#Unless you relieve him of any responsibility in his role in the war

[bronzewool]

The marketing surrounding Ever Crisis is starting to concern me.

"We still don't know Sephiroth"

Good. Despite what remake thinks, I don't need to know every tiny detail about these characters.

That was my main complaint with Traces of Two Pasts. It was just a cheap cash grab to sell a book about Tifa and Aerith's backstories, where there was nothing in the pages that changed our perspective of the two as characters or altered our experience playing the game on a second playthrough.

The fact that game begins after the Wutai War was a deliberate move by the creators. As a kid Cloud fantasies about becoming a hero just like Sephiroth but by the time he's old enough to join Shinra, the war is already over and the world doesn't need heroes right now. We never see the war through flashbacks but we hear enough from second-hand accounts and how history is already being written by the winners.

Shinra now controls all corners of Gaia and is presented as a force of good towards the stubborn Wutai who couldn't see reason by just giving up their land so they could make more mako reactors and free clean energy for everyone :D

The planet is dying and Wutai was the final sprint to ensure Shinra's monopoly on a now desolate planet where flowers can't grow.

Wutai is so scarred by this loss it becomes a tourist attraction and gets it's own sideplot in the form of Yuffie who joins Cloud's party in hopes of returning her homeland to it's former glory.

There is so much left unsaid about the Wutai War but the aftermath is felt throughout the game, which is why I'm not interested in a prequel where Sephirith feels sad for conquering said territory and murdering its people, or possibly changing the circumstances in order to rid him of any responsibility.

Because the original game did an amazing job highlighting Sephirith's best and worst qualities. He is a powerful warrior and skilled tactician who can lead his troops to victory but does not question the destruction he brings in his wake. He was even given the name "The Demon of Wutai" for his role in single handling conquering it and had his face plastered on every poster to sell this false image of him to further Shinra's own agenda (which worked because Cloud, Zack, Genesis and Angeal all recruited to become just like Sephiroth).

We know very little about Sephiroth but he is complex enough to get the point across. He cares for his men and puts the wellbeing of others first, but he is still a tool of Shinra and if ordered to do something then he will do it most efficiently with the least amount of bloodshed.

I don't want this to be a Crisis Core situation, where we take all these well-established scenes and ruin them by shoving more characters who don't need to be there, or pull an Anakin Skywalker where we muddy Sephiroth's character by over-explaining everything to the point it destroys the reputation of the original source material.

[mymovingfingerwrites]

courage, dear heart

When we think of Lucy, we think of her golden hair and her cheerful smile, we think of a girl walking through a wardrobe and accepting a new world without question. We think of Queen Lucy, blessed with the power to heal, the only girl on a ship full of boys searching for a hint of whence they came. We think of her at the end of the world, kind and lovely and sorrowful as a mouse rows away, and in the world beyond the end of the world, her eyes lit up with delight. Resolute Lucy, bold Lucy, perched like a bird on the back of a lion.

When we think of Narnia, we think of Lucy. How could we not? Was it not Lucy who opened a wardrobe door and found winter, was it not Lucy who refused to be minimized, was it not Lucy who infused the land with good cheer for years after her coronation, was it not Lucy who first cocked her head and said that the land was speaking to them and they must listen?

We think about Lucy, bright Lucy, glittering Lucy, and we know instinctively that Lucy was always the heroine of her own story. What we don’t consider is that in her darkest moments—for Lucy, like us all, was not always bright, no matter how the legends insisted otherwise—she felt at times captive by the winds of fate stirring her hair. Perhaps we are–though we don’t like to admit it—some of the many people in both worlds who looked at Lucy and resented her for having the audacity (the privilege) to fill the pages of her book with her own words without considering how heavy her pen may be.

(Was it really her book, though? Lucy did not deny she wrote her own narrative. She was Lucy the Valiant; she spoke the language of High Narnia, she heard when Aslan called, she commanded the long-dormant trees into existence once more. Lucy was familiar with the power of words. What she objected to was the idea that her life was her very own, that her canvas was blank except for marks of her own making. Dear Lucy, pulled uncomplainingly into heroics, a simple game of exploration leading to death and betrayal and heartbreak (and majesty, and light, and animals that could talk). No; this was not her book but if she had the (mis)fortune to open it she certainly would inscribe her legacy on it herself).

To our credit, we sense what Lucy had always known: she felt as though her role was inevitable. (In boys, we call that responsibility, or heroism). Perhaps that is what we resented. When you are a young girl with golden hair and blue eyes and the lightest smattering of freckles, when you are the baby of the family and coddled and loved dearly, when you are born with an infinite well of self-possession and three protective older siblings, when you believe in your own worth–stepping into the pages of your story and titling it as your own looks like a foregone conclusion from afar.

(Her sister, Susan, struggled with this for many years. Though she was the pretty one, or at least that was what her mother told her, Susan eyed Lucy’s waterfall of blonde hair with envy. Though she was meant to be gentle, Susan watched how animals flocked to her sister first, how even the most timid of creatures lined up to whisper their secrets into Lucy’s ears. This would take Susan a considerable amount of time to overcome, but let us not blame her too harshly. Being a girl is difficult enough; being the other girl in the story is harder still).

But what we do not see, unless we look very closely, is that nothing felt foregone for Lucy. What looks easy from afar was not from within. Lucy chose herself, over and over; she chose to follow the path Aslan lay out for her, and she chose to do so with good humor and kindness as armour against the inherent cruelty of the world, even the magic one.

Of all her siblings, Peter understood this best, though they never discussed it in so many words. Perhaps that is why Peter always trusted Lucy, or at least apologized to her without resentment when she was proven right. The bookends of the family, they were as temperamentally different as any other pair of siblings. Peter sometimes felt blinded by Lucy's incandescent optimism; Lucy at times was weighed by proximity to Peter's practicality.

But both of them understood duty, more so than Edmund, led so easily astray by pleasure, and Susan, who believed (at times to her credit) that the world owed her the same that she owed it. Neither Lucy nor Peter strayed from their tasks, not even when Lucy picked her cold and lonely way down to the shadow of a godly voice, nor when Peter first felt the undeniable weight of his gleaming sword marred by enemy blood. They chose, and they chose again, even when those choices did not feel like choices but inevitabilities.

For when one understands duty, taking one's place as hero is not self-indulgent. It is not privilege; it is a prerogative, and it is difficult. But where Peter found his duty in protection and caregiving, in oversight and the hard labor of daily majesty, Lucy found hers in vision and clarity and momentum. When Susan hesitated over the unknown and Edmund lay sniffling quietly when he thought nobody could hear, Lucy knew that her relentless confidence was as necessary as Peter's guidance.

(This was a burden, too. Who was positive for Lucy? Her siblings tried to be, of course; they loved each other dearly, more so in the following years. But this sense of need never left Lucy, this fear that if she did not smile that nobody else would ever smile again).

Cheerfulness and friendliness can be their own prisons. When you believe in yourself, others are relieved; they need not take on the responsibility of believing in you too. Lucy never allowed herself to stray (save from moments alone in a large, soft bed, save from a magic book that in its pages contained temptation, save from tears that splashed hotly in the cool Narnia wind) all the more rigidly because everyone expected that she never would.

(It takes strength to choose optimism; it takes willpower to respond to situations with cheerfulness. Lucy was valiant even at seven years old, remember. She knew that raising her head high was an act of defiance, she knew believing in her own experience was brave, she knew that daring to rescue a friend from the clutches of an unknown evil was perhaps foolhardy but nevertheless necessary. She may not wield a sword but do not mistake her empathy for weakness).

Beauty and softness can be their own prisons, too. Youth and innocence and loveliness can make you more—it can mark you as worthy to speak to a god-turned-lion, your friendship as worth the threat of eternal damnation—but it invariably means that more is all you are allowed to be. There were days when Lucy fled back to her castle, her nose red and her eyes stinging, her hair twisted into disarray, and wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath a heap of blankets and throw pillows at the door just to prove that she too could be cruel, she too could be wanting. It is no easier to smile when tasked to in Narnia than it is anywhere else.

Sometimes Lucy resented her role as the youngest, the softest, the angel (or was she meant to be the prophet?). She saw Susan notching an arrow to her bow, watched Peter and Edmund joust in the courtyard, and looked down at her glittering bottle of cordial and longed to smash it against the door and take up war instead of peace.

Father Christmas gave her that vial, after all, a children’s story speaking to a child. Her power was limited, finite. Lucy began to use it sparingly, though she would have liked to heal every small hurt that befell a member of her kingdom. Part of her always felt a frisson of fear at the thought that she may one day no longer have the power to heal. Part of her felt anger that even Father Christmas did not think her capable. None of her siblings had gifts of borrowed power.

(Edmund did not get a gift at all, but he was, surprisingly, placid about this slight. He still remembered the enchanting taste of Turkish delight, even years after it last melted on his tongue. He knew that even now he would betray his family for another taste of that wickedness, and that knowledge made him humble. His gift was that he would never be tempted again, and for that, he would trade all the gold in the world).

Let us talk about what it must have cost Lucy, more than her siblings, to return to a world of mundane happenstance. Let us think about her, forced to be seven years old, forced to plait her hair and be seen and not heard and befriend children scarred from years of war. These playmates did not want to be coaxed into the brilliant world of Lucy’s imagination. They did not want to hear of Aslan, they did not want to pretend to be anything they were not. They had survived days or months or years away from their parents, but not in the warm embrace of a magic land; they had been torn from their families by trains and cars leaving in the dead of night, they had been sent to farms where food stretched thin, to towns that covered their windows with black paint and slept six to a bed, heel to head. Magic to them was their father, home from the war, with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes but was nevertheless warm. It was their older siblings, reunited and once again casual monarchs of the family dynamic. It was their mothers chiding them to eat, their friends once again within easy access, the serenity of the night broken only by lorries and not sirens.

Lucy had experienced hardship before, of course. Everything has a balance, after all. When you feel joy deeply, sorrow cuts you to your very core. When you are easily delighted, you understand how ephemeral delight can be. Lucy carried joy with her, of course: the wild exhilaration of Bacchus and his nymphs, how right it felt when her and her siblings rushed out to the parapet to see a brilliant golden sun nestle into the cool embrace of the Narnia forest, the softness of Reepicheep's fur tinged with drops from the sea at the end of the world, how Aslan looked at her and she felt seen. Lucy never shied away from emotion. Lucy was valiant in this too.

But she never forgot the lesson of dear old Tumnus. In Narnia, he was a constant presence in her dining hall. But she never forgot that the cost of her entrance into this glittering world was an innocent creature frozen for daring to take her home for tea. She never forgot that her siblings doubted her, that her youngest brother was led astray by sparkle and glitter. She remembered the silent despair of Caspian searching for his family, Eustace wondering which poor soul he devoured in the guise of a dragon defeating another. To the end of her days, she thought of the quiet dignity and terrible sadness of Lord Rhoop gazing upon the still bodies of his very closest companions, choosing to condemn himself to an endless sleep to be by their side on only the faintest suggestion of hope. Because Lucy was Lucy, she took those feelings into her own and cared for them as she cared for their benefactors.

But in a way, Lucy had not yet experienced loneliness and fear, not like her siblings had, not like these war-torn children. The closest she had gotten were those first few days in the professor’s house where none believed her, or when she walked alone to Aslan in the middle of the night wishing desperately someone would follow. For most of her time in Narnia, however, Lucy was easily, automatically accepted, her majesty unquestioned. In Narnia, she was unique: lovely Lucy, Queen Lucy, friend of centaurs and fauns and nymphs, immortalized in ballads, welcome in badger dens and banquet halls alike. Lucy was Aslan’s favorite, of course–didn’t he speak mostly to her, didn’t he cuddle her in his great and terrible paws? Queen of peace and harbinger of joy.

When she twisted back into an unfamiliar body she expected this world to accept her, too. Yet Lucy was not celebrated in this world; at least not automatically. Susan took one look at her circumstances and tossed her head and vowed to be queen in this life too. Edmund chewed his lip and sighed a little to Lucy but bent his head to his studies, just in case Aslan was wrong and he would be forced to rely on the battles to be won in schoolhouses and universities. Peter raged, in his own way, at the loss of his kingdom, unable to cope with his duty and his purpose and his raison d'être so brutally torn from him.

Lucy tried to talk to the trees, but they ignored her, their bark cool to the touch. She tried to dance in the meadows, but the grass was sharp and covered her legs with rashes. She tried to befriend the dogs at her local shelter but they snapped at her suspiciously. She tried to talk to her peers and hear their stories and stand up for them like she stood up for her subjects but they eyed her with mistrust and laughed at the boundless optimism she tried desperately to embody. This generation of children was not prone to easy positivity, remember. Those in Narnia had been so desperate for help after their long years of winter. Humans, she found, were surprisingly not.

Lucy had never been ignored before. She had never been disliked openly, she had never struggled to make friends. She did not know how to handle girls eyeing her with jealousy or derision, how to process boys that pulled her hair not to flirt but to hurt. Her gentle heart and loving manner had always won her praise and acclaim, but in those brittle years after the war, she was playing a game where she did not know the rules.

She was not able to admit until years later that perhaps this loneliness was good for her. Heroines need strife to grow, even in all the old stories. Lucy could have turned her back on who she was in Narnia; she could have tempered the blaze of her spirit, fell obediently into the ranks of conformity. She could have stemmed the flow of her hope and turned instead to sheer practicality. Was that not what her siblings were doing?

(No, dear Lucy, stubborn to the very end. That was not what they were doing and you should have given them the benefit of the doubt).

In some sort of twist of fate, Lucy did most of her growing in this world, off the pages of the book, trying to decide what was important to her in a world where the rules were more (less) rigid, the values were more (less) prescribed. This was where she became truly valiant, in the mundane manner as well as the majestic. In this world she learned how to listen: quietly and patiently. Here the silent trees aided her, providing a calm and soothing canvas on which a friend could shyly begin to paint her troubles. She learned that being bold and brash could sometimes be selfish instead of brave.

Lucy remembered what it felt like to be seven and ignored. She remembered encountering a fawn risking death for her company, even though she was not yet a decade on this earth. She remembered her own siblings’ gentle condescension. She knew what it felt like to be dismissed. Sometimes you do not want somebody to fight for you. Sometimes you want somebody to help you as you learn how to fight for yourself.

In this world, Lucy learned what it meant to be valiant without pride. She learned how much bravery it takes to be heroine of a story with many other heroines and heroes and warriors and soldiers, that being one of many provides strength. (It reminds her of those old sunny days, playing chess in the courtyard, all her siblings casually, loosely together). In this world, when she lifted her head and smiled warmly, when she woke in the morning and greeted the sun, she did so with optimism she crafted herself, with positivity she forged out of the steel of her spine. She learned you did not have to be in the forefront of a story to blaze in it, that sometimes people did not want love and laughter but truth and honesty and justice. She met her peers’ eyes and they lifted their chins and she made them feel fierce, not protected.

When Lucy thought, years later, of the vial Father Christmas gave her, she realized he was giving her an instrument of her own power. Her ability—her great burden—was that she could not save everyone but she could save many. She had to choose. Lucy was not alone in this; a sword gives one the ability to take a life—but to trade a death for many lives. A bow allows one to even the stakes while remaining aloof, to assign death to others from a great distance. No gift at all forces one to look inside themselves and find the strength that was always there. Magic to heal, like all of these gifts, like all gifts, was meaningless unless one wielded it.

Lucy could have been afraid of indecision; she could have kept her vial locked away or pretended it had run out. She could have used it all within years, saving this generation of her subjects only to damn the next. The choice was hard, sometimes. Sometimes she left the vial behind and had to grasp the hand of a dying soldier and know in her heart that she could have saved him had she only decided to bring it. Sometimes, particularly toward the end, she had it in her pocket but knew she could not use it, that she had to be brave for those ahead as well as those now. These choices were not easy. These choices were her own. Peter, burdened with majesty, had to make choices about who to damn to combat, what was worth fighting for—but he never had to choose who to save. Susan, gentle, had to weigh the many competing demands of the land and decide which to prioritize, strategize how to best achieve her goals, knowing the weight of her kingdom was on her back—but she knew there was always a second choice, always a way to optimize a situation. Edmund, even and fair, had to devise a system of just rule, had to know when to stick to it and when to revise it, even when a friend had to be punished, even when it hurt to be the judge—but he did not have to enforce these laws, only set them.

Warrior, strategist, arbiter, healer: all four Pevensie siblings shouldered their own burdens and supported each other in the heavy task of ruling over many. When three of them returned (when six of them returned) to see their land destroyed, to see a new land created, they remembered those choices and they vowed to uphold them. Lucy had no vial in the kingdom of heaven but that had never been what gave her power. Even in the golden light at the end of the world there were jealousies and anger and injustice and strife. Even in the endless summer of forever there was the chance to be brave.

(Susan, on Earth, mourned her baby sister more than anyone else. Peter had death in the shadows of his eyes since he took a life at thirteen years old and was praised for it. Edmund too seemed to know that he was living on borrowed time. But Lucy, dear Lucy, did not deserve to be struck down so young. Susan had watched her grow into the set of her shoulders and ignite the light in her smile not once but twice. She watched Lucy forge a mortal crown out of sheer determination and optimism and she felt something like awe. She wanted her sister to wear it; she wanted her sister to join her in this brave new world, where women were beginning to display the beauty of their resilience and their wild and clever strength. She wanted to apologize, to admit she too remembered Narnia, that she had not understood the type of strength Lucy drew about her like a warm shawl.

Susan did not know for many years where that fateful train journey took her siblings. She deliberately did not consider Narnia, for why would a land full of kindness and light steal her family senselessly, randomly? (She did not know of their mission, of magic rings, of beasts lurking in the darkness. How could she, when they deliberately did not include her?)

She chose to believe that Lucy and Peter and Edmund were in a land of eternal stillness. Susan remembered those burdens, too, even if the details of Narnia were on some days blurry. It seemed more sad, somehow, to think of her siblings once again wearing their crowns on stone thrones, as if their time on Earth meant nothing.

When she opened her eyes and saw Lucy again, young and royal, she felt at first a deep pang of regret before the relief flooded in).

For Lucy, going to the world after the world of Narnia was not frightening but exhilarating, not limiting but empowering. It did not take long for her to forget what she left behind on her mortal world; they had teased Susan, once, for shutting out remembrances of talking animals and magic dancing along the stone paths. If Lucy remembered that, she might have felt shame, now that the quiet majesty of a row of silent English oaks faded into blurs, that the chatter of her peers became as dim and incomprehensible as squirrels.

But Lucy was never one to look back; she was eager to flip ahead to the new pages in her story, here in a world where the pages had no ending. There were new friends to meet and a kingdom to build and cheers to receive and challenges to fight. Susan would realize this too, one day, joining her siblings in this world beyond the world. Lucy was suited for this, as if she were chosen for this, as if she chose this over everything else she could have chosen.

She wrote her own story, yes, but we should remember that does not mean that all of her words were her own.

[5lazarus]

To the Victor the Spoils

In the Skyhold gardens, in Adamant's wake, Solas meets Loghain.

A character study of two trickster-kings, speaking a little too honestly.

As Loghain himself says, "The past is always with us. It’s in our bones and our blood and we wear it on our skin. You can think otherwise, but you’ll never get far without it." Read on Archive of Our Own here.

The Inquisitor’s hand aches, and Solas is responsible, so he rouses himself from the Fade and dresses quietly. His erstwhile roommates, Varric and Dorian, snore away soundly. They came back late last night and may still wake up drunk. If this were not the third night in the row they had done this, he would be more sympathetic and leave a tincture for their headache. Alas, they must learn soon, or he will simply make a lot of noise waking up. There are healthier ways to cope with bad battles and beloveds’ deaths by drinking, however Varric wants to honor Hawke. Adamant has left them all aching. He would still like to sleep.

Outside Blackwall is running the new recruits through their basic drills. He is yelling at them about honor—another Adaman casualty. The children look like badly-plucked chickens in their ill-worn armor, shambling in the gray morning light. Solas would tell them to stand up straight and widen their stances, but here he does not need to play the drill sergeant. He leave Blackwall to his work and retreats into the main keep.

Morning prayer has just released and Leliana is wistful, her hood down. She pauses by Varric’s table and looks unseeingly at the stack of books. Then she sees him, and her face grows as porcelain-clear as a doll’s.

“Good morning, Solas,” she says. “You’re up early.”

The easiest way to answer is to obfuscate, and the best way to obfuscate is simply to say the truth. Solas says, “I enjoy the quiet, before Skyhold’s residents slip back into their daily routines.”

Leliana chuckles, and the porcelain visage warms into flesh. “Surely the Fade reflects routine too? The Hero of Ferelden told me she found me at my prayers, when we were trapped by a Sloth demon.”

You people dream such dull lives, Solas thinks but does not say, but of course I took the dreams away. He says, “There is disruption to be found on both sides of the Veil.” She watches him as he walks towards the cloister. He resists the urge to strut. Apostates, particularly those claiming to be hermits, do not walk with pride in their power and accomplishments. Many of the mages he has observed scuttle rather than stride. Solas has never tried to draw attention to himself; he cannot help being six feet tall and occasionally a redhead. Still, he tempers his walk.

In the cloister Elan’Vemal is buzzing around the felandaris like an angry wasp. Solas ignores her and walks towards the royal elfroot, pulling out his knife.

“Absolutely not,” she says.

Solas crouches down next to the bush. “I beg your pardon?” he says to the branches. The tips of its leaves are an electric violent. He can grind the stalks into a salve that will soothe the spasms in the Inquisitor’s hand and temporarily numb the spread of the Anchor. The leaves he will keep for himself.

“Inquisitor’s only,” Elan’Vemal says. “Unless you have a requisition form.” She looms over him, arms crossed. She’s a nasty little creature. The Inquisitor had not been pleased at her barefaced attempt at manipulation. Solas touches his own cheek, sans vallaslin, and does not even allow the thought to fully form.

He says, “I am making a salve for the Inquisitor.”

“A likely story.” Elan’Vemal is unimpressed.

Irritated, Solas says, “The stalk of this plant, ground into a salve with arbor blessing harvested wild and the stamen of the amrita vein, releases a numbing agent useful for treating Fade-inflicted wounds.” This is accurate enough, for her purposes. “We will be marching on Adamant in two weeks, and best be prepared.” He takes his knife and cuts only two branches from the stalk, when initially he had hoped to take three. Elan’Vemal watches him work. He is careful not to wound the plant. Grudgingly she remains silent as Solas ties the branches into a small bundle.

As he pushes himself to his feet, brushing the dirt from his knees, she says, “And the leaves? What will you use that for?”

Solas says, “Getting high, of course. What else?”

Shocked, Elan’Vemal laughs. He smiles slightly and makes his escape, dodging Mother Giselle with a polite “good morning.” The salve will not take much time to prepare, but the day is barely long for all he wants to do. There is the basic sketch for his fresco of Adamant. He already has a sense of what the colors need to be, and so he need to requisition more cinnabar for the corrupted lyrium holding the City enchained. There are calculations to be run, as well, regarding the latest of his Veil accelerometers. They have reactivated enough for him to use the lodestone at Skyhold as a base and predict where the Veil is weakest. The Inquisitor ought to plan her next foray where the Veil needs the most attention; but first, he must soothe her hand, and let her know she is cared for. He cares for her. She knows that; but after Adamant, the reminder will help.

A man is staring at him, not unkindly, so Solas turns with a practiced mild expression.

“May I help you?” he asks. It has not been easy to fall back into the habits he developed as Mythal’s thrall, but he has never been one for ease.

Loghain says, “You fought valiantly at Adamant.”

The almost-king of Ferelden: even now he cannot help but trip into exalted circles. Solas takes him in quickly before responding. He has heard the Inquisitor complain about Loghain’s betrayal of the Night-Elves, the resistance force both the Dalish and the urban elves of Ferelden launched against the Orlesian occupation. Solas separates the personal dislike from the political necessity. Of course the Teryn could not keep the elves of Ferelden armed; he could not risked an armed and organized minority clamoring for land just after they had waged and won one foreign war. Factionalism is so easy to fall into; Solas knows this from experience. That does not excuse it, but one does what must be done. He has done similar and worse. He would have left Cailan to die at Ostagar, and the Wardens too—but he would not have been so obvious about it.

Loghain himself looks like a tired but brawny old man, much like himself nowadays. Blue rings his eyes, but he is clean-shaved and his armor is polished. If the darkspawn in his blood keeps him up at night, he does not let it taint his day. He still survives.

Why does he notice him? Why did he notice him on the battlefield? Solas is too old for flattery. What does he want from him?

Solas says, “Thank you. You as well.” Inveterate loser, he thinks. He does not know if he is insulting him or Loghain: both, this is your human kin, the Fade will press him into your archetype.

Loghain says, “I’ve fought with apostates before, when we faced down the Archdemon—Dalish and human too. But I’d never seen any mage move that quickly, or so competently bark orders at frozen soldier in the field. Have you served before? Ferelden, Tevinter, or Orlais?”

Solas, as practiced, recites, “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade, in ancient ruins and battlefields, where I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.” He smiles thinly. “One learns from their mistakes.” Yours and mine, he thinks and cannot say: I would have done what you did at Ostagar, but I would have made sure I was not blamed. So quickly one’s allies misunderstand the good one attempts to have wrought; so quickly it spirals out of one’s own control.

Loghain stares at him. “You dream on battlefields? And can see what had happened there?”

“I can watch spirits copy the strongest emotions felt there,” Solas corrects. “There is truth but she wears many faces.” Obfuscation via weak poeticism works so very well, though it marks him as more polished than most elves. “In the same blood-drenched patch of dirty a spirit acts and reenacts a soldier throwing himself to the ground in anguish as he sees his king overpowered. And then, in the same blink, another plays the role of the relieved foot soldier, glad to be spared a fatal charge in a battle of fools.” Perhaps bringing up Ostagar is not the most tactful, but he struggles to know the average quickling’s reference-point. His knowledge of history is vast, and time has slowed to a crawl. He does not know what else to reference.

Loghain presses his thin lips into an even thinner line. “Ostagar,” he says. “And before I’ve had my breakfast. Did you go there deliberately, or just…fall asleep?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Solas says simply. It is not an untruth. He had found Flemeth’s cottage first. The dreams came easy. “Battles that change the tide of history mark the Fade as much they do the waking world. It is difficult to dream anything else, north of the Korcari Wilds.”

Loghain stares into his eyes. Solas, of course, peers back. The man’s eyes are a clear, cold blue, more brilliant for the bruises under them. The former regent of Ferelden says levelly, “When I dream, all I remember is a fool’s death and a hard choice. And I’d make the same again.”

“As you should,” Solas says. “There is no time for regret. You have lived your life according to the demands of your honor: for your countrymen, and now, your fellow Wardens. If you regretted that choice—if you sought to deny it, to fruitlessly work against the tide of the history you have made, that would be dishonorable. But you are an honorable man, are you not?” He realizes he is perhaps speaking more passionately than he ought. This is not Blackwall, an easy mirror to his own sins. He must remember what he is in the world: an elf, an apostate, a dirty outsider—no matter that he keeps himself cleaner than Cassandra. Repressively, he says, “Forgive me. Adamant stirs up old memories in us all. I am marked by what I witnessed as well.”

Loghain says, “You know war. Of course, most of your people do. The Warden has told me what the elves face in Orlais and Tevinter. It’s not much better in Ferelden.” Solas stirs, irritated, wanting to deny—but he is an elf, he is stuck in these circumstances, and he does know war intimately. He could not help but speak first. He cannot snap back. Loghain may be held in dishonor; that does not mean an elf can talk back. “Your friends have spent the past two nights in the tavern, drinking, and when that lugubrious warden isn’t weeping into his ale, he’s drilling the recruits to exhaustion. At least that will make them sleep at night. But that won’t do away with the dreams.” He smiles thinly. “I find your description of the Fade comforting. It means no one can lie about the past. Whatever it is. It’s always with us. It’s in our bones and our blood and sinks into our dreams. We wear it on our skin, and even the heavens are scarred with it. However history writes us.”

“To the victor the spoils,” Solas says.

Loghain burbles a laugh. It’s a pleasant sound, unexpected and a little hoarse. “Ha! And it’s my daughter who won. And right now—the Inquisition. The Wardens. Us. It’s easy to die for your cause. I could have claimed my redemption, if I need one, at Adamant. But it’s much harder to live for it, bearing the weight of the dead.”

Solas, surprised, says, “Yes.” He thinks, this is a lonely man, opening his deepest thoughts to a stranger, but aren’t I the same? Haven’t I been doing the same, with him, with Blackwall, with the Iron Bull and Varric and Cassandra and them all? He did not need the death of Wisdom as an excuse. He has found comradeship enough where he goes. He clears his throat, suddenly overcome. He thinks it through: I am upset, why? What has disturbed me? That this man carries his sins on his skin, and rejects the need for redemption. History has painted him the villain; I, also. Dread Wolf take you: what will they say about Loghain?

Loghain says, “It’s early in the day for this talk. I must be keeping you from your work.” The moment has passed; now they are awkward with each other, and not two soldiers who are harrowing a war. The man’s drawing into himself, embarrassed at the truth he told. Disappointed, Solas draws up to his full height and remembers: don’t hold yourself too tall.

He says, “Quite,” and holds up the pouch of royal elfroot. “Duty calls.” The Inquisitor’s hand is hurting and needs a salve. The quartermaster needs to order him cinnabar. Then there is the composition of the fresco to calculate and then sketch with charcoal, and more calculations, and sidestepping Leliana and Vivienne as to how he made those calculations. He saw it in the Fade. When he saw it, the Fade was everything, and there was no bleary waking. He leaves the courtyard and the almost-king, remembering and forgetting his words.

[unluckyadept]

Character Journal Entry: Felix

{July 16th, 2021T}

[Felix did not return to his letter drafts right away when his shift ended the next day. Instead, he sat alone, holding onto his iconic mask.

He wanted to express his thoughts, but one thing had become clear over time: he truly had to provide the context, or else it just wouldn’t make sense. His streak of Mars in particular.

He was no longer all that concerned about being fiery. He had plenty of enemies who were out to kill him, people who wanted to inflict great suffering in every imaginable way; he truly didn’t have the patience anymore to grovel. He would never be in complete agreement with his close friends—but that was just the way of the world. 

He looked up with unseeing eyes, his mind caught in the weight of the past and the gravity of the present.

It was like he had mentioned in one of his previous drafts: this was the true end. He could feel it. He could feel it in his very soul; Lalivero was safe in the eye of the storm, but the only way through these troubles was through the squalls that besieged them. There was no turning back.

Either they would break free from the violent tempest, unhindered as they made for shore in a clear sunrise…

…or they would be dashed upon the rocks and drown.]

+=+=+=+

"{Keep your spirits up, lad. Too much for you to do to be dwelling in darkness.}"

+=+=+=+

[He closed his eyes and surrendered a silent sigh.]

({What was it that Sir Glenn said? Something about not… not resenting the lamentation at wishing to reclaim what was lost.})

[He rubbed a hand against his face, still dwelling in a deep mental cloud.

One of the things that had always bothered him in the past was his lasting sense of pain, and the weight that suffering had chained to his heart. He had worried that the way it haunted him would drive others away; they would surely find deep discomfort if he were more vocal about what was on his mind during these times. After all… he hadn’t known anyone else who would broach such topics to him, let alone on a frequent basis.

But he still hurt. Oh, he still hurt. These wounds ran deep… and when they ached, the scars were filled with blinding fire.

Such matters had been weighing more heavily in his heart for over a year and a half now. For the pain was no longer of the decades past, but of the living present.

And the reminder of this was enough to make it harder to breathe again, from stress alone—

It was a silent cry of a suffering soul as his heart protested the crushing, suffocating clutches of sorrowful despair.

His grip on the mask tightened, and he curled the hand pressed against his face into a clenched fist.

His adoptive grandfather would not want him to be held back like this, let alone falter in his faith in his convictions.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{There is good in everything that happens. Sometimes you have to spend a little bit more time looking for it, and sometimes it doesn’t reveal itself immediately. But there’s always good in everything that happens.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[He could feel tears building at the memory of the man’s reassuring confidence.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{It may not reveal itself immediately, and even in the most dire circumstances, if you just wait, if you just remain open to things, the good in it will reveal itself.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[He tried to shake it off, but the tears remained poised as he remembered snatches of what the great Ranger had taught him.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{If disaster is coming our way, we don’t just sit there and endure it. We come up with ways to avoid it, to beat it back, to overcome it, but we don’t just sit there and accept it.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[He gritted his teeth against the sense of loss, still (futilely, and he knew it) fighting back tears.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{But I don’t believe our darkest days are ahead of us. I never have. [You] have been asking, ‘You’ve always told us you’d tell us when it’s time to panic. Is it time?’ It’s never time to panic, [Earth-son].}”

+=+=+=+=+

[He let the mask fall into his lap so he could press both hands against his face, instinctively holding his breath as a result of the crushing void of loss.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{It’s never, ever gonna be time to give up on our [people]. It will never be time to give up on the [dedication to build dreams].}”

+=+=+=+=+

[It was all he could do to seek comfort in the words again in this dark time.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{It will never be time to give up on yourself.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[For all the thrill of victory at having lasted this long in open war against the Tolbi regime—and particularly the importance of having disrupted the flow of supplies from their capital city to the troops in Northern Gondowan—

It was still all so overwhelming.]

[After the pretense was discarded last autumn, their enemy seizing the opportunity to use cowardly tactics in an attempt to overwhelm them at lightning speed—

After he was taken prisoner and not one of them would even consider speaking to him as a fellow human being…

…eventually, in the “end”, he had fallen into despair.

They had done everything they possibly could to prevent it… and it had been cruelly subverted by hateful Pride. He had sought to treat even his tormentors with respect—and he had, as best he could!—and to appeal to basic human decency, for the chance to learn what mattered to them… and they wouldn’t even deign to speak any more beyond their brutal contempt of blinding Pride.

If all his power had not been enough—if they had brought their full strength against the enemy and only barely survived—there, in those moments as he lay dying, and in those days after he was brought back… he couldn’t help but wonder, at first.

He had asked himself: with all that in mind, could he really trust that they would be able to overcome such deep-rooted tyranny?]

+=+=+=+=+

“{Trust me.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[It had taken a very long time for him to begin to recover.

And just as he was starting to do so…

…he received the news that he would hear such words of encouragement… no more.

Not again within this world would he be able to turn to the man who had been like a second father to him—the one person who had never doubted his ability to thrive and succeed, despite his background, despite his temperament… despite everything that would have otherwise long since overwhelmed his will to keep struggling and clawing his way through the darkness.

There had been long periods of time where the only things that kept him from succumbing to insane levels of agony—the only reasons he had stayed his hand, even as he looked into the abyss with a desire to embrace it—the only reasons he had even bothered to continue were: the obligations of duty to toil until relieved from his role in this life… and that man’s unshaken certainty that he was capable enough to overcome the noose of shadows and walk in the sunlight of hard-earned dreams.

And now…]

({I just want to hear your voice again, one more time! Even… even though I know what you would say.})

[He understood, now, why Mikhail had never asked him to use the Tomegathericon to allow him to speak to his late wife. He had once thought that strange, in the back of his mind—it had stood out, at least. Clearly, the man suffered deeply from her loss, and yearned for her presence. Why should he then willfully avoid any means of contacting her? And why had she not visited, the way other spirits had?

Now he knew. He understood.

As much as this hurt, he knew that his Proxan grandfather had been ferried across the river into the sea of Light—and he did not now have the heart to even ask to recall him back into these days of sorrow.

He’d been close enough to such an experience himself to properly appreciate it—after such an exhausting journey, it was a relief to be free of such burdens of responsibility.

Such burdens were for the living to carry.

For him to carry.

For him to Live.]

({We stand upon a spearhead of fire. The first to fall shall be engulfed in crushing irons, such as to prevent them from rising up again for generations. We are so close to breaking the stranglehold they have on the region once and for all…! If only we can outlast their corrosive and hateful Hubris.})

[He pulled his hands away from his face, curling one closed and placing his other hand over it, his eyes closed in weariness and focus.]

({So it is that the task falls to us, as your generation takes the road to dawn. You have raised us upright in virtue to take on this load, and lead the charge against the darkness that we might yet have self-controlled destinies for ourselves and our children.})

[The tears had dried, now, and he opened his eyes, staring off into nothing.

They had been victorious, but word had reached him of the forces rallying for another massive charge. He needed to entrust some of the others to take command of the area, to keep up the pressure on their enemy so that they would not be able to slip through again unnoticed.

They had won another battle, but the war was far from over. At this rate, it would be over a year before anything definitive happened—unless things escalated AGAIN, wildly out of control.

Felix sighed, taking hold of his mask once more.]

({If they have their way, then I know what shall happen. We’ve seen this song and dance before—we know how the story ends.})

[Such things had happened to the people of Garoh, after all.]

[He remembered Maha telling him about such matters.

And he had been warned by others, too—

They would punish him for refusing to submit, if they found him. And they would make much more of an effort to ensure he would not escape their ultimate answer to his “offensive” existence.]

({This is why I have to succeed, Grandfather. Oh, Iris, I beg of you to petition our grievances! The immortal soul is too fierce to be contained in a mortal body, and yet this is the only Life we have ever known. We must defend the right to achieve our destiny, no matter how atrociously the darkness assaults us; we can never obtain paradise in such a divided world, but we are called to pursue our inner fire that we may be at peace with what we have earned.})

[…He was too tired to think much more.

Perhaps it would be best if he just went home for the night—out in the Wilderness—to get some proper sleep.]

[puddygeeks]

Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 52: Dᴏᴘᴘᴇʟɢᴀɴɢᴇʀ

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for.

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Fifty-Two

After following Indra in tense silence for a while, we slowed to a halt and she instructed us to tie our horses nearby a remarkable set of ruins. It was difficult not to be distracted by the looming shapes of the structure and I was aware of how little we knew of Earth compared to the grounders who had built their home here for generations. Despite the nerves building in my stomach, I continued to walk alongside Octavia into the unknown and tried not to allow myself to be distracted by the theories whizzing around in my mind. Indra silently lit a fire and we waited expectantly until she took a seat and I glanced over at Octavia with confusion.

“Who is this woman, Indra?” She enquired as she stepped closer to her mentor with curiosity filling her face and Indra glanced up at her with an unimpressed expression.

“She is a warrior and a friend. She is also your best chance at getting what you want. That is all you need to know.” She responded with a firm tone and Octavia shifted awkwardly on the spot at the firm response. Indra sighed and considered us both for a few moments, before she seemed to decide that she could trust us with some further details. “She was a village leader, like me, until her people were massacred and only she remained. Since then, she has lived alone and accepts tasks from the Commander when she is called upon to serve. As I recommended her for this role, I deliver the assignments and so she will come when I signal.” She elaborated in a bored tone and I felt myself growing tense as I processed this information.

“What makes you think she will help us?” Octavia probed and I felt nervous on her behalf as she continued to press at Indra. I noticed that despite what she had taught me, she mostly ignored the rule to not ask questions and wondered if their time together had allowed them to develop a strong enough relationship for Indra to view her as an equal.

“She does not consider herself part of any clan and cares not for our politics. She serves the Commander for her own reasons, but she has no investment in our distrust of Skaikru. You may be able to use her disinterest in our war to your advantage.” She explained in a tone that conveyed her annoyance at Octavia’s continued questioning, before she turned to inspect me with an assessing eye again. “Your friend resembles her only child. She died in the massacre. I believe this is no coincidence.” She added and I blanched at the information. I shot a panicked glance at Octavia, who seemed equally stunned at this idea, but before I could get any words out we were startled by a sharp voice.

“Who have you brought to me, Indra?” A woman stood at the edge of the ruins, just out of the firelight where it was impossible to discern more than a silhouette and Indra rushed to her feet to greet her. I remained rooted to the spot as I worked to calm the frazzled nerves that her arrival had caused and strained in an attempt to identify any of her features.

“These are allies, Octavia and Indigo Kom Skaikru.” She explained in an even tone and the woman turned toward us with an expression that was unclear in the dark. Though I couldn’t see her face, I could sense her disbelief and began to feel uncomfortable with this plan.

“You would bring Skaikru to this place?” She asked in a cold voice that displayed her suspicion and Indra clenched her jaw defensively. Although she had earlier stated that she considered this woman a friend, they seemed strangely stiff and I began to wonder if this was ordinary grounder behaviour. Until now, I had always imagined that they were warmer in their own relationships, outside of the impending threat of war but it seemed that formality was more deeply ingrained in their culture that I had first believed.

“Octavia trained as my second and has earned my trust. She would not betray it.” Indra stated firmly and I could sense that Octavia was pleased to hear this. “This girl seeks to be taught our ways. I cannot teach her in Polis whilst the Commander still battles to defend the ceasefire. I present her to you for judgement.” She revealed with a flourish before stepping back to allow the woman to assess me.

The stranger strolled slowly toward the campfire and as the light revealed her features, I felt myself take a sharp intake of breath. I recognised her immediately, but had long since forgotten about her existence due to all of the insanity that had occurred since. I recalled my brief guard duty in the woods, where I was ambushed by a grounder who spared my life for no discernible reason and all at once, I understood her choice as I replayed Indra’s words in my mind. She didn’t spare me out of mercy, but simply because I reminded her of her deceased daughter and the haunted expression that she wore as she stared into my eyes only confirmed my suspicions. She glanced over at Indra suspiciously, who nodded in acknowledgement, then back to me as she struggled to regain her composure. She had long copper hair that was almost entirely neatly plaited and a stern face that was as pale as my own. I shared her difficulty, as I stared into her blue eyes that reminded me of my mothers and couldn’t help a pang of familiarity myself.

“I am Arlo Kom Trishanakru. You wish to learn our ways, child?” Her voice was gravelly and full of authority as she stepped closer, and I nodded silently in return. “Your people are soft and weak. You will need to prove that you are worthy of my time. Do that and you will have the chance to regret your request. We do not hold hands. You will keep up or be left behind.” She divulged threateningly and I nodded, despite an overwhelming feeling of uncertainty that gripped my stomach. “Come with me. Indra, we will see how promising your offering is.” She stated as she began to stride away and I was relieved when Octavia and Indra followed together, instead of immediately leaving me alone with her.

Arlo led us further into the ruins in silence and I was amazed by the beauty of the structure. I wondered what this place had been before the world was destroyed, as we stepped through wide archways and into winding tunnels. Octavia and Indra fell further behind us as the space grew tighter and I found myself becoming nervous as I continued to navigate through. Arlo paused for a moment at an open archway and indicated for me to enter first. I took a deep breath and stepped through without question as I had been trained to do. As I emerged into a large, circular space, I heard the sound of a gate slamming and turned to find that I had been locked inside. Octavia hurried over to pull on it, but it didn’t budge and I scanned my surroundings with a feeling of dread.

There were high vantage points, but no other exits and it was clear that I would not be able to escape unless Arlo chose to free me. Octavia pounded against the gate with desperation, despite Indra’s barking orders not to interfere. A gradual movement on the other side of the space drew my attention, as a man chained to the wall struggled to his feet and my heart skipped a beat at the size of him. There was a jangling sound as keys fell from above in a crash at his feet and I faced upward to find Arlo leaning over from an alcove.

“This man slaughtered an entire village. He would have suffered death at the hands of those who call for justice, but there are no survivors to claim that right. Prove to me that you are capable of killing him and I will train you.” She announced from above as the man eagerly snatched for the keys and I stepped back in terror. “You, ripa. If you kill her, I will consider burning your body.” She added to spur him on and I felt my stomach lurch. She threw a dagger down in front of him whilst I frantically reached for mine and my hand brushed over the pistol that was hidden beside it.

I knew that this could improve my chances of survival, but that if I used it in this fight it would not earn my place with Arlo. I would have to depend on grounder tactics if I were to impress her and I gulped nervously as my opponent finished removing his restraints. When he straightened up it was clear that he was enormous, with wide shoulders and a ridiculous amount of muscle. He strode toward me with a menacing attitude and I could hear my heartbeat hammering in my ears.

I held my ground as he closed in on me and as he reached out to slash the knife in a wide motion, I jumped backward to dodge it. Seizing the opportunity to abuse the momentum of him falling forward, I brought my leg up to land a powerful kick in his stomach. He wheezed heavily whilst I bounced lightly on my feet to space myself from him. He hurtled around heavily and I only just crouched in time to avoid a sharp blow that skimmed over my head. Unfortunately, I wasn’t as quick on the next strike and his fist slammed into my face with an earth shattering impact. The shock caused me to stumble and he landed a quick succession of punches that threw me to the ground. I rolled out of the way, causing him to hit the solid floor on his next attempt and managed to drag myself back to my feet, despite feeling like my head could explode at any moment.

All of the training that I’d been through could never have prepared me for fighting to the death with someone this size and I felt myself slipping into panicked habits. I sloppily dodged around him for a while as I wracked my brain for ideas, until a powerful jab caught me in the ribs and I lost my edge. The grounder seized me by the neck and lifted me from the ground with a pressure that made my windpipe feel as if it were about to split in two. I kicked my legs in desperation as I squirmed in his grip and could hear myself screaming in my own mind.

In a moment of clarity, I plunged the dagger into the inner elbow of the arm that he was holding me with and his jerk reaction caused me to plummet back to my feet. Without missing a beat, I struck at his knees, prompting him to fall forward onto them. A desperate burst of energy allowed me to charge forward to kick him under the chin with all of the force that I could muster and he splayed flat on his back. My hands scrambled across the ground for the dagger and I brutally thrusted it into his chest. Hot, sticky blood sprayed up into my face as my hands shook wildly and I remained frozen in place as I stared down into his stunned face. My lungs burned from the panic and several parts of my body throbbed in a way that I knew wouldn’t heal anytime soon.

The gate that had trapped me in here finally swung open and Octavia rushed inside to help me to my feet as I groaned. Indra followed and seemed to view me with a new interest as I wobbled weakly on the spot. I could tell that she was surprised by this experience and couldn’t deny a slight pride in this, hidden deep beneath the whirlwind of emotions that currently wreaked havoc on my mind. Eventually Arlo entered the room with a controlled expression and I panted as I awaited her judgement.

“Well fought and you still live. This is not what I expected.” She commented as she crossed her arms at me and I scoffed at this confirmation that she had believed I would die here. ��Very well, I will teach you. We camp here tonight. You’ll begin your training in the morning.” She declared, before sweeping out of the room and leaving me unsure whether I should celebrate or flee during the night. 

***

By morning, my entire body screamed in protest at every attempted movement and sleeping on the ground certainly hadn’t helped with stiffness. I acknowledged that I would probably have to get used to many uncomfortable aspects of living with Arlo and the comfort of Bellamy’s bed felt as if it were a lifetime away. I woke to discover a pile of clothes on the ground beside me and reluctantly slid off my jacket. Before I could get any further, Octavia strolled into the room and smiled warmly at me.

“Ah, I see you got your new uniform then.” She commented as she indicated to the clothing and I shrugged in response. I hadn’t thought as far ahead as this and although I was willing to adapt to as much of the grounder lifestyle as was necessary, I still felt a pang of sadness at the idea of shedding my usual clothing. 

“Yeah, I was wondering about that.” I confessed as she wandered over to take a seat beside me and she shrugged to indicate that she had not expected this either.

“Arlo says you’re too indiscreet in Skaikru clothes. Apparently you need to be able to blend in wherever you’re going.” She explained and I tilted my head thoughtfully. Although this made sense in theory, I had to admit that this earned my curiosity and my mind wandered over what challenges Arlo might have in store for me. It seemed that my training could become more involved than either of us would ever have imagined. “That also means your hair. I’ve got a bit of time before we head out, I could braid it for you? I can guarantee that I'll be gentler than letting her do it.” She suggested and I nodded at her gratefully. She slid into position behind me and made her best effort to get her hands through my hair that had already begun to dread in places. It was remarkably therapeutic for her to neatly organise it into sections and her presence helped me to gradually relax.

“It’s not too late to go back, you know.” She muttered in an attempted subtle manner and I tensed at her voice. “I know that this wasn’t the plan. You left camp to train with Indra and instead you’ve ended up with Arlo, who is…” She trailed off thoughtfully and I could tell that she was struggling to decide what she wanted to say. I wasn’t even sure how I could describe the differences between what I had expected and where I had ended up, but instead decided to lighten the mood with humour.

“The kind of grounder you could imagine eating their young?” I suggested and she snorted in laughter from behind. It was pleasant to enjoy such a simple moment alone with her, even if it was only fleeting and I noticed a pang of nostalgia in my chest. If nothing else, I was glad that my interest in this way of life had allowed me to re-establish my bond with Octavia and that my new knowledge gave me an insight into the person that she had become in our time apart.

“Exactly. Are you going to be okay with her?” She asked with concern in her voice and I sighed before answering. I appreciated our mutual protectiveness, but most of all I was pleased that we had both learned to trust the other to make the correct decision and to respect their wishes. As I reflected on how much things had changed between us since we arrived, an additional surge of determination rose from my chest to continue growing stronger to be able to meet threats at her side.

“I asked for this Tavi, literally killed for it. Now I’m going to make sure that I learn everything I can. I’ll learn to handle Arlo.” I assured her and she hummed thoughtfully behind me. “Just do me a favour and don’t mention the whole fight to the death thing to Bellamy. I won’t visit home until I heal up a bit. I think he’ll freak if he sees me with black eyes again.” I added with a slight snicker and Octavia shuffled around to view me as she finished up.

“I’ll keep it between us, don’t worry. Your hair is all done.” She chimed and as I moved to stand, I hissed in pain. My hand shot to my waist and I struggled to straighten up. “You look terrible.” She added with her brows furrowed tightly and I scoffed as I shook my head at her.

“Charming, thanks babe.” I teased as I forced a smile to hide my difficulty. I started to undress to change into my new outfit and Octavia cursed under her breath as I slid my vest off. She moved closer and brushed her fingers across my waist with a horrified expression.

“Fuck Indie, I think that ogre broke your ribs.” She gasped and I glanced to where she touched to find a large purple bruised area that covered almost an entire side of my waist. I hadn’t paid much attention until now and even I was shocked by the appearance of it. “You need to get this looked at.” She ordered as she met my eyes and I stepped backward to shake her off.

“It’s not that bad. I can’t immediately bail when I’ve only just earned my place.” I argued despite my inner horror and she stared at me in obvious disbelief. “I promise I will get Abby to take a look when I next come to camp, okay?” I offered, as I began to step into the clothing that I’d been provided and tried to ensure that I didn’t show any indication of concern. There was a heavily ripped pair of black jeans and a pair of knee high, lace up boots which I put on first. I was confused by what seemed to be an absence of a top, but Octavia revealed what I thought to be a long piece of fabric was actually a complicated, wrap around shirt which she assisted me into. There was a bodice that fastened at the front and had long, torn strips hanging from the side that allowed me to hide my radio and gun out of sight. Lastly were some arm warmers which had no real function that I could think of, but I put them on to appease my teacher. When I’d finished I turned to face Octavia, who examined me with pride.

“Look at you, you certainly look the part.” She crooned and I shrugged in return. It was interesting to discover how excited she was by this and her enthusiasm gave me a fresh buzz of appreciation for the journey I was about to undertake.

“All I’m missing now is my scary war paint.” I commented in a teasing manner and she shook her head at me.

“They only wear that when they’re going to battle, not all the time. It’s kinda in the name, doofus.” She snorted as she punched me playfully in the arm. I finished arming myself and hid my radio and gun, then followed Octavia outside to meet our mentors.

Indra and Arlo were standing close together as we emerged from the building and spoke in low voices. I noticed Indra passed her a small piece of paper that Arlo neatly tucked away and they touched arms in a grounder gesture of respect. As we neared, Arlo turned to face me with an appraising look and I was sure that I caught a hint of sentimentality in her expression as her eyes roamed my new appearance. For a moment, I wondered if she had even dressed me in a similar manner to her daughter, but the thought was uncomfortable and so I pushed it from my mind.

“Come child, we have much to do.” She ordered as she turned to stride away without another word and I strained to keep my focus in the moment. I glanced at Octavia to find her peeking between us nervously and without warning, she pulled me into a tight embrace.

“Don’t let her kill you.” She whispered with her mouth close to my ear and I smiled fondly over her shoulder. I basked in her comfort for a few moments, allowing her strength to bleed into me and committing the feeling to memory as I worried that I wouldn’t know when I might see her next. As we broke apart, my attention drifted over to Indra, who nodded subtly over at me in approval and my brows raised in surprise.

It took some considerable strength to tear myself away from the security of my best friend and to follow the strangely cold woman who now guided my fate. We collected our horses in silence and I climbed on to find that Arlo had tied hers nearby, out of sight of the meeting spot too. She led me for hours without a single word and I quickly began to miss the chatty rides through the woods with Octavia. I realised that my reality would be quite different now to anything that I’d previously known and steeled myself for the unexpected.

***

The clang of daggers filled the air as I recoiled from another attack and struggled to maintain my balance. Arlo continued to batter me with a barrage of beatings and over the past few days I’d come to understand that my training until now had been merely child’s play. She swept her leg out to take my footing and I slammed into the ground with a groan.

“Get knocked down, get back up.” Arlo threatened as she paced around my crumpled form and I had lost count of how many times I’d heard this statement. I had never known exhaustion as I felt in this moment and I couldn’t catch my breath. The practice had been utterly relentless since we arrived in her camp and I had the gut instinct that she was testing both my stamina and resolve. I tried to sit up but I couldn’t control a single muscle as my entire body cried out in agony. “Do you surrender, sky girl?” She leered from above me and I stared up at her with heavy pants of breath.

“I yield.” I groaned as I dropped my training daggers and stared lazily up at the sky. She had woken me during the night, kept me awake until late, stalked me to attack whenever I let down my guard and now I had nothing left to give. I bitterly awaited a punishment as I laid in the dirt and wondered which bruise I would receive for surrender. Instead, she simply smiled and dropped to a sitting position beside me.

“You are strong for a sky person; determined and stubborn.” She commented evenly and I thought I might die of shock from the compliment. “But you fight with anger and hatred. This fire fuels you, but it burns you also. You cannot control it. You fear it.” She clarified as she studied me with a wisdom that was clear to see. I fidgeted on the ground in an effort to raise myself into a sitting position and she pushed me flat onto my back again with little effort. “This is your weakness. It will get you killed. You must learn to control it.” She ordered in a stern tone and I sighed deeply.

“That is why I’m here. I need inner strength too.” I admitted under my breath and she smirked.

“That cannot be given, you have it or you do not.” She stated coldly as she got to her feet. “You must decide if you wish to be a warrior, or a coward.” She added, dusting herself off and placing her sword back in it’s sheath. “You have today to rest, tomorrow we hunt.” She stated, before striding away without a backwards glance and leaving me swiftly in the dirt.

Once alone in my tent I cleaned myself up, examining the black and blue of my skin that almost seemed to be my natural colour now. I removed the unnecessary items of clothing so that I could relax and my radio dropped to the ground. Wrapping myself tightly in a blanket, I gripped the radio close to me and as the light around the tent faded, I knew that Bellamy would likely be heading back to his quarters by now.

“Xena to Hells Bells.” I spoke quietly into the radio with a sly smile and waited eagerly for his voice. It had been gruelling since my arrival here and I had to admit that I could do with some comfort. A few moments of silence passed and I could imagine Bellamy rushing to find somewhere quiet to respond. I felt my eyes slipping closed from sheer exhaustion when a crackle finally alerted me to his presence.

“Hey Trouble.” The warmth in his words filled my chest, even through the tinny speaker and I felt a smile spread across my lips. “How's life with the Amazons?” He teased and I quietly giggled to myself.

“It’s exhausting on a level I never could have imagined.” I confessed in a meek voice and could sense his concern in his delayed response. Although I wouldn’t lie to him, I was also aware that I needed to be careful how much detail I shared and struggled to consider my words before I shared them.

“Are you alright?” He probed with a thinly veiled worry and I sighed deeply as I analysed my answer for anything that might send him into a protective frenzy.

“I’m getting used to it. How are you? Things okay in camp?” I enquired with a feeling of concern in my gut as the faces of the loved ones that I usually focused on flashed through my mind. The responsibility bared down on me and I tried to push it away before I could find myself crushed under the guilt of leaving them in their time of need. I reminded myself that I was here to become stronger so that I could protect all of us and asserted that I had to focus on myself.

“I’m alright, nothing much has changed here. I’m better now that I know you’re safe.” He mumbled and I hummed thoughtfully. I knew that he would be finding this change difficult, as his nature always urged him to keep his loved ones close and under his protection and I was proud of him for how well he was dealing with this. It was an important lesson for us both and although my heart cried out for him, I steeled myself against the loneliness that threatened to swallow me.

“We’re gonna be moving on tomorrow, so I don’t know when I’ll next be able to check in.” I relayed as I broke into a yawn mid sentence and he sighed.

“You sound like you could use some rest. I hope she’s giving you a chance to sleep?” He interrogated in a voice that I recognised well as defensive and I hummed in response sleepily. “It’s good to hear your voice Indie. Get some sleep and stay in touch.” He remarked and I could already feel my eyelids becoming heavy following the relief of speaking with him.

“I will. Take care of yourself. I’ll come back soon.” I mumbled before switching off the radio with a pang in my chest and settled down for a night of well earned sleep.

[talpup]

Light In the Darkness:68

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud.  He knew there would be trails.  He knew trouble would come his way.  Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant.  What he didn’t know.  Didn’t expect.  Was that literal Chaos would come his way.  That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble.  Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers.  For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Chapter 68

Teris had received Yami’s letter that he and Bronn had been placed under Mereoleona.  It said that he would be stationed with the southeast contingent that was being overseen by Commander Greywright.  She had been relieved to learn that Yami wasn’t being sent with the southwest.  Even though Julius was overseeing that division, it was considerably closer to the Spade Kingdom border.  Though that was probably why Yami had been sent to the southeast.

Teris had hoped to see Yami at least one more time before they set out; but that was not to be.  She found herself stupidly thinking that all of this was a sort of punishment for them going too far out in the woods on Yami’s birthday.  The memory of him pressing and rubbing against her was enough to make her blush.

“Tired already?”  Randall asked, looking over at her.

“What?” Teris turned an even deeper shade of red afraid the man could read where her thoughts had wandered.

“You’re flushed.”  Randall commented.

The Crimson Lion offered her a water skin.  He wondered if the scars she hid underneath her buttoned up blouse weren’t the only lingering markers of what she’d been through on the Summer Solstice.  Were two and a half months really enough time for one to fully recover their strength after such a thing?  Given that no one had ever been through such a thing, it was difficult to say what such a recovery looked like or how long it should take.

“Have something to drink.”  Randall urged, when Teris didn’t take the water skin.  “It’ll help keep you going till we can stop and rest.”

Rather than argue and deny she wasn’t tired, Teris took the skin and had a couple sips.  Handing it back she looked on ahead, wondering how far they were going to travel together till Captain Jax and Jamie’s teams broke from theirs.  She was grateful to have Jax and the Golden Dawns Captain present, even if it was only for a time. No doubt Nozel felt somewhat relieved as well.  It gave him someone to follow and ask questions of, until he began to feel more comfortable in his role as acting Captain.

Teris still couldn’t imagine what the King had been thinking.  Making Nozel an acting Captain and charging him with such responsibility. Was His Majesty angry with House Silva and this was his way at punishing them?  Our was he really that lacking in knowledge of what if meant to be a Magic Knights Captain, having never served himself? In any case Teris was determined to do her best to see Nozel succeed and knew Fuegoleon, Randall, and Zara would do the same.

Zara had proved invaluable.  Before they had headed out, Nozel had the Purple Orca draw a revised and correct map of the Diamond Kingdom which had then been magically copied and given to every Magic Knights Captain, the original filed away somewhere within Magic Investigations.  Teris had been proud of and happy for the man.  It was about time Zara got some of the recognition he deserved.  Zara had be grateful to her.  Thanking her on several occasion.  Which only made Teris uncomfortable.  Seeing her discomfort, Nozel had put a quick stop to it, snapping somewhat harshly at Zara.  As upset as Teris had been at Nozel for his stern words to Zara, she had been grateful that Zara’s verbal gratitude had ceased.

She was still worried about Yami.  He would be having to skirt the Witches Forest to get to the Diamond Kingdoms eastern border.  The first time Yami had entered the Witches Forest, he had made quite the disturbance and freed Vanessa.  If the witches learned of his presence so near their territory would they try to seek revenge? Teris shook her head trying to clear her mind of such thoughts. Worrying about things that may never happen and she had no control over wouldn’t serve any purpose.

Teris reached the rest of the group.  They had paused at a sheer ten hundred-thousand meter drop.

Jamie looked over to Nozel.  “Well done acting Captain.  Your man has led us to a cliff.”

“We have a number of mages that can get us down.”  Jax calmed.  “The least of which is you.  Go on, Jamie.  Create a rope that we can use to climb down.”

Jaime turned to Jax.  “We were instructed not to use our magic unless necessary.  Doing so will attract attention and lessen our chances of success.  Never mind that this is war.  Our mana stores need to--”

“I was at the meeting and heard Sir Jorah same as you.”  Jax cut in over the other man.  Looking out over the expanse, he muttered under his breath.  “Idiot.”

“I heard that.”  Jamie snapped, voice tight with pent up aggression.

“This mission is a necessary task, is it not?”  Jax questioned the Golden Dawns Captain.  “And continuing on our way is necessary in order to complete our mission, yes?  Therefore, is not getting down this cliff necessary to continuing on our way and completing said mission?”

“I get what you’re saying.”  Jamie gritted.

“Good. I was worried I’d have to write it out.”  Jax said, with exaggerated relief.

“What is it Zara?”  Teris asked, seeing the Purple Orca looking pensive.

“There is a way down.  It’s just that it’s hidden from up here.”  Zara said.

Jamie slapped his thigh in exasperation.  “Why didn’t you say so? Nozel, if you want to be a good Captain, you should instruct your people to offer up important information before it’s argued out.”

“He would have if you’d but quit your whining long enough to give him the chance.”  Teris snipped.

Nozel’s eyes snapped to her, widening slightly.  Jamie and Jax blinked.

Jamie took a couple steps her way.  “Why you little—I’ll teach you how to properly speak to a Magic Knights Captain.”

Nozel stepped in front of Teris, chin slightly raised.

“Move. Or be moved.”  Jamie commanded.

“She’s one of mine.”  Nozel said with quiet, fiercely contained control. “If anyone will be instructing her.  It will be me.”

“Then I suggest you do so, acting Captain.”  Jamie glanced back at Jax.  “You got a lot of bad behavior to break her out of in a short amount of time.”  He raised a warning finger at Nozel.  “She disrespects me again and I’ll go through you to teach her a lesson she won’t soon forget.  Understand me.”

Nozel stared without word or expression.  He was good at that.  You could say it was one of the things the Silva’s were known for.  Like the Vermilion's red hair and pointed incisors or the Silva’s silver hair.  The Silva’s all seemed to be capable of staring without blinking.

“Jamie. Stand down.  He gets it.”  Jax said, watching them closely.

Jamie turned to the Black Bulls Captain.  “You got a bold, mouthy one there, Jax.”  He said of Teris.  “Make sure you remind her of the same when she’s returned to you.  Vice Captain or not I will not be disparaged.”

“I suppose you get enough of that from your wife and fellows.”  Jax taunted.

“Hurry up and show us the way down, peasant.”  Jamie ordered Zara.

Nozel didn’t have to see Teris’ expression to know that she was going to comment on the commoners behalf.  “Don’t.”  Nozel silenced in a harsh whisper.  He turned his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye.  “Don’t.  You.  Dare.”

Teris looked at Nozel, a range of emotions playing on her face before finally settling on one he had seen directed at him all too often. Nozel sighed, resigned to Teris’ accustomed anger.  Still he continued to stared at her, blue eyes shining with hard judging coldness.

As often as Teris had seen that look in Nozel’s eyes, it had rarely ever been directed at her.  Biting as Nozel’s words could be when he chastised her, he rarely looked at her with with anything but… Teris’ stomach curled in on itself.  Despite the uncomfortable nervousness his piercing gaze cause, she stared back, refusing to be the first to look away.

Nozel watched her without blinking.  He’d be damned if he let this go without Teris submitting to his authority.  Tired and on edge as they all were, they were behind enemy lines.  Traversing the border of two unfriendly kingdoms, one of which they were at war with.  Teris needed to know her place here and now.  Nozel had to make certain she would obey and comply with his commands without challenging him. Lives were at stake.

As annoying as Randall sometimes found Teris’ words and actions to be, he was a noble and a gentleman.  Seeing a lady being handled so roughly, even by a mere gaze, made him want to intervene.  He opened his mouth to say something, anything, that would call attention to himself and away from Teris.  Fuegoleon gripped Randall’s shoulder and shook his head.  The Vermillion knew what Nozel was doing and why.  Fuegoleon was likely one of the few, if not only one, who knew how much Nozel hated having to do this.  Much as Fuegoleon didn’t like it himself, he was proud at his friend and acting Captain for stepping up and doing what had to be done no matter how difficult it was.

Teris could feel the eyes of everyone on her.  She knew what Julius and Jax would say.  What they both would want and expect of her.  She imagined Jax’s expression as he watched, standing not too far behind Nozel.  Releasing a breath she lowered her gaze.

“Captain.” Teris said, softly submitting.

Nozel turned away without word least Teris or anyone else see his relief. Taking a step, he looked over the cliff edge and instructed.  “Zara, show us the way.”

Once down, they made three separate small camps a thousand or so meters apart from each other.  Fuegoleon watched Teris chew on rations. They had enough to last them months, the small charmed bag that held them, both preserving and making them small enough to fit until pulled out, reverting back to regular size.  It had something to do with bending space that Fuegoleon cared little about.

Teris hadn’t spoken since the clifftop.  And Nozel seemed content to give Teris her space and let her sulk.  Fuegoleon knew his cousin better. While time and space may have worked under different circumstances, it wasn’t going to work in this instance.  Teris wasn’t the most prideful person he knew; but she certainly was one of the most stubborn.  And she never liked being told what to do or put in her place; usually harboring a grudge against anyone who dared to do so.

Since it had been Nozel who had put her in her place, the shock and ill feelings Teris had would likely fester if simply left.  In Fuegoleon’s mind, Nozel had been too lenient with Teris in the past, both as a friend and her Intended.  He figured Teris had probably come to expect that she would always get her way with Nozel and that Nozel would let her without putting up much of a fight.  Not only would that not work under these circumstances; it wouldn’t work later when they were wed.  Nozel had only weakened himself and his authority in letting Teris always have her way.  Something that Fuegoleon knew his friend would eventually have to rectify, dealing with the consequences of his leniency in Teris’ anger and unwillingness to obey.  If any good could be said from Nozel being made acting Captain, it was bringing this issue to a head and forcing the two to deal with it.

Fuegoleon got to his feet, disgusted with the both of them.  With Nozel for his lacking in being the strong authority he needed to be with Teris. And with Teris for being a spoiled child who knew her place but refused to accept it.

Hearing footsteps Fuegoleon cursed.  Zara was out placing traps and keeping watch as the rest of their small group recouped from the days long trek and ate.  It didn’t matter how well Zara knew the terrain if he was inept enough to let someone by him, Fuegoleon thought.

“It’s Jax.  Relax.”  Jax said.

Nozel looked up from the map he was pretending to study.  He already knew every line and curve of it without looking; but had needed something to look at and appear busy with.

The Black Bulls Captain saw Teris and Nozel sitting as far away from each other as they possibly could while still being considered part of the same camp.  He sighed.  He had been right in coming.  Nozel was too proud and too easy on Teris.  Yami wouldn’t have stood for it.  Jax remembered when he had given Yami the lead on a mission when the young man had been avoiding Teris.  Other than Iban using his magic on Teris, and Yami taking to Iban for it, the mission had been a success.  Yami and Teris putting aside their differences to work together.  But Nozel wasn’t Yami.  The royal was harsh and demanding in a completely different way.  A way that always seemed to rub Teris the wrong way.

“Captain Nozel.”  Jax said, choosing to use the title to further cement the mans place in everyone's mind.  “May I speak with Teris for a moment?”

Nozel looked at Jax wondering why her rightful Captain even bothered to asked.  Wasn’t Jax suppose to be some ruffian that went his own way?  Not caring what others thought or wanted?  He realized the Black Bulls Captain was attempting to assist him by showing him respect.  It surprised Nozel.  Everything he had heard and thought of Captain Jax had led him to believe the man incapable of such tact. Nozel nodded his assent, looking at the Captain with fresh eyes.

“Thank you.”  Jax said.  He looked down at Teris and tilted his head. “Let’s go.”

Teris look up at him, hesitating.  She had only ever feared Jax once or twice before.  His quiet, simmering anger much more frightening than Bronn’s explosive outbursts and threats that she knew the Vice Captain would never carry out on her.

“I’m not gonna tell you twice.”  Jax rumbled.

Teris quickly got to her feet and followed her Captain, a pace or two behind.

Jax stopped once they were a few yards away.  He didn’t mind that the others could still see them and were likely watching.  So long as they couldn’t hear.

Teris waited, nervousness growing the longer Jax kept his back to her. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore and broke.  “I’m sorry. I know I never should have challenged Nozel like--”

“Captain.”

“Pardon?”

“Captain Nozel.”  Jax corrected.

“Captain Nozel.”  Teris repeated, morosely.  “It was wrong and stupid. Not the least because of where we are and what we’re facing.”

“And?” Jax prompted, looking over his shoulder at her.

“And?” Teris echoed, trying to figure out what more he wanted. Tentatively, she offered.  “I’m sorry about what I said to Captain Jamie.”

“Who cares about that ass?”  Jax turned to her and pointed.  “Don’t do that again though.  Not till you’ve been made Vice Captain. Can’t really defend you before then if Jamie decides to make a fuss.”

“And after then?”  Teris questioned, a teasing lit to her voice.

Jax tried not to roll his neck, knowing the others watching.  She and Yami really were made for each other.  And he was either a fool or a glutton for wanting the both of them to be his Vice Captain's.  Sure he was upset with Teris for challenging the Captain she was temporarily serving under, especially after Nozel had so readily shielded her from Jamie’s wrath.  Whether it was because Nozel had been being a good Captain or acting as Teris’ Intended, Jax didn’t know.  Nor did he care.  What mattered was that he hadn’t had to step in which would have only weakened Nozel’s position as acting Captain in everyone's eyes.

“Teris.” Jax sighed, closing tired eyes.

“What? Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.  I know the situation we’re in.  I know what I have to do.”

“Do you?  Cause earlier it certainly didn’t seem like it.”

Teris hammered the toe of her boot into the ground and mumble.  “So it took me a while.  But I got there eventually, didn’t I?”

“Eventually isn’t good enough and you know that.  When out in the field compliance and submission needs to be instantaneous.  Lives are on the line.  Soon our teams will be separating.  What happens then? Can I trust you to act and obey Nozel as you would me or Julius?  To treat and respect him as your Captain?  Cause that’s what he is. Forget the words temporary or acting.  Nozel Silva is your Captain.”

Fully chastised, Teris lowered her head and muttered.  “I said I was sorry.”

“Not to the right person.”

Teris’ head snapped up.  “You want me to apologize to him!”  She shook her head.  “I can’t.”

“You can and you will.”  Jax told.  “Along with the promise to listen and obey him in all things without challenge from here on out. Consider it an order from me if you must.”

“But you’re not my Captain right now.”  Teris argued, instantly regretting her words.

Jax stared down at her.  His eyes flashed dangerously.  “Is that the way you want to play this?”

Teris shook her head again.  “No, Sir.”

Jax sighed, thinking of how much Yami had rubbed off on her.  He only hoped Teris’ better habits had consequently rubbed off on Yami. “Good night then.”

“Captain.” Teris called.

Jax looked back at her.

“I really am sorry.”  Teris said.

Jax gave her a small smile.  “I know.  Just make sure he knows it too.”

Teris headed back to where she had set her pack.  While Fuegoleon and Randall had brought something to lay on, she had kept it simple.  No fabric was going to make the ground any softer anyway.  The pack carrying a couple changes of underwear and another change of clothes suited well enough as a pillow.  Having so little to carry allowed her to go on longer without tiring.  It certainly helped with the speed in which she prepared and repacked her space since all she did was drop the bag off her shoulders and pick it back up.

Plopping back down near her pack, Teris picked up her rations and continued eating the tough, chewy, tasteless thing.  She would do as Jax said; but she wasn’t about to head straight to Nozel and do it now.  It wasn’t that she cared that they had seen Jax pull her aside and speak to her.  She knew they knew what it had been about.  They probably figured her Captain had scolded her about the way she had spoken to Jamie too.  Then again they may not have, given how little they thought of and regarded Jax and the Black Bulls in general.

No, she didn’t head straight to Nozel because she wasn’t ready. Teris had known she had to apologize to Nozel before Jax had ever come.  Though her stubbornness likely would've kept her from doing so if her Captain hadn’t ordered her to.  Teris wanted the apology to at least sound somewhat repentful and knew she wouldn't be able to convey that right now.  Moreover she had no idea what she was going to say.  I’m sorry those in the hierarchy are such stupid, rude asses that get under my skin when they mistreat decent, upstanding people who in every aspect but social are better than them.  Teris didn’t think that would suffice.

Zara returned from setting the traps.  “All done, Captain.  Anyone or thing wanders over here will have a nasty surprise.

“We’re not talking bugs or small mammals.  Are we?”  Randall asked, thinking that would be tiresome.

“Anything the size of an child or larger.”  Zara answered.

“Child?” Randall repeated.

“The Diamond Kingdom often takes young promising children and begins training them to become Magic Warriors.”  Fuegoleon told.

“Takes? From their parents and homes?”  Randall asked, disturbed.

Fuegoleon nodded.

Randall made a face at that.  “Still doesn’t explain why a trap is needed for something their size.”

“They use and send them out in much the same way as Sentries.”  Teris answered, Julius having once told her.

Nozel looked over the top map and across the camp at Teris.  He found Teris looking at him and almost looked back down, but forced himself to hold her gaze.  Teris’ shoulders tightened.  But she gave in and lowered her eyes.  Jax was right.  If she didn’t get a handle on this it was goes to spell trouble and possibly cost one or more of them their lives.  She ground the heel of her boot into the earth more angry at herself than anyone else.

Why was it so difficult to respect and submit to him, she wondered. Acting or not, Nozel was her Captain.  That alone should have made her capable of obedience, even if it was distasteful.  Much as she didn’t respect the social hierarchy, she respected the Magic Knight Captain's.  Even Captain's like Jamie and Pyter; all be it not as readily as some of the others.  So why was she having so much trouble with thinking of and treating Nozel with the deference due to him as her missions Captain?  Because you grew up with and know him so well, her mind offered.  No.  That wasn’t it.  Because as your Intended, respect and obedience toward him was already expected.  Yeah.  That sounded more like it.  She was afraid that if she submitted to Nozel here and now then he would come to expect the same from her in other areas of their relationship.  Are you also afraid that obedience and deference will become habit?  Teris scoffed at her own thought. Yeah, that was never going to happen.

Feeling tired and energized all at once, Teris called to Nozel.  “Captain.”

Nozel looked up from the map no one believed he was truly studying.

“May I have first watch?”  Teris asked.

“Wake Randall in an hour and a half.”  Nozel allowed.

“Thanks.” Teris got to her feet, brushing off her pants.

“The traps start ten meters out.”  Zara called to her.

Teris gave him a nod.  Last thing she needed to do was get caught in one of his traps.  That would be embarrassing.  It’d certainly complete her shame for the day.

Making her way out as far as she dared, Teris wrapped her cloak tightly around her.  Fuegoleon had super heated a mass of stones to protect them from the cold of the night.  But away from their warmth, the constant wind bit and made her shiver.  While Teris usually preferred it colder than most given how hot she naturally ran; once passed a certain point, the cold effected her worse than others.  She found herself regretting that she had asked for first shift.  Then realized that it would only get colder as the night went on and was grateful.

Was it always this windy in the Diamond Kingdom?  Or were they still that high up despite their long descent?  She heard footsteps coming her way from the camp.

Thinking it was Fuegoleon, she told.  “You should get some sleep.”

“I don’t sleep much while out on missions.”  Nozel responded.  He offered her a cup of tea.  “Here.”

“Thanks.” Teris took the steaming mug, cupping it close to her chest, relishing the warmth.

Nozel watched her a moment.  “You alright?”

Teris turned to him.  “What’s that?”

“The cold.  Are you alight?”

“I’m fine.”  Teris assured, trying not to shiver.

Nozel fought the urge to give her his cloak, wondering if that was a Captain like thing to do.  He hated this.  Being caught between the many things he was to her.  As if being her friend and Intended who loved her wasn’t challenging enough.  And to top it off, she now knew of his feelings for her.  His kiss had bared himself open to her.  And Teris wounded him far deeper than any bitten lip.  The pain of that hidden wound still hadn’t healed.  It ripped open every time he relived her rejection in his mind.  Every time he thought of her choosing some ill-bred, uncivilized, filthy foreigner over him. Every time he touched her and she pulled away.  Or any other countless instances.  It was a wound that would never scar because it would never heal.

“Nozel.” Teris growled at herself.  “Captain.  I’m sorry.  There’s no excuse for my earlier behavior.  It was unbecoming and won’t happen again.  I promise.”

Nozel stared at her, waiting for her to give some deflective reasoning or excuse despite her having said there was no excuse.  When it didn’t come, he realized she was fully serious and making a concerted effort.  Her willingness to take full responsibility without excuse was proof that she was seriously contrite and trying to rectify it, and not make the same mistake again.  As badly as he wanted to tell her not to worry about it, he knew that was him and not his rank talking.

Still, Nozel forgave too easily.  “It’s in the past.  Just make sure it stays there.”

“Yes, Sir.”  Teris said, angry at herself for bristling slightly when he didn’t down play her actions.

Having that done and out of the way, they both relaxed.  Being a Magic Knights Captain was difficult and tiring; but being Teris’ Captain was difficult, tiring, and confusing.  It left Nozel questioning himself; something he wasn’t accustomed to doing and knew he shouldn’t be doing at this time and place.

“I think I will try to get some sleep.”  Nozel said, thinking it best to leave her to her duties.

“I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself.  Thanks for the tea, Captain.”

Nozel gave a small huff.  This was so unexpected and new for all of them. He wondered if they’d manage to get use to it before it was over.

68.2

Just because the sun went down didn’t mean the fighting stopped; even though Bronn wished to mana that it would.  This was their third battle in two days, and the longest one at that.  Bronn had no time to envy Jax.  Or curse his Captain for not taking him.  He didn’t have time to hate his Captain for leaving him under the fiery Lioness who fought harder and fiercer than anyone, and expected the same of those serving under her.

As much as Bronn hated to admit it, Mereoleona scared him we she got like this.  It was one of the main reasons he had come to fancy her in the first place.  But all of that was in the past.  His long held feelings for Mereoleona had ended as his feelings for Gilly had grown.  Now he loved his betrothed so much that he listened and obeyed her better than he listened to and obeyed Jax.

Bronn had always figured the sweet, tender ones wouldn’t do it for him. Thinking that he needed someone that scared him a little from time to time to get the job done.  Turns out he just hadn’t met the right sweet one.  He didn’t need to fear Gilly to want to please her over himself.  His fear of her disappointment was enough if ever he wanted to go his own way or do his own thing.

He’d certainly disappoint Gilly if he died out here.  Which was the main reason why Bronn had contented himself to following Yami about, playing support to the younger mans aggressive lead.  Problem was, on the battlefield Yami scared him almost as much as Mereoleona did. Even without his little Black Sheep, the Lord of Destruction was destructive.  After going on like that during the first two battles, Bronn had thought Yami would slow.  But the little shit didn’t. Instead, Yami was just as energetic and deadly as he had been at the start.  Bronn chalked it up to youth.

Anyone who looked at Yami and Bronn probably thought they were similar type of men.  And much as Bronn hated to admit it, there were a few similarities.  That said, the two had some rather stark differences. And it was those differences, not similarities that made them clash and hate each other.  While neither were men of typical honor so to speak.  Yami was a man of principle.  Where as Bronn’s standards changed depending on too many variables to count.  It was true that both men didn’t respect much.  But once Yami’s respect was earned, it was like an unmovable wall that would take something cataclysmic to shake and tear down.  Bronn on the other hand had to have his trust and respect constantly earned.  Even with Jax.  It was why Bronn constantly challenged his friend and Captain, subconsciously checking for weakness.

And maybe the biggest difference, or at least the one that bothered Bronn the most, was that Yami had absolutely no shame.  As much as Bronn acted as if he didn’t care, and wanted people to believe that he didn’t.  Bronn cared very much about his image.  Unless you were one of the few that Yami Sukehiro truly cared about, the younger man didn’t give a rats ass what you thought about him.  Even if you were one of the few he cared for, chances are Yami wasn’t going to change.  Yami didn’t care.  You could find him in any situation, no matter how compromising, and Yami would shrug it off and continue on without blush or care.  Bronn would've given almost anything to be someone like Yami with literally no shame or care of what others thought.  Not that he’d ever admit it.  Bronn would rather kill himself than let his envy of the little shit be discovered.

“Yami!” Bronn yelled.  “You’re crossing too far into their line.”

“What’s the matter old man?  Can’t keep up?”  Yami taunted, sending out a dark cloaked slash before the enemy could get their spell off.

Bronn used his magic to transport Yami back to his side.  “No, you idiot! I’m not blind.  Nor do I want to die on this cursed, barren foreign land.  Open your damn eyes!”

Bronn’s hand swung sharply.  He fully expected to miss Yami’s head, accustomed to Yami ducking away.  So when Bronn actually hit him, he felt a moment of cruel satisfaction.  Then quickly realized what it meant.  Yami was more tired than he appeared.  Bronn ignored that fact because they were at war and all of them were tired despite it only having been two days.

The Vice Captain gestured to the Magic Warriors.  “They’re baiting you, you fool.  Looking to draw you in so they can surround you and be done with you.”

“They can try.”  Yami said, staring at the three Magic Warriors he had been pursuing.

Bronn slapped at Yami’s head again, figuring it would connect and maybe, if he were lucky, knock some sense into the younger man.

Yami ducked out of the way.  Looking at the Vice Captain, he told.  “You got the first one for free.  So what do you want to do?  Turn tail and run?”

“Watch yourself, boy.  I’ll whip your tail raw.”  Bronn saw the three Magic Warriors turn and slowly make their way back to resume the fight.  “They’re coming back for more.  Hold this line and go no further unless I tell you.”

“I’m not all that good at listening to you.”  Yami said, fingers opening and closing along the hilt of his katana in effort to relax the muscles in his hand.

“Don’t I know it.”  Bronn grumbled.  He pointed at him.  “You go five meters further and I bring you back.  Don’t make me go wasting mana or I’ll kick your ass.”

“It must kill you.  Having to look after me like this.”  Yami said, eyes on his foe.

“More than you know.”  Bronn said, readying his own magic.

“Yeah, well I don’t like it much either.”  Yami growled.  “I can take care of myself.  Was doing so long before Julius found me.”

“And tell me smart ass.  How many lunatic zealots and gangs of hired killers were after you back then?”  When Yami didn’t reply, Bronn sniffed.  “Didn’t think so.  Just know this is all your fault.  I wouldn’t be stuck babysitting.  And you wouldn't be in danger if you had listened to me.  I told you from day one to stay away from that royal girl.”

“Again. I don’t listen to you all that well.”  Yami said.

Bronn growled, hand lifting to smack him again.  Instead of making the futile move, he barked.  “Hurry up and take the smaller two.  I’ll take the big one.”

“I want the big one.”  Yami said.

Bronn glared.  “I’ll transport you back to Castle City if you don’t obey me, boy.”  He caught sight of one the eight Shining Generals headed their way.  “Better yet, you take those three.”  He said, right before stepping through a portal.  He fell through another that opened directly over the General.

Yami took in the three Magic Warriors that stalked closer.  They looked as tired as he felt.  Still, he had something they didn’t.  A driving need for revenge.  “You guys know where I can find a Magic Warrior named Lotus Whomalt? Uses smoke magic.  Black hair.  Goatee.  Annoyingly talkative and lazy.”

Two of the Magic Warriors looked at each other wondering if this was some sort of tactic.

Yami pointed at the third.  “You.  I can tell you know exactly who I’m talking about.  Where is he?”

“He’s serving under Commander Fanzell.” The Magic Warrior answered.

“And where is this Commander Fanzell?”  Yami questioned.

“He’s--” The Mage turned to point.

The other two Magic Warriors also turned, looking in the direction Commander Fanzell’s squad was posted.  Yami struck out at them, slicing the two down.  Before the third could react, he charged. Turning his katana so the blunt end faced out, he sent out another slash.  This one not fatal.  It hit the Magic Warrior in the chest and sent him flying.

Yami lept, landing on the Magic Warrior just as the Mage hit the ground.   “Point again. Wasn’t paying attention the first time.”

Hand shaking, the Magic Warrior pointed.

“Arigatou.” Yami made a fist and punched him, knocking him out.  If he saw the Mage again he’d kill him.  But it seemed rude to do so when the man had been of help. He stood and looked over to see Bronn battling some burly man with a really hairy chest.

“You good?”  Yami called to the Vice Captain.

“What do you think!”  Bronn huffed, struggling against the equivalent of a Magic Knights Captain.  On top of that the General was still fresh, having not participated in the first two battles.

“Good. I’m going over there.”  Yami pointed.

“The hell you are!”  Bronn barked. “Yami.  Yami!”  He glanced back seeing Yami already making his way.  Then cursed and lept through a portal, barely missing having his head skewered.

The General gave a bellowing laughed.  “Your friend’s a fool.”

“Not my friend.  Though he is a fool.”  Bronn glanced at Yami.  The idiot was fighting his way deeper into the Diamond Kingdoms line.

The General laughed again.  “My men are fond of ridding the world of fools.  As we speak, they gather to rid the Clover Kingdom of yet another of their beloved Magic Knights.”

Bronn scanned the area Yami was entering, seeing that the General was right.  Yami’s presence so far into their line hadn’t gone unnoticed and the Magic Warriors were all but licking their chops as they waited just a few more seconds before the order came to pounce.

“Damn it.  I’m getting too old for this.”  Bronn cursed.

Mereoleona landed behind him.  “I agree.  You had one job.  And you couldn’t even do that.”

“You try to control that bastard brat!”  Bronn snapped.

“Fine then.  I was going to send you and take over here but--” Mereoleona lept away in Yami’s direction.  “Good luck.”

The General watched Mereoleona go, insulted. “You Magic Knights must think so little of us to jest so freely.”  He pulled more red ochre up from the earth.  “I’ll rectify that and teach you what a Magic Warrior General is really capable of.”

“Oh, no.”  Bronn assured.  “She wasn’t joking.  She just hates me that much.  I assure you.  There’s no need to go all out and show me anything.  I know you’re scary.”

“Ha!” The General laughed.  “Even the thought of my full power--”

The Shining General fell over.  Bronn felt more of his mana drain away at having portaled three powerful magical attacks from elsewhere on the battlefield, directing them at the Shining General.  The man had been able to sense his portals when they were close; but clearly when opened from a distance that sense was useless.  The General never expected one, let alone three attacks to come at him from behind.  No doubt there would be hell to pay for those Magic Warriors once the General regained consciousness.  Right now, Bronn had some of his own hell to dish out.

Mereoleona landed facing Yami, sending out a blast of fire in a hundred and eighty degree arc behind her.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing! Get back to the line.”  At Yami’s determined expression, Mereoleona’s snapping tone became dangerous.  “I swear, if you challenge me it’ll be the last thing you do.”

Yami growled but did as he was commanded.

“Bunch of Black Bulls idiots.”  Mereoleona muttered.

Seeing Yami strolling sedately back, the Crimson Lions Captain created a fiery lion.  It picked Yami up by the scruff of the neck and raced back behind their lines.

Yami cursed and kicked, swiping his katana at the thing the entire way. It dropped him in front of Tobin as if to tell the other Black Bull that Yami was his problem now.

“It’s a magical creation.”  Tobin said, looking down at his friend.  “You weren’t gonna harm it without cloaking your blade.”

“And have that She-Lion make it snap my neck.  I think not.”  Yami huffed.

“You got a way of pissing people off.”  Tobin remarked.

“I was just going after that coward Whomalt.”  Yami told.

“Don’t know who that is.  Nor do care.”  Tobin said. “You got to learn to obey orders or you won’t live to be promoted to Vice Captain, let alone see Teris again.”

Yami rubbed the back of his neck.  He hoped Teris was having an easier time of it than he was.  In all honesty, Yami was struggling.  This was only the second day; but he already felt at his wits ends. Unlike a battle, the process of war was slow and tedious.

He understood they were meant to be a distraction.  But if they didn’t press harder, the enemy would figure out something was up.  Not to mention the lives that would be lost for nothing.  Still, he did have to do better at following commands; no matter how stupid they were. If he didn’t obey, Mereoleona would put at the back of the line. Then he really would be struggling.  He wouldn’t be able to bare having to stay back and watch while others fought.

Still seated on the ground, Yami looked up at Tobin.  “Why are you back here?”

“Captain Heath is cycling us after a certain time no matter what.”  Tobin answered.

Yami huffed.  “That’s stupid.”

“Actually, I thought it pretty reasonable and smart.”  Tobin said.

Yami leaned forward, forearms on his knees.  “So you cycle through no matter what?  Even if you’re close to knocking or taking out whoever you’re fighting?”

Tobin nodded.  Leave it to Yami to bring up the one point he hadn’t liked about it all.

“Like I said.  Stupid.”  Yami remarked.

“Talking about yourself.”  Bronn snapped, kicking at Yami.

Yami rolled out of the way and onto his knees.  He pushed to his feet. Bronn grabbed him by the back of the neck.  Yami tolerated it, knowing it would go much worse for him if he ducked away this time.

Yami smirked seeing how high Bronn had to reach to grasp him.  His latest grow spurt had seen him taller than the Vice Captain by a good couple of inches.

Seeing Yami’s smug grin, Bronn squeezed harder, pushing him down.  He hated how the little bastard still looked defiantly up at him.  Once, just once Bronn wanted to give Yami Sukehiro a real lesson.

“Bronn! Let him go!”  Mereoleona commanded.

Bronn gave all he had into one last squeeze before doing as ordered.

“You.” She pointed at Tobin.  “Get back out there.”

“But it’s not my turn.”  Tobin said.

“Are all you Black Bulls incapable of following simple commands!” Mereoleona demanded.  “Get back out there!”

Tobin did as he was told, vowing that he wasn’t going to be the one to get into trouble with Captain Heath over this.

Mereoleona turned to Bronn.  “You too.”

“I used nearly all I had--”

“Nearly.” Mereoleona cut in.  “Come back when you’ve used it all.”

Bronn sneered at Yami before heading back to the front of the line.

“What am I going to do with you?”  Mereoleona asked Yami.  “I can see why Jax and Julius like you.  But you’re certainly not one of mine. You’re difficult.  Unpredictable.  And will endanger lives if you go on like this.  I can’t have that.”

“I--”

“Shut up!’  Mereoleona snarled.

Yami clamped his mouth shut knowing what was coming.  But if he argued his case it would only further Mereoleona’s belief that she was right.

“You’re to stay back here until I say otherwise.  Give the others rations. Drink.  Anything they need.  I see you out there before I tell you to go and I’ll send you back to Headquarters in disgrace.  You understand me.”

“Yes, sir.”  Yami grumbled.

Mereoleona softened the slightest bit.  As a fighter herself, she understood Yami’s desire to push harder and not just keep the line.  But those weren’t their orders.

“I don’t do this as punishment.”  She told.  “Not that you don’t deserve one.  I’m doing it for our benefit, including yours.  Learn this lesson quickly and prove to me you can obey.  Who knows, maybe in a day or two I’ll let you back out there.”

“A day or two!”  Yami exclaimed.

“You got a problem with that!”  Mereoleona barked.  What was it with these damned Black Bulls challenging everything?

“Sir.” Yami growled his acceptance, having a very big problem with it.

68.3

Alowishus crumpled the parchment he had just deciphered and read.  He turned, scowling at the skull on the shelf behind his desk; as if it had created this mess that endangered all of his plans.  Looking away from the skull in disgust, Alowishus roared.  “Calen!”

“Master!” Calen entered in a rush ready for anything.  Seeing no threat he relaxed somewhat.  “Yes, Master?”

“Gather the Agents.  Call our nearest forces back.”  Alowishus ordered.

Calen bowed.  “Yes, Master.”

“Have someone else do it.  I want you right back.”  Alowishus told.

Calen bowed once more.  He exited and relayed his Master’s commands, noticing how some of the others looked at him.  Specifically Slade and Himmel who had grown increasingly jealous over his rise in their Master’s favor since Erskin’s death.  Not that Calen cared.  He lived to serve the Master.  Not make friends.  Reentering Alowishus’ private sanctuary, Calen bowed once more and waited, watching his Master pace.

“Those fools!”  Alowishus threw out a hand, a fast rolling black cloud left his fingertips.  It hit a wooden cabinet and the stone wall behind it.

Calen flinched as both turned to ash.  At the shift in weight, the stone above the missing section cracked.  The sound a loud echoing clap of thunder.

It was rare to see Alowishus use his true, natural magic.  The remnant of magic that remained in the anatomy he replaced via corpse magic offered him enough power that he rarely needed to.  There was also the fact that Alowishus’ death magic was an omega force that was both powerful and permanent.

If the wall and furniture had been a human, even one with a full mana cloak, they would’ve been reduced to the same pile of dust.  Just being around Alowishus while he was cloaked in mana would slowly wither and decay a person.  Calen had no idea how Julius Nova had managed to battle the Master for as long as he had without showing signs of ill effect.

“That prideful child of a King has declared war against the Diamond Kingdom.”  Alowishus explained, turning to Calen.  “And that weak fool Sir Jorah has done nothing to stop it.  Yami and Teris have been sent to war.  Our hope for the next existence is in danger.”

Calen blinked, horrified.  Unlike his predecessor, he was careful to show Alowishus’ wife the respect she was due, at least when in front of the Master.

Carefully, Calen questioned.  “Lady Ellara could not effect the King or Wizard King to change their minds or end their life?”

“You think she wouldn’t have done so if she had the chance?  I told her to be careful.  Not to take any unnecessary risks.  She must remain above suspicion.  Her being present to oversee the next steps leading up to Yami’s time are of vital importance.”

“But that means nothing if they die while fighting some war.”  Calen said, emotion getting the better of him.

“Which is why she took the risk to send a letter informing me.”  Alowishus said, dangerously.

Hearing his Master's temper, Calen lowered his head.  “Of course, Master. I meant no disrespect to the esteemed Lady Ellara.”

It would serve no purpose to become cross with the man, Alowishus thought.  He was a hard enough taskmaster as it was.  The promise he had sold these fools would see his own aims met.  But for that, he had to play the part.

“I know you didn’t.  The situation is a disturbing one.”  Alowishus said, truthfully.

“If I may ask, what do you plan to do?”

“Send teams to guard Yami and Teris from afar.  And pay a personal visit to King Morris.”

“But, Master!  The last time you and Morris King saw one another he said he would kill you on sight.”

Alowishus laughed bitterly.  “Do you truly believe Morris or anyone else on this earth is capable of killing Death?”

“N—no.” Calen answered, afraid he had insulted his Master.

“You show your care for me in worrying so.  But you also show how little you think of your Master.”

“Master! I would never--”

“It’s alright.  I will soon show you what Death is truly capable of.  And if Morris challenges me, then you will see a glimpse all the sooner.”

******PLEASE READ******Next chapter WARNING******

There is an assault scene next chapter with the intention of sexual assault and rape.   Neither sexual assault or rape happen but I know such things can be upsetting for people.  If anyone would like me to mark the scene so they can skip it please comment or message me.   Doing a format edit for this would take some time since my wp and ao3 don't speak the same language which is why I'm not doing it right off the bat (and all my updates happen there first).  But I have no problem doing it if someone needs me to.

Thank you to those who have left hearts.  And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently left comments or re-blogged. They really mean a lot.

Next chapter snippet:

Fuegoleon looked up at Beast refusing to be intimated.  The name, though not creative, suited the man.  Beast had to be nearly seven feet tall. He was built like a mountain, his muscles seeming to have muscles. Though Fuegoleon had seen a number of men who were bigger than Tobin Giantsbane and Yami Sukehiro, he had never seen a person that made the two Black Bulls seem small.  Till now.

[exclusivelyirondad]

More Endgame thoughts (and spoilers) ahead.  A lot has been said already, but I’ve been adding to this since April 30th, and I needed to express the thoughts and feelings that many others share with me in my own words.  

It seems like everyone's just ghosted, like they just saw the movie and peaced-out.  Maybe they felt a sense of relief when the ax finally did fall, but the fandom seems to be divided.  I'm coping quite well--I'm not an emotional wreck (although I was when leaving the theater, and I’ve cried a few times since), but I also know that this wound hasn't closed; it's all been very slow.  Maybe the majority who remain weren't very old at all when the first Iron Man came out, and thus aren't as attached to the Original 6.  Maybe Marvel intended their younger audience to experience the Uncle Ben Effect for Peter.  I was thinking that they wouldn't need to develop Peter's character down that route; I was thinking they'd have new plans for him, since he already had that under his belt when we were introduced to him.  I've written extensively on my beliefs about one’s need for a consistent father figure, and while I am relieved that Happy might be stepping up to that role, Tony's removal is still unnecessary to a lot of us.  It's not the only way to develop Peter's character, and certainly not the only way to remove a character from the spotlight.  Death rarely has meaning in real life, but in stories it *can* mean something.  I think Death should be used sparingly for this reason.  Where a character Can Live, Can Thrive, Can Participate, they should be free to do so.  Tony’s story wasn't by any stretch Finished, and his next line after Cap's assertion about Tony’s alleged cowardice (which the latter proved wrong in the first Avengers movie after taking that missile through the wormhole) stated that he would rather just "cut the wire."  To cut the wire, so that you can go home, so that you don't have to trade lives, is a much more coherent, much more sensible end.  To have Tony live up (down) to the sacrificial standard is to step backwards--the opposite of progress, to our informed understanding.    

But venting my negativity, and seeing others vent theirs, sort of eases the pain, and in some cases gives me hope.  The lack of consistency between timelines and directors' decisions is, ironically, a really big hope-booster.  After hearing a couple friends' and family's qualms with the film in-person, I've gotten just a bit of closure, but it's not on the level of actual counsel as we didn't *keep* talking about it.  We, very briefly, exchanged a preview-version of our interpretation and then were done with it.  I felt I needed to find someone, somewhere, who shares my perspective.  It was validating to talk to them about plotholes and such, because (ironically, as terrible as this sounds), it made his death look more, to me, the way in which I was already seeing it: not cheapened, not short of brilliant and beautifully-performed, but *less necessary.*  

I began contemplating ways around his death.  The writers cannot play the 'Fate'-card at any point because they are in charge of every detail--Carol conveniently getting blasted off-planet, Wanda & Thor being temporarily decomissioned--all the way down to the fact that [A] the burden of the stones could have been shared by everyone on the field (the strongest among them taking hold of the stones first) as they did in GOTG1, and [B] Tony & the others simply did not use the stones independently or in smaller dosages.  But, in the end, we have two mortal, human deaths for the price of a restored universe in Earth-199999/616, which isn't ultimately so bad on the surface.  They could have transitioned to the next heroes in celebration, the graffiti in commemoration of the retired heroes and a welcome to any who would rise in their place. 

While I remain wary of criticizing Endgame just because it didn't go "my way," I also know that we have a lot of well-supported arguments stocked-up to affirm our case that Tony's death was an *overall* less-than-satisfactory decision.  Besides, it's just a part of being in a fandom to criticize the media we consume--it helps to develop communication skills and independent thinking.  Since Infinity War, I was erring on the hope that "Tony Lives," not so much because I was preparing for the worst but because it just seemed the intuitive way to go.  And let's be honest, nobody in the theater who had been following the franchise for more than a few movies was surprised that any number of the Original 6 would be sacrificed.  So, Endgame failed even to accomplish any Shock they might have hoped for.  

I also feel as if a lot of people are perhaps expressing that they enjoyed Endgame while not acknowledging latent feelings that deeper digging into the plot might produce.  Fans are perfectly within their right to enjoy the movie, but our objections to it are less on the level of personal opinions and more on the level of actual critique based in objective standards of narrative and character development.

It almost feels deliberate, doesn't it?  Like they *knew* what they had before writing over it with something worse.  Like they *knew* the value of Found Family.  Like we really were baited, and aren't just imagining a problem.  And *this* is why that ending landed us in the Bad Timeline.  We were baited with Found Family and it was snatched away from us.  If Happy's bond with Peter isn't as satisfying for the audience (trust me when I say that I very much support it, have high hopes for it, trust in Happy's steadfast character, and *do* recognize the progress in having him, May, and the remaining Ironfamily be there for Peter instead of the lesson being, "Grow up and be alone,") it won't be because he isn't an attractive superhero billionaire, it'll be because Peter's bond with Tony is still fresh, and was, indeed, beautiful, and *could have* been complete before it was untimely cut short.  He was already dealing with loss when we met him in Civil War.  What more can you teach him through that?  

There's not really a way for us to "fix" this, being that it's Canon now, and the rest of the MCU henceforth will follow This timeline.  This isn't just one movie that they have a chance to fix in the long-run with another, this is the final chapter--the most important one which will be solidified in movies to come.  We're essentially cut-off and locked-in from here onward.  

If we were to rewrite the world before 2023, we’d certainly be limited.  To bring another Tony back wouldn't be a solution--it's not the same Tony (in much the same way that reuniting with an alternate Spider-Man or stranding our Peter in a new universe would feel eerie and unsatisfactory).  This isn’t to suggest that any ending with an alternate Tony taking the other’s place cannot be written in a satisfactory way; just that the grief would still be ever-present for *this* Tony.  If anything, another time heist where everyone keeps their memories seems more appropriate.  Still, to go back in time, by the theory used in Endgame, only creates a new timeline, unless we collapse and merge the one where he died.  Even a timeline *very* similar to the one through which we were led is still unique, and has its own Tony Stark.  We might be able to salvage the other time-janked plotholes (Loki's escape, Nat and Gamorra's soul releasing Redskull, Thanos & Company departing their original timeline and going a different route, ultimately being destroyed, Steve rewriting the past and possibly erasing an entire generation, just to name a few), but that's still pretty far-fetched.  At the end of the day, all that's left is to either Accept or Depart from Canon.  RDJ is irreplaceable, after all, and tragically, as far as we know, his rendition of Tony Stark is finished.  Although, I suppose any time you take a character into your own hands, it creates a new timeline for them--it's just that minor changes and major changes have different impacts, and the fans who previously felt free to manipulate minor details without having to leave the world altogether will now have a much more difficult time doing so without “becoming a dirty, no-good necromancer” (as my conscience likes to call me any time I even *think* about bringing Tony back in my own way.)  The "secretly alive/A.I." theories are an okay solution given our alternatives, but it doesn't seem like that's where the story is going.  

But so much happened in that movie, and likely will in future movies, that makes his death "essential," and I'm upset about that, too, because they're sloppily tacking on "purpose" retroactively.  They want, so badly, for it to be meaningful, and not useless, but the way that it happened kinda leaves it in a sour limbo, as if the event, itself, were a corpse being strung up and made to dance like a marionette.  Like, no matter how many meaningful strings they connect back to it from this point onward, it's still going to register as an unnecessary loss to those of us who were paying attention, to those of us who didn't want him to die, and to those of us who don't put stock in death, itself.  Tony Stark *would* have still been a hero if he had learned how to pass on the torch (without dying.)  He would have still been *himself.*  You can grow, change, shed your flaws, learn new tricks, without losing your identity or role in the world.  While his willingness to sacrifice himself was, indeed, a heroic trait, it shouldn’t have been one that ultimately killed him--there was another beautiful lesson just ahead of him, one which would have allowed him to rely on others to take up the mantle so that he could care for the new adventure he’d built with Pepper and the Ironfamily.  

When you have a character like this in your hands, you're no longer just writers, you're gods.  You have responsibilities.  (I'm not used to speaking this freely, saying such extreme things.  I know I'm all over the place.)  These characters have been with us for so long that they may as well be real.  I wouldn't doubt that those involved in Endgame's creation put a lot of planning into it, but even with planning you can still miss out on Perspective.  Why didn't these questions win out during the Devil's Advocate phase of the writing process?  Was there even a Devil's Advocate phase?  What were their aims when creating it?  To draw it to a close, to make room for new heroes, perhaps to leave just as big an impact as Infinity War.  Far From Home is supposed to close this phase of the MCU (not Endgame), so we still have a bit of a wait.  Did they want to appeal only to newer fans?  It wouldn't be a problem if the feelings of older fans weren't sacrificed for that.  I'm not even sure if Tony's death is what newer fans were interested to see.  What if Marvel deliberately Twists the Knife?  *What if their role for us is to see that any qualms we have with Tony's death are a reflection of our selfishness toward a man who just wanted peace?*  (Of course, what a lot of us wanted for him was the same--peace, but without the insinuation that the only way out for him is by killing him off.)  Did they mourn his death when killing him? Did the decision affect them to the point that it was difficult (and not just in terms of knowing there would be people upset by the decision, getting between them and the bottom line)?  

I don't think they should put the onus on the fans who loved him--I think, for all the therapy he did not receive, for the lack of a True Happy Ending, and for all the people who became his family, the onus should be on those who gave him pain to take it away.  If you are god-enough to impart pain and death, you are god-enough to remove it.  We cannot act powerless against Fate when we write a character like this into the world.  While some people rail at God for taking their loved ones away, I guess my grief-process is stunted because I have real people to criticize.  But, again, that's still me putting the onus on myself.  I don't think I'll be here forever; certainly, I do view these characters with a healthy eye, but they're not exactly a Small part of my world, either.  

The mention of the Multiverse in the new FFH trailer may even deal with the responsibility on Peter's part not to selfishly venture into alternate realities (Mysterio's illusion tricks in the comics + the False Voice scene from Bambi II, anyone?)  It may even be the case that we, the fans, are being pressured to feel similarly, being that Robert has completed his contract with Marvel.  Of course, none of us are asking that he stay, merely wishing that his rendition of Tony had a better ending.  I think our society has decided that growing up means more than gaining knowledge and skills--it means "getting rid of our vital connections after a certain age."  This is not, to any extent, ideal, but it is expected, and it is perceived as "growth" when forced upon a young person in a story.  Individualism is a toxic side-effect spurred by various factors in our current system (economic, legal, and religious history, leading to our current ideological climate, at least for those in positions of power).  

If any criticisms could hold weight, it might still be worth noting their counterpart: /"Tony created his own enemies, even invited them--it's Peter's turn to make better choices."/  Apart from the complete inaccuracy of the opening phrase (just rewatch the films; I'm not expanding on this one), is that really what his creators were planning from the start, or did they just salvage pieces of past films like a patchy fan theory and write it in after the fact?  (Point in case: JKR.)  I'm not usually so feisty, but this is Tony Stark I defend.  

/"It's heroic to sacrifice oneself for the greater good," "It's time for the young to grow up and face responsibility."/  All of these messages, though, are misplaced to me.  They don't have to involve the taking of lives.  In our world, they often do, but there is no *intrinsic* value to using death as a vehicle.  The Ancient One was wrong.  Death has only intrinsic *negative* value--as with any hardship, it can bring about positives but is not, in itself, a positive.  When dealing with this philosophy it is important to distinguish chance from purpose.  I cannot help but feel that I am alone because I've outgrown the ideology of those who glorify and romanticize struggle and war.  A peaceful ending is progress compared with our reality; a bitter ending should remain in the past.  Do they think they are bypassing this problem by the ending they chose for Tony?  /"Your new heroes can have a better ending than he did,"/ it might be suggested (while still getting their Death in.)  I disagree, since that isn't progress For That Character.  

/"Death is not always fair, not always reasonable."/  A bit patronizing, that (not hearing it from Tony, of course, as he was merely preparing for the possibility of his own death, but as one of the Ultimate Lessons they needed to tie to it.)  What's the target audience, 13 to 46?  Somewhere in that range, plus the exceptions older and younger?  Not really news to the majority.  So what is its purpose?  Why close a story like that?  

/"Having Tony survive would've taken away a heroic ending from him."/  It's important to acknowledge there are multiple kinds of heroism capable of being expressed--we've known from Iron Man 1 that Tony was willing to sacrifice himself for one cause or another, but for him to finally see the value in allowing others to share the burden would've made for just as powerful and necessary a message.  It would have been subtle; not many fans would emotionally pick up on it at first and many would openly criticize it, but those who are paying attention would recognize a new kind of heroism was being performed.  This movie wouldn’t have been for those who only jumped in recently, anyway--there’s so much that’s been built up to over the past 21 movies for which there wasn’t time enough to cover.  The ending to Captain Marvel had a similar effect--the inner strength which men often overlook is expressed through Danvers' willingness to do what is truly necessary, rather than what has been deemed "heroic," and the creators of superhero movies would do well to follow the trajectory of changes in audience values.  "Superhero burnout" may come to pass but not because people will grow weary of superheroes or the hope and sense of victory they bring, but because of the glorification of war and fighting.  

It is a comfort to know that Robert and Tom are still friends, and will be making at least one more movie together.  It is a comfort to know that a lot of the Tony Stark we saw came straight from RDJ, so a good portion of him lives.  Still, I instinctively know this feeling isn't going to leave for a while, especially since, a few weeks after Infinity War, I had a little meltdown.  On top of this, we will be brought through Peter's own grief in his next movie--he, too, is fictional but should not be abandoned.  I feel as if I cannot move on until I see Far From Home, and maybe that, too, is Marvel's intention.  

[firenationskydominion]

Chapter 19: A Phoenix Rises again

A few days later Azula and Mya camped outside Capital City and prepared to enter at dawn. But how without risking being thrown into the dungeons? Azula got off the horse.

Az:       My whole tush is sore.

 M:       You’ll get used to it. Try this Yoga pose, it shall relax your strained muscles.

 Az:      My father has secret tunnels which lead everywhere in the palace. It might well be that he is in there...

 M:       I know an entry point... but we need a disguise...

  Mya was unknown to the FireNation people. Nobody had seen her from near. But that was different for Azula. Mya went to the city and bought two large hats.

  Ozai woke and was upset. He felt empty. He had no plan. Nothing to do. Nobody to talk to. He was a ghost. He left his chamber and for a brief moment considered facing Zuko in an Agni Kai to demand back the throne. Who had tried to kill him? Zuko? Some General? His enemies were plenty, but did he have friends? He had visited his followers incognito and many really wished for him to return. He thought about Azula, Amon and Elua. He once had been such a sweet boy like Zuko, but Azulon had beaten him into shape. Ozai mourned himself, his sad childhood and his loneliness. He missed Mya, Amon and Azula. But seeing Amon and Azula would remind him constantly of Myas death. Yet the thought hovered over him all the time and no amount of evading it would soften the pain.

  After exiting his bedroom he took the secret passages to a tunnel on the side of the throne room. He peeped through a hole and saw Zuko sitting on the elevated throne. The fire was off. He decided to prank Zuko and flicked his finger. The flames shot up and Ozai smiled.

  Zuko was talking to his Generals when suddenly the flames around him ignited. He was startled and jumped up. The Kiyoshi warriors came in and checked the whole room. No intruders. Zuko had heard the silly stories of Ozais ghost haunting the palace. If he was a ghost, he was dead for good and Zuko had one worry less to fret about. A short while later a congregation of Generals entered the throne room.

  After the attack on Ozai and Mya the Generals had feared that the deal was off, but Amon kept his word and the trade between the worlds had been coordinated by him and Azula. He never mentioned Ozai or Mya though, even upon request.

  In the meantime Earth King Kuei was increasingly dissatisfied with the peace accord. He finally realized that he had been sidelined by the Fire Nation and started assembling ground troops. The Dai Li had always managed trade and Kuei on his own without their counsel was inept to make responsible decisions. Furthermore some secret Dai Li agents were sabotaging his efforts. His people were dissatisfied and he needed a war to keep their minds engaged. There was also turmoil and rumours about Ozais return. The common people iconified and exploited Ozai as a marketing gag for all sorts of products. He was far more popular now than during his reign. People were simpleminded and craved a strong leader. Zuko was seen as weak and doubtful.

   Zuko noticed that the generals were dissatisfied. They asked him to take a stand and to send troops to face the Earth Kingdom offensive. Zuko was torn. He was pondering over what to do when the fires ignited again. Ozai stepped out of the flames like an apparition.

  O:        It’s time to decide son, or the generals will decide for you.

  Zuko jumped up from the throne aghast.

  Z:         Father! You’re alive!

O:        You all seem surprised to see me. Let me assure you, I am not a ghost. I see at least a few happy faces among you. Let me see who is the most shocked of all is most likely the person hiring archers to kill me... Zuko was it you? General Zheng? General Sako? I will find out eventually.

  Zuko was nervous. What did his father want?

  Z:         A strange way to visit me to barge in like this on a counsel meeting...? Tell me, what do you want?

O:       Oh, I was watching you, always wondering if you sent the arrows... patricide runs in our family... You had the wardens torture me before, so why not go a step further. I will not hold this against you. I know how difficult it is to decide wisely as a Firelord and that you lack the confidence that I always had.

 Z:        Do you want to fight me?

 O:       Not unless I must. I would like to spend a few days here. I have some private matters to attend to. Generals, who ever tried to kill me will most probably try again.

   One of the Generals, a young handsome man, with black hair and golden eyes mustered up all his courage:

  G:       Firelord Ozai, please take back the throne! You have many loyal followers who are willing to sacrifice their lives for your victory!

  Ozai smiled. He closed his eyes and paused, before addressing the generals. His voice was menacing and cool:

  O:        And I, what am I to do then? Kill my son and my brother in order to take the throne back? Are you suggesting treason against the acting Firelord Zuko, General Wuhan?

  The Generals face went pale.

  Ozai looked at Zuko measuring him up.

  O: How does Firelord Zuko treat insubordination and attempts at treason? Will he lash out like I used to? Will he fight him in an Agni Kai to gain superiority? Or will he be lenient and in return suffer a hit from a poisoned arrow? Will he toss Wuhan in a cold jail cell to have him tortured like his own father or banish him to the colonies? I don’t fear to fight my son, if need be I’ll die in flames as our greatest heroes have. Whatever you choose, son, it will create bad blood, uprisals and sectarianism... But please, for the sake of our nation, make a choice!

  Z:         Why did you really return?

O:        Mya is dead. This is still my house and I needed a place to stay. As simple as that.

Z:         Mya dead? Was it the poisoned arrow?

   Ozai bitterly said:

  O:        No, a bomb in a city far away in another world. It all seems so distant, now that I am back. Iroh was so adamant that I wanted the throne back, he attacked me.

  Zuko stared at Ozai, shocked.

  O:        Don‘t worry, son. He should be alright. Nothing a cup of tea could not fix. Now please have the servants ready my chamber. I am tired and I want to rest.

  The Generals and Zuko were confused. Ozai looked at their blank faces.

  O:        What are you waiting for?

  Zuko ordered the servants to comply with Ozais wishes. Ozai was vigilant. He was baiting himself out, attempting to draw the culprit out of the shadows.

  Zuko then dismissed all Generals, also Wuhan who was surprised and relieved to get away without any repercussions.

  ****

  Elua was cooking her chicken broth when somebody knocked at her door. She opened only to find two ladies with enormous hats standing in front of her door.

 E: I don’t buy anything and I do not want to hear about your saviour, thanks.

 She prepared to shut the door but Mya told her about their identities and that they needed her help.

   An hour later the broth was eaten and all three women wore Elua's old clothes. Three old ladies. They packed baskets with cookies and wine and left for the gate of Caldera city. At that moment, a few hundred messenger birds left the palace and flew into the sky. Upon arrival at the gate, they pretended to be old alumnae of Master Shinsendos Firebending school who were on their way to their school reunion. The guards were overjoyed and let them in without a hassle. With this story they proceeded further to the stables. Mya checked the loose floor board. Ozais uniform was hidden, his royal clothes were missing, he had been here.

   Ozai was sitting in his room at his desk reading letters from his supporters. They even sent fanmail with pictures of him painted by their kids. He cringed, but his inflated ego forbid him to destroy depictions of himself, so he filed them meticulously. There was a knock on the door. General Wuhan was outside and bid to enter.

  W:        I have come to ask your forgiveness, Mylord. I had in no means intended to offend your feelings. I heard today that the news from the front are bad. Earth Nation smashed our battalion and many died. You, Mylord are popular, and the idea of your formal return to power gains traction with the commonfolk. You are supported by the Fire priests and the council of sages. I know I am risking my life talking to you, please forgive my insubordination. Do with me what you want, but please, I am begging you, do something about our weak defense.

O:       Wuhan, I despise traitors, you should know me better. You are young though and yet a general. How come?

 W:       I fought bravely, but I was also lucky.

 O:       Very modest of you to downplay your role in the siege of BaSingSe. So you are saying they all want me back. You were a boy during my first reign. You never experienced my rule... You show courage, coming to my doorstep unannounced. You remind me of myself in younger years. You are dismissed.

  Wuhan left light heartedly. He had left a lasting impression on Ozai. A courageous young man, with golden eyes and a very delicious looking tush.

  Ozai left hurriedly to the throne room. Zuko was sitting on the throne. Ozai did not want to use the front door like a commoner with requests, nor the side door like a servant. He decided to enter through another side entrance from the entry hall which the Generals usually took.

  O:        Son, can we talk in private?

 Z:        I don’t know what you want to talk about...

 O:       The war... Kuei is gaining traction. I am a bit... worried.

 Z:        A battle lost is not a war lost!

 O:       Let me command the army. I‘ll crush Earth Nation.

 Z:        Kuei has no clue, it‘s the Dai Li who are mourning their loss of importance. I will never allow you to command my troops, you will overthrow me.

 O:       I have no plans to fight you. But Wuhan’s tactic was just a taste of what is about to come.

 Z:        I cannot please everyone.

 O:       You need to please the right people.

 Maybe the people should decide what path they want to take. If they back you, the generals can‘t do much.

Z:        Those bloodthirsty ingrates who whine about cabbage price hikes and who put up that ugly statue of yours.

O:       Very unflattering, I agree with you. They totally missed my perfect cheekbones and abs! But listen, if they vote for you, you’ll be democratically legitimated! The Generals will have no choice. Let’s create a two party system. They can choose your way or my way. They will choose and nobody will be left to blame but themselves if we fail.

 Z:        You would win the election... and I would again be in defeat.

 O:       I always thought you were the leader who cared about the people. Win their hearts. I can give them fancy parades, but you can give them meaning and a future. Let‘s compete and see who wins. The colonies will vote for you, so will all those who lost kin in the war. Some old folks will vote for me out of loyalty. It will confirm your regency.

   Zuko thought about it and finally caved in. They would first let the Generals assemble and appoint them as small parliamentary chamber. The ongoing offensive demanded swift action. They should freely choose whom they vowed to follow and the losers would respect the decision. After that they would prepare for elections in Fire Nation and the colonies to create a parliamentary monarchy with the Fire Lord as Head of State.

  Ozai summoned the generals. They seemed to fear Ozai who was standing next to Zuko, who was seated on the throne and looked small in comparison. Ozai feigned to be absentmindedly and casually flicking fire with his fingers, but everyone who knew him well saw that he was alert. Every inch of his body was ready to strike. Zuko was already sidelined. Suddenly there was a commotion and the guards notified them of turmoil outside the gates of Caldera city. The families of the fallen soldiers of the most recent clash demanded Zuko to step down. They had been notified by birds from the palace about Ozais return. Ozai couldn’t resist a smile. Zuko had to watch helplessly as Ozai summoned the generals and asked them to vote for either his or Zukos leadership. Only a few dared vote for Zuko. Within less than an hour Ozai had taken over the reign again.

[wildlyhardphilosopher-blog]

potty training my dog | training a puppy

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potty training my dog | training a puppy

Puppy training schedule… more training at 2-3 months 60 Breeds-Extinction in the Conformation Sport Search START Pippa Mattinson is the best selling author of several books on dogs. She is the founder of the Labrador Site and a regular contributor. She is passionate about helping people enjoy their Labradors and lives in Hampshire with her husband and four dogs. 4. Fill out the details on the next page. You will need to the email address of your friend or family member. It’s important to begin puppy training as early as possible to avoid your dog developing bad habits that can be hard to lose later on. Solve your dog’s behavior issue quickly using our tried and true techniques. This also trains you to see that accidents are not the dogs fault. If the dog is leashed to you/in the same room as you, and still having accidents, then there’s no way you can be angry at the dog, because you are not paying enough attention!  Being angry at your dog or punishing him just for relieving himself (no matter if you consider it to be in the ‘wrong’ place) is detrimental to his learning, and your relationship with him, so this is an important part of the process. 5 Tips On Crate Training: The Nice Way To Crate A Puppy The Testing Phase – Once you’re sure that your Dog has achieved almost 90% success….he responds correctly almost every time you give a command, you must start testing his accuracy in newer locations with a lot of distractions. Alexa Parsons Bark Control Anxiety Wrap (1) 952-894-5100 RSM Canine Transportation It’s normal for a young puppy to be a little ‘input-output’ machine. Since puppies are growing and developing rapidly, they eat food often, burn up lots of energy and seem to need to eliminate constantly! They also have not yet developed bowel and bladder control, so they can’t ‘hold it’. Plastic (27) Art Vet’s Best Comfort Calm Soft Chews Dog Supplement, 30 count Training Systems Catnip Toys Software Write in scheduled sleeps for your puppy, place them in the crate or confinement area. You should also consider the Big Barker 7-inch Pillow Top Orthopedic dog bed , the Brindle Waterproof Designer Memory Foam dog bed , the Coolaroo Elevated Dog Bed , or the PetFusion Ultimate Dog Bed & Lounge . 10 Easy to Make DIY Dog Toys How to prevent and resolve common puppy issues like nipping, inappropriate chewing, excessive barking, and jumping up. Avoid using physical punishment. Studies have shown that physically punishing your puppy (like hitting, kicking, growling, or staring down) actually increases aggression in your puppy.[7] You should never use physical punishment to correct undesirable puppy behavior. Load more Cool Dog Tricks Step by Step Guide to Groom Puppies Like the Pros It’s best to use confinement to teach your dog that he has to wait to go to the bathroom outside the house. You can do this by purchasing a crate, so the puppy has just enough space to turn around and lie down. Another alternative, if possible, is to keep the puppy by your side at all times while clipped to a four- to six-foot leash. All the wonderful fall colours🍂. . A lovely day with my gal @nuhdean 💕📸 . . . #puppysit #furbaby #friends #puppy #puppylove #stanleypark #vancouver #vancity #dogsofig #dog #minigoldendoodle #goldendoodle #doodle #love #fall #bff Dog and His Fuzzy Purple Hippo Must Be Adopted Together, Shelter Says Train your puppy: How to sit See all 31 customer reviews Holidays If you go out to work during the day and are planning to leave your puppy alone for more than an hour or two, you’ll need to let your puppy go to the bathroom indoors, and we’ll be looking at the best way to do that and still end up with a house trained dog. gigi_moss@yahoo.com List unavailable. Search Scoop Away Treats should be small (about the size of your pinky fingernail), and you will need at least three to five treats for each potty break. All Blog Posts We love our dogs and we want to do right by them. While there are numerous benefits to owners in having a well-behaved, obedient dog, there are surprising benefits to the dog as well—one of which is the potential of a significant improvement in both the quality and length of your dog’s life. Good training is enriching, mentally stimulating, and gives them a sense of control over their environment. But how do we know which training path to take when there is so much conflicting advice? How do we make sure we’re not doing more harm than good? DentaLife Four Cues Every Dog Should Know Design My puppy keeps biting my foot everytime I walk and even pulls my clothes. I have several wounds already. What should I do? Voted Best Training in Denver 2014-2018. Self-Publish with Us 29.97 Let’s Keep In Touch Dog Facts You and your dog will receive at-home, personalized, one-on-one training from one of our highly skilled trainers. Fish Food Nickel is a wonderful pet who barks loudly at other dogs and many people including our neighbors. I wanted help controlling some of this behavior without using aggressive or negative reinforcement techniques. I had previously been through other forms of training with Nickel. Ruth Skinner taught my husband and I how to communicate with Nickel in a… more Special Offers Ad feedback Ways to Give Echo How to Potty Train Remember, the more frequently a dog is rewarded for a behavior, the more frequently they will practice that behavior! Now he’s ready to practice with you standing up! Follow the same steps, but if he tries to snatch the less tasty treat, cover it with your foot. Diapers, Liners, & Garments The course is in English. In 1935, the American Kennel Club began obedience trials, and in the following years popular magazines raised public awareness of the benefits of having a trained pet dog, and of the recreational possibilities of dog training as a hobby.[17] After WWII, the increasing complexities of suburban living demanded that for a pet dog’s own protection and its owner’s convenience, the dog should be obedient. William Koehler had served as principal trainer at the War Dog Training Center, in California, and after the war became chief trainer for the Orange Empire Dog Club—at the time, the largest dog club in the United States—instructor for a number of breed clubs, and a dog trainer for the Walt Disney Studios.[18] In 1962 Koehler published The Koehler Method of Dog Training, in which he is highly critical of what he calls “tid-bit training techniques” based in “the prattle of ‘dog psychologists'”.[17] Amongst the training innovations attributed to Koehler is the use of a long line in conjunction with a complete absence of oral communication as a way of instilling attentiveness prior to any leash training. Koehler insisted that participants in his training classes used “emphatic corrections”, including leash jerks and throw chains, explaining that tentative, nagging corrections were cruel in that they caused emotional disturbance to the dog.[19] Vicki Hearne, a disciple of Koehler’s, commented on the widespread criticism of his corrections, with the explanation that it was the emotionally loaded language used in the book that led to a number of court cases, and to the book being banned in Arizona for a time.[20] Despite the controversy, his basic method forms the core of many contemporary training systems.[21] Clothes & Costumes Tweet Dog Training Infographic Teach “Go Potty” Command: Shy Pups Pets 101 toggle menu Don’t forget dog walkers and pet sitters. Whenever possible, a well-qualified, insured dog walker or pet sitter (or even, in some cases, a responsible and trusted friend/neighbor) is a better alternative to piddle pad training. It’s always best to give your dog plenty of opportunities to eliminate outside. Provide rules, boundaries, limitations How To Start Your Dog Peeing In The Yard Mobile App Learning how to potty train a puppy can be a challenge. But there is a way to train dogs with great success. This way accidents will be few and your new puppy will know what to do within only a few days of housetraining. Training dogs to stop using the floor to relieve themselves is important. Teaching your puppy good potty habits is the basis for a trusting and loving relationship between you and your new family member. For Vets Tidy Cats® Make Bunny Vets and Supply Locations Make a Reservation AUTHOR Android Keep your puppy from nipping. Puppies are naturally playful and have to learn limits when it comes to playing rough. As soon as your puppy nips, say “ouch” and yelp. Ignore your dog for up to 20 seconds after it lets go of your hand. This will teach your dog that you won’t tolerate rough play.[6] Don’t be alarmed if your puppy sounds distressed – leaving its mother is a big life change. “Bringing a puppy home is super-exciting for the family but perhaps less so for the puppy, so it’s your role to ensure [the transition] is as stress-free and happy as it can be,” says Claire. Talk to your puppy quietly so it becomes used to your voice, and try not to smother it with attention. Your puppy may cry at night at first and it can be upsetting to listen to, but leave lights off and try to avoid letting your puppy sleep with you or your kids, unless you’re prepared to have an adult dog on your bed for the next 15 years. Also, you must test your dog once in awhile. As they grow, the duration for how long your puppy will be able to hold it in will increase. Testing this can go well if you’re patient and careful. But if you’re not, remember accidents will happen. When your dog is a year or so, expect them to have few accidents, if any.

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fbq('track', 'ViewContent', content_ids: 'dogtraining.dknol', ); Set Up Find by Brand Name Kiss My Mutt Priority Code on Everyday Items Book A Seminar Adopting from a breeder Brochure Who will train my and care for my dog? Professor Donaldson shows various techniques out in the field as she puts the wait command to the test at a dog park. Watch and learn as she adds in distraction, distance, and duration for more of a challenge. She provides valuable tips to help transition practicing the same lessons in an unfamiliar environment. x Puppy Training: A Step-by-Step Guide to Crate Training, Potty Training, and Obedience Training Kindle Edition MRSA Survivors Network Purina ONE® Control the Diet Feeding Accessories Food Food Storage Snacks & Treats Vitamins & Supplements Register a Litter cat toy balls Police Scanner History Science Innovation Arts & Culture Travel Puppy Obedience Training Your dog will pick up cues from the tone of your voice. If you’re saying things like “Good girl,” “That’s what I’m looking for,” “Nice job,” in a quiet, loving, calm tone immediately after she goes, you’re reinforcing that behavior. If using umbilical cord training: Attach a leash and tether your puppy to you, ready to react if they make moves to eliminate. Take them to their bathroom spot at the scheduled time. Canna-Pet® Max Medical Conditions Feed your puppy their meals in the crate. If your puppy is still nervous about entering the crate, place the bowl closer to the opening for the first feeding and gradually move it farther into the crate. (107) Professor Donaldson shows various techniques out in the field as she puts the wait command to the test at a dog park. Watch and learn as she adds in distraction, distance, and duration for more of a challenge. She provides valuable tips to help transition practicing the same lessons in an unfamiliar environment. x Sarah Richardson, PhD, CPDT-KA, CDBC, CSAT, is the owner of The Canine Connection, a boarding, training, and daycare facility in Chico, California. Over the past 12 years, she and some of her assistant trainers have often modeled for photos that illustrate articles in WDJ, but this is the first article that Richardson has written for WDJ! how to teach a puppy to catch a frisbee | Everything you Need to be Prepared for your New Puppy! how to teach a puppy to catch a frisbee | How to Get Your UNFOCUSED Dog to LISTEN to You RIGHT NOW! (“Leave it”/”Look at Me” Combo) how to teach a puppy to catch a frisbee | Choosing The Greatest Puppy For Your Life Legal | Sitemap

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There is relatively little in the academic literature on the cuckoldress and the hot wife. But both forms of female dominance seem to be gaining in popularity as made evident by my clinical practice and the Internet. A recent article in the Huffington Post (2014) entitled, "Cheating Wives on the Rise," reported that female infidelity has increased over the past two decades. Why? According to Longhi (2011), author of When Women Cheat, “modern men are evolving into beta males, with lower testosterone levels and thereby being conditioned to accept female infidelity as normal, resulting in the biological rewiring of our ideals about monogamous love.” Baker (1996), author of Sperm Wars, contended that men are complicit in female infidelity: the excitement of a man’s female partner having sex with another man biologically compels the man to have sex with his partner in an attempt to compete with the other man’s sperm. In tune with Castleman (2009), I suspect that positive developments such as an increase in educational and economic opportunities for women also play a part. Women who can support themselves are more likely to risk having an affair, and spending more time in the work world affords them the opportunity. Power and control dynamics witnessed in one’s family of origin may also be a causal factor. I suppose it’s better to screw than to be screwed.

CUCKOLDRESS

In the reverse double-standard of the cuckolding subculture, the cuckoldress (female) tends to take on the sexually dominant role, and the cuckold (male) the submissive role. Cuckolding can range from verbal fantasy between monogamous partners (e.g., the cuckoldress tells the cuckold about her desire for a more virile man) to alternative lifestyles in which the cuckoldress chooses to experience lovers outside her primary relationship. The cuckold is to remain loyal to the cuckoldress; he is dedicated to meeting her needs no matter how humiliating he finds the process. In fact, the more humiliating the greater the high.

The cuckold may not be allowed to participate in “any” sexual act including solo-masturbation, unless given permission by the cuckoldress. The cuckoldress may choose to ensure this by placing her partner’s penis in a chastity belt and wearing the key on a chain around her neck. The men that the cuckoldress chooses for her lovers are referred to as “bulls.” The cuckoldress may have one or two bulls for a long period of time, or as many as she desires, and at her discretion. The cuckold must learn to embrace emasculation and humiliation at the hands of his queen. If the cuckoldress allows the cuckold to directly participate in her sexual experiences it is usually for the purpose of furthering his sexual humiliation. For example, she may force him to have sex with one of her bulls.

The cuckold and cuckoldress usually sign a formalized contract outling the sexual terms of their relationship. However, the cuckoldress is usually granted power and control over other contexts in their lives as well. For example, a cuckoldress I was treating told her partner that she also wanted compete control over their finances. “I can’t play the sexual-power role and dominate you if I don’t feel in control of everything,” she said. “It makes it more real to me.” Many cuckolds also play the role of a domesticated female by agreeing to stay home and take on various household responsibilities. It is not uncommon for the cuckold to have dinner waiting for the cuckoldress following her return from a liaison with one of her bulls. If the cuckold fails to fulfill any of the agreed upon terms of the agreement, the cuckoldress may punish him in any way she deems fit. This may range from a physical beating to an extended period of time in the chastity belt. Some cuckolds are held responsible for failing to keep their partners stocked with men.

Both parties agree to the terms of their specific relationship. If the cuckold feels strongly about a particular issue he can assert his will and insist that it be addressed in the contractual agreement. One cuckold sought treatment with me because his cuckoldress violated their contract: He insisted that his wife stay away from a man he despised, but she still had sex with the man even though she initially agreed to honor her husband’s condition.

Not all cuckolds are men; not all need to be married. But some level of commitment is necessary to enhance the erotic high of the sexual double standard. Cuckolding is often correlated with other fetishes such as exhibitionism and voyeurism. This makes sense since “seeing” and “showing” are key components of the cuckolding practice.

Unlike the dominatrix—which was discussed at length in Part I—cuckolding tends to develop out of a swinging lifestyle. Swingers, or those who engage others outside their relationship for the primary purpose of satisfying their sexual appetites, eventually determine that female sexual dominance is particularly attractive to them. If they already realize they have a proclivity for this delicacy prior to engaging in swinging, the swinging may then serve to open the door for it. While the male partner tends to initiate this dominant/submissive dynamic, there is “at least” an “overt” agreement between both parties to carry it out. I use the term overt because in some cases a more passive partner may agree to participate only to please the other. As mentioned in Part I, some dominatrices live the “lifestyle” or maintain the dominatrix role in their personal lives but most are able to keep their personal and professional lives somewhat distinct. This is what separates the dominatrix from the cuckoldress; the latter plays her role within her primary relationship.

The term cuckold derives from the cuckoo bird. While some of these species are monogamous, others are polyandrous and known to change partners, frequently hoping from nest to nest rather than building their own (Wittenzellner & Wingfield, 2004). An added touch of humiliation—if you allow for a bit of anthropomorphism—is that some breeds may also leave their eggs in the nests of others even going to great lengths to hide this from the original nest builder (Stokke, Roskaft, & Moller, 2006). This is similar to the real time cuckold concept of wife breeding or allowing another man to impregnate one’s wife and to accept raising the child as one’s own.

In Western cultures, cuckolds have sometimes been described as “wearing horns.” This alludes to stags who give up their mates when they are defeated by another male. One of the requirements of a modern-day cuckoldress is that her bull possess a penis larger than her primary partner—this adds to the humiliation. As such, cuckolding is considered a BDSM fetish.

Cuckolding can also be mixed with other non-monogamous relationship arrangements with which it has substantial overlap such as swinging, open relationships, and polyamory. Again, it is distinguished from these concepts in that cuckold’s thrill in their partner’s acts is specifically masochistic. There are many myths about the cuckold/cuckoldress couple; the following list may clarify some of them:

Facts and Fallacies

1. Destination Identity: Cuckolding usually emerges from swinging

2. The cuckoldress is usually never out of control

3. The cuckoldress can appear conservative

4. Many are not sexually satisfied with their primary partners

5. The cuckoldress wants better sex, not necessarily more sex

6. The cuckolding act is a kin to claiming female sexual power

7. The cuckoldress tends to carefully select her bulls

8. She can be submissive to her bulls (i.e., lovers)

9. She can have one or more bulls for a long period of time.

10. The is a clear sexual double-standard in her marriage

11. Female submissives do exist (i.e., cuckqueans)

12. The cuckoldress projects sexual inadequacy back onto her partner

13. The male is called a cuckold or cuckoldboy

14. The cuckoldress is primarily in control but she and her mate agree on limits

15. The couple usually sign a contract

16. Many cuckoldresses control all aspects of their relationships, including finances

17. Many restrict their male partner’s sexual capacity with a chastity belt

18. The cuckoldress may allow her male counterpart to masturbate, but usually infrequently

19. The cuckoldress may engage her cuckold to participate in her sexual activities with a bull but always in a limited and humiliating way

20. Cuckolds may be required to play a feminine role at home (e.g., do the dishes while the cuckoldress gets ready for her date with a bull).

21. Cuckolds are oftentimes powerful men outside their relationships with cuckoldresses  

Origin

1. Variant of masochism: The cuckold derives pleasure from being humiliated; the cuckoldress from humiliating.

2. Freud (1922): Cuckold fetishism is the eroticization of the fears of infidelity, and of failure in the male’s competition for procreation and the affection of females.

3. Baumeister (1989), in his book Masochism and the Self: A form of escapism in otherwise mentally healthy people. Cuckold fetishists are relieving themselves of the stress of the burden of their social role and escaping into a simpler, less-expansive position.

4. Freud and Baumeister agreed that the cuckold fetishist seeks pleasure both from the act of being humiliated and by giving pleasure to his lover(s). But cuckolding can be summed up psychologically as “distributing sexual humiliation to the cuckold.”

5. Cuckolds and cuckoldress may have experienced abuse, sexual and otherwise as children

6. Many have issues with control and power

7. Associations were usually made in their youth between control, humiliation, and the erotica

THE HOT WIFE

There seems to be even less material in the professional literature on the hot wife. And while many use the term interchangeably with cuckoldress, others such as Hathaway (2013), author of The Education of a Cuckold, take issue with this. For example, the author believes that the hot wife is more of a projection of her husband’s “slutty desires” in a woman than is the cuckoldress. And unlike the dominatrix and the cuckoldress, the hot wife is more about sex, and less about power and control. She may also be much more sexually active, more sexually flamboyant or provocative, and more sexually aggressive in her pursuit of men. For example, while a cuckoldress or a well compartmentalized dominatrix may look and dress like the girl next door in public, the hot wife tends to always be on the make, dressing as sexually alluring as possible—many are exhibitionistic. The hot wife also tends to be less discriminating in her choice of men than are dominatrices and cuckoldresses. And the hot wife may take more risks to quench her sexual appetite, oftentimes putting herself and her primary partner in danger.

Emanating from the swinger’s lifestyle, the hot wife is basically a married female swinger or a wife who has sex with men other than her husband with her husband’s permission. The hot wife is considered by many to be hypersexual and in some camps, a sex addict. Clearly she is less controlled than her fellow female dominants. She is much more liberal in her sexual control of her primary partner and may allow him to have frequent sex and to even join her in orgies or threesomes. She is far less likely than the cuckoldress to require her partner to wear a chastity belt. The hot wife is not as concerned with emasculating him as she is in reaching her sexual goals. While the hot wife and her primary partner will attempt to outline certain terms of their dynamic, formalized contracts are not considered as necessary as they are to the cuckold/cuckoldress couple. Let’s examine some of the characteristics of hot wives:

Facts and Fallacies

1. The hot wife desires more sex, not necessarily better sex

2. The hot wife is at times, out of control

3. Hit wives dress the part

4. Power is not major focus for the hot wife

5. The hot wife is usually on the make

6. The hot wife has her mate’s permission to sexually engage other men

7. The hot wife might not be very discriminating in choosing her lovers

8. She is primarily interested in sexual freedom

9. She may have sex with her husband or primary partner frequently

10. She may have sex with him infrequently

11. She may include him directly in her sexual activities

12. Not contract is necessary

13. A hot wife can evolve into a cuckoldress, but a cuckoldress will almost never become a hot wife

14. There’s less integrity in the hot wife’s process.

15. There is often little empathy

16. The hot wife operates from a more primitive level

17. The hot wife may also be prone to be engage in other addictive behaviors, even substance abuse

Origin

1. Usually develops out of the swinging lifestyle

2. Closer to sexual addiction

3. Related to humiliation

4. Anti-control/rebelliousness

5. Possible bipolar disorder

6. Possible narcissistic, histrionic traits and tendencies

7. Exhibitionistic qualities

8. Oftentimes substance use/abuse is involved in her activities

9. Sexual abuse

10. Sex and self-esteem correlated

11. Power and control through her sexual prowess more so than male domination

Stay tuned for Part III on the sexually passive men who strongly desire dominant women. As I’ve told my graduate and postgraduate students time and again, while this material may turn you off, the dynamics do exist and therefore should be taken seriously by anyone wishing to make treating couples a life’s work.