#nevertheless it was a good trial run in between rendering

[extravagantwolf]

A small and abandoned wip about Sunshaper and his apprentice, Dreampaw.

Normality for the nomadic is viewing the breathtaking and unseemly. The calluses on their paws are a pride no other breed can understand. Yet the ache of his paws and the sight unfolding before his eyes is one that still ceases on stealing the air from his lungs. Climbing tall into the sky of his roaming ancestors, their jagged and snow-capped peaks beckon his eyes.

No matter how close he pads, the towering mountains never appear closer. Even if he sprouted wings like the condors, he doubts he would truly ascend their greatness.

Chatter follows his pawsteps, endlessly flowing from the maw of his apprentice, and any other cat would have drawn his ire. However, she was designated by the stars to be a lovely thing of his own.

Dreampaw. A fittingly beautiful name for the tortoiseshell. Her arrival was a dream of its own. Found beneath a holly bush on a leaf-fall morning after the first snow of the year, she was as small as a sparrow yet as strong as the blue spruce.

Now, no longer does crisp snow lie on the ground. The seasons flow like rivers, and newleaf already begun.

“Father said he would allow you to take your assessment early, Dreampaw,” he cuts into her ramble. She quiets instantly, her ears perking curiously.

A smile curls onto his maw and he gently pats her shoulder with his tail. “Good, you’ve learned well.” The praise makes her head diligently dip as an eager grin splits across her face. A few weeks ago, her haunches would have waggled, but she dutifully reins herself in.

“Returning to what Father said…” He briskly walks ahead, sitting on the lush new grass. It took no time for the environment to adapt to the change of seasons, and he can only ask the stars to ensure Dreampaw does the same.

A graduation at ten moons old is nothing small to scoff at, even if he managed it himself. There is much to ensure to create an optimal warrior. “The leader personally judges a cat’s worth to ensure the assessment is valid. You must impress him with not simply your skills, but your etiquette.”

Dreampaw whines softly as she sits in front of him. Words of uncertainty hang on her tongue, but she swallows them well. ��Yes, Sunshaper,” she answers quietly. Nerves bristle around the young apprentice, her eyes round like the sun rising on the horizon.

Lucky, she is, to have him by her side. When he was her age, he could only fervently pray to StarClan in a dank cave without a lick of starlight. Now…

“Do you really think I have what it takes?” she asks with her ears flat against her skull.

Slowly, he nods. “Every decision the leader makes is guided by the stars themselves, Dreampaw,” he assures with a purr. Of course, he won’t tell her how the stars must be displeased that Moonstar, a cat with a name tied so closely to the stars, is the way he is. He deviates so far from his fated path as leader. Acting up as a heretic rather than a cat.

“This may be a recital, Dreampaw, but one day it’ll be your truth,” he meows as he outstretches a paw and cups her muzzle in it. “Show me the ceremonial greeting to a leader and do not let a step waver. Act as if I am your leader.”

[vaguely-concerned]

TF x Graves, 2500 words, complete and utter fluff

Stifling another yawn against the back of my hand I glance over at the window, which shows only the flat dark of a moonless night outside, before turning my eyes back to the line of T.F.’s naked back.

I’m already undressed and perched on the side of the bed, watching as T.F. is still in the middle of his nightly ritual of hanging or folding his fine clothes up all properly and neatly, lest they, I don’t know, unduly crease somewhere they ain’t meant to or somethin’. Listen, I keep my clothes in a pile on the floor by the side of the bed, right next to the shotgun, both within easy reach in the case of a middle-of-the-night emergency skipping of town. Our priorities in these matters don’t really intersect much, but to each his own and so on.

I don’t know why I’m waiting for him to come to bed to lie down myself, exactly — my eyes are already making a spirited attempt at staying shut on me whenever I blink, I’m pretty sure I’d be out and snoring in about three seconds once I got settled — but my skin has that thin restless thrum all through it that I know from experience won’t be satisfied until he’s settled into place against me and besides, the view is nothin’ to sneeze at in the meantime. He stands there shirtless, belt unbuckled and hanging loose around his narrow hips, though the fastenings of his trousers are still done up. In the light of the oil lamp across the room he’s in a rare state of relaxed unselfconscious disarray, his hair grown out long enough again that it spills over his shoulders and down his back while he fastidiously fastens the cufflinks back into place on the empty shirt so they’ll be easy to find in the morning. As he finishes up with the cufflinks he sings to himself under his breath, a good-natured jaunty little tune I vaguely remember the Brick would sometimes break out once you got a couple of drinks in him.

The hum under my skin grows higher and keener.

Stretching an arm out I hook my fingers into one of his belt loops and gently pull him in by it towards the side of the bed, until he’s standing between my legs. It prompts a half-bemused noise from him, but he goes along easily — when I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my forehead against his belly he seems to catch on, though, a sound of amusement vibrating through his chest.

He slides his hand to the back of my neck, twining his fingers into the short hair there, thumb trailing back and forth along the hairline.

T.F.’s too damned scrawny to have much in the way of padding anywhere, but there’s the warm body softness to him here nevertheless, the sweet yield and shift of a living thing whose pliancy belies the supple strength beneath. I rest my cheek against the flat of his stomach and sigh, moving my hand at the small of his back in slow caressing circles.

“Come to bed already,” I murmur, too sleep-softened along the edges to worry overmuch about makin’ sense.

He chuckles, fingers stroking through my hair. “Well, I was on my way, but then I was waylaid by some deplorable fellow in the process. Hell of a thing.”

I grin and turn my face up to him, so that my chin is resting against his belly and my lips brush his skin when I talk. “Huh. Sounds like a real shady character. You want a trustworthy sorta guy to escort you safely the rest of the way?”

“With such dangerous reprobates skulking around in the area, that’s probably for the best,” T.F. nods somberly, fond amusement deepening his voice. He runs his thumb down the bridge of my nose. “Could I afford to hire the services of a strapping upstanding gentleman like yourself, though?”

I make a nonchalant sound in my nose, squeezing him closer against me for a moment. “Eh, don’t worry ‘bout it, this one’s on the house.”

His thumb drifts down to rest at the upturned corner of my mouth as he grins back at me. “Hey, looks like it’s my lucky day.”

I kiss his stomach and lean back enough so I can start in on the fastenings of his trousers — not with any sort of heat behind it, there’s no hint of sex in the air, but in a weird way this is equally satisfying, the everyday-textured contentment of being close without any particular purpose, being the one to slowly render him naked in front of me for no other reason than that he lets me, his hands still smoothing patiently through my hair while I work.

Once I’ve got all the buttons sorted I run my thumb along the sharp edge of his hip bone until I can tuck it into the waist of his trousers and use it to tug them down. We get them about half-way down his thighs like that before we have to pause for him to shimmy out of them the rest of the way on his own, his hand resting on my shoulder for balance as he does the traditional one-legged hop to extricate his foot. Serves him right for only ever wearing pants that might as well have been painted onto him. I mean, not that I’m complainin’, mind.

“Whoa!” he says, laughing as he almost overbalances at the last hurdle, but my hand shoots out to steady him by the hip before too much disaster can be wrought. “Well, not the smoothest strip tease I’ve ever pulled off, sorry about the inconvenience.”

I nose at the newly revealed crease of his hip over the edge of his underwear. “Eh, that’s okay, if I actually wanted a proper show I’d just suggest a round of strip poker again and sit back and watch while you lose.”

“Oh, that’s a strange yet beautiful dream world you’ve made up for yourself there, Malcolm. It’s touching, really, the things the mind will do to protect itself from the truth. Positively — aah!”

T.F. jumps as I draw some of the skin of his hip between my lips and use them to nip sharply at it. His startled yelp turns into a snigger as I let go, possibly ruining the castigating effects somewhat when I brush my lips soothingly over that spot right after.

“Let that be a lesson to ya,” I say sternly.

“A lesson on what, that your mom was apparently half turtle?”

I grunt, still trailing soft kisses over his skin. “That judge in Piltover was right back then, you are an incorrigible menace to all decent and right-thinking people everywhere.”

“First of all, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Malcolm, thank you. Two, including yourself among the ‘decent and right-thinking’ feels like the invention of some fresh new form of fraud by way of imposture unfolding before my eyes, and it’s an honour. And third, that seems to me to be some very selective memory you have there, considering His Honour Judge Highton had some even more colourful words for you after you blew up the entire north wall of the court building breakin’ me out.”

“He might’ve been given to wearing a damn silly mop on his head, but you couldn’t fault him on his vocabulary,” I concede. Before that whole incident I’d honestly thought the wigs were some sort of practical joke the Pilties would play on gullible outsiders, but as it turns out no, if you get sent to jail in the twin cities they add the indignity of makin’ someone wearing a dead badger on their head break the bad news to you. It’s a strange ol’ world out there, alright. In Bilgewater, where people are much more sensible, the justice system basically boils down to the bounty board, or — if you’ve really managed to make a nuisance of yourself — a bunch of captains may call a temporary ceasefire with each other and go get your ass together. I’ve found that the risk of getting on the bad end of an unfair trial is about the same in both places, though of course the Bilgewater one tends to be harder to come back from if carried out to its fullest. I consider myself a bit of an expert in these things.

T.F. makes a thoughtful sound. “To be fair I don’t think anyone had ever given him cause or inspiration for profanity like you did.”

“Aw. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He leans down and kisses the top of my head before he straightens for long enough to work his second foot free as well, standing there in just the sleek silky underpants he somehow seems to have an endless fresh supply of wherever we go. (My money’s on some sinister underground ring of lingerie-oriented tailors across south-eastern Valoran, for the record; when it comes to secret societies the Noxians just can’t help themselves.)

“I do my best. Hang on just one moment, I’ll be right back,” he says and ruffles my hair before he turns around, which I would complain about except that the view is, as previously mentioned, impeccable, and I’m sleepy enough to be magnanimous.

After meticulously folding his trousers and leaving them with the rest of his clothes, T.F. moves over to the table across the room and extinguishes the oil lamp, then whistles under his breath as he produces a card from somewhere — he does this, seemingly from thin air and no matter how little he’s wearing; I prefer not to speculate too much about how, exactly — and lets a little magic into it so it gives off a low glow, only enough to light his way the short walk back across the room, ‘cause in T.F.’s world the stubbing of toes and smacking of shins against unexpected furniture in the dark is somethin’ that happens to other people. That probably says some things about him I’m not ready to go puzzlin’ out at this time of night, and that he wouldn’t want to have anyone go puzzlin’ about too hard in the first place anyway.

When I hold out my hand for him in the dark he smiles and takes it, twining our fingers together, and I use the hold to tug him in and deposit him, in a neat controlled wrestler’s roll held close against me as I lay down, to his side of the bed. He laughs again at that, a surprised delighted sound that edges dangerously close to a giggle but hey, I ain’t no snitch, so who’s gonna testify against him, huh?

The card ends up on the far side of his pillow after the tumble, still giving off a glow, enough to illuminate the bed and lend the shadows around it some warmth. It makes the bed seem a small cozy island, the rest of the world rendered a not-unfriendly ocean of darkness around it.

T.F. looks at me like the world’s most contented castaway, bourgeoning crow’s feet punctuating his smile on either side and fingers still linked with mine. His hair is mussed from the meandering fall onto the bed. If I were only fractionally less about five seconds away from fallin’ asleep, my body might start to get ideas about it. Well, tomorrow is always another day.

With the back of my free hand I brush some of his hair away from his brow, and he cranes into it like a well-pleased cat. Even with the blankets tangled around our feet and the not-quite-right positions we’ve ended up in, having tumbled into place rather than settled ourselves with purpose, everything feels warm and loose and comfortable, like I could fall asleep like this even with the decidedly odd angle my arm is at.

As if sensing that the drowsiness is about to claim me for real, T.F. brings our linked hands up to his face so he can press his lips to my scarred knuckles before he lets go, then reaches to pull the covers over us, taking a moment to tuck the blanket around my shoulder properly before snuggling under it himself, hooking his leg over my thigh as he settles into place. I shift until we fit together, the familiarity of how to rest against each other just right comfortable like an old and well-loved piece of clothing. On a sigh he rests our foreheads together, craning forward the tiny amount needed to brush our mouths together and humming contentedly when I meet him there. It’s a slow kiss, but it lingers, a dry sweet press of lips like one last spark sending the day off down into the gently drifting murk of sleep that’s about to claim me for a few hours.

When it ends — I don’t think either of us was really the first to pull back, at some point the kiss simply, in the way of snowflakes on tongues, melted into something different and less defined with the warmth — there’s a moment when my eyes can still fight against slipping shut. It’s weird, the way you can look at someone every day for years and still not feel like you’ve had your fill. T.F.’s sharp narrow face, his high pointy little cheekbones and mouth still curved with a smile as he watches me back — there’s something to knowing I’m gonna see all that again tomorrow morning that all the damn money on Runeterra couldn’t get you. And take it from me, from what I’ve seen of the world there ain’t a lot of things in this life enough money won’t buy. Stumbling across one of them long before we even knew what we had, by a stroke of little more’n dumb fucking luck… sometimes it feels like the biggest heist we ever pulled.

“Hey, Tobias?” I say, brushing the tip of my nose against his as my eyelids finally give up both the battle and the war and slide closed.

“Hmmm?” he says, cheerfully drowsy as well.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I murmur, because I can’t think of any damn happier thing in the world to say to him.

He wraps his arms around me, his hand stroking meanderingly up and down the scar-crossed span of my back, fingers trailing over my skin with the perfect amount of firmness because he’s taken the time to learn exactly how much pressure it takes to make it comforting. As sleep starts pulling me under to calmer depths I tuck my head under his chin, so my face is pressed to the line of his throat and to his chest. He smells so nice, all warmly real and well-known like my own breathing.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees on a yawn, nuzzling at the top of my head and tightening his arms around me, just for a moment.

I've been trying to write stuff -- literally just anything, no matter how meandering and nonsensical -- to try to break out of a writer's block; it's not really working so far but at least I've got SOMETHING tangible to show for it at the end of the day, so, you know, uh... partial success I guess?? haha

The idea of T.F. having a judge somewhere out there who considers him the One True Nemesis of his career, J. Jonah Jameson style, even though T.F. barely even remembers his name, came from a wonderful conversation with @inversway, and the idea makes me laugh so hard every time I think about it.

ETA: Also put this on AO3, so I have somewhere to put these ficlets that isn't just tumblr! I'm grimly clinging on to this blue hellsite like a obstinate barnacle to the hull of the Titanic, but I do realize it's not the best place to archive uh anything lol

[aion-rsa]

Lucifer Season 6 Episode 8 Review: Save the Devil, Save the World

https://ift.tt/3hobonK

This Lucifer review contains spoilers.

Lucifer Season 6 Episode 8

“This is the worst idea the doctor has ever had.”

It’s the rare episode of Lucifer that moves outside its comfort zone of dead bodies, shady suspects, and puzzling evidence, but “Save the Devil, Save the World” does just that as it hones in on a much bigger problem. The end of the world appears nigh, and no one knows why. 

While the introspective offering ventures into clip-show territory, the past scenes never feel obtrusive, nor do they stand in the way of fresh, new material. It’s fascinating to learn how others see you, and that’s certainly a big part of “Save the Devil, Save the World.” But it’s how we see ourselves that becomes the focal point of Team Lucifer’s reaction to Doctor Linda’s book about their leader. Of course, the greatest revelation is Lucifer’s confession that “I don’t want to be God,” since it opens several narrative doors along the way. Who will take over for Dear Old Dad now that Lucifer has taken his name out of the running, and does this mean that the celestial war was fought for nothing?

It’s not clear whether Linda deliberately brings her manuscript into the open, but it does appear she needs some validation, not only for the work she’s done with Lucifer but the others as well. That it’s only a first draft is made abundantly clear on several occasions, and it’s not surprising that everyone’s eager to dive into the material for a myriad of reasons. 

Read more

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For the most part, I’m not sure we really need all the forays into the past to tell this story, however, where Ella is concerned, these flashbacks paint a compelling tale of the power of faith. “Was it fun for you guys watching me walk around without a clue?” Yes, she’s hurt that the others didn’t feel they could trust her with the truth, nevertheless, Lucifer makes certain she knows she’s never been alone through all her trials. It’s her faith in the absence of proof that warrants admiration even though she still faces serious spiritual doubts. And then there’s the exchange she has with Carol in front of Lux when we know she’s bursting to tell him everything she’s learned. “It’s not my secret to share,” and his reaction reinforces everything we’ve learned about Chloe’s LAPD replacement. He’s a good guy.

In many respects this is Dr. Linda Martin’s story, and it opens with an inexplicable scene in which we see the aftermath of her sexual encounter with an unnamed dude. Though he’s made significant progress in his five years on the couch, Lucifer seems oblivious to what’s going on. More to the point, did something happen between Linda and Amenadiel? Regardless, once her manuscript becomes the focal point of the team’s search for answers, the questions become muddled. Linda wonders what her Hell loop would look like as she dodges accusations and criticisms of her character assessments. There’s no reason to think she hasn’t resolved her guilt related issues with Adriana, so her preoccupation with Hell seems unfounded.

At one time or another, all members of Team Lucifer find their way to Linda’s couch, and while she offers suggestions, answers must come from within. Lucifer, however, takes her decision to withhold the book’s ending as a sign she feels he’ll fail in his quest to become God, and while there doesn’t seem to be any truth to that assessment, it does provide a catalyst for Lucifer’s nuclear family to work through their abandonment issues. 

Read more

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Lucifer Season 6 Episode 4 Review: Pin the Tail on the Daddy

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You have to give credit to Rory because as forsaken as she feels, she’s still willing to give her father another chance. And this time it appears Lucifer may have finally broken through her guarded exterior. In an episode of call backs, allowing Rory to take a shot at her dad, ironically solidifies the family bond. Though she’s not part of the original group, Rory now sees her father in an entirely different light, and while we still don’t learn the circumstances behind Lucifer’s absence during her life, she now knows that he loves her unequivocally. 

Even though we don’t see Eve in this chapter of the story, Mazikeen’s personal and emotional growth continues to shine, and her encounter with Dan stands as one of the episode highlights. Dan still struggles with his current state and remains unable to determine the guilt that prevents him from entering Heaven. “I’m going to torture your ass right into Heaven,” Maze tells him, but even she strikes out in the attempt to learn the source of his subconscious remorse.

It’s easy and understandable that we get caught up in the various characters’ angst driven reactions to passages in Linda’s manuscript, but Ella seems to be the only one truly focused on the coming apocalypse. With one of the snappier lines in the episode, Lucifer notes that Dad “probably thinks the apocalypse is a teachable moment,” but we also have to question how seriously he’s taking the situation. Still, it’s Ella’s insistence that ecological and environmental changes seem to presage the end of the world scenario that she describes and make for a nice piece of relatively unobtrusive social commentary.  

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

As we head into the final few episodes of Lucifer, an apocalyptic scenario looms overhead, leading viewers to finally get serious regarding the series’ conclusion. Nod to Heroes aside, someone needs to take charge, save the world, and ascend to God’s throne. A classic setup episode, “Save the Devil, Save the World” arranges the pieces on the board, and now that Amenadiel has returned with an answer, it won’t be long until the end of the series. 

The post Lucifer Season 6 Episode 8 Review: Save the Devil, Save the World appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/393i4U2

[kbstories]

So, I finished The Wild Hunt and whoo boy the ending just got me thinking all over again, here’s another fic.......

In The Embers

Tags: Geralt & Lambert & Eskel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst With A Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Family Bonding, aka the Wolf Bros are good bros, Lambert POV

Thanks again to my beta @aergos!!

>> Read on AO3

“Mister witcher, sir!”

At first Lambert thinks it the beginning of the usual insults thrown his way. He doesn't pause for it, mounts his horse in one swift move, his hand clenched to a fist around the reins. No matter how much time passes, the omnipresent hatred for his mere existence gets marginally easier to bear–

A boy jumps in his way, practically in front of his horse's hooves, and only a call of “Aiden, halt!” prevents him from eating dirt.

“Hey, watch where you're–”

“Sir”, the other persists, determined now that he has the witcher's attention, and Lambert squints at his gangly limbs and the patchy fuzz on his chin. Not quite a boy, then, and courageous at that.

Still. He almost gave Aiden a heart attack and Lambert is in no mood to look for a new horse or to entertain some peasant kid, for that matter. “What do you want? If it's monster trouble, post a damn note, I'm busy.”

The boy doesn't move an inch, despite Lambert's best glare. His hands are shaking, though, as he roots through his bag for something. Finally, a crinkled envelope is held out to him.

“'s a letter, sir, from Novigrad. Sent by a bard named–“

“Give me that.”

Lambert snatches it away before the kid can react. Brow furrowed, he confirms it's from Dandelion; there's a suspicious lack of decor to it, however. “And you're sure you got the right witcher?”

“Absolutely certain, sir”, says the boy. “Was told to look for black hair and scars and a sour face a-and, um...”

Definitely less courageous now, with his features pale as the moon, and Lambert finds some mercy in him after all. He waves him closer, gives him some coin for a warm meal and some mead, if he strikes a good deal. He'll manage. Seems like the clever sort.

Dandelion, however... Regardless of what this is about, the witcher will have his revenge. Sour face, hah. He hasn't even seen Lambert angry.

Coins in hand, the boy practically leaps away with a hasty bow in Lambert's general direction. Clearly unused to his kind, if his first instinct is to treat him like a knight.

Lambert chews on that for a moment before making quick work of the envelope. Worry makes itself known in the back of his mind. If Dandelion went through the trouble of tracking him down, then–

The paper is clumsily folded, and stinks of fear. No, stress. Concern. Not good – Lambert's heart pounds faster. He skips the greeting, skims the hastily written words and–

Ciri is dead.

Lambert reads it, and then reads it again, eyes going wide as their meaning sinks in. His thoughts, frozen in a brief instant of shock, fly in all directions at once.

A tug of reins makes Aiden turn sharply, the press of Lambert's heels at his side urgent; and Lambert doesn't notice the wind whipping through his hair or how the world goes blurry around the edges.

Geralt, he thinks, and pushes on ever faster.

*

It feels like years until the forest around him turns familiar, deeply so, and the witcher turns to the rapidly approaching mountain range for orientation.

Nevertheless the last leg of his journey goes by in a flash; the shadows grow longer under the setting sun, and soon Kaer Morhen towers over him, its high walls taking the last light with it. On any other day, Lambert would've stopped and stared, would've given himself a minute or two to take in the sight of the crumbling keep once more.

He doesn't, however. The tense coil wrapped around his heart won't allow it, the storm swirling in his mind rendering any focus other than finding Geralt impossible, and finally Lambert understands.

There's no doubt his eyes carry the same hunted look he had, that time they met in Novigrad. No wonder Geralt had pushed himself and even his beloved Roach to her limits in his search – uncertainty is it's own kind of torture, and even the strongest might break under the weight of what if.

Lambert actively stops himself from reaching for the letter again. He knows it by memory now, not that it contained much to begin with:

Ciri, gone. Geralt, missing without a trace.

His fame and relative sociability belies his skill to remain in the shadows if he so wishes – and once a witcher of Geralt's caliber decides to disappear, there's not much to be done. Contacting Lambert had been Dandelion's last resort, but even he couldn't pick up a single solid lead on the White Wolf.

Yet Lambert refuses to let him go like he did Aiden, hell, even Vesemir; turning his back after everything was said and done felt natural then, it's what the Path demanded of him. Never attached, never sticking around... But something about Geralt makes him want to try, that same fire he showed for Ciri burning within him, too.

They're family, not by blood but by choice, and he'll be damned if he fails him like he failed the others.

Thus Lambert doesn't hesitate, and he doesn't cower under Kaer Morhen's heavy gates. Something – his senses, or maybe a rare bout of optimism – tells him this old keep isn't abandoned just yet.

Maybe fate is on his side, this time.

*

The first lit lantern inside the ramparts proves his hunch right, and it's not hard to guess who ignited it when he brings Aiden to the stables and finds two other horses in their respective boxes.

Lambert recognizes Scorpion easily enough – there's only few mounts black as night, and hours of listening to Eskel's equivalent of swooning made sure he won't forget it – and Roach is curious as ever, gently bumping her nose against Lambert's shoulder.

“'fraid I got nothing”, he murmurs and rubs the white spot between her eyes, glancing her over. Small cuts and scrapes interrupt the white markings on her legs. Nothing too grave, though.

“Had a rough journey, hm? Good girl. Things're gonna be okay, you'll see.”

Even the hardened heart of a witcher can't resist the concentrated effort of all three horses to plead with their eyes; Lambert sighs, hunts down some hay that's safe to feed amongst all the moldy bales left behind after the battle.

It's the least they deserve for their hard work.

Leaving them and their contented munching behind, the few stone steps to the keep's entrance are quickly climbed. Suddenly, the wolf medallion around Lambert's neck stirs: a gentle hum at first, barely noticeable through the thick layers of his armor, yet the closer he gets, the stronger it vibrates.

Magic? Lambert's hand goes to his silver sword by instinct, his enhanced senses picking up some movement–

“Drawing your sword on me? Not the warm welcome I expected.”

Amber eyes flash in the dark, the faint moonlight catching on pale skin and the clawed scars marring it. “Stop creeping in the shadows like a damn ekimmara and I might reconsider”, Lambert huffs, nonetheless sheathing his sword.

“I see you beat me here, Eskel.”

They shake hands, Eskel's crooked smile a little smug. Lambert lets him have it. Just being around the older witcher soothes some of the restlessness inside him – there's little in the world that can break Eskel's calm nature, and out of anyone, he's the one who's known Geralt the longest.

All too soon, the warm feeling of seeing a friendly face runs cold; Lambert nods to the closed door, “Is he...?”, and watches the other closely as his expression notably dims.

“Mh. Can't say I recommend going in there, though.”

Eskel exhales slowly, sitting down on a piece of broken masonry. The way he carries himself is... defeated, almost, similar to the last time they parted after Vesemir's pyre had burned down to embers.

The sudden weight on his chest denies Lambert a proper breath. “That bad, huh? Shit.” He shakes his head, rubs his neck. For a moment, the rasp of his beard against the worn leather of his gloves is the only sound. Then:

“I just hoped–“

“Yeah. Me too.”

More silence. His medallion is still trembling, so too is Eskel's – and after weeks of travel and hundreds of miles crossed, waiting even for a second longer is the last thing Lambert feels like doing. Frustration seethes within him, making him pace with his eyes fixed on the keep.

Finally, he can't take it anymore. Hissing “Fuck this” under his breath, Lambert is half-way past Eskel when a strong grip wraps around his wrist.

“Lambert.”

“What?!”, he snaps back, tense under the other's unexpected touch. “We can't sit around and leave him–“

“You're right.” Eskel's eyes seek his, gaze steady and yet soft with concern as he lets him go. “Just... Be careful. Geralt– I've never seen him like this.”

The anger leaves Lambert in an instant; he nods, hesitating before he briefly rests his hand on Eskel's shoulder and squeezes. Then he's past him, only the cracked wood of the door stands between him and Geralt.

Lambert steels himself and opens it.

Darkness surrounds him the moment he steps inside. The dull light from outside barely spills past the threshold, but it's the near-oppressive presence of magic hitting his senses like a physical punch that staggers him: even the very air tastes of it, and Lambert's unease grows.

“Geralt?”

His voice carries far within the keep's stone walls, but no answer arises. Great. Eskel's warning fresh in his mind, Lambert ventures into the darkened room like he would a monster's lair – with his senses on high alert and ready to cast the Quen sign if need be.

Despite the years and decades since his training, Kaer Morhen's halls remain fundamentally the same; any witcher raised here could walk them blindly, and finding a candelabra that works is merely a matter of trial and error. A few candles ignite on Lambert's command, their timid flames reaching towards the center–

He catches a flash of white before his medallion lurches and something comes flying towards him. Lambert's fingers move without conscious thought; the golden glow of Quen lasts but a split second before it's shattered again and the crash of splintering wood sounds behind him.

Lambert doesn't take his eyes off his target though, even if his lips pull into a joyless smirk. “Did you just throw a table at me?”, he says, letting some indignation slip into his voice. “That what you did to Eskel, too? Poor guy's not faring well out in the doghouse, Geralt.”

The icy glare from across the room makes him reconsider not drawing his sword. “Leave”, Geralt growls. It's pretty clear it's not a suggestion.

Lambert hums, eyeing the surrounding destruction, then the witcher who caused it in barely-there glances. His chest is bare and practically dripping with sweat, hair wild, muscles taut, trembling with exertion. Geralt's been at it a while, it seems.

Not good at all.

“Nah. Just got here an' it's cold as balls outside. If you want to toss around some more furniture, I suggest the chair to your right. Still in one piece, that's a plus.”

Step by small step, he forces his stride to be casual as he approaches – Geralt's eyes never leave him, pupils narrowed to thin, angry slits, and Lambert doesn't miss the positioning of his arm, ready to strike again.

“Look. I get it, company's probably the last thing you want right now but–“

Maybe it's his calming tone of voice, or the placating show of hands; Geralt grinds his teeth hard enough Lambert can hear it, the chair goes flying, Lambert's countering Aard push only doing so much in blocking the blow.

Sheer wind pressure knocks him back, flattens him against a pillar, and for a moment Lambert sees stars as all the air in his lungs is pressed out in one strangled breath. Blinking away the dark spots, he can only pant in a desperate attempt to get oxygen back into his body.

Somewhere behind his unresponsive lungs, the witcher's pulse starts to race. Shit shit shit. If Geralt's serious about this – and by the way he's stalking closer, he is – there's no way Lambert's living through this. Just the thought of fighting his friend, his brother, with all he has makes his stomach churn.

Lambert holds out his hand. “Geralt–“

“That's enough!”

Like thunderclap, the words seems to freeze time itself for the blink of an eye. Lambert barely recognizes Eskel underneath the absolute wrath in his voice, and before Geralt can as much as turn around, a blast of Aard blows him clean off his feet and into some debris behind him.

The sight of Eskel's back in front of him makes that remnant of fear, that small part of him that is still scared of loud voices and fisted hands deep inside ease, and Lambert can breathe again. “Eskel, stop”, he rasps. “I'm alright, he didn't–“

“He intended to, that's reason enough.”

Somewhere ahead, the rustling of moving rubble goes ignored by Eskel who helps the younger witcher to his feet. “Smacked that pillar pretty hard”, he mutters, anger replaced by worry; Lambert pushes him away.

“'m fine, head's fine, ribs're fine, get out of my face.”

Even now, that petulant tone draws a fond look from Eskel, however brief. “Alright, you're snapping at me, we're good. Geralt?”

He doesn't raise his voice, there's no need to: the third and last Wolf is standing a few paces away, expression unreadable yet Lambert doesn't miss the short glance his way. “Could've pulled that punch a little”, says Geralt at last, without the usual dryness or humor.

Eskel shrugs. “Payback's a bitch and you deserved it. Wolf school witchers kicked out of Kaer Morhen by one of their own – Vesemir would have our heads, no matter the reason.”

There's more than a little venom in Geralt's hissed “Vesemir's dead”, and it's in that moment that Lambert steps between them, pushing them apart.

“Okay, that's the line. Let's all just shut up, get our shit, pool whatever booze we have and drink till we forget this ever happened. Deal? Good. Eskel, with me.”

He doesn't check for Eskel's or Geralt's reaction; instead, Lambert walks out with measured strides, eyes closing in relief when another, heavier gait soon follows.

They don't talk while they gather their many packs, weapons and saddle bags, even though there's a lot to be said about... whatever the blazes that was: first and foremost, how it's possible that Lambert is the rational one in all this – but he watches Eskel forcefully grab his gear to head inside, expression cold and eyes distant, and thinks that Kaer Morhen might've stayed the same but they haven't, and maybe, time has changed them more than they want to admit.

If only Vesemir wasn't–

Lambert sighs quietly to himself.

Yeah, if only.

>> Read on AO3

[lj-writes]

Finn’s disobedience and defection: Parallels to real-life resistance against Nazi Germany

Finn's resistance against the First Order, both from within as a Stormtrooper and later as a Resistance fighter, reflect and parallel real-life dissent and resistance against fascism. This post will discuss some of those parallels.

I will confine my discussion of historical precedents to Europe in World War 2, partly because the First Order itself draws from Nazi imagery and history and, as @attackfish has pointed out, The Force Awakens uses Holocaust motifs quite effectively in depicting the First Order’s crimes. Another reason is that Finn’s actions in combination have the distinctive characteristics of resistance both from within and outside of Germany during World War 2.

The three main parallels in Finn’s actions to historical resistance are as follow: Conscientious objection to a criminal order, the rescue of a pilot from enemy territory, and direct action to rescue a prisoner. Below I will discuss each of these categories in more detail and end with a coda on parallels to German defectors who took up arms against the Nazis.

1. I wasn’t going to kill for them: Conscientious disobedience

Finn’s resistance (small “r”) to the First Order began the moment he refused to, or could not bring himself to, participate in the murder of civilian prisoners. This one act of conscience was the spark that would lit the fire of open defiance.

While there have always been courageous individuals who refused to go along with the crimes of an unjust regime, Finn’s choice here has particular resonance with a few German soldiers’ refusal to carry out atrocities. For one thing, as attackfish discussed, the extermination of the village is a direct parallel to the actions of the SS paramilitary death squads who committed mass murders of Jewish and Rromani populations.

Secondly, Finn did not give a reason for his refusal, but this fits the profile for a sizable number of documented refusals in Nazi Germany. Our first vision of a brave objector may be someone who gives an impassioned speech about the immorality of killing, and the lack of such a speech may be a contributing factor in accusations that Finn is a coward or a traitor rather than an principled objector. However, this image of the articulate speechmaker actually fits the profile of less than half of documented German objectors during WW2.

This finding appears in a 1988 case study of 85 documented objectors by David Kitterman (”Those Who Said ‘No!’: Germans Who Refused to Execute Civilians during World War II”), which discusses the circumstances of these refusals and their consequences. According to this study fewer than half (44.7%) of the objectors gave reasons of conscience (humanistic, religious, moral) or said they regarded the order as illegal. A greater number, around half the total (48.2%), gave no reason at all.

Finn clearly falls into the non-demonstrative camp of objectors. Given his heavily traumatized state at the time, I don’t think he could have put his reasons in words if asked. This silence does not render his decision not to kill for the First Order any less valid or real. Can anyone say that his hesitant lowering of the rifle is any less eloquent than an impassioned speech?

Speaking of trauma, a third parallel between Finn and the German objectors is that there were heavy mental health consequences for committing atrocities on civilians and prisoners, and some objectors cited these consequences for their refusal to participate or to let their men participate: 8.2% of the objectors Kitterman studied, or 7 out of 85, cited emotional disturbance in themselves or the men in their command as a reason for their refusal.

They had good grounds for their concerns. The Einsatzgruppen, the mobile death squads who carried out these village-by-village mass killings in person, had noticeably higher rates of suicide, alcoholism, and desertion compared to other SS units. The use of poisonous gas to murder large numbers of people was pioneered in part to take the psychological burden of face-to-face killing off the soldiers.

I suspect that a significant number of the silent objectors in Kitterman’s study who gave no reason for their refusal were also motivated by the desire to avoid such trauma. I believe Finn, similarly, refused to murder the prisoners in large part because of his trauma. He had just watched a man he knew die, and could not bear to re-traumatize himself by participating in an atrocity.

Finn’s possible desire to protect his psyche is not mutually exclusive with morality, in fact it is our morality that makes us suffer for the wrongs we commit. Finn, in refusing to be a murderer, was also sparing his wounded mind. If you want to see someone who took the opposite path look no further than Kylo Ren, who likely suffers from perpetration-induced traumatic stress (PITS).

A fourth parallel is the method used to refuse the unlawful order. Over half (56.4%) of the people Kitterman studied simply refused with no other method in the record, while others used creative tactics including complaining up the chain of command, requesting a written judgment, and, my favorite, “feign[ing] madness.” Class and rank play a role, with the officers by and large using the more successful tactics of appealing to bureaucratic and legal mechanisms. Kitterman himself notes that officers represented 67.1% of successful objectors.

Finn’s act of refusal shown in the final theatrical release falls under outright refusal with no tactics to protect himself with, which in part reflects his status as part of the rank-and-file instead of an officer with knowledge of and power within the hierarchy. It may also be reflective of his shaken state, since if there is one thing we know about Finn it’s that he is not lacking in tactical skill.

Interestingly, another of Finn’s actions in a deleted scene parallels a refusal tactic successfully used by enlisted men in the field, namely evasion. Objectors “hid behind wagons or trucks which had brought Jews and others to places of execution in order not to be detailed to the firing squads. Some threw away or ‘lost’ their weapons, or continually shot wild, deliberately missing an old man in a ditch for instance, or overlooked women and children hiding from the search details.” (Emphasis added)

[Image description: At the village on Jakku, Finn lowers his gun and lets a woman (possibly holding a child?) run away]

The fifth parallel has to do with the consequence suffered, or not suffered, for refusing unlawful orders. Contrary to popular wisdom, there is no documented case of Germans who refused illegal orders being executed. In Kitterman’s study over half, 57.6%, of objectors suffered no negative consequences at all and some were later promoted. The most common negative consequence, at 17.6%, were threats of negative consequences such as being sent to the front or a concentration camp, which were never carried out. The next most common negative consequence (16.5%), if it can be called that, was transfer to another unit or back to Germany, which in some cases led to promotions. Other consequences including demotion, removal from position, transfer to combat units, or being compelled to aid the murders in some less central way such as being a driver or digging graves, were all in the single digit percentages.

Only one person out of the 85 studied by Kitterman was sent to concentration camp. This was Dr. jur. Nikolaus Hornig, a jurist, police officer, and Wehrmacht officer, and the records indicate his true crime was not refusing to execute 780 Russian prisoners. Rather, the trial focused on his act of calling together his officers and men to share his reasons for refusing and giving them the legal knowledge to refuse as well. As a result, his men also declined to participate in the execution. Educating his men, Kitterman writes, was the true offense that sent Dr. Hornig to concentration camp. (Don’t feel too sorry for him, by the way. He was treated with the respect due to an officer while in captivity and was even paid until the end of the war.)

From these contrasts you can see that individual refusals were not that great a threat to the Nazi extermination machine, since replacements could always be found. Education and organization against these state crimes , on the other hand, were deadly offenses that could bring down the whole apparatus, not to mention the regime.

Also, it bears repeating, there is not one documented and verified case of a German being killed for refusing an order to commit murder. (I am not including non-Germans in the German occupied territories, who were treated considerably more harshly.) The case of Josef Schulz, allegedly killed for refusing to participate in a partisan execution, was debunked as a myth. And this was in the context of the German legal system during World War 2 which handed down execution sentence for almost 40,000 of its citizens, up to 15,000 of them soldiers, for offenses as minor as making jokes.

In keeping with those who refused unlawful orders, Finn’s planned punishment was not death but reeducation, as stated by Phasma.

[Image description: Phasma informs Hux who is reviewing Finn’s files, “FN-2187 reported to my division, was evaluated and sent to reconditioning.”]

This is an apt parallel to the way German military objectors were treated under the Nazi regime. Finn, while he certainly did not enjoy full freedom nor even have the dubious protections of German citizens under a fascist government, was nevertheless a valuable tool and a considerable investment in the First Order’s eyes. The tie-in materials make it clear he was an exemplary cadet other than his troublesome empathy. If he could be “convinced” to be suitably ruthless and obedient there was no need to liquidate him for a first offense.

This also means that Finn was not running for his life when he defected from the organization that had kidnapped and enslaved him. In fact he was willingly risking his life to get away from the First Order. It would not in any way reflect poorly on him if he feared for his safety, but in truth he was running into physical danger rather than away from it. He was following through on his decision, as later confessed to Rey, not to kill for the First Order.

This brings us to the next historical parallel in Finn’s story, this time to capital-R Resistance.

2. Because it’s the right thing to do: A pilot takes flight

By Resistance in the historical sense, not in the Star Wars sense, I mean organized struggle against the German occupation in German-held territories during World War 2. You may know that a significant portion of historical Resistance activity involved the rescue of Allied pilots, who were often shot down in enemy territory and were extremely valuable, highly-trained personnel, and were at risk of capture, torture, and execution.

We see two of these three consequences, capture and torture, already befall Poe Dameron by the time Finn sets his rescue in motion. Poe was on an information gathering mission outside Resistance and Republic territory and was captured when it was overrun by First Order forces. He was then tortured for information. According to the novelization Poe fully expected that the third and final consequence, execution, was in order for him when Finn marched him out of his cell, and I can’t be the only one who had the same harrowing thought when watching that scene.

There is one major contrast between Finn’s rescue of Poe and the historical Resistance’s rescue of pilots: Poe was already captured when Finn got a hold of him, while the Resistance in Europe generally helped pilots evade capture. This fact also gives the rescue plot the characteristics of direct action to rescue prisoners and of prison escapes, as discussed below,

There is also one crucial similarity to the WWII Resistance’s rescue of pilots in that Finn had to guide Poe across unfamiliar and hostile territory--the First Order’s star destroyer, in this case--using his local knowledge and affiliation. This was similar to the way the Allied pilots rescued by the real-world Resistance relied on the Resistance operatives’ linguistic, cultural, geographical,  social, and other knowledge in order to pass safely through German-held territory.

It is unlikely that Poe, short of stealing a uniform like Luke and Han did in A New Hope, could have made it to the hangar. He would have been instantly recognized as a prisoner. Even if he had managed to steal a uniform he would have had to know how to respond to Stormtroopers who hailed him, or he would have had to evade detection while trying to find the hangar bay.

This parallels the way most American and British pilots on their own in occupied France would have been noticeable for their inability to speak the local language and their lack of identification documents. Like them, Poe was at a serious disadvantage and likely would not have made it to the hangar bay without Finn posing as his jailer and giving him cover in plain sight.

Due to the difficulties involved in getting Allied personnel through hostile territory, cooperation was crucial to the effort. A functional Resistance required a network of people to provide safe houses, act as go-betweens, procure forged documents, and more. This was also frequently how the occupation authorities brought down Resistance cells, by inserting moles into the operations or turning individual members.

We see this precarious dynamic on a small scale between Finn and Poe. Both of them desperately need each other to escape, but Poe is unsure at first if he can trust Finn. Why would a Stormtrooper put everything on the line to help him? I have analyzed Finn and Poe’s first interactions and won’t repeat that post here, but Poe does in fact gain a measure of trust in Finn and treat him as a comrade, explaining his mission and giving crucial information about BB-8. Their mutual trust and friendship in the face of the First Order’s terror is a great parallel to the way members of the historical Resistance worked together despite the risks.

This development, incidentally, is fully in keeping with the kind of character Poe Dameron is. Poe’s strength and vulnerability lie in his willingness to put his trust in others, something that his comic book series explores in depth. He is remarkable for not being the lone hero type, going in guns blazing; his style is to talk to people, gain their trust, and rely on his team. That’s what makes him so effective as an intelligence officer and as a leader. His interaction with Finn is consistent with the emphasis his story puts on trust, camaraderie, and teamwork.

That teamwork was about to be put to the test, of course, because Finn and Poe still had a First Order star destroyer to break out of. That brings us to the third historical parallel.

3. This is a rescue: Prison break by combat and flight

Due to the nature of where he was, a star destroyer in space, Finn needed the services of a pilot and there just happened to be one on hand. This made his defection a rescue mission and prison break as well.

This aspect of his resistance also has plenty of historical precedence. The rescue of captured combatants and civilians is a staple in situations of occupation and war, and World War 2 is no exception, with events ranging from mass escapes from POW camps to the rescue of, and uprisings by, Jewish and Rromani civilians.

One act of prisoner rescue from this era that closely parallels Poe’s rescue by Finn is Operation Arsenal (1943) in German-occupied Poland, a mission conducted by Polish paramilitary scouts Szare Szeregi (Grey Ranks)--their first mission, in fact. A troop leader, Jan Bytnar, was arrested by the Gestapo on March 23. Three days later, 28 scouts attacked a German convoy in front of the Warsaw Arsenal, rescuing Bytnar and 24 other prisoners.

Unfortunately Bytnar died four days after his rescue on March 30 due to injuries sustained from the extremely brutal torture he had been subjected to while in Nazi custody. His torturers were both assassinated within two months by the scouts. Poe’s rescue had a much happier ending, but if he had stayed any longer or a different Stormtrooper had taken him out of his cell who knows what might have happened.

Another World War 2 era prison break that has similarities to Finn and Poe’s escape is the so-called Delousing Break, where British and U.S. POWs attempted to flee the Stalag Luft III Camp in Germany where they were imprisoned. It gets its memorable name from its plan: 24 prisoners, escorted by two fake guards who were actually prisoners dressed as guards, left the camp for another facility to be deloused and then made a run for it.

The escape attempt failed and all 26 prisoners were recaptured, but the fake guard who is secretly helping the prisoner is a situation similar to Finn’s, though the difference is that Finn was a defecting Stormtrooper rather than a prisoner dressed as one. Given that he was an abductee, of course, you could argue that he was actually a prisoner as well.

There is more to the Delousing Break that parallels Finn and Poe’s story. Two of the recaptured prisoners, Flight Lieutenant Lorne Welch and Pilot Officer Walter Morison, were sent to a different prison, Oflag IV-C at Colditz, because they had attempted while on the lam to steal a German aircraft in their fake German uniforms. Welch, who was an engineer as well as a pilot, would go on to build a glider while at Colditz to try and escape. (He couldn’t make it fly, though.)

Finn and Poe’s aerial escape also has a more successful precedent. The American pilot Bob Hoover, shot down over Southern France, was taken prisoner and spent 16 months as a POW at Stalag Luft I. He ran across an unguarded airfield, which was holding planes being stripped for parts, while a staged fight among prisoners distracted the guards. He found the one plane in flying condition and successfully escaped by flying to the Netherlands. Which was a much better plan than flying to Jakku, incidentally.

4. I’m with the Resistance: The fight and Finn’s continuing story

After Finn was separated from Poe on Jakku his path would gravitate toward the Resistance despite his desire to leave the fight altogether. In becoming more active in his resistance he parallels the many Germans who actively resisted the Nazis instead of quietly complying with, or even passively resisting, unlawful orders.

As discussed above in Section 1, the Nazi regime did not consider a simple refusal to obey an unlawful order to be an existential threat, and neither did the First Order. Educating, organizing, and taking up arms, on the other hand? That was another story. According to one estimate the Nazis killed some 77,000 German citizens for some form of resistance, from civil to religious to military.

There was also armed resistance from Germans from outside Germany, defectors who volunteered to fight with Allied forces. In the British armed forces alone there were over 10,000 Germans and Austrians, some of them former concentration camp inmates who had escaped, who joined to fight Hitler’s Germany and liberate Europe.

Finn's defection from the First Order and affiliation--formal or not--with the Resistance, of course, bear strong similarities to these defectors who escaped Nazi Germany and joined the regime’s enemies as combatants. Given that the vast majority, some 85-90%, of  these German and Austrian volunteers were Jewish, Finn’s story resonates with @luminousfinn‘s thoughts on Finn as a Jewish hero as well.

These German and Austrian volunteers were in grave danger of torture and execution if caught by the Nazis; similarly, the tagret the First Order painted on Finn’s back must be bigger than ever now that Finn not only escaped in a spectacular fashion but went back into the very heart of their power to defeat them in a humiliating way. He is now a bigger threat to them than he ever was as a Stormtrooper who could not bring himself to shoot unarmed prisoners.

If the original refusal to commit an inhumane act was the seed of Finn’s defiance, it since grew and flowered into open confrontation. According to comments by John Boyega he will have some internal conflict whether to stay and fight or leave the fight altogether, which is entirely reasonable.

Whatever ultimately motivates Finn to take the final leap and fully commit himself to fighting the First Order, his journey would have begun with the simple yet not at all easy decision not to participate in evil, as began the journey of the many courageous people in our own world who gave themselves to the fight for freedom and humanity.

Reblogged version with links to external sources (because tunglr is ridiculous)

[mensbodybuildingtips]

Supplement Information Articles: Fish Oil-Just The Facts

Fish Oil: Simply The Facts- Composed By Alan Aragon

The Dawn of Fat Phobia

If you have a few years under your belt, after that you can still remember what I call the "Fat-Free 80's." Reflect to a time when nutritional fat was the adversary. Ah, yes ... A time when fat-free line of product the external racks of the supermarket. A time when it was not a bad point to obtain a box of Entemann's cinnamon rolls, as long as they were the FAT-FREE cinnamon rolls.

Health Valley made some positively disgusting fat-free cookies, together with a host of various other fat-free products that tasted like sugary cardboard. And also we can't fail to remember the 75% sugar weight gainer products, those were invaluable. 1,000, 2000, 4,000 calories each offering, and all you needed to do was mix about a mug of powder right into your much-loved beverage. No fears though, these gainers were practically fat-free! Just what we were converted was that fat-free items corresponded to fat-free figures. That was far from the truth.

During the 1980's, a disturbing climb in national excessive weight rates occurred, and progressively kept its course.

Large behavioral fad research studies such as the National Health and Nourishment Assessment Research study (NHANES II as well as III), the Behavior Risk Variable Surveillance System (BRFSS), and the Calorie Control Council Record (CCCR) collectively revealed a 31% rise in overweight prevalence from 1976-1991. The punch line?

This boost in weight was accompanied by an 11% reduction in portion of calories from fat (from 41.0% to 36.6%). The most recent report by the BRFSS reveals an additional decline in fat intake to 33%, come with by an increase in excessive weight from 11.6% to 22.1%. This is a 90.5% rise in United States obesity from 1990-2002 [1]

It's apparent that nutritional fat is not the evil culprit in the development of the population's waistline.

A Brief Advancement of Our Knowledge of Fats

As indicated by the fat-free product boom a number of years back, there certainly was the widespread idea that fats were a substance to be reduced, or avoided completely. With the forward march of research, we came to comprehend that various fats had different impacts on health.

Since it's human nature to think in black as well as white terms, the excellent divide initially fell in between saturated (SFA) as well as mono- or polyunsaturated fatty acids (MUFA and also PUFA). SFA were believed to be the root of all bad, raising pictures of arterial plaque as well as ultimate cardiac arrest, while unsaturated fat was considered a widely angelic substance. This ended up being a gross oversimplification of reality.

The intricacies as well as commonly varying resources as well as subtypes of SFA is an additional short article completely, but suffice it to state that it's not that simple to pigeonhole them as harmful. SFA are not created equal. They have significantly variable physical effects from the harmful completely to the helpful. Provided this, it relies on which ones you desire throw onto the theoretical slicing block.

Stearic acid, an SFA abundant in meat and also milk fat, has been regularly observed to actually minimize blood platelet aggregation [2] This is a good idea. On the other hand, trans fats (found in high concentrations in readily baked products in addition to processed and also fried foods) have actually been observed to negatively influence blood lipids by not just lowering HDL, but raising LDL too [3]

Ironically, speculative research exists on healthy humans revealing the least fat was oxidized on the MUFA fat nutritional therapy, and also the most fat oxidized on a trans fat diet [4] This result mirrors exactly what's been seen in rats. It appears that the tighter the control of the study, the much less "exceptional" unsaturated fats end up being for any assumed impact on body composition compared with SFA. Toss in that a minimizing SFA intake as well as enhancing the degree of unsaturation of fats in the diet plan reduces testosterone levels [5], then you have yet another crease in the mix to worry yourself with.

Then you have medium-chain triacylglycerols (MCT), which are SFAs that display physiological actions that's closer to carbohydrate than fat. MCT has actually been hyped to fatality by those that offer it. But the factor is that they are a kind of SFA that might potentially have minor benefits on body composition.

I directly would not invest a dime on them, however they nevertheless illustrate the reality that SFAs are a complex as well as extremely differed team of substances in terms of physiological impact. As always, the results of each kind of fat most certainly vary with the populace concerned, along with specific response.

Finally, with the black as well as white misconception of saturated versus unsaturated fats off the beaten track, we can currently shift the concentrate on fish oils, which take place to be an abundant source of a particular class of fatty acids under intense study, the omega 3's.

Enter The Omega-3 Fatty Acids

Omega-3 fatty acids are crucial for normal growth and also growth, however are kept in mind specifically for their powerful influence over several physiological processes. Alpha-linolenic acid (ALA), one of both crucial fats (EFA) that the body can not biosynthesize and also have to obtain from the diet plan, is an omega-3.

EFA are precursors to a course of naturally considerable compounds called eicosanoids, which consist of prostaglandins, leukotrienes, and thromboxanes. Eicosapentanoic acid (EPA) and docosahexanoic acid (DHA) could be acquired from fish oil, and to a lower degree, flaxseed oil. Usage of EPA and also DHA has a significant variety of favorable wellness impacts, consisting of declines in blood platelet aggregation, decreased blood stress, improvement of smooth muscle mass feature, lowered inflammation, relief of dyslipidema, and treatment of state of mind conditions [6-9] There's even arising evidence indicating the benefits of omega-3 fats on bone wellness [10]

Archaeological study postulates that people were naturally designed to flourish on a diet regimen whose proportion of omega-6 to omega-3 fatty acids was roughly 1:1, as well as not likely higher than 4:1. Today, consumption of n-6 to n-3 fatty acids is estimated at about 25:1 [11] This is due partially to a control of omega-6 oils available readily in our food supply (corn oil, sunflower oil, safflower oil, refined packaged grain products as well as breads) and a relative minority of omega-3 resources (fatty aquatic fish such as salmon, mackerel, herring, and also flaxseed oil, walnuts, and tiny amounts in canola oil).

Industrial production of omega-6-rich animal feeds has also caused animal cells (livestock, eggs, and cultured fish) rich in omega-6 as well as bad in omega-3 fatty acids. This overmuch high intake of omega 6's predispositions our physiology in the direction of thrombosis, hyperlipidemia, and vasoconstriction.

The opposite of those impacts takes place just by boosting the proportion of omega-3's.

Fish Oil as a Weight loss Supplement?

So far, the return to of fish oil's health effects is very extensive. However can it add weight loss to the listing as well? The buzz in the supplement market would certainly desire customers to believe so. As always, the response can just start to reveal itself in the research. Human studies examining the effect of fish oil supplementation on body make-up are limited, however that makes it easy to choose them apart.

A decade earlier, Couet and also colleagues examined the effect of changing 6g of visible nutritional fat with 6g of fish oil in healthy and balanced grownups over a 3-week period, done 12 weeks after a 3-week control diet plan duration [12] Bodyfat mass as well as respiratory ratio reduced in the fish oil stage. It is essential to keep in mind that the problems in this research's layout are major sufficient to nearly totally revoke it.

Extremely small example size (6 subjects complete), brief trial duration (3 weeks), and a complete lack of randomization or therapy balance (opening the unique opportunity for seasonal variation, among other mistakes) are the major fatal knocks that render this information nearly useless.

In contrast, 2 even more current research studies carried out within the past 3 years taking a look at weight-loss diets supplemented with omega-3's have not observed any substantial impacts on body make-up past exactly what was triggered by nutritional limitation alone [13,14]

But it's never that straightforward, given that things might differ according to the population and protocol.

In contrast to the previous 2 trials, Kunesova's team took a look at the effects of omega-3 supplements on seriously obese female inpatients going through a 3-week extremely low calorie (525 kcal) in-patient weight reduction therapy [15] Calories were controlled to accommodate the additional omega-3, which was 2.8 g/day. Outcome? The omega-3 supplemented team lost 1.5 kg bodyweight, and 2.2 centimeters more off the waist than the control group.

How regarding more appropriate populaces? As of this writing, there are just 3 tests in existence checking out the result of omega-3 supplements incorporated with a structured cardio exercise program on body structure. Let's dig in. In 1989, Warner and also colleagues took a look at the impact of walking or running 3 days/week for 45-50 mins at 75-80% topmost heart price in hyperlipidemic topics randomly designated to 1 of 4 teams: fish oil + workout, fish oil alone, corn oil, or control [16]

Body fat was decreased only in the fish oil + exercise team. These information are seriously limited by the lack of an exercise-only control group, leaving a significant inquiry mark open relating to the relative payment of workout down line result. A year later on, Brilla and Landerholm conducted a well-designed research study on healthy and balanced, previously sedentary men [17] This test did have an exercise-only control team, and no result of fish oil on body fat was observed.

In one of the most recent fish oil + workout study to this day, Hill's team analyzed the impact of fish oil supplements (6g) on overweight hypertensive/hyperlipidemic subjects (24 males and also 41 women) over a 12 week duration [18] Exercise was 3 days/week walking at 75% forecasted topmost heart price for 45 mins. Body composition was analyzed by twin energy X-ray absorptiometry (DEXA).

Predictably, fish oil supplements enhanced blood lipids as well as arterial vasodilation. When it comes to body structure, fish oil on its own really did not trigger any kind of bodyfat reduction from standard levels, whereas the sunflower oil control got bodyfat, but to a trivial degree. Nevertheless, fish oil + workout created a 1.1% better bodyfat reduction as compared to the sunflower oil + exercise control (1.2% decrease versus a 0.1% decrease in the sunflower oil group).

But here's the twist ... The daily intake of the exercising fish oil group balanced 143.4 kcals less than the working out control team. Factoring in the minimized calories of the fish oil team, we're currently considering a distinction of 0.32 kg (0.7 lb) - less compared to a pound more weight-loss in the fish oil team in 12 weeks.

The Dark Side of Over-doing Fish Oil Supplementation

Yes, Luke, there is always a dark side. On the planet of uncontrolled marketing hype, fish oil has absolutely gotten the "a lot more is far better" stamp. The trouble is, EPA and also DHA have a well-documented capacity to subdue the body's immune response. Not as constant as the immune effects, data likewise exist on the ability of EPA and also DHA to enhance bleeding time and also oxidation.

Let's take a look at a pair of the published peer-reviewed research that no one in the health and fitness sector talks about.

Thies as well as coworkers took a look at the 12-week impact of different fatty acid supplement blends on healthy topics [ 19] Numerous blends of placebo oil as well as oils rich in ALA, GLA, AA, DHA, or EPA (720mg) + DHA (280mg) were contrasted. Total fat intake from the 9-capsule dosage was 4 g/d. The EPA/DHA therapy was the just one that had an adverse effect on resistance, dramatically reducing natural awesome cell task by 48%. This result was turned around after 4 weeks of stopping consumption of the supplement.

Rees as well as associates investigated the results of various quantities of EPA on immune pens in young and also older men [20] In a 12-week research, EPA was included right into plasma and mononuclear cell phospholipids. Supplemental EPA in quantities of 1.35, 2.7, and 4.05 g/day triggered a dose-dependent reduction in neutrophil respiratory system burst, suggesting the reductions of a mobile defense versus immunity threats. This effect was seen in the older, yet not the more youthful men.

Based on these as well as the previous information, if you're not an unpracticed, and resistance is a problem, you might not wish to go hog-wild on the fish oil dosing.

Suggested Usage as well as Take-Home Tips

The cardio-protective advantages of increasing the dietary percentage of omega-3 fats is seen continually in trials including various populations and procedures. Fish oil is just one of the couple of supplements that in fact has a considerable body of scientific evidence backing it up. It's easy to think in terms of tablets instead of food. Those who love fish (and have the moment or sources to prepare or order it) can just enhance or keep their consumption of fatty fish such as salmon, mackerel, lake trout, herring, albacore tuna, and also sardines.

The American Heart Organization (AHA) recommends a minimum of 2 portions of fish weekly for the basic populace. Consider a palm-sized piece as an offering. For those with high triacylglycerol degrees, a supplemental 2-4g of combined EPA/DHA is their suggested healing dose.

However, keep in mind that caution is advised against supplementing greater than 3g mixed EPA/DHA beyond a physician's treatment, since some individuals could take the chance of excessive blood loss [21] 3 g combined EPA/DHA commonly is contained within 10 one-gram capsules.

I suggest maxing out your whole food alternatives initially prior to going the supplementary route.

There's constantly extra complete as well as collaborating nutrition consisted of within entire foods. Having 6-8 oz fatty fish a minimum of 4 times a week would certainly spare most individuals from needing fish oil supplements. For those who cannot or won't eat fish, there's constantly fish oil capsules, which thankfully are cost-effective, as well as easier compared to obtaining your omega-3's with fish.

The amount of EPA/DHA each capsule may differ with the brand. Pills can have anywhere from 250-500mg. A lot of healthy people do not require greater than 3-6 one-gram capsules each day to fulfill or surpass the quantities that reveal benefits. There are no clear-cut final thoughts concerning optimum proportion of EPA: DHA, so to error on the side of safety, I recommend locating approximately an also mix.

It's common and flawlessly appropriate for items to have somewhat more EPA compared to DHA.

If at all possible, make certain your supplement is validated by the USP (USA Pharmacopoeia) for the assurance that you're obtaining exactly what the label is declaring. I would also error on the side of security as well as keep them refrigerated. As a side note, there's a widespread idea that ALA from flaxseed is worthless for raising EPA/DHA given that the conversion mishandles. Nonetheless, Harper's group lately saw 3g ALA/day (from 5.2 g flaxseed oil) increase plasma EPA degrees by 60% at the end of a 12-week trial [ 22]

Looking at the body of proof in its entirety, fish oil (or increased fish usage) has wonderful potential for boosting cardiovascular health and wellness. For minimizing body fat, the results are minor to nonexistent. Let's not neglect that fish oil isn't some wonderful negative-calorie food. It still has 9 calories per gram, as well as no issue just how much of those calories are made use of in its processing within the body, it's still an internet gain in calories after usage. To sum whatever up, fish oil has wellness advantages, along with prospective risks.

It's certainly not a matter of more-is-better. It might have minor weight loss impacts in the overweight and obese populace, however their weight loss effect generally is far from effectively established. Get a range of fats in your diet plan, and also get them from whole foods whenever possible.

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