#but carrie's particular brand of word vomit is just...

[lucy-moderatz]

What are you afraid of?

[sinnetsins]

roommate tim?

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES

cover by @softhecreator 💗

WARNINGS: platonic relationship, fluff, pining?, roommate!timothee, fem!reader, use of alcohol, not proof read /:

——————————————

Moving to New York was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It wasn’t the fast pace of city life or the fact that everything was brand new that had me worried, it was the cost to live there. I could deal with the other things.

Even with the money I’d set aside from every paycheck, freshman year to now, wasn’t enough to last me more than two months. I had looked at many, many, many, apartments before deciding to look for a roommate. It was a last resort.

I took a trip up East from my Midwest home and met a plethora of future roommates, but only one in particular sat right with me.

Timothée Chalamet.

The way his name rollled off my tongue was nearly enough to send me back home packing, I just had a feeling, you know?

None the less I had to be smarter than that, yet as he sat across from me in the coffee shop, I found myself entranced by the life story he couldn’t help but spew my way. It was like he had word vomit, I’d barely gotten a word in myself and it was a wonder he didn’t question me.

He was the most sweet and nervous of the bunch of candidates. Normally those things would be a red flag where I’m from, but the way he made me laugh, along with how he carried himself, and the genuine care how I found my way around here, let me know I’d met my match.

So I waited until he had talked himself hoarse and returned the favor. I told him I was fulfilling a dream of my younger self, my family and I were from a small town, how I had never been in a city this big, but I could feel the creative energy run through me when I took in the scenery, or walked down the sidewalk, I told him how I felt I finally belonged.

Him being a native, accepted that statement rather quickly and supported it. He sat back in his chair with a smirk.

“I’ve been looking for a roommate for months and, it may sound strange, but you’re the only person I can see myself co-existing with.” He said with a true smile on his face.

I let myself smile before answering, “I’ve met with a few people today and you know what? I think you might have read my mind.”

And that was endgame. A week and a half later we were moved into our place.

There was string of time, months, where we spent every second together. Going furniture shopping, finding our favorite breakfast, lunch, and dinner spots, we went grocery shopping together, he even went as far as walking me up and down the streets near and far just so I’d be familiar with the area.

But just as fast came a time where he wasn’t home much at all and our schedules became complete opposites.

He had dropped out of NYU when he finally got his big break and the night he got the e-mail we celebrated with shitty champagne and take out. As for me, I had landed an internship on top of small indie roles that paid the bills.

“When are you leaving?” I place more noodles on my plate.

“What’s today?” He asks, mouth half full.

“Wednesday.”

“Thursday, Friday, Saturday..” He lifts a finger for each day.

“You can’t be serious right now-“

“Next Friday.” He holds nine fingers up toward me.

“You leave next week and had to count the days on your hands..out loud?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Look I have a lot going on up here,” He taps his temple with his finger, “Don’t judge.” And sends a smirk my way.

“I’m not judging! It’s kind of refreshing that you didn’t pull out your planner.” My smirk turns to a smile, “You nearly have your whole life written in there, down to each hour.”

“How do you know it’s down to the hour? Have you been reading it?” He asks quizzically, his face deathly serious.

I pause from taking a bite and stare at him with a confused face, “Please tell me you’re joking.”

After a moments pause he bursts out laughing, “No shit I’m joking, I’m not that fucking weird,” He takes a bite of a dumpling, “It’s planned by the week, day, and THEN the hour.” He grins.

Now it was my turn to laugh, “Have you ever considered therapy?”

After loading our dishes, and the dishwasher flooding with bubbles (due to the fact he put Dawn where the Cascade was supposed to go), and both of us throwing said bubbles at one another, we cleaned up and sat down on the couch to watch our show.

I laid down and was nearly asleep, feeling the after effects of our champagne, on my end of the couch. I watched him take another swig from the bottle before closing my eyes.

I could feel his face hovering over mine, “Y/N?” He tried to whisper.

“Yes Timothée.” I keep my eyes closed.

“I’m gonna miss you when I leave,” I feel the couch dip behind me, his head stuffed in the back of my neck, “I miss you already.” His voice is sleepy and rough.

I feel my cheeks heat at his words, such innocent words but in this moment they felt different. Maybe I’m drunk.

“I’m gonna miss you too Tim.” I glance back to find him softly snoring softly behind me, peacefully burrowed uncomfortably beside me.

I really look at him for the first time. Of course he’s been beautiful, but right now he looks angelic, so serene as he sleeps. I face forward again and let the heaviness of sleep take over me.

That night I dreamt of myself in his arms for the first time.

[a-lil-perspective]

70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say ���just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

For the whump for Supervillian... whipping?

Thank you for the ask! In reference to this post (I want to torture Supervillain some more so if you have any ideas, please send them in!)

Drowning Part 9

Masterlist

@shydragonrider @asrasmysoulmate @sunflower1000

Warnings: very gruesome whipping (flail, to be exact), torn flesh, blood, torture, betrayal, unrequited love, broken bones, desperation, crying, exhaustion, drowning (a little), restraints, inability to breathe, vomit, manhandling,

~

Supervillain's nose emerged from the water first, followed by the rest of his face. He gasped for breath, instinctively attempting to claw at his face, but the restraints made that impossible. He gagged, throwing up all the water that he swallowed and breathed.

"Done," a voice spoke. "Day four only took two tries. Medic, write that down."

Supervillain shuddered, water streaming down his cheeks... or were they tears? Supervillain didn't know, and didn't want to know, but the lump in the back of his throat confirmed that crying was indeed a possibility.

"Are we done then today Doc?" A hero spoke, his voice slightly quivering.

"Hmm," the doctor stepped into Supervillain's line of sight. "No."

Supervillain whimpered and pulled himself tighter to try and escape the doctor's sour breath against his cheeks.

"Bring him to the Interrogation Room."

Hands once again grappled onto every piece of bare skin on Supervillain's body. Maybe once he would've shrugged them off, spat out a snarky statement, but now he was too tired- too utterly exhausted- to anything more than just allow it to happen.

He wasn't placed on the gurney this time. Assistants and heroes carried him in a way that made him swing around like a hammock. His head dropped, overgrown hair brushing the ground ever so slightly. The position made all the blood rush to his head, which, in turn, made him undeniably dizzy.

His eyes, which he found closed, jostled around in weakened eye sockets. He dragged them open with much resistance and looked up. From his limited view of the world around him, he put together that he was being carried left... or was it right? He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling his own saliva dry and stream down his face.

Like every single room, the Interrogation Room was once again white, yet the cherrywood table in the center of the blanch room provided at least some contrast.

Supervillain was slumped upon that table- not set in a polite manner whatsoever. For a few seconds, he sat there, head lolling against his own shoulder, before getting his bearings.

Unlike previous torture sessions, Supervillain was not restrained or tied up in any manner. Heck, the room was completely vacant of any of those means other than a metal loop that could have handcuffs attached to it if necessary.

But in this case, it wasn't.

The doctor stepped in, scribbling something on the clipboard which seemed to be his only accessory.

"Get me some microphones," the doctor spoke into a walkie-talkie. "And the recording."

"Sir." The line clicked to leave the room silent other than the huffs of breath leaving Supervillain's nose.

"Supervillain," the doctor finally spoke up. "This is going to be your first test. Think of it as an end-of-chapter summary that is worth 95% percent of your grade."

"Aren't tests suppose to be at least somewhat revelant to the chapter? At least the unit?"

"I said it was a test right? Classic science tests with the wrong answer key and the like," the doctor replied. "Or an English test about prepositional phrases yet the pupil learned about parts of speech."

Supervillain snickered, yet he didn't find the doctor's apparent joke funny by any means. "I am not in middle school," he reminded the doctor with a sigh, but his anticipation obviously shone through his carefree demeanor.

The door opened and two skinny, pathetic looking interns ran in with devices that were certainly going to he used on Supervillain. He looked at a particular invention- a black cone with a bulb that was no doubt a taser in disguise- and bit his lip, sharp canines chewing into the moist flesh.

The other coddled, seemingly trying to block it from the captive's prying view, a large black box with extension cords and wires. Supervillain stiffened. It was a generator.

Or, maybe not, the wimpy kid carrying it would not be able to lift even a small generator a measly inch from the ground.

The intern with the impersonated microphone walked behind Supervillain. Being free of restraints, he shot his head around to watch- anything just to suspect the oncoming barbarism.

But two cold hands yanked his head back.

"You know," the doctor spoke, curt and smooth. "I was really hoping that we wouldn't have to tie you up, but that could easily be arranged..."

Supervillain grunted in reply.

The foreboding torture implement, also known as a black box, was placed in front of Supervillain. He could now examine the box.

He did and came to the conclusion that it was just a black box, with... speakers.

Speakers.

"This is a recording of Hero's voice," the doctor spoke, circling Supervillain and taking notes on his clipboard. "From today. To be precise on timing, it is live."

Supervillain shifted into a more upright position and eyed the speaker, but he didn't say a word. Heck, he didn't even acknowledge the doctor in any form.

Hero abandoned him. Left him to rot in the stupid lab like he was garbage. Maybe to her he was... but that was besides the point.

It was her whole facade that she put on when he was sick- when he was so feverish that he was to the point of delirium. The soft brushes of her hand through his hair- the hair that was now nearly past his ears. The warm embrace after a horrifying nightmare... it was all fake.

She didn't care, as much as her fingers and soft words wanted to him to think that, she just didn't.

The doctor started humming- a melodious tune that made the walls itch with nauseating prediction- as a long finger tapped a sunken button that, though Supervillain could not see, had the classic "On" branding.

"Go get the milk and flour." That was Hero's voice- her sweet purr, comforting tsk. Supervillain's chin trembled, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion.

"On it." And that was someone else's. Male, obviously, with the monotonous drawl. Deep too, oddly familiar in the sense of-

"Oh yeah Villain? Your henchman's wedding is tomorrow, are you sure that they don't need any help?"

The other voice was... Villain?

"She said that Fiance's parents are taking care of the last minute things, but I can ask again. Dear, we don't have any flour."

"Dang it." Hero again. Supervillain found himself floating towards the speaker, and soon, his hands were wrapped around it.

"I can go get some-"

"No, just use... here," a shuffle, cans and bags being dragged across wood. "Bread flour."

"Such a shame," the doctor's present voice interrupted Villain's reply. "This is really quite sickening. Actually, the whole concept of betrayal is."

Supervillain heard, but wasn't listening. Tears were welling up in his eyes... she gave up on him?

For Villain?

She left him to he drowned over and over again. Doomed him to endure unethical surgical procedures... to be free herself.

A tear spilled done Supervillain's cheek and onto his hands.

He hardly heard the doctor's swift order: "bring the whip", and when he finally realized, the metal was neatly embedded into his back's flesh.

He hissed, pushing away from the speaker in desperation. Surprisingly enough, no one stopped his resistance.

The whip felt to be wrapped in some form of metal barbs. They weren't barbs, of course, how unprofessional that would be. It was more like metal shards sticking out from the end. Kind of like a flail from the medieval times in a gruesome way.

The metal was roughly pulled from his muscles, leaving a larger wound than the intial strike did. Supervillain whimpered and stood up, swaying, and attempted to run away.

"We can make caramel popcorn instead."

"And watch a movie?"

The microphone was also speaking now, or so Supervillain thought through the haze of agony. Another blow smacked into him, this time between the shoulder blades.

Supervillain screamed and rushed into a corner, cowering.

"Or instead, let's get Starbucks and watch a movie. Black Widow is out, I know how much you like the Marvel series."

"Do you hear that?" The doctor spoke as another hot flash of pain overcame Supervillain's senses focalizing on his thigh. He leaned his head into the wall, sobbing quietly.

"Hero, she forgot about you," the doctor droned on. "Her and Villain... they are going to a movie together."

"S-shut-t u-up," Supervillain stuttered.

The whip clashed into Supervillain's knee. He felt bones crack and shatter... he yelped.

Adrenaline started pushing through his body, desperate to rid it of the incomprehensible pain that it was feeling. Supervillain stood up, favoring his right side, and stalked over to the assistant holding the whip.

"Supervillain, be smart. Is that poor boy over there the cause of your pain? If Hero was still here, taking her fair share of the punishment, you wouldn't have a broken knee," the doctor stepped into Supervillain's field of vision. "Why destroy someone innocent when you can destroy the guilty one?" The doctor gestured towards the speaker before nodding to his assistant.

The assistant shakily stepped forward and brought the whip down onto Supervillain's chest- who was too slow to react. He gasped for breath, collapsing to his hands and knees. Agony pounded into his chest until he was unable to breathe.

The whip came down onto his back again, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Then it came again, and again.

Supervillain rolled over in a rush to protect his back, but the flail just landed onto his stomach. He retched, spewing out vile vomit in one fluid motion before sobbing quietly again.

His brain, by some miracle, decided to block out the pain and focus on words.

The doctor's words, Villain's words.

Hero's words.

"We could share a frappuccino. Get a venti."

"Share as in..."

"Two straws."

"Under the moonlight, on a bench, in a park... forget the movie."

"Sounds romantic, my dear."

"Do you hear that tragedy?" The doctor said, breaking into the recorded people's conversation. "She has forsaken you. Left you here and moved on... not that she ever cared about you, it was more like an act of duty."

Supervillain pressed his sweaty face into the cool, tiled floor and closed his eyes.

The whip came again.

Supervillain let out a sob.

The metal shards pulled out skin, leaving it garbled.

They would be impossible to stitch up, if he was even given that luxury. He was most likely going to be pumped full of antibiotics and painkillers until his vitals were deemed stable...

The whip crashed into the back of his already broken knee.

"The roses are so lovely."

"Here."

"Thank you my Villain."

"You know how to end this, Supervillain." The speaker was placed in front of the bleeding person's face. "Destroy it. Destroy Hero's voice."

Supervillain groaned and shook his head. The pain, not just physical, but the piercing agony that tore his heart in into slivers of broken down vessels and veins, was intolerable- even dancing at the edge of unbearable- but her voice kept him stuck in reality. It kept him from drifting off into whatever void awaited him.

"Isn't it good?"

"Delicious."

Supervillain squeezed his eyes shut, fingers involuntarily moving against their own will.

"Destroy Hero."

Destroy Hero...

"The pain will be gone."

"You care about me?"

"More than anyone else in the world."

Hero's answer stung, even worse than the bite of the whip in his back, on his legs.

"She doesn't care. Nobody does. Stop being obstinate and care for yourself. Stop this misery. Destroy her."

Fingers laced over the speaker, clenching into fists.

"I love you."

"Destroy Hero."

The fist met with the box, silencing the dreadful voices just as Supervillain plunged into darkness.

[secretobsessionstuff]

Max, I'm loving these fics with the different combinations of sickees/caretakers; it's so much fun to read how your OCs interact with each other in different scenarios! If you're up for doing another one, how about Micah as sickee and Madix as caretaker? Maybe they're out running an errand together when things go south, and Madix the Doctor (oops, I mean Med. Student) has to snap into action? 🖤

I’m sorry that the ending is so abrupt. I hope it’s okay ❤

Alexi had insisted that they do something to celebrate the fact that Micah got a literary agent to take his novel pitch. It wasn’t a small feat, but Micah still felt weird about having people over for a party. Well, it wasn’t much of a party; they only invited Madix and Riley, and Dakota and Blair. Still, it required some planning that was not properly executed by the hosts. Alexi was busy making dinner when he realized that they didn’t have anything in the way of snacks or drinks for their guests.

It was Madix who volunteered to run out to the store for the things they needed. He planned on going alone because that would be faster, but Micah jumped at the chance to get out of the house. It wasn’t incredibly crowded, but it was loud, and the house smelt too strongly of onions and cheese.

Micah hated to admit it, but he was feeling off. He wasn’t much in the mood to entertain all his friends, especially not with the way his stomach was acting up in response to food. But of course, he though that going to a place where he’d be surrounded by food was a good idea. At least the grocery store would provide a break from the conversations. And Madix said he didn’t mind the company.

That’s how Micah found himself trying to keep up with Madix who pushed the shopping cart quickly around the produce section. Micah was in charge of the list, but he could barely read the damn thing. Half of the items were written in french because Alexi was distracted when he wrote it down.

“Should we get a fruit tray?” Madix asked as he leaned on the cart with his elbows.

What was Micah thinking? It was freezing in the grocery store! How was Madix not shivering? And they hadn’t even gotten to the freezer section yet. Now that he was out, all Micah wanted to do was go home. But then he thought about home and all people there, and his stomach let out an audible gurgle. He hugged his torso to quiet the noise.

“Micah?”

“What?” The boy didn’t look up at Madix. Instead, he kept his gaze pointed to the floor as he zoned out.

“Do you want a fruit tray or a veggie tray?”

Madix’s words did not register in his brain. He tried to shake the fuzziness from his head, but it was stuck to his brain like peach fuzz. The sleeves on Micah’s shirt were stretched beyond repair from his desperate attempt to conserve warmth. He rubbed the fabric of his shirt against his mouth out of habit. Vaguely, Micah thought that he should probably answer Madix’s question, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He took a shot in the dark and said, “Yes.”

With both platters of food in his hands, Madix’s shoulders dropped slightly as concern for his friend grew stronger. For a party all for Micah, he didn’t seem very lively. Now Micah wasn’t even making any sense. “Is something wrong? You’re acting…strange.”

Micah shrugged. “I’m a strange person.” He paused, considering if he wanted to tell Madix how he felt. He knew it would be okay if he were honest. He concluded that he did in fact want to tell Madix everything, but he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that to Alexi who went through the trouble of doing something nice for him. The people at his house were there for him, so he could survive a few hours.

Finally, his brain decided to respond. “I guess the fruit tray.”

Slowly, Madix put the array of fruit into the cart, all the while he kept his eyes on Micah. He wasn’t convinced that something wasn’t wrong, but they were on a mission. The next step in the mission was chips so he pushed the cart to the right aisle.

Micah struggled to keep up with Madix’s pace. His feet did not want to move. The best he could do was shuffle along while his friend made a beeline for the chips. The thought of any food made Micah’s jaw tingle from the nausea. The sick feeling in his stomach got harder to ignore the longer that Madix debated over chips. Micah let his friend agonize over the right brand, giving him time to discreetly rub his gurgling belly. But he wasn’t as discreet as he would have liked.

There were indeed many choices of chips, but that’s not what made Madix frown. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Micah’s expression turn into a grimace of pain. Madix didn’t want to push if Micah didn’t feel like sharing, but the boy’s pale skin worried him. He stepped back from the shelves and turned to look at Micah properly. His forehead was wet with sweat, despite Micah’s obvious shivering, and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles. The doctor in Madix wanted to know how many degrees above 100 his temperature had climbed, but he didn’t really need this number to know that Micah was sick.

“We can go back if you want,” Madix tried to say casually so that Micah didn’t feel bad.

“What are you talking about?” Micah looked down at the list in his hands. A wave of dizziness came over him. He felt like he was looking down from a skyscraper. “We still need chips, and wine, and…” The sentence trailed off, partly because Micah was too tired to carry on, and partly because of the way Madix was looking at him.

Madix tightened his lips into a straight line. “You look like crap.” He put his hand of Micah’s shoulder. “You should have told me.”

“I’m sorry.” Micah swallowed thickly. There was suddenly a lot of saliva in his mouth.

“There’s no reason to apologize.” Madix assured him. “Let’s go home.” He turned away to grab their cart and that’s when Micah’s stomach decided to lose it.

Micah found himself hunched over, with his hands on his knees, emptying his stomach in the chip aisle. It all came up from his belly so quickly that he didn’t have time do anything other than bend over and watch as his lunch splattered onto the linoleum floor.

“Oh God, okay…” Madix stuttered, unprepared for the sudden turn of events. It only took a moment before his hand was on Micah’s back. He accepted the new situation before Micah let out a sick burp, followed by another gush of sick. The only problem was that they really should have been moving to the bathroom. Madix waited for this particular wave to be over before leading Micah away.

Micah allowed himself to be dragged through the store, with his hand clamped over his mouth and his belly churning up a storm. He didn’t dare speak because he knew that opening his mouth would be disastrous. Madix led him to the bathroom. Thank God it was single person one. He parted his lips, letting a string of sick fall into the water below. One burp was enough to get the vomiting going again. A harsh retch tore up his throat and caused his muscles to shake from the tension.

“Oh buddy,” Madix said, patting Micah’s back. “You’re really sick. I’m sorry we have to be here.”

Micah spat a thick glob into the toilet and sniffled. He felt like he could move away from toilet for a moment while he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “I don’t feel well.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Madix said while handing over a wad of toilet paper for Micah to wipe his mouth with. “I didn’t realize you felt this bad.”

“Sorry…”  

“No, no, that’s absolutely fine.” Madix said, still rubbing Micah’s back out of instinct. “We just gotta get you home.”

Micah moaned as the colour drained from his face. “Ugh I’m not ready to leave.”

“Yeah, no worries. I’ll text the others and let them know about the change of plans.”

[intrepidmare]

MARE'S RECAPS ~ THE MANDALORIAN: CHAPTER 9 "THE MARSHALL"

Oh wow! It's been a while since I've done something like this. Last year, I caught up with season 1 about 2 days before the finale, so I didn't have the opportunity to write reviews/recaps. This season, though, I'm going to 😀 so here it is the first one! 

For the folks that haven't seen the premiere and don't want spoilers, scroll past this, fast and furious, because it's full of them. If you want to blacklist tags to avoid spoilers from me, I suggest that you add #mando spoilers, #the mandalorian season 2 spoilers, and #mare's mando recaps to the list.

I've seen the episode a few times (yeah, I'm that obsessed with the show) so some of my reactions are more visceral than others since I was too excited the few first times I watched it and I missed a lot of details (another reason to rewatch the episode more than once). This recap is loooooong, which is an indication of how amazing it was.

So this my final warning to those avoiding spoilers. Stop reading, right now. The rest of you… enjoy and let me know if you share some of my opinions. I'm always open to chat 😊

Chapter 9 ~ The Marshall

So it begins! It's so exciting!

I knew that Mando and baby Yoda walking in the street at night was going to be the opening scene. I started to think about it after watching the second trailer, and I'm glad that I was right.

It turns out that the red-eyed creatures were not jawas as I saw some people saying.

Baby Yoda was not happy with the little excursion to the fighting arena. Not walking on the streets nor inside watching the fight. I still laughed when he locked himself up in the pram, even if I've watched the trailer like a gazillion times by now and I knew he was going to do it.

And talking about the baby, he's getting more vocal I think. He's making a few new noises, whimpering more, which I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing. That he complains more means that he feels safe with his buir and isn't afraid of retaliation for it as he probably was with others in the past and the reason he didn't cry much in season 1. But it breaks my heart that he is stressed. And that child is anxious, I can tell you that much.

The fight with Gor Koresh's thugs was awesome! The gamorrean flying to squash Mando and failing had me cracking up. And omg! Din'd moves! Using his helmet as a weapon and throwing his vibroblade. And leaving Gor Koresh to be eaten! Man of his word, he didn't kill the guy.

On a side note, I would've never guessed it was John Leguizamo who gave voice to Koresh until I saw the credits. Of all the actors who could play the part, I never thought of him.

Umm, I'm curious about the time Mando has spent in Tatooine, which according to him it's been a lot and it makes sense since he knows so much about the Tuskens, their language and culture. I'm guessing he spent a while among them. He had to learn all that somehow. 

When I speculated that Mando was going back to Tatooine after watching the trailers, I said that I was going to riot if he didn't visit his favorite mechanic. Thankfully, I didn't need to worry. I loved Peli in episode 5 of season 1 and I loved her even more now remarking on Din's dislike of droids and trying to keep the baby for herself. Not to mention she complaining about not getting good help these days 🤣

And I ADORE the (improvised?) Birikad Din got for the baby. Of course, the baby is safer in the pram, right (guessing that's why he used it when he met Gor Koresh), but there's something sweet watching him carrying his son so close to him.

And I tell you, Mando has been spending credits lately in baby stuff. I mean, he got a new pram (which I initially thought it was the original that he had somehow retrieved from the garbage in Nevarro, but no, it's not the same, and neither it's the one that Kuiil made) and he also got the bag/birikad thing, which looks brand-new. I wonder what else he bought.

Watching the droids doing maintenance of the Razor Crest makes me think it's all for nothing, knowing that in a few episodes (it might be even in the next one) Mando is going to crash the ship. More than once perhaps.

😆 The baby still loves speed! I think riding on the speeder bike was the only moment that he truly enjoyed in this episode. Look at that happy face 

When they arrived at Mos Pelgo and Din went into the cantina, leaving the baby outside, I was like: Din! That's not responsible. How can you leave your son out in the inclement sun, alone! Then baby Yoda peeked in and I went: never mind. I take back what I said.

Oooh. Cobb Vanth! I love him! For a moment, I thought it could actually be Boba but it seemed illogical and that's what Mr. Feloni and Mr. Favreau wanted us to think. I was correct.

My gawd! Din's shock when Vanth took the helmet off. I just knew he would freak out the moment Cobb asked for drinks and I said to drink they need to remove their helmets and Mando is going to lose it when this guy does. And the standoff! Was so good! "Take it off or I will" is going to become a quite popular phrase in fics from now on, not in the same context, but yeah…

The krayt dragon… oh shit! Or rather Dank farrik! We can't see Mando's face or expression but I can imagine which one was when he saw the dragon eating the bantha the first time.

Oh my goodness. The baby hiding in the pot! Too adorable! 

I know every hardcore SW fan lost it watching Vanth modified speeder because is a callback to the Phantom Menace and Anakin but my first thought was: is he compensating for something? Sorry, I couldn't help it 

The dog-lizard creatures were kinda scary at first but then became adorable. Almost as much as baby Yoda getting out of hiding

Baby Yoda doesn't like dog-lizards things. He looked afraid to be eaten I think. Poor little guy.

And look at that! Din showing such growth! To think he was the one incensing others in negotiation 😆 this is a total callback to the jawas in Arvala-7. And I gotta tell you, Din freaking loves his flamethrower. He doesn't waste the opportunity to use it.

The krayt dragon eating the Tusken raider instead of the bantha was quite of a plot twist 😆

When they were planning the attack on the dragon, Cobb Vanth's face when Din told him that the bones and pebbles were to scale, and then when he had volunteered the villagers to help… priceless! 

I like the fact of banding together with others for a greater good, relying on others to accomplish something is going to continue being the theme of this season. It started last season but I think it's going to be stronger this time around along all of the episodes.

😳😲😳😲 this thing vomits acid?! What. The. FUCK?!!!

Cobb: I don't think it's dead

Mando: me neither

Me, at the same time as Din: yeah, nope it's not dead

Oh yeah! Teaming up with jetpacks!

When they showed the bantha with the remaining explosives my first thought was why didn't they use all those before?! That's why they didn't kill it!! Of course, it was just an excuse to grant Din a more grand win in the end, but you know, it's stupid not to use everything you have to kill the monster on the first try. Just saying

Wait, what? Din! What are you going to do? No! Taking care of the child is your responsibility, not Cobb Vanth's! I hate this plan of yours, Din Djarin!! Whichever it is!

Oh! Nice callback to the flaw on that jetpack. But makes me wonder, do all the rising Phoenixes have the same flaw? Cuz unless Din knows Boba in person and that it's his armor with that particular flaw, it means it's a common problem for all and I don't like it.

Get away, Din! Get away, Din!! FLY AWAY!! AAAAAAAHHHHHH! NOOOOOO! 

There he is! Damn, Mando! Don't scare me like that! Altho, it was a nice move.

Okay, but now I want someone to explain something to me. If the dragon's acid melted people at contact before, how the hell is Din so whole? I mean, sure for argument' sake let's say his beskar armor provides some protection, but he's not entirely covered in it. His cape and undersuit seem just fine, albeit sticky. Where's the logic in that?

The tuskens getting the pearl reminded me of the jawas and the mudhorn's egg, chanting zukka, zukka (or however egg is spelled in Jawa).

That's quite a piece of meat. The baby is going to be happy eating off it for days🤣

😮😮😳😳 BOBA FETT!!!!! Yesssssss!!

Okay, I've seen other people's thoughts and some think that Boba was after Cobb Vanth because he had the armor, but I don't know. If that was true then why he hadn't gone to Mos Pelgo and got it? It seems to me that it's more likely that Boba is following Din somehow because it's the second time in as many Mando's visits to the planet that they sort of cross paths. Could they know each other? Have some score to settle? It's possible. Din has spent much time on Tatooine -his words, not mine- so it wouldn't be so out of consideration that they actually know each other. That if Mando knows Boba is (fake?) Mando, I don't know. Probably not, but who knows?

Extra thoughts

I gotta say that Ludwig Göransson is killing it with the score music! Oh. My. God! So so so so good! I could tell from the trailers that it was going to be awesome this season but it astounded me in chapter 9. Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous! My favorite piece is when they're going to the dragon's cave to kill it. The orchestral sound of the already familiar music blew my mind!

[spiderman-homecomeme]

off the record pt. 2

ENEMIES TO LOVERS

A/N: Hello friends!! Here is the second part to my enemies to lovers fic for spideychelle week!! I’m hoping to get this one done fairly quickly, so updates should be pretty regular! 

Enjoy 2.6k of Peter and MJ just fuckin hating eachother, passive-aggressive coffee talks, and pettiness!!

Read here or on AO3

-

It shouldn’t be this hard.

At least, in theory. 

Really, Michelle’s been through worse. 

Befriending—or at least pretending to—Peter Parker by joining him at his desk with two to-go cups of coffee should be easy—the keyword here being “should.”

But as she stands just outside the office entrance, Peter’s desk just in her line of sight, she begins to doubt her resilience. It’s a simple task: asking him to chat, offering him a cup of coffee. Something she would be comfortable asking any other coworker in an effort to gain insight on a particular subject. It’s a perfectly normal occurrence. 

So why in God’s name is the idea of sitting for longer than ten seconds with him making her legs suddenly feel as though they’re filled from hip to toe with lead? What the actual fuck is wrong with her? It’s not as if she’s worried he’ll say no—in fact, the thought hasn’t even crossed her mind until now. No one says no to free coffee. No, it’s more likely that she’s worried he’ll actually say yes and that she’ll have to spend time alone with him. The thought of actually talking to him for once is sickening. 

But, again, it’s for the greater good. For her. It’s in her best interest.  

Peter looks up as another one of their coworkers passes by with a wave, and he offers his signature, warm and homey smile that always makes her want to find the nearest trashcan and immediately vomit. Instead, she steels herself, and with a final, resolute nod, she accepts her fate, using her elbow to push through the door and into the main office. 

He doesn’t see her approach at first, or at least he pretends not to as he opens a file on his desk, rifling through the papers. Though, the look of surprise on his face—plus the way he almost drops the small stack in his hands—shows that she’s the last person he’d expected to see. “Oh, uh, hi. Michelle.” Like with the coworker from seconds before, his expression melts into a smile—albeit, a forced one. 

Wow.

“Hey…” She trails off, suddenly unsure of how the hell she’s supposed to be standing. “You.”

He squints, trying his best to keep the grin on his face as it falters slightly. “Hi,” he repeats, eyes darting down to the two cups in her hand then back up to her face.

And it’s nothing like she’d rehearsed—in her brain—earlier. Nothing at all. Why, all of a sudden, is it so hard to talk to this guy without wanting to just dump the coffee on his head and whack the folder right out of his hands? 

“Coffee?” She asks with an uncharacteristically sweet voice as she holds out one of the cups to him.

Peter lets out a quiet huff of an unsure laugh. “Um—” His gaze flits left and right. “Sure…” He trails off. 

Wordlessly, she hands him the cup, and she almost punches him right then and there when he not-so-subtly sniffs it before taking an overly cautious sip. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh, it’s good!” He speaks as if the idea that she didn’t poison his coffee is what the big shocker is. 

A muscle twitches in her jaw, and she tries to fight the way her lips want to twist into an angry frown. Of course it’s good. Michelle knows what she’s doing; she’s seen him taking the last bit of coffee in the lounge more than a dozen times, always pouring an obscene amount of milk and sugar into his mugs. 

Michelle’s not playing around; she’s here to make friends. 

Taking a sip of her own coffee to hide the anger threatening to boil over, she waits for him to speak. He hasn’t invited her to sit, and she’s not sure if she wants to be the one to initiate that particular part. She’s the one who brought the coffee. Now, the ball’s in his court. 

“Working hard?” She asks against her better judgement, and she doesn’t miss the flash of annoyance in Peter’s eyes behind his lopsided grin. 

“Obviously not as hard as you are,” he offers, an edge to his clearly forced enthusiasm, taking another drink of his coffee as he rocks back on his heels. “Heard Jameson loved the new article.”

God, she hates him so much.

“Of course he did,” she mutters under her breath. “It’s what the people want.”

God, he hates her so much.

A beat passes.

“Well thanks for the coffee—”

“Good talk—”

They both speak at the same time, both of them forcing a laugh at the jinx. His gaze holds hers for a moment, and once again, she feels that same urge to pour her hot coffee over his head, her stomach tangling in fiery knots at the brief exchange. 

Without another word, Michelle’s feet carry her away and to her own corner of the office. Unconsciously, she nearly slams her drink on her desk in her sour mood. She slumps into her chair, pulling her laptop out of her bag and occupying herself with pretending to open another word document. 

That certainly could have gone better. 

Really, how hard was it for him to be civil? She had been so kind as to bring him coffee. The least he could do is to try to make conversation without… well, without being himself. Her gaze darts up from behind the lid of her laptop, her eyes careful in watching him as he sits back in his chair, covering his face with one hand before he cards the other through his hair before it clenches into a fist on top of his desk. 

Truly, in that moment, as she continues to unconsciously watch him from across the office, she realizes that as difficult as he’s going to make this, she can’t let it stop her. No matter how much of an annoying pain-in-the-ass he is, she has to remember why she’s doing this. 

She sees him smile at another of their coworkers as they pass by before taking another tentative sip of his coffee, his eyes flitting upward as he lowers his cup.

Her chest seizes when in that split-second, his gaze meets hers as he catches her staring, and she almost gives herself whiplash with how fast she tears away, her face burning hot. 

--

After the disaster of yesterday’s impromptu coffee get-together, Michelle knows that if she wants any part of this to actually go off without a hitch, she’s going to have to change her approach. She comes into the office that morning, a brand new plan having been brewing in her mind since the previous evening, when—

“You wanna go get coffee with me?” 

Truly, she’s not sure she’s ever been more shocked and surprised at the sight of someone at her desk. Peter’s standing there, his hands buried in his pockets, shoulders held high and tight as his brows pull together in what she offhandedly thinks looks like something akin to constipation.

He seems to have beaten her to the punch. 

Perhaps her little stunt yesterday paid off.

“What?” She finds herself asking, voice acting on its own accord. 

“Do you wanna—” He coughs into a fist, clearing his throat. “Go get coffee with me?” He throws a firm thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a place down the street.” 

A beat. 

“Sure.”

In fact, Peter’s just as surprised as she is, his eyebrows darting upward for a fraction of a second before he seems to collect himself. “Great,” he responds with a tight-lipped, thin smile. When she’d come to his desk yesterday, two coffees in hand, he’d taken it as a good sign—of course, after the initial fear that she might have been poisoning him. It had been, for that moment, something that he could see becoming easier between them. But then, after she’d made that snide comment about—about whatever hell it was—he’d quickly fallen back into the same, heartburn-inducing hatred. 

It was then that he knew he had to change tactics. 

They wait for their combined lunch hours before they head out, walking in deafeningly loud silence together through the halls and out into the city streets. One of his knuckles brushes hers as they walk, and she mentally reminds herself to burn that hand later as she yanks it away. At the brief, fleeting touch, he shoves his hands into his pockets, his eyes trained ahead on the sidewalk. 

The small coffee shop is warm and inviting, though Michelle finds it to be almost too warm under her jacket as they order their drinks and settle into one of the corner booths. He orders a caramel mocha, and she wants to scoff. A kid’s drink, she thinks offhandedly, not stopping to consider the frivolity of being annoyed at someone’s drink order—one that happens to be fairly common at that. 

“So…” Peter trails off, watching with pursed lips as she stirs cinnamon into her cappuccino. 

He clears his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck as he glances around the coffee shop, almost as if he’s looking for a way out, perhaps an emergency exit. His leg bounces furiously under the table, every so often his heel tapping against the dark wood floors below, a sound that Michelle has to actively ignore in order not to just get up and leave. 

Peter stares down into his coffee—well, more like a pile of whipped cream—for a moment, lips pursing in thought as he swirls the mug in his hand. 

It’s easy to see how hard he’s thinking, and for some reason, Michelle finds herself strangely pleased at this; there’s a hint of satisfaction at the fact that it's taking him so long to say anything at all. 

But then, it becomes infuriating that he doesn’t even try to continue his initial thought. He can at least try, she thinks.

She decides, in a brief moment of what she can only assume is pity, to put him out of his misery. “It’s funny that you asked to get coffee today,” she starts, setting the wooden stirring stick to the side before taking a sip of her drink. “I was planning on asking you.”

He does seem surprised at that. “Huh. Really?”

With a hum, she sits back against the leather seat. “Really.” She briefly glances down to her clasped hands in her lap, knowing that they were now officially entering the first phase of her plan. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something—or I guess ask about… something.”

Something flashes across his face that she can’t immediately identify, and she unconsciously feels herself stiffen at the unknown expression. 

“Really?” He asks again, quirking a curious brow as he takes a long sip of his mocha. 

The corner of her lip twitches ever-so-slightly before she boldly leans forward on the table, bracing herself on her forearms. “I was wanting to ask if you could help me with an article I’m working on.”

At that, he freezes, eyes darting up to hers. He swallows slowly, and she doesn’t miss the hint of annoyance that tints his expression as he sets his mug down with a dull thud. “What kind of article?” 

As much as she wants to call him out for swan diving into a pit of hasty conclusions, she refrains. “About Spider-Man.” He bristles, jaw setting, but she doesn’t let him speak. She leans in even further, voice hushed. “The truth, this time. I’m tired of writing all this bullshit about how terrible he is. I’m done. I want the world to know who Spidey really is.”

Her words come out so earnestly, she almost believes herself. 

But it’s not like she’s completely lying. There’s truth in that particular corner of the web. 

“Really?”

It takes everything in her not to mock the question he’s asked three times already.

“Really.”

And for the first time, she sees the beginnings of a genuine—somehow, relieved—half-smile tug at the corner of Peter’s mouth. Though, his fleeting, happy expression is gone as he seems to remember himself, sitting back in his side of the booth. 

Peter, of course, is shocked that she’s the one to bring up stopping the libel in the first place. This hadn’t been part of his plan in the slightest. But, as hopeful  and relieved he is that this may be easier than he thought, he doesn’t want to let his guard down too quickly. He maintains a thoughtful expression, making sure not to seem too eager in his response. 

Michelle can see him weighing his options, can almost hear the near-rusted wheels turning as he tilts his head from side-to-side. He folds his arms across his chest, and her eyes are immediately drawn to his exposed forearms as they flex briefly. 

“What do you think?” She hastily spits out, mentally kicking herself. 

“I mean—” He starts, cutting himself off as he brings a hand to rub thoughtfully at his jaw, his tone casual. “I think it’s a great idea. Spidey, uh—he’d be happy about it. Though, not that your articles really have that much of an effect on him now, he doesn’t really care enough—”

She can feel her eye twitch, though he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Not sure if Jameson would be super happy about it, though,” Peter reasons, shrugging apologetically. 

She forces her twisting lips into a neutral expression. “Who says I plan on telling him?”

Sure, that’s a bold-faced lie—she plans on telling Jameson as soon as she can to get the green light—but that’s unimportant.

Peter cocks his head to the side, squinting slightly. “You sure something like that would even do well?” 

“Think about it,” Michelle answers easily. “A news site that’s been constantly dragging Spider-Man down suddenly having a change of heart after a thorough expose on what he does for New York, painting him as the true hero that the city needs, showing the citizens who he is?”

He nods slowly as she speaks, biting back the winning smile desperately wanting to show. 

But that expression only comes across as smug to Michelle, and she clenches her fist underneath the table before digging her nails into her leg. 

“I’m in,” Peter says after a beat. He leans forward on the table, his hands clasping together. “What do you need from me?”

“Well, first, I’d like to interview you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You.”

“Why me?”

She gives him a pointed, deadpan stare. “You’re his photographer aren’t you? And you seem to know him pretty well.”

“I mean, not that well—”

A beat passes. 

She blinks. 

“Okay, fine. Yeah,” Peter concedes. “You can interview me. What else?”

A smirk tugs at her lips. 

“I’d like an interview with Spider-Man.”

At that, he blanches, and for a split-second, there’s a tugging dread in Michelle’s gut that she’s gone too far with that one request, but it’s instantly smothered as she waits for him to respond. 

Peter stares at her, mouth parted in slight surprise. Really, he knows he should have seen this coming; writing an article all about Spider-Man and the things he does for this city, of course she’d want an interview with him. And although he feels as if he’s already succeeded in his plan, he knows that this isn’t a one-way street, that in order for him to really win, he has to give her this one thing. 

Though, his main worry stems from knowing that as an excellent investigative journalist, Michelle’s observation skills are nothing to joke about. How she’d be able interview the two of them—Peter Parker and Spider-Man—and not immediately connect the dots, he’s not sure. 

“I know he’s busy, but—” Michelle cuts in again. “I think it’d be really great to get exact quotes from the guy himself.”

Peter looks right back at her, contemplating. The corner of his lip twitches upward into a small, wry grin as he huffs, glancing to the side before meeting her gaze again. 

He figures that’s just a chance he’s going to have to take.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

[farmerlan]

Farmer Lan’s Rewatch Guide to The Untamed - Episode 13

And then I said I wasn’t flirting. You know, like a liar.

episode masterlist here 

SPOILER WARNING!  

[Wei Wuxian asks, again, if Lan Wangji’s leg is fine, and doesn’t take no for an answer. He offers to piggyback Lan Wangji, but is brusquely declined. He sends a message to Wen Qing to ask for a break - Wen Qing grants his wish, but Wen Chao cottons on and warns Wen Qing about her intentions.

Wang Lingjiao orders the cultivators to find the cave, and we also learn a little more about her background. They find the Xuanwu cave due to Wei Wuxian’s talisman. While walking inside, Mianmian slips and is caught by Jin Zixuan. Wen Chao lashes out at them with his whip, but Jin Zixuan blocks it for Mianmian. Wen Chao reminds them all of his superiority and then proceeds to kick Wei Wuxian down a cliff edge. He is helped up by Lan Wangji and the rest of the gang follow (lol Jin Zixuan says he’d rather be down here than watching the ‘mean couple insult us’ <- Netflix subs but mean is such a softer way of translating what he actually calls them, which is pretty close to ‘bastard couple’)]

Differences from the novel:

The novel went way faster on this part of the story because it was focused on the later wangxian part haha.

As discussed in Episode 12, Wei Wuxian never actually offers to piggyback Lan Wangji because he never got the chance to. :(

Wen Qing doesn’t appear in the Xuanwu arc at all.

Guys, guys, guys, listen. I know baby Wei Wuxian is a pro at using the talisman but - some rando found the cave entrance in the novel.

The Wen Chao scenes here don’t happen. Mianmian doesn’t slip, Wen Chao doesn’t go on a deranged rant, doesn’t whip or kick anyone (wow, he is almost pleasant in the novel). Jin Zixuan actually volunteers to go first, and they all reach the pond without any incident.

[They arrive at the Xuanwu pond and Wang Lingjiao volunteers Mianmian to be the human bait - Jin Zixuan stands up for her, but Wen Chao insists that he delivers Mianmian to him. When he hesitates, some Jin disciples attempt to make a move, but are foiled by Lan Wangji and Jin Zixuan. A fight breaks out and Wei Wuxian recites Wen Mao’s teachings back to Wen Chao, who doesn’t recognize it at all and is made a fool by Wei Wuxian. They fight but right as Wen Zhuliu is about to come to his rescue, Wei Wuxian takes Wen Chao hostage with a sword to his neck.]

Differences from the novel:

This scene plays fairly close to the novel, including Wei Wuxian’s badass recitation of the Wen sect teachings back to Wen Chao. Some minor differences:

Both Jin Zixuan and Lan Wangji initially stand up to protect Mianmian upon hearing Wen Chao’s intention to capture her and use her as human bait.

It’s actually Su She who attempts to capture Mianmian but he is foiled by Lan Wangji. Although he doesn’t actually say anything, his eyes clearly convey his anger on behalf of the Lan sect for having such a traitorous disciple. For shame, Su She! You immoral scum!

[Right at that moment, the xuanwu appears, disturbed by the movements on his carapice. Wen Chao, dumbassTM that he is, causes a disturbance and everyone’s attention is turned to fighting the monster. In the meantime, Wang Lingjiao attempts to brand Mianmian’s face with the Wen sect’s branding iron, but is saved by Wei Wuxian. The Wen sect makes their escape and cuts off all of the ropes and blocks the exit.

As the cultivators try to figure out an alternative plan, Wei Wuxian hurries to comfort Mianmian, who is feeling guilty for causing Wei Wuxian’s injury. Meanwhile, Lan Wangji astutely observes that there must be another entrance, due to the presence of maple leaves in the cave without any maple trees.]

Differences from the novel:

Honestly, not a whole lot! The drama pretty much depicts what happens in the novel.

[They distract the tortoise to give Jiang Cheng a chance to investigate the underwater exit, and everyone proceeds to escape - but Mianmian trips and the scent of her blood agitates the tortoise. Lan Wangji decides to stay back to help Wei Wuxian distract it, but his leg is bitten in the process. They run into a small tunnel to hide until the tortoise loses interest.]

Differences from the novel:

Mianmian doesn’t trip, but the tortoise does get agitated by the scent of blood. In the novel, Su She attempts to shoot an arrow at the tortoise as he retreats, but misses and strikes Wei Wuxian’s arm instead (BRAVO!). Wei Wuxian doesn’t think before pulling out the arrow, but then immediately realizes what he has done as the scent of his blood fills the air. Lan Wangji pushes him aside right as the tortoise lunges for him and ends up getting severely bitten in the leg.

The tortoise then attempts to swallow Lan Wangji whole. Wei Wuxian stops this by literally clutching on to its teeth and forcing its jaws apart. As Lan Wangji falls into the water, so does Wei Wuxian, and he immediately carries Lan Wangji to shore and into the tunnels - so he does get to piggyback Lan Wangji after all! Hilariously, their dialogue at this point goes:

Lan Wangji: You?! (somewhat surprised that Wei Wuxian was able to manage all of that while being injured)

Wei Wuxian: Of course it’s me - are you pleasantly surprised?! :))))

Lan Wangji: What is pleasant about this? Put me down!

[Wei Wuxian rips off the sect ribbon from Lan Wangji’s forehead and uses it to make a tourniquet for him. He then proceeds to strip (and also attempts to strip Lan Wangji) as a tactic to shock Lan Wangji into spitting out the stale blood within his body. Upon realizing what he was trying to do, Lan Wangji thanks him, and then proceeds to press some of the medicine into Wei Wuxian’s own chest wound from the iron and tells him off for being brash.

Wei Wuxian plays it cool and says it’s fine for a man to have some scars, especially if it was for protecting a girl - a girl who will likely remember him forever. Lan Wangji says that since he knows she’ll remember him, then he should not go around teasing people he’s not serious about. Wei Wuxian accuses him of liking...Mianmian (WRONG target dude) and Lan Wangji’s like ...why am I stuck here talking to you.

Wei Wuxian plans their exit strategy, but Lan Wangji says there won’t be anyone from his sect coming since the Cloud Recesses went up in flames. Wei Wuxian is stunned into silence and asks after his family. Lan Wangji reveals that Lan Qiren is heavily injured and Lan Xichen has gone missing. Wei Wuxian offers him his outer robe, but sees that he is already asleep, and secretly worries about Jiang Cheng and Yunmeng.]

Differences from the novel:

This scene in particular plays out in greater detail in the novel. In general, Lan Wangji talks/interacts a LOT more in this scene in the novel. In the drama, he’s visibly emotional, but still fairly reserved. In the novel, even Wei Wuxian notices that he is in an unusually foul mood, and way more easily provoked than usual - he eventually finds out why.

The PUSHING. After the stripping and the blood vomiting happens, Wei Wuxian uses the herbs in Mianmian’s medicinal sachet instead of what he obtained from Wen Ning for Lan Wangji’s wounds. They have the conversation around Wei Wuxian’s general flirtatious attitude like they do in the drama, but Lan Wangji gets really mad as he exclaims “So you know that you’ll remain on her mind forever!” and literally shoves Wei Wuxian, who falls onto the ground.

The BANTER. In the novel, it’s gotten to the point where he is straight up squabbling with Wei Wuxian. Just look at this exchange right before he bites Wei Wuxian.

LWJ: Don’t tease other people if you aren’t serious about their feelings. Your casual words and actions may mean nothing to you, but it riles up others!

WWX: It’s not like I’m teasing you, so why are you getting riled up? Unless…

LWJ: Unless what?

WWX: Unless you like Mianmian!

-pause-

LWJ *coldly*: Please stop spouting nonsense.

WWX: Fine, I’ll start spouting onesense instead. (It’s a pun on the Chinese idiom, 胡说八道, which LWJ just used.)

LWJ: Is this entertaining for you, this kind of wordplay?

WWX: Super entertaining. Also, not only am I quick with words, I’m quick with my abilities too.

LWJ: ...Why am I sitting here talking crap with you???

The BITING. Upon concluding the above dialogue, Lan Wangji straight up sinks his teeth into the crook of Wei Wuxian elbow and refuses to let go. Like a dog. In fact, Wei Wuxian scolds him for acting like a dog and runs to the other side of the cave HA. And then he follows this up...by thanking Wei Wuxian, who at this point is just straight out flabbergasted at what is going on.

The CRYING. I mentioned previously in Ch 12 - Lan Wangji’s father was still alive and the sect leader at this time, and Lan Wangji reveals that he is fighting to stay alive. At this point, Wei Wuxian freezes, because although he knew Qingheng-Jun was injured, he wasn’t aware that it was that serious, so this was new information, and he finally understands why Lan Wangji has been acting out this whole time. When he turns to look at Lan Wangji again, he sees tear streaks on his face - and instantly feels afraid and powerless. He internally narrates that with men like Lan Wangji, they would probably only ever cry a handful of times in their lifetime, yet he didn’t know how to comfort him given the situation. So he just calls Lan Wangji’s name, but Lan Wangji tells him to shut up - and then adds, “Wei Ying, you really are an annoying person.” Ouch. Wei Wuxian feels infinitely worse that Lan Wangji has to deal with his presence on top of all this grief, and so only stays far away from him after offering him his undergarments to keep warm.(1)

Overall thoughts:

(1) This is his set of inner robes, the layer that goes against his skin. He thought about giving Lan Wangji his outer robes, but decided against it because it was filthy and he knew the Lan sect emphasized cleanliness. But also, nobody is missing the subtext here...

All in all, this is the definitive scene that we can all point to as the time when Lan Wangji.exe stopped functioning. I was re-reading the Xuanwu arc for the purpose of recapping Episode 13 and this realization hit me that like, holy shit, if I were to put my bets on when Lan Wangji started having/realizing his feelings for Wei Wuxian, this would be it.

Specifically, this is when Lan Wangji loses control. We all know how important control is to Lan Wangji - it’s part of the asceticism and self-governance expected of him as a Lan sect disciple, and he embodies this even more so than anyone else. Never a hair out of place, never a word that comes out of his mouth that hasn’t already been thought through. To allow himself to be provoked to this extent, to let someone see him so completely vulnerable - I know he was in a fragile state, but I don’t think he would have displayed this side of him to just anyone. After all, he gritted his teeth through the entire time he was at the Wen sect. So, I don’t know, Lan Zhan, why are you sitting around bullshitting with Wei Ying? Hmmmm?

[echoedfates-archive]

Oh and also. I mentioned I had something to talk about yesterday. This is more for my own nerves rather than actually changing anything about how I’m writing.

Lately, I’ve seen post bringing up Hilda’s attitude towards Almyra and I was wondering if that would ever come up since the fandom is so quick to bring up Ingrid’s racism. That was always something I found weird because whilst they’re problematic in different ways, both characters have prejudices yet only one is hated. Hilda is actually incredibly popular among fans.

So when I first saw posts about Hilda I was like ok, that’s fair. But then I saw some that got a bit harsher, something along the lines of “Oh, don’t think we’ve forgotten about you, Hilda.” or maybe it was third person. Either way, it sounded like someone calling out a certain author or other real person, rather than a fictional character. I’m not saying that we ignore characters’ bad traits, but fans get so heated. Not just on this topic: the hate towards Edelgard or Dimitri (depending which side you’re on) goes too far too often and carries over to hating their fans. I don’t know what’s brought it on; I’ve been here since Awakening and never saw such vile attitudes. I almost miss people just moaning about Camilla getting another alt.

That wording with Hilda is a minor issue, but just the idea of referring to her as if she’s a real person that needs to be called out is... Icky. Because it feels more like fans of her are being called out through her. Hilda is interesting! Ingrid is interesting! IntSys are bad writers when it comes to racism! We can acknowledge that and still like them, and in our fics and comics and threads have them be better! Either remove that part entirely bc if IntSys can’t be bothered to write the topic respectively, then maybe it shouldn’t be there to begin with. OR. We can write about them learning to be better!

But on that latter topic... I don’t want to say that Hilda isn’t prejudice. But I also don’t want to write a post now. I’m word vomiting here bc that takes less thought that deciding how to make Hilda grow. And... I currently feel like I’m forced to write such a post. It’s not the fault of mutuals so if you’re reading this, you’re probably fine. But there was something on the dash the other day that got me upset because it felt like gatekeeping. Like I wasn’t good enough because I hadn’t made such a post my priority. It wasn’t about me specifically, but it still hurt.

“But Katya, you’ve had Hilda for more than half a year!” Well, guess what? I sometimes add muses before I read all their supports and whilst I knew about House Goneril involvement with Fodlan’s Throat, that feels very mutual to me. From Claude, it seems that the hatred between Almyra and Fodlan may be mutual and he’s stuck there as a child of both... Which as a dual national (well, culturally. HOPEFULLY I can finally get my other passport this year) myself, I do appreciate him being there and wish we got more of his explicit feelings and thoughts on the matter.

But anyway, my point is that I didn’t notice anything odd. I saw a mutual conflict and general tensions bc they’re constantly fighting. So what about Cyril’s supports?

...I don’t like Cyril. He bored me compared to the rest of the cast. I’m sorry to his fans, maybe I’d change my mind if I actually saw his supports, but my point is that I didn’t see his supports with Hilda. Even now, I’ve only seen their C support.

So I added her without knowing. And yeah, now I know there’s racism there. Not the direct “I hate Almyrans and think they should die” kind, more the stereotypical biases kind. Like, nobody will ever tell me that I’m a 2nd class citizen, but I do hear people and the British media, particularly 5-6 years ago when a certain racist politician got popular talk about how “Bulgarians are thieves and crooks” and I’ve had people tell me to my FACE how they hate them, after learning I’m half Bulgarian. Kinda sounds like Hilda claiming Almyrans are brutes, so trust me. I’m not excusing her.

BUT. Coherent thought written out in an intelligent manner takes a lot more effort than this word vomit where I’m just typing whatever I’m thinking at the moment. And now that I’ve seen these aggressive attitudes and gatekeeping, I don’t even want to make that post. Headcanon posts should come from a place of inspiration of a desire to develop my muse. Especially a topic like this, where I should be talking about Hilda becoming a better person, because that’s what I want from her!

Not because I feel like I can’t come to the dash without justifying having Hilda on my muse list first. Let alone use her.

I know where Hilda got her shitty views from. I know how her thoughts are working. I know how she unlearns those biases. But. A sour taste has been left in my mouth, so I’m going to write that post of my own accord when I’m no longer feeling pressured, because this is a hobby and the moment it becomes a chore is when any of of us should stop.

I’m not ignoring her behaviour. I’ll only write it plotted though because it’s such a sensitive topic, even if the plotting is just me dropping a quick message asking “are you comfortable with this” if we’re not already friends, because trust is important. Pre-skip and post-skip Hilda will have different attitudes, but the explanation will come at another date, or maybe it won’t. Right now, I don’t want to write it.

If that is a problem and a deal breaker for you, then just unfollow me. It’s fine. My comfort is more important than, what, having the moral high ground to write about a fictional character I don’t even own? Given the hatred I’ve seen towards fans of certain characters however, I feel like I need to make a disclaimer.

This isn’t a debate. This also isn’t an excuse to take my words out of context and make it look like I’m defending racism. I’ve been a victim of Hilda’s particular brand, so don’t even try it. I might say I’m tired bc I’ve not been on my iron supplement long, but if I catch anything written about me, or any aggression in the replies to this, self care will go out of the window and I am not the type to be the “better person”. I basically trust my mutuals, so this is just a pre-cautionary warning as opposed to an explanation.

“But Katya, this post is longer than a headcanon post would be!” Yeah well brain juice says no no to the latter. If anyone wants to talk about Hilda and this topic, I’ll do so privately in relevant topics e.g. She learns Claude is half-Almyran and says something she shouldn’t.

...

Bloody hell. This was an essay. I’m sorry. I should stop typing my literal thoughts.

[aquilaofarkham]

title: varulven rating: teen and up word count: 5,717 summary: After being bitten by a werewolf, Trevor, knowing he doesn’t have much of a choice, accepts his fate following a painful transformation during the full moon. He quickly gets used to his new body with the support of Sypha and Alucard, who uses his own wolf form to better connect with Trevor. Part two of this piece.

read on ao3 at aquilaofarkham

--

The forest overwhelms him; too many new sounds, new scents, and new sensations all happening at once. The newly born lycan can hear everything from the smallest mouse digging into the frozen dirt, readying itself for hibernation, to the subtle crack of an owl’s talons clawing into tree bark as it moves from branch to branch. It watches and waits, ever so patient for that very same mouse. 

This assault on his senses continues. All things previously closed off when he was human have suddenly been opened. Through his eyes, the world is closer, more intimate. No moment to breathe. His thoughts are bursting with excitement and uncertainty, confusion and fervor.

He lifts his head and sees a white wolf upon a nearby hill. Sitting on his hind legs, head raised high and tall, staring back at the lycan. The skies are dark, save for the full moon, but thank god it’s not snowing else they’d never find each other. He knows the wolf will stay there all night if he has to, but the lycan won’t keep him waiting for much longer. This is a comforting sight; one that compels him to move forward. To join his friend, now that the two of them share more similarities than ever before (unconventional as they are).

Contrary to what most people believe, vampires and lycans get along very well.

Trevor doesn’t know if he will make peace with this form. It’s too soon to tell. But joining Alucard on a run through the snow-covered woods seems to be a decent start. White fur and dark grey fur move quickly against a sea of pin straight black trees. Their swift paws kick up snow as one tries running just an inch faster and further than the other—whether either of them realizes it or not.

When Trevor arrived home a month ago with claw marks gracing his shoulder, Alucard and Sypha did their best. All of them did their best. The two consulted books, legends, and remedies while their hunter prepared himself for the worst. Trevor will forever be grateful to them, despite their failure to stop the lycan’s curse. After the pain of transformation ended, he suddenly felt nothing. He could see nothing, only blood red and an emptiness surrounding him. It was dark inside the wolf. A realization that his body was no longer his own. He had lost control over it.

The first thing Trevor heard was his name. Faint and very weak, not strong enough to pull him out of the darkness. Whatever force held dominion over his body, its immediate instinct was to bare its fangs and violently lash out.

“Trevor, it’s us. You remember, I know you do.” The second thing Trevor heard. Clear and recognizable, even in his state. Sypha’s firm, unwavering, yet calm voice, a voice he always hoped to hear again, was able to cut through the prison that trapped his human thoughts and sight. Another problem solved, another victory she could hang off her belt. Sypha needed one of those, yet she also knew it wasn’t time to celebrate. No premature smiles or breaths of relief.

Trevor vaguely remembers what happened next; low to the ground, he crawled towards the two human creatures in front of him. Uncertain of how much personal control he had regained. Nor was he sure of how easily it could slip away again. Then same another familiar voice, like a candle in a dark corridor leading him to someplace brighter. Trevor Belmont is always in want—or rather, in need of brighter things.

“Trevor...” Alucard was never one to reveal his true emotions especially in the way he spoke. Neutral, steady, and blunt. Most often rude if he were in a foul mood, yet he raised his voice sparingly. But if Alucard was attempting to hide a certain emotion in that single word, he failed. All Trevor could hear was a desperate plea for hope.

He put their fears to rest when the front of his head gently pressed into Alucard’s outstretched palm. Trevor didn’t move beyond that; too ashamed, too scared of this new form that dwarfed his friends. Alucard cautiously slid his hand up between the lycan’s eyes before scratching his ears. Something Trevor did to those old grey Belmont wolfhounds of his long gone home. A shockingly pleasant sensation, making him feel akin to one of said large, gentle beasts he misses so dearly. Large is obvious, but gentle? Trevor wants to try his best.

It was a good decision to leave the cellar with the now broken door. Trevor would have otherwise cowered in a corner come sunrise. Out here, deep in the snow and cold air, adrenaline rushes through his veins just as easily as blood. Mixed with his habitual tendency to compete against the dhampir, it’s enough to propel him forward, matching Alucard’s speed.

This forest is his. Theirs.

--

One should never underestimate Sypha Belnades. She’s sent demons back to hell in flames of her own creation. She stood against the vampires’ mad lord and burned him to ashes which flew off into the night sky, their final resting place unknown. She played reluctant peacemaker between two men, more like children despite their own abilities. A minimal accomplishment compared to others, but an accomplishment, nonetheless. All those moments when she held her bright fingertips close against their temples saying, “Grow up or I will light both of your skulls on fire”.

Keeping track of two wolf-like creatures seems easy compared to everything else. Stay close, stay watchful, and never stray too far from the fresh set of paw prints in the snow. A real-life Ariadne with her precious red thread. Sypha adored listening to those stories from her childhood, begging to hear one more before bedtime. It didn’t matter if they were real or not, though she always believed they were.

Belief is a powerful force; just as if not more powerful than her spells. She still believes in many things that cross bearing men reject; things good and bad. Of magic, vampires, and the myths that give life to both. Sypha loves her myths—even the unsettling ones. The ones that unearth truths that no one wants to hear. She once hoped some of them would help spare Trevor from his eventual fate.

She sat on the floor of their library, surrounded by piles of books like stone walls. A momen in time that feels long ago but in reality, happened only a few short days prior to the full moon. The words in front of her blurred together as she rubbed her aching eyes, yet she kept reading.

Sypha studied the lycan’s many origins: they came from a scorned lover of Gilgamesh, having been turned into a wolf against their will. No, they were punished by the god Jupiter for eating the remains of a sacrificed boy. Actually, they were merely by-products of the oldest vampires. On and on an on. She read of the symptoms: nightmares, vomiting, lack of an appetite. Increase in agitation. She wanted to scream, “I know that already” into the pages of those particular books. What she needed from these myths were cures.

While it made her hands twitch and her heart pound with anxiety, Sypha did what she promised Trevor: she kept searching. She kept reading.

So engrossed in her reading, Sypha barely noticed Alucard as he sat down beside her. A silence grew between them every time her fingers flipped over another page. He watched her eyes move from line to line, scaling down. A warm light filled the library; it would be dark soon and he wasn’t about to let her go through yet another sleepless night. Sypha’s sharp mind needed rest, but then again, they all did.

“You have that look again.” Despite how softly he spoke, Alucard noticed her jump. Sypha glanced at him briefly, then returned to her book, burying her nose in even deeper.

“What look?”

“The one that says focused yet angry. Calm, but disturb me and I will separate your head from your neck.”

She hid her amusement at Alucard’s dark brand of humour. “I am not angry.”

“Are you certain?”

“... perhaps a little. More frustrated. These books have nothing that can help us. There are apparently plenty of ways to tame a lycan after they transform.”

“But no methods of curing them.”

Sypha closed the book; Alucard took that as a yes. “What about you? I’ve seen you held up in that laboratory. Sometimes for hours on end.”

When they started rebuilding the Belmont manor with its library, bedrooms, armoury, and kitchen, they added a new room. A mirror image of the laboratory and clinic Alucard remembered so fondly. Full of medicines, glass tubes, and other devices neither Trevor nor Sypha fully understood but were willing to learn. He used it more often than them, carrying on important, irreplaceable work.

A local rumour began spreading amongst the neighbouring villages. Talk of a stranger dressed in black going from door to door, giving remedies to the sick while refusing payment. They never did manage to catch this good Samaritan.

Sypha once saw Alucard with his hair different. Still loose but tied with a simple hairband and hanging over his breast. When she mentioned it, innocently enough, Alucard went quiet. She hasn’t seen him like that since.

“Did... did your mother’s notes say anything?”

“Unfortunately, she didn’t have very many patients afflicted with the lycan’s curse.” Usually Sypha could recognize the sarcasm in Alucard’s tone; this time proved more difficult. “But I had more success reading the notes she and my father wrote together. I’ve started concocting a tonic using distilled wolfsbane.”

“And...”

Alucard didn’t want to give Sypha false hope. “It still needs work. With its current state, it will most likely kill him.”

“Maybe...” Sypha stopped herself. Never in her life did she want to admit defeat. Always too stubborn, too proud, tasting bile in her mouth if she even thought about it. Yet she told Trevor and Alucard to grow up. Perhaps it was time she did as well, especially if the life of someone she loved was at stake.

“Maybe it would be best if we let Trevor transform. We can use your tonic to ease the pain when he changes and then try taming him afterwards. These books annoy me beyond anything else, but I found a manuscript about northern lycan myths.” Shoving aside everything else, she grabbed a flimsy set of brown papers held together by thread and sheer perseverance. “It stood out the most. I think it may assist us.”

Alucard stared at the so-called “book” in Sypha’s hand. Its ink scrawls were barely legible to his eyes. “We would have to tie him down. Or lock him somewhere secure.”

“We have that cellar. I know you don’t like this plan.”

“I don’t think either of us does.” Sypha nodded in agreement. “I will tell him.”

“You do not have to.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to help him.”

“He won’t like what you have to say. He’s barely gotten any rest.”

“No one living in this house has.” He placed his hand on her back. “Don’t worry, Sypha. I will talk to him.”

“Gently. Remember to be gentle with him.”

“I shall.”

“Before you do that, we need to finish that tonic. I will help.”

“That won’t be necessary. You should—”

Sypha pushed the manuscript against his chest. “I said I’m helping. And you should read this.”

Alucard smiled. “There’s not much I can say that would convince you otherwise, is there?”

“Nothing at all.”

Deep in her memories, Sypha nearly trips over herself. Alucard was right; she hated that plan. It worked, but she hated it for making her think the worst. For making her feel as though she had willingly doomed Trevor to his fate. That she had been defeated.

Her feet begin to ache. She keeps reminding herself of one thing: this is not defeat. Only another obstacle to overcome. A door opening to a new way of life. Sypha is used to walking through those. She scales up another hill, her two boys off in the distance, still in sight.

She should have worn better shoes.

--

Wolves cannot run forever. Even those of supernatural origins must stop, which is what Trevor and Alucard do. But one still has mountains of energy to burn. His head is a flurry of different thoughts. Some take root while most leave just as fast as they entered. No matter where they came from or what they entail, they all succeed in contradicting each other.

One thought manages to rise above the rest: what else can this new body really do?

Alucard takes his rest not far from Trevor, who seems to be in his own little world. Not content enough to run around in circles, he takes to rolling about in the snow, attacking it the same way a pup would pounce at everything in sight, animate or not. A pup... yes, that’s what Alucard is reminded of. He watches in amusement as Trevor trips over his legs, too long and cumbersome for his liking. No normal wolf would be able to handle such abnormal bodily proportions of a lycan’s.

It takes some trial and error—more error than trial. Only when Trevor actually stops to think does he regain some control over his limbs. No more flopping around; now he can revert straight back to his playful demeanour, this time on much steadier footing.

—Quite the beacon of terror, the dhampir thinks. Villagers must be quaking with fear underneath their bedcovers tonight.

Alucard lowers himself against the ground. Let Trevor have his fun. Lord knows he deserves it after a month of hell. This might even count as a valuable lesson. There’ll be plenty more to come.

Trevor rolls off his back and makes brief contact with golden eyes against white fur. Gold like amber or the cinders of a well-used fireplace. He looks at Alucard and wonders if the dhampir’s transformation is ever as painful as his own. No, Trevor realizes the longer he stares. Not painful or ugly at all. A few gentle, graceful wisps of smoke and the deed is done. Seems everything Alucard does is gentle and graceful, no matter what form he takes.

A mischievous thought worms its way into Trevor’s head. Alucard maintains his statuesque posture; beautiful, regal, and boring. At first, he ignores the other wolf, occasionally glancing in his direction out of curiosity and confusion. Packs of snow get thrown into the air with every wag of Trevor’s shaggy tail. Alucard’s head tilts slightly, his ears pinned back.

—What are you planning? Why are you staring at me like that?

What can barely be described as a tense standoff ends when Trevor shoves Alucard. Despite being larger and arguably stronger as a lycan, this action does nothing to faze his companion. Trevor repeats the gesture; still not enough to crack his hard exterior—but not enough to deter his scheming counterpart. Trevor charges headfirst into Alucard, more a ram than a wolf.

Alucard, if he so wanted, could overpower the lycan. Push him off or knock him flat on his own back. Yet he stays in a somewhat defeated pose with his limbs bent and dangling. Trevor continues his attempt at what Alucard can only assume is... bonding? He nuzzles his snout into the white wolf’s fur while his oversized front paws push against his exposed belly. Another jovial act between his family’s cherished wolfhounds.

Trevor also recalls riding on their backs as they took him up and down the halls of the Belmont manor then outside through the gardens when he was still small enough. Sypha might be able to ride on his back, maybe even Alucard as well. Wouldn’t that be a sight to behold.

Trevor becomes lost in this new, break-neck pace of thinking, one thought after another and then another. He doesn’t notice that the playful bites he’s been giving his friend have unknowingly turned aggressive. Alucard retaliates by baring his fangs and letting out a deep, guttural snarl.

—Not so rough.

Trevor instinctively backs away. As an apology, he lowers his head and tries making his body seem much smaller than it really is. The same action he attempted in the cellar following his change. Lycans simply take up too much space. Too large, too obstructive, and too rough, even towards similar creatures. He huffs out a frustrated breath into the frigid air.

Alucard ceases his growling when he sees this abrupt shift. He didn’t mean for his reaction to be so harsh. He’s supposed to be helping after all. Days before the full moon when Trevor quietly wept out of fear—fear of himself—Alucard showed his own vulnerable side. He let Trevor rest his head upon his chest, wiping away the tears and offering small words of comfort until he drifted off into a desperately needed sleep. How could either of them forget that evening?

His father taught him that even those most experienced in transfiguration often have difficulty controlling their emotions. Too dulled down or too impassioned, exploding at any spontaneous moment. It would explain Trevor’s excitable behavior.

Softly, he treads over to the curled-up mass of thick fur. Trevor pouts as though he were still human. He really is just a newborn lycan on his first night out; an overgrown pup. His playfulness should be seen as a blessing in disguise. Alucard gives his snout a couple gentle pats, apologizing himself. To which Trevor merely grumbles.

—Stick in the ass you are.

Alucard has no way of telling if that’s what he’s really thinking, but he can come to his own conclusions. He knows the Belmont well enough. He responds with a frisky bite to his ear, eliciting a surprised yelp from Trevor. Rows upon rows of fangs snap at Alucard, who always dodges them at the very last second, before getting pinned down.

They continue like this, chasing and wrestling each other, causing their own little intimate chaos. Even their growls sound happier. It took some time, but they’re finally playing the same game. All is well again—or as well as things could be.

It comes to an end when a sound off in the distance catches Trevor’s attention. He raises his head; ears perked up, and listens. It’s not Sypha, no doubt making her way across the rolling landscape, closing in on her two boys. It’s no human at all. Something else, perhaps an animal or more, scurries through the frozen underbrush. A certain primal urge suddenly rises within Trevor, one that all beasts share: the need to chase and hunt. He stands up, nose pointed in the direction of the noise, ignoring the white wolf’s yips. Before he can run off, Alucard bites down and pulls him back.

—For once in your life, wait. 

Trevor does pause. but not without growling at him for leaving teeth marks on his tail. He begrudgingly lets Alucard take the lead. They begin their hunt.

--

Somewhere, a clock hand strikes past midnight. Trevor and Alucard huddle together, their eyes fixated on a small flock of wild pheasants. Not quite the prize they were hoping for, but decent practice. Like before, Trevor allows the white wolf to go first, all while trying to tell himself that as a human, he’s still the better hunter.

However, he must admit, it is mesmerizing to watch Alucard hunt as a wolf as it is watching him fight as a dhampir. Every step is deliberate and creates no sound as eyes never leave their prey, inching closer. A calculated, flawless leap forward, the panicked scattering of pheasants except for one thrashing around for freedom under his paw, and then finally, the wolf twists the bird’s neck in his jaws. He makes it all seem so easy.

Alucard carries the lifeless, slumped prize over to Trevor. So quick and barely even a drop of blood. He finds the rest of the flock a few feet away. They continue pecking at whatever berries and frozen grub they can scrounge for, unaware or having already forgotten that one of their own is dead. Trevor enjoys a challenge in all aspects of his life, but for now he’ll a dumb prey over a clever one. He start by mimicking Alucard’s movements and everything seems to be going well. Cumbersome due to his size but after some adjustments to his stance, the dhampir feels optimistic.

Then Trevor loses his chance to strike by half a second. The pheasants begin to disperse, and he rushes into them, striking one with his claws. It tries escaping; Trevor tries catching it. There’s a struggle as both hunter and prey put up their own fight. Jaws clamp down on the bird’s neck, but instead of a clean snap, splatters of blood and feathers cover the white ground. Trevor stares down at his prize, mangled and torn beyond recognition.

—Too rough. Again.

Alucard expected something like this would happen and, in the end, Trevor was successful in finishing his first hunt. So, he isn’t disappointed. Yet Trevor dully paws at what used to be a pheasant with dejection in his eyes. Alucard tries cheering him up by licking his bloody snout clean. It helps.

They come across a drove of jackrabbits with their guard down, a rare but lucky sight. The second hunt goes much smoother. Alucard catches two, Trevor four, all of which hang out of his mouth intact. If Sypha were here right now, she would have a good laugh at the sheer ridiculous sight of such a beast with his jaws stuffed to the brim with rabbits. 

Speak of the devil. Out of the corner of Alucard’s eye, he sees Sypha in the near distance, two pheasants hanging off her hip. He motions for Trevor to follow him.

Trevor doesn’t acknowledge him, nor does he notice Sypha. If a new sound or smell no matter how faraway demands his interest, then he must comply. All else, even close friends, fade away. He can’t help it in this form. He meanders over the hills, leaving Alucard and Sypha to do little but trail behind him. Something tells them that this is not just simple curiosity pulling the lycan.

Silently, Trevor leads them to a clearing in the trees. Out of the darkness, shapes and silhouettes come into view. Not particularly large, but substantial. Some far apart, some close together. Houses, few of which still have candles inside, burning the night away. The softened lights illuminate each frosted window like small drifting halos. It’s deathly still in this hamlet; they might have never discovered its existence had it not been for Trevor.

—Trevor. Alucard joins his side, fearing the worst. His head is lowered as he violently bats at it with his paws, agitated by some unseen tick. Every breath comes out as a growling rasp while streams of saliva drip off his fangs. The look in his eyes, the one Alucard and Sypha know so well, is gone.

It’s happening again. Even the idea of being so close to other humans is enough to reawaken the hunger. Not to hunt or feed, but to rip and mangle and leave nothing unscathed. Trevor loses his balance, stumbling from foot to foot, shaking his head. God knows he’s trying to gain back control, and it hurts him. Alucard barks in his ear, deafening him.

—Fight it. Trevor, or what Alucard hopes is still Trevor, responds with a fierce snap of his jaws. They snarl, and bark, and brandish their claws. Sypha tears her eyes away, despite not wanting to. She can hear voices within the houses, villagers stirring from their rest at what they believe is the sound of two wolves tearing at each other’s throats. She pleads for them to stay inside. This doesn’t concern them.

—Fight it. God damn it, I know you can. Fight it!

Trevor doesn’t care for Alucard’s thoughts. With another swipe, he sends him skidding across the ground and into the base of a tree. The pain is sharp but quick. Alucard stands, thankful that he is no ordinary wolf. Before he can charge at Trevor, Sypha moves between them, her hands raised.

“Trevor, stop!” She’s not afraid, not anymore. Or rather, she doesn’t look afraid. Her expression is firm, brows furrowed. All concentration on this one spell. It needs to be performed without any uncertainty. There’s no fire or ice emitting from her fingertips, yet Trevor howls bloody murder.

Spells that can change the mind and its contents are dangerous. In the hands of a less experienced practitioner, too much can go wrong. If one doesn’t succumb to an early death, then madness. Which is why Sypha has always preferred to manipulate tangible elements. But she’s never been above taking risks. She focuses every bit of her energy into restoring Trevor’s conscience. Hopefully it will shift itself in the right direction and neither she nor Alucard will be forced to commit the unthinkable.

“Look at me... keep your eyes on me. It will be alright, I promise.” Sypha doesn’t make promises lightly. Trevor huffs, gritting his fangs, but his gaze never leaves her. He waves his head from side to side again, as if trying to shake off a terrible headache. The growls quiet until they disappear. Sypha breathes a relieved yet trembling sigh when Trevor’s eyes soften. She steps forward and wraps her arms around his head, so large her fingers barely touch. Her forehead rests against his.

“Shh, none of that. You did well. I told you it would be alright.” She strokes his fur, listening to every whimper.

As his senses return, so too does his memory. Trevor wriggles free from Sypha’s grasp and runs to Alucard, still whining. While shaken up, his body bears no serious injuries, only some out of place fur. That doesn’t stop Trevor from licking and nuzzling him like an overbearing mother wolf. Alucard appreciates the concern, but he can stop now. After a moment of calm respite between the three of them, he decides that this night should come to an end. Before Sypha can follow him, the tip of her hood gets caught in Trevor’s teeth.

“What is it?” He lets go and lowers his underside against the snow, gesturing to his back. He knows Sypha came here by foot, all on her own; he can’t just let her return the same way. “Oh... well, this is...” Does he really want her to...?

Trevor gives her a nudge before she can stutter out another syllable. Alright, then. When in Rome and all that. Grabbing handfuls of fur, Sypha climbs aboard. She fumbles a bit then finds a comfortable position. Moments like these make Sypha thankful for their isolated, self-contained life. How would she explain this to her grandfather or the other Speakers? Even so, she can’t help but bury herself deeper in Trevor’s warm fur.

They catch up to Alucard with his mouth full of dead jackrabbits. Using the light of the moon as their guide, a lycan, a dhampir in the shape of a wolf, and a Speaker magician retrace their steps back to their home. Back to their bed.

--

The next day arrives, bringing with it the sun as it crawls over the Wallachian mountainside. Sypha stirs awake and forces her sleep heavy eyes open. The hazy light of early morning shines through the snow-covered glass of the bedroom window panes. Curling into the fetal position, she holds her knees tight against her chest. Both hands massage her bare feet, alleviating some of their soreness after her midnight excursion.

Is it possible for a single night to feel stretched out to its limits? Lingering for longer than a few hours at the most? Sypha remembers the set of events that occured last night, despite them feeling like a dream. All of them tumbling into place one after another without rest. The last memory is of her in bed, safe, warm, and guarded. A bit suffocated but sleeping better than she did for the entire month. She knows who to thank for that.

Sitting up (a feat much easier said than done), Sypha believes she’ll look down at two wolves who are fast asleep. Just as she did before closing her eyes in the darkness, their bodies cuddled around her. One has white fur and a sleek build; the second, a lycan with thick fur and a mass that might have broken the bed in half.

She sees the white wolf, but in place of the other is a large blanket spreading out. As though the lycan had been neatly skinned and stripped of all its fur. The most curious thing about it is the human-esque shape protruding from underneath. Sypha lifts up one of the corners and with wide, bright eyes, she smiles. None of the books mentioned anything about this.

Trevor lies on his side covered by the fur blanket (or what must have been his skin), naked and in the grips of a deep, comfortable sleep. His breathing is gentle and every so often, a soft snore escapes. Sypha thinks she’s staring at an entirely different man. The tired, dark circles under his eyes are gone and his skin looks softer, healthier. Those years of turmoil and loneliness since he was twelve, all faded away after one night.

Tenderly, she runs a few fingers through his tousled hair. He will be fine. The fear she had when his fangs sharpened, and his eyes grew vicious was only momentary. Sypha wants to be hopeful, her most cherished emotion right after belief. She wants to hope and believe that Trevor might find the strength within himself to live with this curse. She also wants to bend down and hold him for the rest of the morning, no fear that he will disappear the next day or even in the next hour. But Sypha won’t wake him just yet. She slips out of bed, hurrying across the cold floor, a blanket wrapped around her shivering body, until she reaches the manor kitchen.

The lasting effects of a night well slept soon dissipate as Sypha abruptly stops, staring with surprised eyes at Trevor and Alucard’s midnight spoils. Namely, a pile of dead pheasants and hares complete with bloody feathers strewn along the wooden table where they have their meals together. They were all so exhausted, she almost forgot about those.

Sypha walks past the pile and begins preparing her breakfast.

--

Alucard is next to wake up. He opens his mouth in a wide yawn, licking dry lips, before giving his back a good stretch. After a few smooth wisps of mist rising into the air, he returns to his normal form. Fully clothed, wearing everything from his high boots, tight black pants, and the white shirt with the plunging neckline. He remains splayed across the bedsheets, straightening out the rest of his limbs. Letting out a tired yet satisfied moan, Alucard props himself up on his elbow and turns to Trevor. His reaction is just as pleasantly shocked as Sypha’s. Reaching over, he nudges him awake.

“Good morning,” he coos. Once Trevor’s eyes open and he gains an awareness of where he is, his cheeks go slightly pink.

“I didn’t expect this.”

“Did you feel anything transfiguring back?”

“No, nothing at all. If only the first transformation went this way.”

“So, you remember everything we did. Hunting, running...”

“I do... more than I remember most things when I’m human. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what it felt like to run that fast. Then there was... when I almost—”

“Nothing happened. It wasn’t your fault, and no one was hurt. Remember that as well.” Aside from a brief lapse in contentment, Alucard is relieved at how well Trevor is taking everything. He stares at him for a bit longer. His blue eyes, normally so tired and worn, look so much brighter in the winter sunlight. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Actually, I feel better than good. I felt so heavy before. Everywhere I went, even when I met you and Sypha, I was constantly carrying around all this extra weight. You could never see it, but it was there, beating down on my shoulders while I rotted from the inside out. I don’t know, it sounds like I’m being too dramatic. But now... I feel lighter. Newer, I guess. It’s as though I’ve just taken the longest fucking bath of my life.”

“Interesting way to describe it.”

“But, be honest with me.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“How hideous did I look? When I was... you know, in that form?”

Alucard doesn’t answer right away, preferring to keep Trevor in mild suspense. “It was not that terrible of a sight. You might actually look better as a lycan than a human.”

Trevor feebly tosses a pillow at his face. “Shut up.” Then comes an exasperated groan as he shoves his face into what used to be his “skin”. “Christ, that was a long night.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to go through it again?”

A valid question, and an important one. Trevor thinks about it at length. He can’t decide whether he wants his answer to be optimistic or his usual of reluctant acceptance. “I guess we’ll have to see in about a month’s time. Not like I have much of a choice.”

Alucard reaches over and grazes a couple fingertips along his stubbled chin. “You should know that I’m proud of you. We both are.”

“... don’t think I’ve heard that word come out of your mouth before.”

“Which one?”

“Proud. Of me in particular.”

“I’ve been proud of you many times in the past. I simply never vocalized it.”

“Well, my life’s purpose as been fulfilled. Guess I can die a happy man now.”

Grabbing the very same pillow, Alucard brings it down upon Trevor’s head again and again. “That was a horrible joke.” But the hunter, turn lycan, then turned back into a man only laughs.

Real laughter; it’s been too long since Alucard heard that sound.

[cupidsmusings]

The Affair That Never Happened

Description: It was here third and final and final year at Seishun High School. A year that was coveted by most and looked back on with cherished memories. For this particular student though, she found herself in a peculiar situation that set a catalyst for things to come.

Rating: PG-13

Series: The Affair That Never Happened

Chapter 5: Makeover

Couples: Eventual reader x Shinichi, unrequited reader x Chiharu

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

He was laughing at her and the horrible situation the world thought it’d give her. And his laughter was not appreciated.

“I told you in hopes of you helping me. Not for you to laugh at me in a department store.” She grumbled as she scanned the foundation for the one she needed.

“You would laugh too if it wasn’t happening to you.” Akira chided as he looked at a few eyeshadows.

“Touché,”

The two exchange a look before they both chuckled at her misfortune.

“Yeah I guess it is very funny.” she hummed as she placed a bottle of foundation in the basket at her side. “It would have been funnier if I stayed and watched him wake up in such a room. It was super pretty though. Very detailed.”

“Most themed love hotel rooms are.” Akira shrugged as he placed a rather expensive eyeshadow of 40 shades inside the basket as well. “Still, I’m upset you didn’t invite me to play.”

“Gross, no thanks.” She rolled her eyes as she tossed a bronzer inside the basket as well.

“Can’t believe he offered to wash you. Go teach.” With a nod of her friend’s head, she couldn’t help the laughter the bubble out.

“It’s even funnier when you consider what kind of person he is. Never mind watching him wake up, I’d prefer being there when he remembers what he offered doing!”

She continued to cackle gently as she walked down the aisle to enter another one. Akira followed her and the two made jokes as they inspected the makeup she would need. She had already bought the wig, it was a different texture, length, and color from her natural look, yet it still complimented her well. As they went through the day shopping she truly felt like a spy. She even bought a few new outfits just in case he noticed a shirt, skirt or anything else she owned if she were to wear it with her when she met him.

“Make sure to buy the most expensive thing on the menu,” Akira stated in reference to the café before adding with a wink. “You’ll have to put out though.”

The thought of her and Kagari-sensei embracing each other sent an unpleasant shiver down her spine. Ugh, no thank you.

“I’d rather just pay for my own food and take his apology at face value.”

“Boo, that’s not fun.”

Again, the two looked at each other for a second before they both erupted into a fit of chuckles.

 The next day proved to be hurdle she was too arrogant to realize she might not be able to cross. So with humiliation, she mustered up her courage and left her dormitory to travel to someone else’s. When she was greeted at the door and asked for Akira, she was immediately given what she could only assume to be a look of pity. Ew, gross.

“You’re mistaken,” she quickly interjected before the person she assumed to be the den-mother could call out to Akira. “It’s not like that. We’re just friends.”

“Ah,” Den-mother sighed before he moved out of the doorway so she could enter. “He should be up in the lounge playing games with his dormmates.”

“Thank you,” she smiled but the smile dropped as she stormed up the steps and shouted. “Akira!”

She could hear the footsteps of the den-mother with a worried muttered of, “Did I make the right decision of letting her in?”

Akira and his dormmates looked from the screen to her and Akira was just as surprised that she came there as everyone else.

“I need you to do my makeup.” She said with a blush that stemmed from her embarrassment.

“How many times have you tried yourself?” Akira asked, and she, too ashamed at how many times she had tried, kept her mouth shut. This caused Akira, Tokyo’s local asshat it seemed, to laugh and point at her in an overdramatic manner. “That must mean you tried more than four times right?”

“Shut up! Screw you man.” She growled and marched over to pinch his cheeks sharply. “Keep laughing you sonuva bitch. I have embarrassing stories on you too.”

That was when she looked to his dormmates and opened her mouth to start off the list of Akira’s embarrassing moments. She was then promptly shoved to the floor as Akira tackled her and held his hand over her mouth.

“I’ll do your make-up so just shut up.” He growled into her ear.

“Get off me fat-ass!” She snapped but all anyone could hear were muffled words.

With a burst of aggravated strength, she was able to flip him over so she straddled him. With heavy breathing and look of triumph, she smirked down at him.

“I don’t think I mind this position,” Akira smirked and placed his hands on her hips.

“Akira once made out with a dude that he thought was a chick!” She said and his amusement fell and white-hot anger flashed in his eyes.

“Never mind, do you own makeup!” He growled and sat up so he could knock her off him.

“I told you I had stories.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“{Name} went to a love hotel with her teacher!” He said to get back at her.

“Dude!”

“Akira, and Akira’s friends, please come with me.” Den-mother said, his tone gentle but the flash in gaze told them that he was far more serious than he let on.

The two stood up but continued to act like children. {Name} would shove him away from her when he got too close and he would stick his tongue out her when she did. They were taken to den-mother’s office within the residence. Den-mother instructed {Name} to take a seat and she did while Akira continued to stand.

“Now, tell me, what happened between you and your teacher?” Den-mother asked.

Not pussy-footing around was he? Considering nothing happened she wasn’t afraid to tell her story. Knowing that Akira had snuck out that night as well, she would just have to fabricate someone else to take his place.

“I go to Seishun High School, and there they’re really strict, right? I just wanted to get away for a night you know, so I snuck out and hung out with a few friends from my middle school to blow off some steam. I ended up leaving far later than I wanted to, around 1 or so, and a friend offered to take me back to my dorms but I refused. So as I’m walking back I get knocked into by someone and then that someone proceeds to vomit on me. Lo’ and behold that person is my homeroom teacher, and one of the strictest teacher’s on campus. If he found out I was out way-passed curfew he’d have my head. But I felt bad for him and he was too drunk to carry back to the dorms so I took him to a love hotel. I was going to be paying for it so I choose the cheapest place. He ended up paying though, which I suppose is for the best since I don’t think I would be able to explain to my father why I paid for a room at a love-hotel…”

“{Name}, you're rambling.” Akira sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Long story short: She left her cardigan with him by his insistence to clean it and now he wants to meet up to return it. He doesn’t remember her and she could have ignored him but that’s her favourite cardigan. So now she has to go meet up with him looking like a completely different person so she doesn’t get found out.”

“I could have said all that myself.” She grumbled and nervously fiddled with her fingers that rested in her lap.

“Yeah, but then we’d both turn 20 before you finished.” Akira chided and lightly pinched her cheek.

“So you need to look like someone else?” Den-mother asked as he mewled over the information.

“Yeah! I even bought a wig and colored contacts and these are even brand new clothes so he wouldn’t recognize any of my outfits I wear out of school.” she told the den-mother, but when she realized how that sounded she added, “He’s my dormitory’s supervisor, so he often sees me out of my uniform.”

“That certainly sounds like a headache.” Den-mother nodded slowly. “Don’t worry, {Name} was it? I’m very good with my hands, so I’m sure that I’ll be able to do what you need me to if I can watch a tutorial. Knowing that your education is at stake I won’t mention this to your school.”

“Really! Thank you!” She shot up and bowed deeply at the person she viewed as her current savior.

“It’s not a problem. You may call me Nana. I hope we get along from now on!” Nana smiled at her.

“I hope we get along as well!”

While Nana studied the makeup tutorial {Name} had tried to do herself, Akira walked up to her. He softly brushed his fingertips against her wrist.

“Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have said that.” He apologized in a quiet whisper so Nana wouldn’t hear.

“Me too. I forget that what I find as funny might not be to other people.” She apologized as well.

The two looked at one another, small smiles on their faces that spoke of true friendship and warmth.

“I think I’m ready,” Nana interrupted them. “But if you wish to continue flirting, go on ahead.”

“Ew.” The two of them said in unison without skipping a beat. 

[shynmighty]

The New ACOR Chapter.

So... Like many of you I’ve been waiting anxiously for the return of A Courtesan of Rome for the past millenia few months, and it made it’s return today.

And I liked it. I did. But after digesting it a bit it left me with a few opinions. So I’m going to go ahead and launch them into the ether...

(AHOY! THAR BE SPOILERS BELOW!)

This chapter is a LOT to unpack. Because it’s long. But it’s also DENSE. 

It starts out with some familiar pacing, picking up right where we leave off with Dad and Syphax. MC makes a choice who she want’s saved. I’m on board. I love making decisions like this and it’s part of what makes ACOR such a thrilling story. I hope this choice in particular has a huge impact later on. For anyone curious, I saved Victus (I’m a dedicated Antonymancer, so I didn’t have the same emotions regarding the choice. Saving MC’s father instead of her friend made more sense for my character.) and I bought the diamond scene with him afterwards where he and MC did the Rite in the water and she told him she was in love with Antony. He was, predictably, horrified and I LOVED that.

After that diamond scene, though... The rest of the chapter put the pedal to the metal, so to speak. The deliberate pacing from before is chucked right out the window. The story lights a cigarette and tells us to hang on to something because there are no seatbelts in this car. Distantly, we hear the sound of sirens.

That metaphor got away from me. 

So, yeah... The pacing isn’t great. This chapter should have been the first three chapters of ACOR book 2. We see glimpses of character development, but despite competent writing it’s simply too little to feel satisfying. Because of the breakneck speed of the plot now, we are given three potentially fascinating brand new characters. Up to this point, Caesar and Cleopatra have been exclusively used for foreshadowing purposes, and this is the first time we really get to see them interact with the plot in any meaningful way, so I’m filing them under “New and Shiny”. And Brutus! The guy who historically teams up with Cassius to stab Caesar! He’s finally here! ... Aaaand there he goes after about five lines of dialogue across two scenes. Caesar and Cleopatra get a little more attention, but it feels... superficial? You get a sense of what they’re like, but a lot of their dialogue felt like “WE ARE SAYING THIS SO THAT YOU, THE READER, KNOW THIS IMPORTANT THING ABOUT US AND/OR THE STORY.” There was a moment or two when Caesar would say something about his motives and his vision for Rome (Good, things! Juicy things!) and I’d just think “UGH I want to talk about THAT more!” But you can’t. But you can bang them. So there’s that. Bottom line: I hope we get more meaningful interactions with them next week and a chance to really explore the characters. I want to be fascinated by them the way they deserve.

Luckily, the returning cast is mostly consistent. Syphax, Sabina, Antony... Seeing them again just as I remembered them felt like seeing old friends again. There were two individuals, however, whose returns were woefully inadequate.

I’m looking at you, Cassius and Delphinia.

I don’t want you to think that I hate Cassius and Delphinia. Because I don’t. They are two of my favorite characters in the story. I know. I like Cassius. I’m controversial. Moving on.

Delphinia’s problem stems from a lot of the same issues and Caesar, Cleopatra and Brutus. There simply was not enough time for her. Which is damn tragic. Her arc is one I’ve been following with great interest. She literally talks to a goddess and has leveraged that ability to rise out of slavery and start her own cult. She is a certified, grade A, total badass. Also, she’s MC’s mom. That reunion needed to be five hundred times more emotional. I understand why it wasn’t, they needed to cram as much information into this chapter as possible, but it still felt rushed and unsatisfying, and does not do justice to the journey we’ve been following so far.

And Cassius. Hoo, boy. This really stuck in my craw.

I feel like his whole arc has been leading to that moment where he looks at MC and says something along the lines of “Caesar must die”. I have been waiting for that moment since chapter freakin’ one when they introduced him as a gentle, somewhat naive idealist who believed in the power of law and rhetoric over brute force. Whatever your opinion of him, his journey was carried out magnificently from a writing standpoint. His faith in the establishment he dedicated his life to is shaken, leading him into doubt and paranoia. We see the writing on the wall, we know the end of the road leads him to orchestrating the conspiracy to assassinate Caesar, but it seems so unlikely because he’s so NICE. The classic story of a good man falling into darkness. Juicy character development. I love this stuff.

So I felt super let down when they made that HUGE revelation into a throwaway moment that gets lost in the shuffle of the chapter. That was an important moment for an important character. This moment had no right to fall flat like that. This moment deserved better.

And while we’re on the topic of plots to assassinate Caesar...

What the actual $%&# is UP with MC going off half cocked with her poison? I’m having flashbacks to Chapter FIVE, where I seem to recall we did this exact same song and dance with TERRIBLE results. What happened to all the awesome development that took place in her struggle with Aquila??? This isn’t poetic or things coming full circle. It’s just a plan that SUCKS. And... and... CASSIUS is literally RIGHT THERE feeling MURDEROUS (as we’ve established, grr.) and MC can’t be bothered to... I dunno... plot WITH him??

Oh and we finally found out what happened to Cingerix. I really hope he gets more than ten seconds to explain himself next week. Like everything else, he was kind of treated as an afterthought. 

Still reading? Wow. I’m impressed! Thanks for indulging me in my wacky word vomit! 😁

TL;DR Some good, some not so good. I’m happy ACOR is back, but this chapter should have been spaced out better to give all the important stuff in it the attention it deserved.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Dearly Beloved

Summary: Here comes the grooms...grooms? Grooooooms??

Notes: The wedding! FINALLY the wedding. Everything is going just about how Red expected it would. 

Also on AO3

By Any Other Name masterlist

~~*~~

The town hall was the first public building that had been put up in New New Home. At first, it had been necessary for meetings, discussions that were important for their very lives, but gradually it had turned into more of a community building for all kinds of get togethers. Dances, parties, and yeah, weddings.

The decorations were carefully done, not that Red knew much about that but eh, he figured it had been done right. His brother had very specific tastes and that was fine. The kid that had grown up in the garbage dumps was still beneath that and just because he didn’t need to be that kid anymore didn’t mean he’d forgotten how.

Red made sure of that. 

And what of it, anyway? They all had dings in their souls, metaphorically speaking, even Papyrus, who came off as cheerful and maybe a little vacant, until you dug a deeper to see beneath it. They all had dents, wounds that had healed over. Point of fact, Stretch’s soul had been pretty close to broken when they got here. Red had noticed that when they first met; he was pretty good at that, noticing things, and once he’d gotten to know him a little, Asgore had put that knack to good use.

King Fluffybuns came off as a good guy, but he had more than just a way with flowers going for him.

Speaking of, the entire hall was decorated liberally with plenty of flowers in shades of autumn, orange and yellow and deep red. He guessed the flowers were top notch, his bro wouldn’t have accepted anything less. Buncha weeds as far as Red was concerned.

What was really concerning was the hour, ten minutes past the appointed time and so far, they had guests and an officiant, Sans, since Stretch and Edge had both wanted their brothers to stand with them, and Stretch would probably rather get married by an Elvis impersonator than let Asgore do it as he had for Undyne and Alphys.

Sans was keeping the guests entertained with some decently clean jokes, but he caught Red’s eye lights and gestured discreetly. what’s up?

Red signed back, give me five.

If he’d know he was going on a fucking quest today, he would have worn more comfortable shoes. Out past the double doors in the foyer, Antwan was standing, hands in his pockets and looking a lot like he wished he smoked at least something. A little weed right now would probably be helpful, but it was too late for that.

“hey,” Red nodded to him, “so, i can’t help but notice we have a room full of people in fancy clothes in there, sans is up front ready to officiate, and we are shy two grooms.”

“You noticed that, too?” Antwan always had a bone-dry sense of humor. “Where’s Edge?”

Red picked at his gold tooth with a sharp fingertip, “puking in the john.”

Antwan nodded. “Always thought it was weird how you guys can do that.”

“yeah, it's real chuckilicious,” Red agreed. “he’ll be fine, just needs a minute. i tell ya, give him a fight? he’ll step right up. something like this, it’s hurlsville. kid has issues.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Antwan said dryly. Red shrugged; everything couldn’t be his fault.

“welp, that’s one. where’s stretch?”

Antwan jerked a thumb at the outer door. “Outside having a panic attack.”

“uh huh. so it’s going pretty much how we expected,” Red sighed. Why was it always on him to get these fucksticks in line? “tell ya what, you go on in and see if you can keep my bro from yakking up his shoes, and i’ll have a look at the honey bun, sound good?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Antwan agreed, because at least he knew Red got shit done. He called back over his shoulder. “Good luck.”

“good luck,” Red muttered under his breath and shook his head. In his experience, you made your own fucking luck.

Stretch was sitting on the concrete stairs and he probably looked damn fine in his tuxedo, but it was hard to tell with the way he was hunched over with his skull between his knees. Blue was standing in front of him, both hands on his brother’s shoulders, murmuring to him softly.

“Just breathe, brother, you’re fine,” he crooned. “Everything will be fine, keep breathing slow and easy.”

Slow and easy didn’t seem to be on the agenda because Stretch took a hitching breath and gasped out, “i can’t do this.”

“Of course you can,” Blue said with some asperity, although he stroked his brother’s skull gently.  “You love him.”

That didn’t seem to be the right thing to say. Stretch jerked away from him and glared at his brother. “it’s not about me! of course i fucking love him! so if i love him how can i do this to him?” He let out a slow, shuddery breath and almost staggered to his feet, pacing in a tight circle. “don’t you get it? i’ve been waiting for three years for him to wake up and realize i’m not worth it.”

And there it was, kids, today’s special issue. He knew Edge had bullied Stretch into going to the head shrinker like Sans had, not a bad idea if you knew those two assholes, but seriously, was this the bullshit that had him wigging out the last few weeks?

Stretch wasn’t done with his particular brand of word vomit, still pacing and gesturing wildly. “so now he’s going to stick himself with me forever and i’m supposed to let him? you think i’m dedicated to a promise? how seriously do you think he’s going to take till death do us part?” Stretch slumped down to the stairs again, his head in his hands, and confessed softly, “it was okay before, he could still leave, but this?”

“Brother,” Blue sighed then looked up and caught sight of Red. “Red? you’re supposed to be with your brother.”

“yeah, i was but i could smell the insecurity from inside,” Red shook his head. There wasn’t enough weed in the world to deal with this, so he was going to have to try it cold. He crouched down next to Stretch, careful of his suit pants so he didn’t get Edge bitching at him for wrecking the pictures. “hey, listen up, honey bun. it don’t matter what you think of yourself, what matters is what my brother thinks and he thinks you’re the world. it would probably just about kill him if you pussy out now and you’d hate yourself besides.”

Stretch lifted his head enough to look at him, which was at least a start. Red shifted back on his heels and stood, gesturing down at his clothes. “and let me tell you something, i didn’t put on this getup for you to back out. so, you are gonna get up and get your ass inside where all the flowers and shit are, and you are gonna say ‘i do’ in all the right places and make my bro happy, got me?”

“he deserves better,” Stretch whispered, hoarsely. His sockets were swimming with tears.

“maybe,” Red said ruthlessly, ignoring Blue’s sound of outrage. It would take too long to explain that it wasn’t about who deserved what, it was about what was needed. And what Edge needed was running close to 6’5”, lanky and loud and stinking of cigarettes. He didn’t have the time to make Stretch believe that. It was okay, though, Red was used to taking shortcuts. “but he wants you. and believe you me, i am all about making sure he gets what he wants, you get me?”

The tears were starting to flow and Red sighed, pulling out a handkerchief and roughly wiped them away before they could stain his shirt.

“it’s gonna be fine, bro,” he said softly and Stretch took a slow, shuddery breath and nodded.

“okay.”

As motivational speeches went, the boss would have his ass if he ever heard about it, but fuck it, Stretch would probably keep it zippered and if Blue had an issue, he had his own subtle ways of getting revenge. Red had some respect for that.

Besides, what worked, worked. Stretch was on his feet and walking in, with Blue and Red at his heels. Made it all the way inside and only then did he hesitate, stiffening. The altar was empty except for Sans, who was chatting amicably with the crowd. Red caught Stretch before he could take more than a step back, propelling him forward. “calm your tits, honey bun,” he murmured, “he’s coming.”

By then it was too late; Sans caught sight of Stretch and made a ‘come hither’ gesture with his finger, pointing to a spot in front of him.

At that moment, the door opened on the opposite side and Edge walked in. Red had to admit, his bro cleaned up pretty well and from the stunned expression on Stretch’s face, he was thinking something close to the same thing.

His suit was similar to Stretch’s, same colors and all, but where Stretch’s was simple and straightforward, Edge was wearing a cape, because of course he was, fucking drama queen, the silk lining of it matching his vest and hey, if you were one of the rare people out there who could wear a cape, you should always wear one. His bro could lay claim to the cape-bearing title. No tie, his collar was high like a priest, and across his collarbone was a chain holding the cape in place.

Edge was carrying a single white rose and Red had no idea if Stretch was supposed to have one or not. If so, Edge didn’t seem to care. He didn’t need Sans’s direction, he stepped right up to the front, cape swirling as if he’d spent a year practicing it like the world’s most pretentious Batman, only on Edge it looked natural, like he’d been born with it. There were worse talents, Red supposed.

They probably weren’t supposed to talk and his brother, who’d planned this to death, who probably had fucking excel worksheets and shit, who liked arranging things, who liked order, looked right at Stretch and whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

Orange touched his cheekbones and a quiet murmur of appreciation came from the peanut gallery, along with a few sniffles. Yeah, okay, Red was gonna go stand by his brother now because he’d already given his handkerchief to Stretch. This was gonna get ugly and he wanted a front row seat.

There was a pulpit but if Sans stood behind it, no one was going to see him. Instead, he pulled out a step stool, which had been painted white and liberally decorated with flowers like every other damn thing.

Anyone who didn’t think his bro had a sense of humor wasn’t paying attention.

Sans climbed up it amicably enough, and it put him as high as their shoulders. “well, hey, two grooms” Sans said easily. “good of you two to join us.” A titter of laughter went through the crowd. “now, edge gave me a speech for all this and it’s pretty nice, folks, you’re gonna love it. but before all that, i’d like to say something.” 

“i think almost everyone knows how you all ended up here and i don’t mind saying it was rough going at first. this wasn’t where any of us expected to be,” Sans said, with rare sincerity, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. “i’ve been watching both of you since you got here. it’s kinda what i do. watched you both grow, watched you change. i got to watch you heal, here on the surface with your friends.”

He waved a hand out at the gathered crowd. Monsters, yeah, Undyne and Alphys were sitting with Papyrus, who’d been playing the part of usher while everyone else worked through the issues. Asgore was in the back, alongside Frisk and Toriel, Monsters from the embassy, all their friends and neighbors. There were Humans too, Antwan had slipped into his seat after Edge came out, next to Andy, and with them was a woman Red didn’t know. What he did know was that Edge had fought to get her emergency clearance for the wedding, and that meant Red had spent half a day investigating her.

Why the fuck it was so important that a lady who owned a coffee shop be here, he didn’t know, but his brother had wanted her there, and there she was, wiping her eyes already with a Kleenex. Good mascara.

“they got to watch, too,” Sans went on. “and i watched you find each other, make a bond together, and we are all here today to watch you make that bond a little more permanent. not that I think either of you needed words for that.”

Sans smiled a little, rocking on his feet, and his stepladder creaked. “anyway, what i wanted to tell you two is, while you’re bonding your families together in marriage, i’d be happy to call both of you my brothers, too. we make our own families and you two are part of mine.”

“And mine,” Papyrus chimed in from the chairs, his smile brighter than the flowers sitting next to him.

“That means you’d have to accept my brother, too,” Edge murmured.

Another titter went through the crowd and Stretch grinned outright. Red only shrugged. Yeah, take your laughs, comedians. He’d allow it, today only.

 Sans slanted him a look and an unsubtle wink. Pervert. 

“yeah, well, for better or for worse ain’t just for marriages. so!” He clapped his hands together. “now that we got the opening act out of the way, let’s get this show on the road.” With a flourish, he pulled out a stack of notecards and then promptly tossed them over his shoulder to land behind the pulpit. “don’t worry, i got this. dearly beloved…”

~~*~~ 

Outside the town hall, someone had set up a discreet little smoking area. Not too far off the beaten path, probably since everyone knew that one of the grooms was the most likely to be using it. Stretch pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the inside pocket of his jacket, flicked his lighter, and inhaled pale smoke, relaxing as the nicotine incorporated itself into his magic.

He looked at his hand, a cigarette held between his first two fingers and the weight of the ring on his third finger unfamiliar and heavy. True to his word, he hadn’t seen it until Edge had slipped it on his finger, nor the one he’d been handed to put on Edge’s. It was a fairly plain band, lacking gemstones but there was an intricate design on the platinum surface. Not too surprising; Edge liked the pretties but Stretch was a plain sort of guy, so it looked like he’d compromised. There was some sort of plastic sleeve on the underside, too, holding it in place. Made sense, didn't want it rattling against his bones all the time. He couldn't wear it in the lab, anyway, not around moving parts or chemicals, it was a good way to lose a finger.

With this ring, I thee wed

A door opened behind him, shaking him from the memory, but when Stretch turned to look, it was Red. He stepped up to the ashtray and pulled out one of those nasty little cigars he favored, lighting it with a match and inhaling much the same way Stretch had a minute earlier.

Stretch crushed the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray and lit another, before he said softly, “red?”

“yeah?” Red exhaled a cloud of smoke with the word.

“thanks.”

“no problem, bro.” The door opened again, and this time Edge came out. From the swirl of his cape to the shine on the tips of his shoes, he was gorgeous. And from now on Stretch got to say, ‘my husband, Edge’. From now until forever, whenever that was.

“he’s all yours, honey bun,” red muttered and walked away, still puffing, heedless of no smoking signs.

Edge smiled at him. His own ring caught the light with a mellow gleam. “Are you ready to head to the reception?”

“in a minute.” Stretch tamped out his cigarette only half-smoked and dropped it into the ashtray. Soon they’d be surrounded by people again and likely would the rest of the night, and he had a few things to say first. “i’m sorry i’ve been kinda an asshole the past few weeks.”

“You weren’t…” Edge began. Stretch held up a hand and he subsided, his brow bone furrowed in confusion.

“let me talk for a minute, babe,” Stretch said softly.

“All right.”

His confusion only grew more obvious when Stretch took his hand gently in his own, a mimicry of the ceremony they’d just gone through. He stroked Edge’s ring with his thumb, cool metal on bone.

“you deserve better than this, than me,” Stretch said bluntly. “but as it turns out, i'm too selfish to let you go.”

"Rus--"

 "hush," he said sternly. Tuxedos sort of demanded standing up straight and that meant he was actually looking down at Edge. Looking into his eye lights, deep crimson gazing back up at him. Edge probably thought he knew what Stretch saw when he looked into him, what he saw, probably had no idea of the purity of soul that lay beneath his exterior.

Stretch knew. He knew Edge so very well. 

"so you know something?” Stretch leaned in to whisper, like it was a secret, “i think i'm just going to try to love you the very best that i can for the rest of our lives.”

Edge smiled, a little, the softness in it hinting at deeper secrets, but Stretch already knew them. He knew them all. "I'd like that."

Stretch nodded. That felt better than any other vows he'd said today. "okay. so how about we party?" 

“Oh, before we go in, I do have one more thing for you.” Edge reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jeweler’s box, dropping it into Stretch’s hands. Curiously, he opened it. It was a ring made out of soft, flexible silicon, colored as bright as any rainbow and with a heart imprinted in it.

“I know you can’t wear metal in the lab, so I thought—" 

Stretch was kissing him before he could finish, breathing words into him, “i love you. i love you so, so much.”

Gentle hands cupped his face and Edge kissed him back, catching his words and repeating them back to him. Stretch could smell flowers and cigarettes and Edge, everything mixed together alongside words of love, and he’d never been happier in his life.

“till death do us part, right?” Stretch murmured.

“Not for a long, long time,” Edge assured him.

“yeah, i liked the dearly beloved part better,” Stretch pressed a last kiss to his mouth, his cheek bone, his forehead, “but i didn’t need a ring to know that. okay, time to dance.”

Edge sighed and took Stretch’s hand. “I didn’t forget. Let’s go.”

He could feel Edge’s ring against his own fingers, warmed from his body temperature, and Stretch let his husband lead him inside where their friends and family were waiting.

His husband. Yeah.

He could get used to that.

   -finis-

[ya-boi-hawkeye]

SHOWER REPAIR

It took every ounce of Stela’s self-control not to hurl the wrench across the room. Three weeks. The showers had been broken for three kriffing weeks, and she was starting to lose it. Contrary to what her son seemed to think, jumping into a creek wasn’t the same as actually bathing, and Stela was reaching the point where she needed the simple pleasure a hot shower could offer her.

Okay, to be fair the showers themselves were not broken, they would still vomit water out onto anyone who turned the handle, but the water heater was shot, and if Stela wanted to be drowned in cold water she’d just go stand out in the rain.

Tossing the wrench back into the tool box Stela clapped some of the dirt and grime from her hands before heading for the Galaxy’s most frustrating prisoner.

——-

“Let me guess,” Stela said, crossing her arms and leaning against the door, looking down at Ren. “You have no intention of talking, so torturing you would just be a waste of both our times.” Ren’s lip twitched into a smirk at that.

“You’re learning,” he said, shifting against his bonds. “So now what, Commander? You kill me?”

Stela wanted to hit him, because she wasn’t giving up that easily. Not yet at least. But she also didn’t have the energy to deal with his particular brand of bullshit, either.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Think I’m going to go try and fix the showers instead. At this rate I should have the hot water running by the time the war is over.”

He seemed to perk up a bit at the mention of a shower, and it occurred to Stela that he probably hadn’t properly bathed in who knows when. Certainly not since they had taken him prisoner. She doubted he counted the few times she had dumped a bucket of soapy water onto him.

“I could help you,” he said. “I’m good at fixing things.” Stela raised an eyebrow, pushing off of the door and walking over to him.

“Yeah? And what would be in it for you?” She asked.

“A shower.” So her suspicions were right. She thought it over for a moment, weighing the risks. Letting him loose could mean the death of everyone, unless she had some way of keeping him under control.

Which, she realized, she did.

“Alright,” she said. “You can try. But I’m going to need some reinforcements first. I’m not dumb enough to let you walk around without some back up.”

——–

When Stela said she was going to fetch reinforcement, Ren was expecting her to return with some of her men, maybe even a small army. Instead what she returned with was far more surprising, and more than a little unnerving.

The largest Vornskr Ren had ever seen padded into the room behind Stela, its black fur bristling and its eyes never once leaving him. It growled low in its throat, bared its teeth, but despite what he would have expected it didn’t make a move for him, nor did it try to attack Stela.

“This is Victory,” Stela said, smirking at his obvious dread. “Try anything and you’ll be her dinner.”

The vornskr leaned her weight ever so slightly against Stela—a show of affection and solidarity—as she let her jaw hang open. Strands of saliva clung to her teeth like sugar floss, thin and dripping, in what could only be described as an expression of sinister delight.

Victory was a smart animal; Stela suspected the vorsnkr was smarter than her wild kin, and there was no doubt that she knew exactly the effect she had on Ren.

Good.

“Well, let’s get to it then, shall we?” The clap cut through the tense silence with a fake brightness, the forced cheer jarring in the current atmosphere.

Stela saw Ren flinch at the noise slightly, his movement mirrored in turn by Victory’s suddenly wary tension. She didn’t exactly feel great about letting her prisoner out of his cell seeing as there was still so much that could go wrong. It was a risky move, and if Ren somehow got the slip on them it could be disastrous not only for her but for the whole militia.

But he was on enough suppressants to knock out a bantha—assuming someone felt the need to give a bantha force suppressants—and due to their periodic starvation, his energy had to be low. With Victory there, and with the other incentive for him to cooperate, it wasn’t the… stupidest thing she’d ever done.

Not that it would be much comfort, in the worst case.

“Keep an eye on him.” She murmured to the vornskr, giving her side a few firm thumps as she led the way to the water tanks.

They had received more than a few looks by the time they’d finally arrived; seeing their most high profiled prisoner being escorted out of his cell was something to behold after all. The man was met with all sorts of sneers and spitting, but beyond a quick show of his teeth paid them no mind. Stela didn’t have that option, keeping a critical eye on the members of the Militia they passed. She had to make sure that nobody tried anything, not that she could necessarily blame them if they did.

Still though, they needed Ren for information, information that they would never receive if he was gunned down now.

But they made it to the water heaters without incident, and almost immediately the man set himself to work. No doubt the promise of a shower was more than enough incentive for him. Stela briefly considered going back on her word—letting him fix the showers and then sending him straight back to his cell. It wasn’t like she really owed him anything anyways; he’d caused more than enough grief and heartache in the galaxy.

But the thought didn’t sit easy with her, it seemed unnecessarily cruel. A curse of her too soft heart, perhaps, but the Commander could at least rationalize it with the fact that Ren stank to the high heavens. Allowing him some modicum of hygiene would at the very least make it slightly more bearable to be in the same room as him. And who knew, maybe it might also make him more cooperative as well?

She watched what Ren was doing, not only on alert for any sort of tricks—though, with Victory at her side she wasn’t too concerned about that—but also to learn what he was doing. No doubt they’d continue to have these problems in the future seeing as the heaters were old and they didn’t have any easy replacements.

It looked like Ren had gone straight to the electrical conduits, swapping out the wrench for a much finer set of soldering tools. Stela was curious, and slightly impressed with the assured way he went about rewiring connections.

“When, uh, when the problem is no hot water, it’s usually a matter of the energy source not heating properly.” He offered absently. “Some of the wire connections went bad.”

“Uh huh.” She watched as the man reassembled the heater, running a few diagnostics on it before moving on to check the others.

“Give it a few hours, and you should have hot water.” Ren shrugged once he was finished, standing back up. “It’ll take some time for them to all kick in properly, given the size of the base.”

Which was understandable. Stela was a little put out, really, she’d hoped for a more immediate result, but she couldn’t say she was dissatisfied. The hot water heaters were working, and that was a relief. It was an unusual luxury on a military base, especially a slapstick one like the militia ran; water was a precious resource which was why most relied more on sonic showers.

Luckily for them, though, Depredador had more than enough water to spare, allowing them this for which she was eternally grateful. Nothing against the sonic showers to be sure, they were incredibly practical, but nothing could beat a good old fashioned hot shower.

“Alright then.” Victory climbed back to her feet at Stela’s brisk tone, resuming her position near Ren. “We’ll take you back to your cell, and then you’ll get your shower tonight.”

After the rest of the militia had gone to bed, or gone on guard rotation. It would be safer for them then, and less crowded.

Ren didn’t resist as he was led back, though he did have a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’m surprised you’re carrying through with that. It’s not exactly like I’m in a position to hold you to your word.”

His statement hit close to Stela’s earlier thoughts, and she shrugged. “I stand by my word, unlike some people.”

Ren didn’t answer, and when she had him properly restrained, he still had that same contemplative look.

[wreckthelist]

‘cause talk is cheap: bangtan brings my butter pt I.

I hate butter.

Not the song, obviously. I hate the grease, the vomit-inducing odor. How it dissolves and coats, lubricates the pan with all that... fat.

But love means never hesitating and unconditionally welcoming whatever’s in store with opening arms, weathering the storm and soldiering through world-war I trenches side-by-side, that sort of shit.

And so. When my beloved boys (everyone’s - yea, I hear you) released the first blindingly piercing yellow - like that obnoxious cheery shade, you know it- teaser logo for the 2021 single butter, I did welcome it with open arms.

The twitter TL was yellow. Thai ARMY’s in particular. Cough, ahem ahem.

Then came the first set of teaser photos, which were... lackluster and underwhelming, to say the least. The boys’ charms and looks alone were pretty much carrying the shots.

It took a couple of days to realize they were in an elevator. And then the comparisons with Dope started.

This glow up! Pssst. Precious.

The concept clips and second set of teaser photos threw everyone into a frenzied spin.

I mean, what in the fresh hell?

The jewelry. The props. The leather. Skin. Fresh cut shorts, bare arms. Explosive hair colors. 

Skin.

Please never, ever, ever cease being you, Kim Taehyung. Whatever you view you to be at that point in life. Because I adore you.

I dunno what sort of awkward family photo this is. But it just is.

Auras from Hoseok and Seokjin - we are not surprised. We’re just in respectful awe.

Now, 하자, here’s the main dish.

Of all the teasers, the trailer definitely hit me the hardest.

I mean. Are you kidding me? 

Those shimmering jacket flaps. Performer streaks dying to break out. Dancey dance bass beats, boys covering their mouths bopping their heads to each beat like they’re relishing being great teases they are at holding back a secret they can’t wait to spill.

God. Yes.

Color the whole clip in black and white and I’m weak in the knees.

Then, as you may have guessed by now, knowing me, I made pancakes the morning of May 20th, 1 day before the comeback.

The logo didn’t quite come out as designed. But still. Kind of. Okay.

So I coated the pan with butter, maybe for the first time in my life. And I (and Dad) let the it melt. We had the heat turned up too high, and I never did get the butter melting instagram worthy content I wanted the minute I decided to side step (ha ha) my own ongoing diet and asked Dad to buy the After You wholewheat (I tried. It’s not Makai Acai’s Oat pancakes but I tried.).

But what I could tell you was butter sizzled. It melted and crackled and dissolved into little bursts of exploding fireworks, little tszzz teasers of sounds that attacked you in minuscule jabs, mini dynamites, almost.

And that’s the way BTS’s butter smoothly melted its way into your hearts. Even non-ARMY’s.

When we think, ‘smooth,’ we think one-shot motions, uninterrupted movements and cool guy swagger. An exact, precise sort of soft, pillowy flow that messes with nobody and elevates in a class by itself.

Butter is all that and more.

There’s power in using a singular word as the title, one that rolls off the tongue and can be British (but-tah) and American (butt-ter) at the same time.

It grabs you. Pulls you in. And seeps, makes its way in.

Start with a simple backdrop (there’s a high chance that, if I were chatting with you on Microsoft Teams at 11am, May 21, I was humming along to Butter) - then bring in Jungkook, just as I’d been afraid that the whole MV would be minimal as per the teaser.

Then the beat drops and in walks Jungkook - doing what he does best.

(and more. because, you know, Golden Maknae.)

And bam. We got a Michael Jackson reference right off the bat. Of course.

Hey, thanks Dynamite for getting us together, I’d hold off no limits too.

How can I even begin to describe the swag that’s oozing and flowing in his screencap?

When asked by Zach the radio host what it means to be ‘smooth like butter,’ Jungkook replied, ‘like Jimin,’ and boy, is he not wrong.

Center!Jimin in white, white!Seokjin right behind him and surrounded by all men in black? I’ll take one, please.

Look at that neck.

And those wrists.

The jewelry on them. His rings, the watch. The dangling earrings.

This man did not come to play.

Taehyung’s index finger, Namjoon’s fist, Jungkook’s hand-gun(?) in Jimin’s direction and pouty lips ready to spill secrets, Yoongi’s inward-curling hand and fingers (for what? we’ll never know), Hoseok’s gaping duo fingers and pushed up, swaggered lips. Booyah, baby. We in for something special.

Only the second line, but the MJ reference carries. Jungkook’s oozing swag, still, and he’s in character.

The lyrics continues, emphasizes the theme of ‘a smooth criminal’ that’s only too exemplified by all that JK swag we’ve come to know and love and adore to the point of charmed unadulterated worship.

Lips pressed together, eye brows closed in.

Hello, mister.

The word ‘undercover’ is a grand slap bang to the first mini bomb dropped by Butter, just 12 seconds into the song (intro included), transporting the ‘smooth criminal’ phrase into some furtive operation (to steal ARMYs’ hearts! but let’s not get ahead of ourselves), even boasting (with swag) that in disguise, under the outspoken, openly announced pretense of being someone else, bangtan will still manage to---

The money shot. We’re not ashamed of watching and rewatching this for 100M++ times. Never.

Let’s never stop gabbing about how much I love and adore KookV. Not only the portmanteau, or shipping, or anything platonic or imagined romantic bond or whatever. Just. Them.

Them being them and all this chemistry. This bond. This relationship.

Look at Taetae glancing over his shoulder, index finger pointing at Jungkook sneaking up behind him, that extended long hair curved over his adorable round face, the cheeks filling up the frame. Jungkook’s heels pointed at the floor and one shoe raised, about to walk on by in Taehyung’s backdrop.

What’s amazing about Bangtan, always, is that they never seem to steal each other’s spotlight. The harmonic coexistence, chemistry, and tangible, implied closeness is even captured in a still screencap.

“Gon’ pop like trouble,” at first listen reminded me of bubbles, to be honest, but then naturally I got to thinking of those bubbly (Hi, Colbie Caliat, lol) blisters of oily Butter that went tsz tsz tsz soon as the butter melted on the pan.

It’s not deathly harm. It’s just heated scratches - warm enough to wake you up, explosive enough to make you pause, and tinges enough to poke and nudge you to listen. 

Never imploring. Not forcing. Never heavy-handed. Because this, ladies and gents, this is swag.

So they’re hinting (adorably - because I view Jungkook and Taehyung through adoring, fond lens) that they’re about to cause trouble, wreck havoc, bring the pain (I’m kidding), but in that soft, self-contained imagery of the word ‘pop’ that dissociates, dissolves within seconds before you know it, before you could prepare or get ahold of yourself.

The butter pops. BTS’s buttery bubble pops. And the world’s no less than prepared.

Gratuitous shot of us with Jungkook. Look, we are right there on his palm.

 Also, because I am in love with this smile.

(It’s such a typical MV shot, but I’ll let it pass. Because. You know. Jungkook.)

(Yes. That word in and of itself is the answer.)

(No takebacks.)

At this level of detailed inspection, I can’t help wondering if Namjoon’s looking to Hoseok or someone else to check the beat. I would’ve done the same, Joonie.

But yes, right in my weakness for synchronized, uniformed (preferably suits) boys performing.

(I heard you.)

We lose.

There’s nowhere to go.

They’ve caught us.

Center!Hoseok and Jimin looking down like that to the left of the frame. Men in black in a grouped cluster behind Hoseok, Tae looking down to the middle of the left, Joon to the right, and Jungkook to Tae’s back of the neck. Seokjin almost dancing and Yoongi’s half profile turned to the camera for that reveal of this gorgeous bodyline curve in a tailor made suit.

Ok, yea.

so criminal. very swag. dead arresting.

I am taken.

So. Back to the lyrics.

“Breakin’ into your heart like that,’ they’ve told us and told us when introducing Butter that the track would melt and dissolve its way into ARMY’s hearts, and right here is Jungkook himself singing about “breakin’“ making his explosive way into the listener’s heart.

“Breakin’“ continues the theme of ‘smooth criminal,’ and ‘undercover [psst. disguises]’ committing a crime, invoking violence, splaying black on a white canvas, creating impact just to be noticed. The imagery this evokes in my head was some kind slamming, a crash-course collision, banging (what a banger! lmao) its way into someone’s innermost, close emotional space they hold dear: the heart. (An important, standout word to note: “in” - once someone is in, he/she is “in.”)

But be not afraid. This criminal is bangtan.

Taehyung’s pursed lips are the “cool” stunners here.

Side note: of course people noticed only Tae and Yoongi are the ones sporting sunglasses (me! want! give! please!... but why? in this pandemic... why....). #Taegi #GaV forever.

Cough.

Love how he enunciates syllables, rolls them like babies in his mouth for us. This almost-wet(?) look, fashionably messed up head of hair, and the ~$287K one-sided dangly Chanel earring I would kill for.

(I’ve been in love, satan, but not like this.)

Again, notice that Yoongi’s sunglasses are more Wayfarer Classic (doesn’t look as cool on my face, unfortunately. Boo.), while Tae’s is that intoxicating vintage, tinted, rounded ones. 

I’m just being basic and linking to Ray-Bans but they’re so clearly more sophisticated brands.

How perfect to intercut the horizontal group shot here (hit them where it hurts - with everything and all you’ve got.)

“Cool shade stunner” - got to hand it to the lyricists for stringing long the theme so smoothly (heheh). Here we’ve got the blatant juxtaposition of “cool” against the imagined warmth of butter, or the implied (if any) undercurrents of hot, swaggering criminals blazing their way into your hearts with violent undertones.

We all know ‘cool’ is an ironic contrast in itself, a way intrinsically defining (and inducing) a calm, collected demeanor which doubles as a slang for swag. 

“shade stunner” (guess what!) - the alliteration slips off the tongue like a charm. One of the reasons I’m in love with sunglasses is their fix-all, cure-all makeover magic for transforming the wearer into a cooler (ahem) person, arresting to eyes and a focus point for onlookers, and that’s exactly what it says on the tin here.

Tae gets two screenshots because he’s Tae.

Just going to speculate here that Taetae might have come up with this choreo reflecting the lyrics (looking to the heavens, thanking the ones above/’mother’ at the higher-up place of respect). 

Those veins. The long fingers you’d like to be wrapped around yours, and the pursed lips. This defined jawline.

Oh, please.

Of course, we love a grateful Mama’s boy (biased lens, narrow and restricted context as specified). 

“Yeah, I owe it [the swag] all to my mother.” 

World, meet Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin does not need to meet the world. Clearly. Because he already owns it.

Where do you think you’re going, with one-eye closed and finger pointed directly at me? Where do you think you’re leaving to?

A pictorial representation of Taehyung’s double-edged cuteness: deathly adorable.

The wide-open lips, his palm spread out, hand in pocket.

“Hot like summer,” a phrase sung here as in direct aural reply to “mother,” (the ‘er’ sound echoing off the walls) but also a no-brainer inclusion to this song so advertised repeatedly as a summer banger.

(#BUTTERSOTY LET’S GO PEOPLE!)

Add to the fire, let the flames burn. Make ‘em hot. Keep the thirst traps and tabs open. Like they’ve never thirsted before.

Like this rolled tongue here? Criminal.

Just another day in the life of a talented visual.

And you know, way, way superior to a look that I’m only beginning to grasp in my mind as Arctic Monkeys-esque.

Aaand - scatter! Yoongi’s such a flying cat. Jimin’s halfway through a dance move. Hoseok’s side-profiling also perhaps a dance move (THOSE. WAISTS. I’m a girl and I’m blushing!). Jungkook’s half turned, wide-open shirt.

This is only 24 seconds in.

Who gave this man a lollipop? I repeat. Who put our tiny, fragile, self-loving lives in danger? WHO GAVE THIS MAN A LOLLIPOP?

STOP.

HOLD IT.

.... [deep breaths] oh god. That was a trip.

And I may not be physically sweating through my pores - but hell, I was sweating through the pores in my heart, my head, and my mind.

It’s hold-your-breath-and-don’t-notice-it-but-just-let-go split second vibe.

The Dior sunglasses just intensified this whole marvelous split second lollipop sucking debacle of Kim Taehyung.

aaand that’s it. I will not say a word more.

His jacket’s flapping tail! I cry!

Ok. Focus. Lyrics.

Last week the temperature in my home office shot up to a staggering 36.7 C degrees, and, if Bangtan’s comparing their hotness to a sweltering summer when sweat popped up on tanned skin, this unbearable hint of *ahem**cough*ahem* smexy (i went that way, I’m sorry) tension, this was exactly it.

Namjoon whispers this, I’ve learned.

It’s the phrase right before the pre-chorus (you’re here, finally, oh my god. Hahaha I hear you.), a typical (again) phrase signaling a deeper dive into the lyrics or taking a closer zoom into them boys (because, please) and what they’re saying (inviting, selling us on).

The boys’ exact same pose mirror this. Tae’s already had his palm spread open like this a few seconds ago, and here he’s doing it again in unison with the group.

Yoongi’s and Seokjin’s are at the same degree/height of hand raised.

Jungkook’s more soft, innocent “hey, I hear you.”

Hoseok’s the cautiously curious, “What’s goin’ on, folks?”

Jimin’s is straight up, “i’mma power-moving you today, bitches.”

Taehyung’s showing off his boxy smile teeth, and Joon’s all, “I’m here. hold up, hold it.”

Everyone’s talking about Seokjin. But it was a crime to ever have stopped.

Let’s talk mug shots.

One - side profile. Two - plunging neckline on a v-neck dark tee. Three - necklaces.

Babyyyy, why’d you shut your eyes like that??

He knows what the sleeveless top does. He knows.

One squinted eye, blown up blonde hair, a hand raising his blazer at the back. He knows.

TBC. seems like Tumblr’s hit a photo limit.

[lastpic21]

A NEW BEGINNING

The day you go to get your new puppy always has a bit of magic about it. It is a day of anticipation and excitement, dreams and possibilities, hopes and aspirations. Puppies have a way of reducing even the most serious adult to spontaneous displays of childlike delight. This is part of their charm. A puppy touches something very deep in us, and when we first hold one in our arms it is easy to be swept away with blind enthusiasm. Who would suspect the challenge that awaits us?

Nevertheless, a puppy’s “magic” is deceiving. Whether this day is truly blessed remains to be seen, and so we offer a word of caution: enthusiasm that is not grounded in reality—not supported by knowledge and understanding—has a way of fizzling when ordinary problems develop. Once the puppy passes the novelty stage, once he becomes a familiar part of your household, the true nature of the relationship becomes apparent, and second thoughts may arise. New owners can quickly lose interest. Always keep in mind that a sustained relationship requires a more substantial foundation than mere enthusiasm.

Beyond the joy and emotion of getting a puppy—beyond the good feelings this new bundle of life inspires in us—lies a deeper, more profound reality that should be the anchor of any relationship with a dog: adoption. Adopting a puppy means bringing him into the heart of your home, and developing a healthy relationship demands plenty of hard work and dedication from you—especially now, at the beginning. The day you adopt a puppy begins a new phase in his existence, one rooted in his earliest experiences yet now poised to take fresh expression in your life. How he develops now depends largely on you. The puppy is no longer the breeder’s, no longer his mother’s. Today he becomes your puppy, a new member of your family, and this means you become parent, companion, pack leader—the puppy’s closest friend.

If this sounds sentimental or idealistic to you, think again. Canines are among the most sociable species in the animal kingdom. Whereas a wolf pup is naturally integrated into the wider pack with his brothers and sisters, your pup does not have that possibility. Instead, he adapts himself by establishing his closest social bonds with you and those you live with, treating all of you as his fellow pack members. It is now up to you to teach your pup his proper role in your pack family, a process that begins the moment you adopt him.

As we have seen over and over again, a puppy builds on previous experiences, and this is especially true of his first few days in your home. Good habits start from the beginning. Planning ahead, taking the time and energy necessary to help your pup make a smooth transition to his new home, increases the probability that his good behavior will continue to develop into maturity. The opposite is also true. High amounts of stress, careless house-training procedures, pampering, and improper discipline, to name just a few potential problems, can get the relationship off to a rocky start and lead to serious problems later on. Since it is reasonable to assume that this puppy will be an intimate part of your life for the next ten to fifteen years, you should put serious thought and effort into these first few days in order to establish a sound framework for the future.

With this in mind, let us take a detailed look at your pup’s first few days with you. During this time, the guiding principle should be to minimize unnecessarily stressful experiences and to establish a natural rhythm to which your puppy can easily adjust. Since there is so much to remember, having a clear set of guidelines will help bring order and understanding to a potentially chaotic period and reduce stress for you and your puppy. The following suggestions will get you and your dog off to a good start, one that you will appreciate in the months and years to come. “In my beginning is my end.”

At the Breeder’s

A puppy should be adopted only when someone can stay with him most of the time during the first week to promote house-training and socialization. This may mean sacrificing a week of vacation; however, the long-term benefits make it worthwhile. Speak with the breeder in advance and arrange to pick up your puppy on the morning of the first day of a long weekend or planned vacation. This will allow the puppy to spend most of the first day with you and will hasten his adjustment to both you and your home.

Ask your breeder not to give the puppy food or water on the morning of pickup. Most do this routinely, but it is best to confirm. Fasting will not harm the pup and reduces the likelihood that he will get carsick and vomit on the way home. Also, we advise that you bring at least one other adult with you, since it is difficult to drive and watch the puppy at the same time. If you have a long trip ahead of you, you might consider carrying a crate in the car; however, if you do this, you should have the breeder expose the pup to a crate several days beforehand.

If your puppy has already been selected for you, you will naturally want to spend some time with him when you arrive at the breeder’s. When you first meet your pup, sit or crouch down to his level and start playing with him. We like clients to take ten or fifteen minutes to make friends with the pup before we start answering particular questions and going over the necessary paperwork. This gives the new owners’ initial excitement and anticipation a chance to subside and helps everyone pay closer attention to instructions during the interview.

New owners ordinarily have lots of questions for the breeder, so it is wise to make a list of them beforehand. In addition to specific questions about the way the puppy was raised and the type of personality he possesses (in the litter as well as by himself), you should ask how he scored on his Puppy Aptitude Test (see appendix). The results will suggest specific guidelines for handling your particular pup andwill help you avoid management errors during the first weeks.

Make sure that you get a written record of the immunizations and wormings your puppy has received. If your pup is purebred, you should be given a copy of his pedigree and the AKC registration slip. Though you may have a particular type of dog food in mind for your pup, it is always best to continue feeding the brand that the puppy is currently eating for several more days, gradually changing to the new brand. Sudden shifts in diet add stress and can lead to diarrhea or loss of appetite. If you do not plan to use the brand chosen by the breeder, ask if he can give you several days’ supply to help with the weaning process.

The Ride Home

Keep the ride home as relaxed and low-key as possible, allowing whoever accompanied you to do the driving. Unless you are using a dog crate, cover your lap and the seating area next to you with a towel or old bedsheet in case the puppy gets carsick. Let the pup ride in either location, and keep one hand in gentle contact with him. It is best to avoid any kind of coddling or doting behavior, especially if the pup starts to whine, since this only reinforces whining as an attention-getting behavior. A certain amount of whimpering is to be expected; if things get too noisy, try putting the pup on the floor between your feet: the vibrations of the car often have a calming effect. Do not punish the pup for whining or vomiting. On the way home, stop periodically and let the puppy stretch his legs, but stay away from any area that is frequented by other dogs, since your pup is not yet fully vaccinated and is vulnerable to contagious diseases.

Introduction to the House

When you arrive home, first take the puppy outdoors to the spot you have chosen for his soiling area and wait for him to eliminate. Normally after a car ride the puppy will have to relieve himself, and when he does so, be sure to praise him enthusiastically. Then bring the puppy into the house and allow him to walk around and explore, keeping an eye on him from a distance. Do not be surprised if the pup seems a little disoriented at first. Even the most outgoing puppy will experience strain or confusion in a strange environment, separated from his littermates. Be calm and reassuring, and allow the pup to adjust at his own pace.

If, while exploring, the puppy shows interest in chewing something inappropriate, gently distract him by focusing his attention on a squeak toy or meat-scented nylon bone. Do not discipline the pup at this time. Should your dog not seem interested in the toy or bone, entice him with some play-inducing gestures such as quick clapping or rubbing your hands along the floor. If he starts to follow you around the house, encourage him. Tap the side of your leg (or jingle keys if the pup is used to them) and call his name as you walk, praising him as he comes along and investigates the different rooms. During these first days, whenever your pup begins to focus his attention on you—either to follow or simply tolook up at you—say his name in a cheerful, pleasant tone that encourages him to hold eye contact. These simple dominance exercises quickly teach your pup his name while presenting you as his leader in a way that builds confidence and trust. Conclude the session by crouching down and playing with him on his level for a while.

Keep the introduction to your household quiet and unforced, allowing the process of bonding to develop in a relaxed and gradual manner. For the first few days, it is important not to overwhelm the puppy with visitors who are curious about the new arrival. Don’t introduce your pup to friends and relatives until you are certain he has made a smooth transition, usually after two or three days. Then you may initiate a variety of important socializing experiences, described later.

Usually puppies are not interested in eating as soon as they get home, since everything is unfamiliar. Hold off feeding your puppy for at least a couple of hours until he has begun to settle down. Then offer him some food, and when he has finished eating, take him out to his soiling area and wait for him to eliminate. Puppies typically have to urinate and/or defecate following eating and drinking, waking (short naps included), vigorous play, and chewing a bone. If the pup has not eliminated after ten to fifteen minutes, take him back into the house for several minutes and then try again. Repeat this procedure as necessary. When he does finish, praise the puppy and again bring him into the house. He should now be ready for a nap.

Young puppies require plenty of sleep and should have several naps during the day. Choose an area that is safe for the pup when he cannot be supervised and that is not isolated from family activity. Usually the best location for this is the kitchen, since it is large enough for the dog to move around in and can be easily blocked off with one or two gates. Make sure the area is puppy-proofed for anything that could be dangerous, such as electric cords, small and chewable objects (rubber galoshes, shoes, etc.), and anything made of wood. We also recommend adding a shipping crate to serve as the pup’s den during the day. As described in the next chapter, throughout the early stages of house-training you will be keeping your pup alternately in either of these two confined areas. For this first nap, leave the door of the crate open (you can tie it so that it does not shut if the pup knocks into it) and place comfortable bedding or fake fur in the crate itself. Puppies will naturally seek the security of the den atmosphere on their own. Do not be concerned if the pup initially starts to whine in his confined area; wait for him to relax and fall asleep and then periodically check on him to see when he wakes. At that time, take the puppy out to his soiling area and let him eliminate.

During these first few days, you will need to pick the puppy up from time to time to help him get around; young puppies are rarely conditioned to a leash at the breeder’s, and it may take at least several days for the dog to be relaxed with the lead. While you should encourage a pup to walk on his own whenever possible, unfamiliar experiences such as going up stairs may initially require some help. There is a right and a wrong way to pick up your puppy.