one 30 minute lunch break per day, are expected to review and make the correct decision on approximately 400 posts or videos per shift and achieve a 95% accuracy rate. They review everything from execution videos filmed and posted by Mexican drug cartels, to racist or anti-Semitic rants, to obscene sexual behavior. To combat the psychological effect of viewing hundreds of such images or posts per shift, moderators resort to smoking marijuana during breaks, drinking concealed booze, and having sex with coworkers in a room reserved for new-mothers to pump breast milk. There are two threads here: the personal toll of viewing the worst humanity has to offer on a daily basis, and the zeal by which a large corporation seeks to scale upwards its capabilities while still maximizing profits. I encourage everyone to read this all the way through, and imagine sitting through a single shift as a Facebook moderator.

In the fall of 1995, John F. Kennedy, Jr. the scion of the 35th President of the United States, and widely considered one of the most eligible bachelors in New York, called a press conference in Manhattan. Most of the media who attended expected the press conference to center on his suspected recent engagement to Carolyn Bissette, but instead JFK Jr. was accompanied by two men, including David Pecker, then president of Hachette Magazines (and, for now, the owner of the National Enquirer). JFK Jr. stood at minimalist mental podium and turned a board mounted on a pedestal to reveal a magazine cover with supermodel Cindy Crawford dressed like George Washington, including powdered white wig. George Magazine was, in JFK Jr.’s vision, a glossy environment where politics and society could merge; cover photos of models, celebrities, and athletes either dressed in or posing with clothing or paraphernalia from the early United States were common. At the time in the mid-1990s, political magazines were generally restricted to outlets like The National, National Review, New Republic, and a few others. Their monthly subscribers were in the hundreds of thousands and featured advertisements from universities at the same time that Vanity Fairy had over a million monthly readers and had advertisements from General Motors and major cosmetics company. Few expected George to succeed and it was considered the half-baked idea of New York playboy who had failed the bar twice after graduating from NYU Law a few years earlier. In this piece, however, Esquire makes the argument that George, in many ways, presaged the salient nature of politics in American society as it collided with and was subsumed into popular culture. The first cover after JFK Jr.’s untimely death in the summer of 1999, was a cover featuring Donald Trump and covering his political ambitions, at a time before The Apprentice, when Trump’s biggest claim to fame was his multiple bankruptcies in the 1990s. In some ways, George can be seen to be a predictor of the Trump presidency, where the celebrity of reality TV has crossed over into politics; George was the first to blur the line.

In 2014, it was revealed that a well-known Australian male television presenter—in American we would call them an anchor—had worn the same navy blue suit for a year, only dry-cleaning it every few weeks and swapping out shirts and ties. The presenter and his network received exactly zero comments about this; absolutely no one had noticed. His female co-presenter, during that same time, changed her attire on a daily basis and still received comments and critiques from viewers. Karl Stefanovic undertook to wear the same suit everyday to see if any viewer would notice, he suspected they would not, and as a result to highlight the different standards applied to male and female television news personalities. For female meteorologists and weather reporters, the difficulty is even greater; stripes and complex patterns are always prohibitive, as are blues on a bluescreen and greens in front of a greenscreen. As a result, some have noticed the female meteorologists tend to wear very similar, if not the same, quite frequently. Though this is from four years ago, the disparate treatment in male and female media figures is unchanged.

At the height of the First World War in 1917, Britain maintained a blockade of the Germany which caused food stocks to dwindle and prices to rise and deprived the German war machine of certain strategic resources. Germany’s coastline is small and the majority of it lies on the Baltic Sea, which is easily bottled up by an enemy fleet due to the presence of Denmark (a neutral nation at the time). Britain had its own weakness, however, and Germany exploited it with an aggressive U-boat, or submarine campaign. Britain is an island nation and was, and still is (*ahem* Brexiteers) dependent on foreign trade. In 1917, virtually all British staples, including foodstuffs and strategic materials, that were imported, came by ship. The effectiveness of Germany’s U-boat campaign had put Britain on the verge of foot shortages; 13 British merchant ships were being sunk per day, on average. In response, the Admiralty explored numerous solutions to prevent British citizens from enduring starvation. One such idea involved the use of so-called Dazzle Paint on British merchant and warships. Dazzle paint designs were colorful designs, painted on ships in jagged geometric patterns, squares and triangles or bulky rectangles, all designed to visually fool German U-boat captains. U-boats fired torpedoes based upon a guess of where the target ship would be at the time of impact, based on its speed and heading. Dazzle patterns were intended to fool a Germany captain peering through his periscope, causing him to misjudge the size and speed of the ship. The Dazzle program brought in some of Britain’s foremost sport, indoor, outdoor, and poster painters, who used their skills to develop designs which eventually adorned thousands of British merchantmen. The effectiveness of the Dazzle pattern is still in some dispute—sinkings did decline dramatically after its use was introduced, but this also coincided with the implementation of the convoy system—but the Dazzle paint had a notable positive effect on the morale and confidence of the crews, and so it was judged by the Admiralty to be an overall success.

Finally, the Center for Politics, without a byline, considers, based on a tweet by Jerry Falwell Jr., Americans would support pushing back the 2020 election by two years as a result of the “disruption” caused by the Mueller investigation to the Trump presidency. It should not be surprising that a vast majority of Americans favor maintaining regular elections. What should be surprising is that, apparently 16 percent of Americans were in favor of extending Donald Trump’s first term by two years, and that this is even a topic of serious discussion in the first place.

Welcome to the weekend.

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