#i wanted to see if could use title attribute to show a translation in the beta editor | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 5

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Expert

The subsequent calm was something Lin Yan wasn't expecting. The thing seemed to have decided it tortured him enough and nothing else happened the rest of the night. Lin Yan changed back into his clothes and unplugged his computer. Even though he knew that that probably wouldn't do anything, the screen actually powered off and didn't come back on at all in the night.

Perhaps a new storm was brewing in the silence, but Lin Yan was too exhausted to worry about it. The alcohol that was left in his system worked as a great tranquillizer, and he rolled over and fell asleep.

While he was deep in sleep, something cold pressed itself on his lips again, but Lin Yan was too much a heavy sleeper to realize it.

When he woke up, the entire room was clean. All the red paint had disappeared, the light gray printed wallpaper and the screen wall painted by the students of the Academy of Fine Arts were intact, and the glass was spotless. There was no other evidence to prove that the absurdity of last night had ever happened except for the shameful traces of liquid on Lin Yan's body and clothes. He took a bath and threw the red clothes into the washbowl. Compared with the power of the invisible thing, he was clearly at a disadvantage. Instead of running around without a plan, it was better to observe what happens as things unravel.

After he finished packing things up, Lin Yan took out his phone and texted Yin Zhou about the meeting place. Unexpectedly, he got a reply almost instantly: See you at the school gate in half an hour.

Lin Yan looked at himself in the mirror. Within just two nights, he looked like he had been doing drugs for years, he had a scruffy stubble growing, and his eyes were red. The mint scent of his shaving foam made Lin Yan feel for the first time that his typically monotonous life was actually so much more beautiful than that. The blade was thin and sharp. Just one long stroke across his neck and there would be nothing left.

Humans were such fragile creatures.

"Shit. . ." Lin Yan hissed, sighing at his unfortunate luck and put his fingers under the water. His hand had slipped and he sliced his fingertip on the blade, red blood seeping out. Lin Yan wrapped a bandaid around his finger, leaning against the wall and pondering about how unlucky it was to feel the pain.

He didn't know what kind of dye was used on the funeral clothes, but it had bled dramatically in the water. After a while, the whole basin of water had been dyed red. Lin Yan glanced at it in disgust as he left and slammed the door shut.

At 8 o'clock, Lin Yan saw Yin Zhou holding a Scallion pancake and some fruit in front of the school gate.

The two of them regretted trying to drive. The roads were clogged with morning rush hour traffic to the point that they couldn't even see the end of the lines of cars. What genius designed this kind of urban roundabout? Five ring roads surrounded the main road and they were forced to convene together every morning and night.

Lin Yan and Yin Zhou were nearing the third ring road and they still didn't have any temper, so all they could do was turn on the radio and eat the breakfast that Yin Zhou brought.

"A 13-year-old boy from a remote village in Sichuan was found hanged at home wearing a red coat. The locals suspected it was most likely cult-related. It is reported that the boy's time of birth and time of death are both extremely negative times and very suitable for. . ."

Lin Yan snapped the radio off.

It seemed that everything in the world had been messed up overnight. Even this kind of unreliable news could be relayed to the public.

Yin Zhou didn't care. He swallowed the last bite of his pancake and hiccuped. He said with satisfaction: "I spent the rest of the night in the library. I was starving and I couldn't buy anything. It's great to feel full."

"There was no exam recently, what were you doing at the library?"

"I was studying the enemy's intelligence. This enemy works in the dark. Can we defeat it if we understand how it operates? What do you think, buddy?"

Lin Yan turned his face to look at the crowded traffic outside the window. He stayed silent for a while before he said softly, "Do you really believe that there are ghosts in this world? I feel like something is wrong with me. Maybe I should see a psychiatrist first."

Yin Zhou's eyes widened in surprise: "Come on, even if something's up with you, I'm totally normal, yet we both saw those clothes yesterday."

". . . At your house the day before yesterday, I was the only one who thought it was cold, and I was the only one who could feel ‘it’ in the house."

Lin Yan sorted out his thoughts and told Yin Zhou his experience of being choked by someone last night.

Lin Yan wasn't expecting it but Yin Zhou exploded after hearing this, and blurted out: "Fuck, that ghost was a rabbit master* during his lifetime?" He scanned Lin Yan's face over and over again: "Little Brother Lin, don't tell me. . . you can be considered a nice-looking guy if you look closely. He's dead and maybe he's lonely and wants to recruit you as his wife."

*because they would kill the rabbit by snapping its neck

"Fuck you. If you aren't going to be serious, get out of my car and leave. Don't forget to burn two boxes of condoms for me when I croak." Lin Yan said quietly. The car behind him honked its horn twice, and Lin Yan realized that while he was talking, a 5-6 metre gap had cleared in front of him. He hurriedly followed the line of traffic.

"Furthermore, in the middle of the night, I obviously saw that the whole house was covered with red paint, but in the morning there was nothing. It was as if I had been dreaming."

Yin Zhou dragged the backpack out of the back seat and hugged it in his arms. He said, "Hey, let me show you the results of my brother's research." As he talked, he opened his bag and took out a dozen crumpled papers from it and spread them out on his knees. He flattened them with his hands and started going over them from top to bottom.

"You can't take care of shit. I feel uncomfortable just looking at those."

"See, the attributes of a wife. This ghost saw it perfectly."

A grass mud horse roared and ran across Lin Yan's heart.

Sure enough, these geeks are something else.

"Listen carefully." Yin Zhou pushed up his glasses with his long fingers: "There are generally two modern interpretations of ghosts. The first is due to the discovery of dark matter. You know the law of conservation of energy?"

". . . Go on." Lin Yan gave him a blank look.

"The universe expands at a certain rate every year. If the law of conservation of energy goes as normal, where does the energy that supports the expansion of the universe come from? According to this question, modern physics puts forward the concept of dark matter and dark energy. It does not generate electromagnetic waves, cannot be sensed, and cannot be measured. The law of gravity estimates that dark matter and energy account for 96% of the mass of the universe, and the remaining 4% is what humans can now recognize."

"Many unexplainable phenomena are therefore attributed to the results of dark matter, such as meridians in traditional Chinese medicine, the power of the mind, and ghosts. There are many discussions on this field abroad, but it is obviously blocked in China and difficult to find." Yin Zhou spread out his hands.

Lin Yan nodded. This was a bit like a science fiction novel he had read once.

"And the second one?"

"The second type is attributed to electromagnetic waves. The environment in which the deceased died is not conducive to electromagnetic wave attenuation. The powerful thoughts it had before death form a unique energy field. If a person's own frequency is similar to it, it will resonate when they come into contact. The waveform of the original ghost is greatly strengthened so then the two can sense each other."

Lin Yan was stunned: "You mean I. . . resonate with the ghost?"

Yin Zhou said indifferently that it was possible. He turned and smiled mysteriously: "Do you know how to explain love at first sight using electromagnetic fields?"

Lin Yan's heart stuttered.

"It's just resonating. It's the same with both men and women."

Yin Zhou sighed: "I don't want to fall in love for a while. It's boring, it's like a ghost."

The cars finally started moving again, and they finally got off the third road ring after being stuck for three hours. Lin Yan turned on the navigation and stepped on the accelerator to hurry towards the destination.

He always thinks that love was just like a ghost; he didn't believe in either. He only understood the panic and anxiety he felt when he encountered it, but he has never imagined that ghosts were also like love, triggered by a specific reason in a specific environment and dragged forcibly into the abyss, unable to escape.

"Have you been in touch with anything special recently, or have you been to anywhere special?"

Lin Yan thought about it for a moment and shook his head: "No. Every day I'm in the study room, tutor's office, library, home, cafeteria, there's nowhere else. But I have come into a lot of contact with lots of things from several dynasties."

Yin Zhou clumped the pile of information in his hand, and put it into back his backpack despite Lin Yan's contemptuous eyes, and clicked the buckle shut.

"Impossible. The electromagnetic waves would have decayed early in a small object, even if the Maoshan technique was used."

A thought suddenly flashed through Lin Yan's mind.

"There was this one place. . .Last month, my old man arranged an internship position for me on an archaeological team. It was a tomb with small specifications. I was there for less than a week."

Yin Zhou's eyes lit up all of a sudden: "There's this show, we should wait and check it. . . what the fuck!"

Lin Yan slammed on the brakes. Yin Zhou's head slammed into the windshield with a bang, and he wailed in pain.

"What are you doing?! Braking like that is going to kill you. What if we got rear-ended?!"

Lin Yan looked at the empty windshield in shock. He pulled the car over and, when he turned to Yin Zhou, his face changed.

"You. . . didn't see that just now?"

"What!" Yin Zhou took off the glasses that had been knocked off-kilter, trying to push them into their original spot, and couldn't help complaining in grief.

"There was a hand. . . stretching down from the roof of the car."

Yin Zhou was stunned and looked up at the window glass cautiously. A truck came up from behind, went around their car and drove on.

Lin Yan was too scared to speak for a while. He recalled the stiff white hand that had slapped on the windshield from the roof of the car just now, but it disappeared in a blink of an eye. There were speeding trucks or tankers everywhere on the sixth ring road. He opened his mouth and looked at Yin Zhou. The other party understood his thoughts immediately. Yin Zhou took a breath and hesitated: "Then this thing. . . it wants a human life."

Lin Yan shook his head. He always felt that there was some motive behind everything that had happened, but he couldn't say it out loud.

They drove out of the city in a blink of an eye. The endless rows of poplar trees and the green border fields in the suburbs relaxed the tension of the two people in the car a lot. Lin Yan rolled down the car window, and the car air mixed with the fragrance of flowers and plants that poured in. Inside the car, the stuffy scent of the pancakes was blown away.

After the twist and turns the GPS took them on, the car turned onto a rugged path paved with stones. The surrounding buildings were replaced with independent bungalows and small farmyards. A yellow dog squatted on the steps and stretched its neck. Some hens gathered in groups lazily together. Every now and again, they passed by a white goose on the side of the road. Lin Yan slowed down and stared at the map displayed on the GPS. He glanced at Yin Zhou distrustfully.

"If I keep going, I'll have to turn around to go back to the village. Did your mother send us to a reclusive expert?"

Yin Zhou leaned over to study the map, then turned his head in confusion and looked out the window. He happened to pass by a house, a yellow mud bungalow, with a faded couplet on the door. The old man in front of it only lost two front teeth, and he was leaning back to watch the excitement. . Yin Zhou scratched his scalp suspiciously: "The address my mother gave is at the end of the village, and she said it was amazing. Let me buy some tributes to bring with me. I can't do it alone."

So Lin Yan stopped the car when passing by the market, and bought two gifts according to Yin Zhou's suggestion. . . that bastard.

"Are you sure about all this?" Lin Yan looked embarrassedly left and right, carrying a live turtle in one hand and walking back, Yin Zhou happily pointed at the turtle's head and said, "What do you know? , These kinds of psychic masters rely on this stuff to keep up with their lifestyle. Trust me."

Lin Yan threw the two bastards into the trunk, took out a bottle of mineral water and handed it to Yin Zhou. He also opened a bottle for himself and took a few sips.

The country cicadas cried one after another, and the green wheat was headed; it was a wonderful scene of peace and prosperity.

Several children wearing red and green were squatting on the ground playing fan cards not far away. Lin Yan asked Yin Zhou: "What did your mother saw that name of the expert was? I'll ask around."

He couldn't help but imagine a scene of a bamboo hut with a mantle drooping in front of the porch. An old man in white with his hand stroked his beard and smiled slightly. He and Yin Zhou knelt forward on one knee, clasping their fists and begging, "Master, please guide me!"

Yin Zhou took a note from his pocket. He squinted at it, and said perplexedly: "Second Immortal Gu."

Before Lin Yan had enough time to swallow, all the water was spat back out.

"Ahem. . . is that so?"

In a small courtyard in the northeast corner of the village, Lin Yan and Yin Zhou found the legendary Second Immortal Gu’s house. When Lin Yan saw Second Immortal Gu's respectable face from outside the door, the regret in his heart was like torrential rapids. There was an enclave in an empty black room; he didn't know which god was being worshipped. An old woman in blue flower cloth sat cross-legged on the futon with her eyes closed and rests her mind. The red cloth strip that was tied to her forehead was quite imposing.

"This posture rivals some of the best dancers out there!" Yin Zhou pointed at the scene inside and couldn't help muttering softly.

"Come on, this is who your mother mentioned. Be respectful." Lin Yan said embarrassedly.

"What should we do?"

"Let's take a look first. Maybe the real person hasn't shown up."

Lin Yan and Yin Zhou walked through the door. Hearing the movement, the immortal woman lifted her eyelids slightly, and hummed from her nose aimlessly.

"Oh, ahem. . ." Yin Zhou couldn't hold back his grin and quickly concealed it with a cough.

What happened later was a farce. After receiving the turtle and two hundred yuan brought by Lin Yan, the woman suddenly became energetic. She worshipped the gods with incense and poured a bowl of clear water on Lin Yan while muttering words. After turning around Lin Yan more than ten times, she finally opened his eyes sharply. Lin Yan was so frightened by her that his body was shocked. The only thing she did was shout: "Aha! I saw it!"

"There is a little girl standing behind you!"

Lin Yan and Yin Zhou looked at each other, each holding their breaths.

"Oh, this baby girl died terribly. She said that she was locked up and could not be born. She didn't have money to buy clothes, and she didn't have money to pay her way through death. That's why she's gotten involved with you. . ."

"Wait, I'll ask her how to resolve this. . ."

The immortal woman closed her eyes and began to sing. Lin Yan pointed at the door to Yin Zhou and said: "Do you need someone to grease your feet, what are you waiting for?"

After reciting a long list of words, she opened her eyes and saw that there were no longer two other people in the room.

The immortal woman had no choice but to touch the newly collected two hundred yuan and shook her head, muttering that the young people nowadays are really impatient. Then she staggered around to pack her things up.

When she picked up the bastard turtle, she couldn't help but give a long sigh.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost #dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #yaoi novel

9 notes · View notes

my-spiritualweapon-is-a-lollipop · 3 years

Text

Holding Hands

Synopsis: Essek tours the tower for the first time and he and Caleb have some honest talks. A little bit of angst and a little bit of fluff. Just how I like my wizards.

It had been a long day in Eiselcross. The Mighty Nein were all weary on their feet, many of them hurt from their various encounters along the way and everyone could probably use the rapport boost of a warm bed and good food. Still Caleb was leary of using the tower when Lucien had proven he could easily dispel it.

“But Caleb” Jester pleaded while grabbing onto his arm with her charming little mittens. “If Lucien’s not nearby yet then we wasted a night of good, safe rest. Wouldn’t it be better to fight him with a good night of sleep before? And besides, the tower is harder to find than the dome.” and she blinked up at him with that particular Jester pout that Caleb found particularly difficult to resist.

“Ja… we could…” He left room for Fjord or Beau to interject with a discussion of the best tactical decision, but they were surprisingly quiet. He glanced at them and saw that Beau was leaning hard against the wall, favouring the leg that hadn’t been hurt in their last run in and trying to play it off. Fjord’s face was etched with exhaustion. That settled it for Caleb. It was worth the boost in moral that an evening in the tower would provide… even if it served to be only a temporary situation. “Ja. We could” He repeated more firmly and began his preparations for the tower.

It was a challenging spell and Caleb had plenty of experience tuning out his companions when doing this work, but Beau and Caduceus couldn’t help but notice the almost imperceptible pause and tensing of Caleb’s shoulders that accompanied Jester grabbing Essek and delightedly declaring:

“Oh, Essek you are going to love the tower! And not just because it’s all wizardy and stuff but Caleb made it so nice. There are lots of cats, and everyone has a special nice room - I bet he’ll make one special for you” she pumped her eyebrows “- and the cats make like WHATEVER food you want! It’s amazing!”

Essek responded in the slightly shaken way he did whenever he encountered the full force of Jester’s jovial attentions:

“I-I-’m certain that it is. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a talented wizard.” and Essek looked hard at Caleb’s back for a moment and then looked away with a perceptible sadness in his eyes but Jester pushed on as was her way:

“Pro-tip: call all of the cats to come snuggle you. You will never. Sleep. Better.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” Essek said nodding at her and trying to extricate himself from where she had her arms wrapped around his. He floated over to the wall to drift near Beau where he expected he would be left to sit in sullen silence, which was what he wanted. He wanted to observe everything about how Caleb cast this spell. This was the kind of magic he wasn’t particularly familiar with and it was endlessly fascinating. To his surprise he was interrupted by Beau leaning close to him and whispering savagely under her breath:

“If you talk shit about Caleb’s tower, I will fucking kill you. I know you’re a supposed to be amazing and all but it’s clear your opinion matters to him, so you better play nice got it?” Essek visibly deflated in response but whispered back with a surprising intensity.

“I understand that I have not given you much to trust Beauregard, but if there is one thing you can, please trust in my respect for all of your abilities. Even if you believe me to be arrogant, foolish or any other of the myriad of likely accurate and unflattering descriptions you may have in your mind, please know that you have each earned my respect time and time again and Caleb more so than anyone. If anything, I wish to prove my capabilities as an ally to you... not judge yours.” Before Beau could respond, Caduceus (who hears just about everything) put an arm around Essek and spoke.

“That’s nice.” and looked at Essek with a natural sense of hope that Essek couldn’t tolerate so he stared hard into the ground.

“Ready” Caleb said to the group. Those who knew him well picked up on the slight nerves in his voice. It would have been easy to attribute it to the long day of difficult travel, but they were all inclined to think that it was more likely to do with the wizard floating a few feet behind the rest of the group with a curious light filling his eyes. They began to file in and Jester paused at the back of the group to whisper to Caleb conspiratorially:

“Don’t worry. He’s going to like it.” and as she stepped inside, she threw her voice out to obviously and loudly proclaim:

“Oh, Caleb it is as beautiful as always! You are so talented! So amazing! So…” as she paused to look for the next description Veth cut in:

“Truly powerful. One might say a prodigy” She said making eye contact with Essek in a less than kind way before beginning to float upwards.

“Yes!” Jester began as she too started drifting upwards “an absolute prodigy! The best ever!” she feigned swooning and Beau cut her off.

“Yeah, yeah Caleb’s great. We get it. What’s for supper?”

“Uh ja” Caleb started, and he summoned a cat nearby “please prepare a good-sized roast and several -uh- vegetable dishes for our pink friend here and also some black moss cupcakes please.”

“Thank you” Caduceus said and began drifting upwards following the rest of the group. Essek looked like he was about to say something until Fjord shouted:

“UP!” right next to him and nearly caused him to leap out of his skin though he quickly recovered his unflappable mask. Everyone drifted up whilst chatting until it was just Caleb and Essek left on the platform.

“Ah I see.” Essek said as he began drifting up off the platform. “A clever design.”

“I thought that scaling many staircases seemed less than enjoyable after a day of adventuring.” Caleb put in, clearly trying to keep the pleasure at the compliment out of his voice.

“Actually, I was rather inspired by a time we found ourselves in the astral sea briefly.”

“Indeed” Essek said having some experience with the nature of that space. “I don’t believe I have heard that story yet.” He continued.

“Probably you will, some day” Caleb said and Essek could sense that this meant the tale of that particular adventure contained sensitive information, information that Caleb did not trust Essek with and he looked at his floating feet once more, unable to make eye contact with the closest friend he had had in years who was saying in no uncertain terms that he was still not to be trusted completely.

“Ah I see… someday then”.

Caleb didn’t want to leave the mood too low for too long. Afterall, he wanted to tell Essek every detail about those halls and their experiences there, but the happy fun ball seemed like it would probably be more of a temptation than was necessarily a good idea, especially if the two of them could work on it together. So, he began floating on ahead and offered Essek his hand.

“Would you like the tour then?” Essek briefly looked up at Caleb floating above him, stretching his hand down to carry him up to his level and couldn’t help but feel the weight of the visual representation of their situation. Caleb looking down, wreathed in light from above while Essek looked up at him and reached for his hand. It was almost like an art piece and he hated to give in to the symbolism.

Still, he grabbed Caleb’s hand and thought “up” to himself until they were level. Much to his surprise Caleb kept their hands intertwined as they floated up to the first floor and it was almost enough to distract Essek from the beautiful library they found themselves in next. Almost. He was a wizard after all. He couldn’t resist the sight of any good collection of books. Essek quickly moved over to the nearest shelf and began scanning title after title and slowly came to a realization.

“You create this space anew every time, correct? It’s not permanently established?”

“Ja, I create it new every time, though I try to keep it close to the same for the most part.”

“So, all of these… these only exist here meaning that these are simply books that you have memorized?” He said with audible admiration.

“Ja. I have a good mind for storing facts.” and he watched as Essek pulled a book from the shelves and began thumbing through pages and couldn’t help but feel to a certain degree as if he was being tested. Essek saw that these books were not just visual representations or the spines of Caleb’s favourite books but complete volumes, written exactly as they were. He found himself feeling that odd mix of jealousy, admiration and something else that he hadn’t quite pinned down that often-accompanied Caleb’s displays of mental prowess. He looked back at Caleb, and though he had had trouble meeting the fellow wizard’s eyes for days - he did not want to see Caleb’s disappointment - he felt compelled to make strong eye contact now to drive home his point.

“I am considered excellent at what I do. I have a keen mind. But this… this is astounding even to me.” Caleb felt the weight of his eyes on him and felt himself flushing somewhat.

“Well… this is available to you if you wish to read, though I must let you know that many of them are in my original tongue and plenty of these are repeated. Though I have a great love of reading, I have found that I cannot fill an entire library with only my own knowledge just yet.” Essek waved his hand dismissively and Caleb saw just a small hint of the old, confident Essek peek thorough.

“I have arcane means at my disposal to translate. That is not a problem. I thank you.” He bowed his head slightly and stashed a book under his arm.

“But this is only the first floor? Though I would be happy to remain here in the library if that were your wish, I would gladly see more if you would show me?” Though he masked it well from his voice, Caleb could sense the hunger, the eagerness to see more that was familiar to him. Not for the first time, Caleb longed for simpler times in the other wizard’s tower when there was no betrayal hanging between them, simply peers enjoying the pursuit of knowledge and each other's company. Now even the memory of their victory that day felt tainted with the cost of how Essek had acquired much of his knowledge. Caleb pulled himself out of the spiral and offered:

“There is more to seen to be sure. Come. I’ll show you” and he proffered his hand once again. He knew Essek was perfectly capable of following but there was a small part of Caleb that couldn’t resist the small bit of pleasant contact between them that felt safe and distant enough, at least until he could make up his mind about what to do about Essek. Essek for his part noted the texture of Caleb’s hand, memorizing it and studying his internal reaction for future reference- when he had time to unpack all that was causing him to feel. He also noticed the scars just visible at the bottom of the arm of Caleb’s coat but chose not to interrupt this small precious moment of goodwill with a question that may bring up pain for Caleb.

And so, Caleb showed him the majority of the lower levels, going from place-to-place hand in hand, to a point where both hands were clammy and almost asleep but neither wizard was willing to give up their tenuous bond just yet. Essek thought the summoning space in the hall was “quite a brilliant solution” and Caleb informed Essek that he had had to install tiny locking doors on his cat travel system after Jester’s first polymorph escapade and thank goodness he had for Jester decided to provide Lucien with that little tidbit of advice upon first arriving. This caused Essek to actually laugh out loud which took Caleb by surprise.

“Yes, I am unsurprised by this. Jester is a talented person in her own right, but I would not describe her as pragmatic in any sense of the word.” Essek chuckled again. Caleb stopped and looked down at their joined hands a moment.

“Herr Theylyss, may I ask you something? It may be personal” Essek felt a pit of concern begin turning in his stomach but responded:

“Uh- why yes. I thought you were aware that I have made the decision to be fully -uh honest with you ever since… yes you may.” Caleb noted that Essek was fidgeting with his other hand.

“I had wondered why you seem more comfortable around Jester when it is clear that you still struggle to be at ease around … the rest of us at times? I understand that Jester is very talented at - uh-bringing out the best in people shall we say but… I had wondered…” Essek thought for a moment.

“I believe the answer is twofold. Firstly, Jester was the voice of your group to me for many months. It was through her that I was first annoyed with you all, then simply exasperated and then, I will admit, excited to hear from you. In my perspective she was the voice of my...my first friends. I believe to some degree I still expect her intrusions” He looked away at this “Secondly, I know I disappointed her as I disappointed each of you when I… when my decisions came to light but I can tell that Jester wants to forgive me and believes in the good she sees in me, just as Caduceus has hoped for me but I suppose, with the rest of you, in many ways I know that the damage is done and that the days of eating and drinking in that ridiculous hot tub are well over and I-” he paused to collect his thoughts “though I know I deserve it, it can be difficult to face that our bonds will never be what I was hoping they would be.” Essek hadn’t met Caleb’s eyes through this whole speech but a visible dark purple flush was creeping across his features.

“Ah I see.” Caleb began, “yes Jester’s capacity for seeing the positives in life is an admirable quality but” Caleb touched Essek’s chin feather light and turned his face towards him. “You do us a disservice if you think that each of us does not hold hope that you will redeem yourself or see the best in you. You would not be here if we didn’t but I have already told you… it takes time.” Both of them thought back to the moment of his discovery when Caleb managed to stop an oncoming panic attack in its tracks with a kiss on the forehead and his stalwart belief in Essek’s capacity to redeem himself. Looking into his eyes now, Essek saw something almost worse than his worst fear and the reason he been avoiding Caleb’s gaze. He had expected to see disappointment, sadness or even derision in Caleb’s eyes but instead he saw a warmth and a genuine affection that he felt undeserving of. It was never something he had seen before from anyone else; not in the eyes of his parents or siblings, the bright queen, or even his students that viewed him with adoration. Caleb had looked at him that way a few times before but Essek had not dared to hope that look remained after his deceptions were revealed. He felt a wetness swelling in his eyes, but he couldn't pull his gaze away, desperately catching every last second of affection that he could. Caleb was glad to see behind Essek’s carefully laid mask to know that he was being heard and heard truly. He ran his thumb over the soft purple skin along Essek’s jaw.

“Time.” He reiterated. Then he pulled his gaze away and broke them both out of the moment. He dropped Essek’s hand, afraid he’d clench too tightly if he didn’t, taken by a swarm of his own emotions of hurt, betrayal, and still warm caring and concern “I better leave you a little time before supper to clean up ja? Come. I will show you your room.” Essek didn’t say anything but simply nodded, hoping to clamber his mask of semi-indifference back into place.

They got to the landing with all of the doors to the individual bedrooms and both caught a glance into Yasha’s bedroom where Jester could be seen to be braiding Yasha’s hair in a particularly spectacular updo.

“Do you think Beau will like it?” Yasha wondered while looking in the mirror.

“Oh Yasha! She will love it!” Jester started a whole torrent of compliments before Caleb opened the door to the guest bedroom and both of them were distracted by the reveal.

Caleb had a tense knot in his stomach as Essek cautiously stepped, or floated rather, forward. He had hoped that this room could act as a small kind of gift, to show Essek that he still held space for him.

It was a chamber much like the rest of the bedrooms with its bathtub and fireplace, but Caleb had modified the architecture to be more reminiscent of Xhorhos, more specifically the design Caleb had seen in Essek’s tower. The furniture was inspired by that as well, though in different arrangements to accommodate the layout. Fine silver instruments laid upon the desk. Wall hangings precisely as they had appeared in Essek’s tower. There was space for mucking about and chalkboards for scribbling out theories. There was a small library space that was empty save for the books Caleb placed in every room and the large comfortable reading chair in the deep blue velvet that Caleb remembered, with the important distinction that this reading nook had two reading chairs as opposed to the one in Essek’s original study. Caleb watched as Essek floated from place to place taking in the details.

“Uh-ja” he interjected as Essek moved toward the desk. “I only included instruments I could recall from the limited view of your tower I had but if you require more, I have a study and lab that I share with Veth that you are welcome to share with us if you should have anything you wish to work on.” Essek moved over to touch one of the velvet chairs and Caleb cut in again:

“I have – that is- I know what it is like to be far from a patriot but to still miss home so I thought I could include a few familiar touches” Essek nodded silently, and Caleb worried he may have missed the mark. Essek finally spoke near the bed:

“I haven’t used a bed in many years. I typically just trance at the desk in my study.”

“I was worried you’d say that” Caleb said rushing forward in a fervor that he only acquired when he’d had a particularly exciting idea “thus I have innovated something for wizards everywhere. This will save our necks and shoulders” He tugged on a cord by the bed and revealed on the roof of the four poster was a chalkboard with a floating bit of chalk. He laid down excitedly and pointed up and continued “it works much like transit throughout the space. Simply think what you wish, and the chalk will begin to draw” and the chalk began drawing the figures related to fortunes favor from Caleb’s notes. “This way you may think and rest your body at the same time.” Essek was craning to look up at the chalk board with a small look of amusement glowing in his eyes. It truly was a good idea but far better was the excitement in his friend that accompanied it.

“Truly inspired” he affirmed and began peering around the rest of the space when his eyes landed on the stained glass above the fireplace. Essek floated over to peer at it and Caleb sat up to watch him. The stained glass depicted the Xorhaus as the nein affectionately called the home Essek’s Den had gifted them during their time in Xorhos, with the tree growing up out of it with it’s glittering branches. And in the house could be seen 8 colourful figures sitting around a hot tub. All of the mighty nein were silhouetted in their signature colours and in the very centre were two male silhouettes looking at one another. One purple and one orange. They seemed to be laughing in their pose. Below this there was a scroll that read “Welcome to the Mighty Nein!”.

Essek’s feet hit the floor with a loud thud as he stared at this stained-glass piece. Caleb had never seen Essek lose concentration in his levitating outside of a fight before and instinctually stood up. Essek looked over and then down at his feet somewhat embarrassed.

“My apologies, uh, I just didn’t expect…” and he moved to begin the spell again.

“You have nothing to prove to me Essek.” Caleb cut him off and essek let the spell die, looking back up to the stained glass.

“I had hoped to provide you a sense of home here, but I apologize if I misjudged or over stepped. I had already designed that stained glass before our discussion earlier and I see now that it may be more harmful than helpful. Tomorrow night I can-

“It is perfect.” Essek said quietly as he stepped, actually stepped, towards Caleb, looking as if he was searching for the right thing to say before landing on:

“Thank you. I am humbled by your insight and your skill.” Caleb looked uncomfortable at such high praise and stood, uncertain what to do with himself for several moments before he began moving toward the door.

“Supper in the dining room in fifteen minutes” he said, fleeing all of the feelings that Essek’s presence had caused.

Essek spent the next fifteen minutes in quiet contemplation about the feeling of one hand in another until he heard Caleb shouting as he descended from his room:

“Supper is ready. Please come down everyone.”

Essek opened his door as the other’s spilled onto the landing as well. He heard a massive noise from upstairs roughly the direction Caleb had specified for the lab and everyone paused to look up until Veth leaned out the door with ash covering her face and said:

“I’ll be down in 5 minutes!”

“Is everything alright?” Fjord asked semi-suspiciously.

“Absolutely! Everything is fine. Perfectly and absolutely fine.” smoke was billowing out of the door and dissipating. “I just need five minutes for um...lady stuff. BE RIGHT DOWN!” she shouted as she slammed the door closed again. The rest of the mighty nein seemed to shrug somewhat to Essek’s dismay:

“Should we help her?” he enquired.

“She’s more likely to bite than accept help she hasn’t asked for” Fjord chuckled. “She does this from time to time. I’m sure it’s fine. Besides, I’m starving”. Fjord wrapped an arm around Jester and hopped off the landing and said “Down!” and they began descending. Essek could hear Jester going:

“Oh Oskar! You are so strong” and the beginnings of Fjord’s protest at the jibe.

Meanwhile Beau and Yasha were squaring off and Essek wasn’t certain if they were likely to kiss or fight or both.

“You look...really good Yasha.”

“You like it? I had never tried this style in my hair before.”

“Essek, tell Caleb we’re skipping dinner.” Beau said with some fervor

“What-” Essek began before his question was answered by Beau pulling Yasha into her room and slamming the door. “Ah… I see”. A sudden thud could be heard from the otherside of the door and Essek did not wish to question what had caused it. Suddenly a large hand was patting him on the shoulder.

“You get used to it” Caduceus said.

“What is that?”

“Being a part of something.” Caduceus finished with another pat on the shoulder, then he began to descend for supper as if he hadn’t said something that hit Essek at his very core.

They had a pleasant supper all together and planned some tactics for the next day before everyone adjourned to their various places of rest for the night. Essek went over to the library and collected an armful of books. Frumkin appeared through a little gap in the wall and Essek leaned down to him.

“Do you have a message from your master?” he said hopefully. Frumkin just butted up against him looking to be pet.

“Do you require something?” Frumkin flopped at Essek’s feet. In this moment alone, he smiled a small smile for the cat that contained none of his usual bravado. He crouched down to pet Frumkin exceedingly gently. After a few moments Frumkin was purring loudly.

“I’m glad we are still good friends at least” Essek sighed. “Do you wish to enjoy some reading with me?” Frumkin gave a slight meow that seemed like a yes and Essek picked him up and placed him on his shoulder giving him a little nuzzle on the way. They began to ascend to Essek’s room and Caleb watched them go. He felt somewhat disappointed in himself for this scheme, particularly after seeing Essek’s sweet nature with his cat, but he would not be fooled twice.

Once safely in his room Caleb watched Essek through frumkin’s eyes. He watched and waited and expected some sort of betrayal though he did not hope for one. He waited until everyone else had gone to bed and Essek was the only one remaining awake. He had expected Essek may message someone, scry or even perhaps begin taking notes of the tower. In that whole time Essek had done nothing but read and cast comprehend languages. Eventually Caleb realized he wasn’t going to do anything else. He wasn’t going to betray them. He then spent the better part of an hour wrestling with himself and doing a good amount of internal reflection before coming to a decision. He went down to knock quietly on Essek’s door.

“Yes?” Essek asked, coming to the door in the least precisely put together look Caleb had ever seen from the wizard. His hair was amuck in places, his robe was gone and the shirt beneath was half untucked and he had the slight dark purple imprint on his cheek where he had been leaning his hand. It made him look more approachable than his typical visage as the “Shadowhand”. Perhaps more endearing too.Caleb also noted he wasn’t floating and wondered if that was to do with his earlier comment.

“Have you happened to have seen my cat?” Caleb enquired. Essek was not fooled by the pretense, knowing that Caleb could summon Frumkin at will, but played along.

“Ah my apologies, I have been detaining him to keep me company while I read.” At this Frumkin ran out of the door and began weaving between Caleb’s legs.

“So, this is where you were?” Caleb enquired of him in mock surprise.

“Yes, well it seemed fitting to have him around while reading my first empire fairy tales about such a one.” Essek said brandishing the book.

“You read der katzenprinz?” Caleb asked, legitimately surprised. He had assumed that Essek would have immediately gravitated towards the arcane books.

“I started with another regarding transmutation but this one seemed a bit of an odd one out in the collection so I assumed it must be of some importance to you…” Essek paused getting slightly embarrassed and then noticing how long they had been standing in the doorway.

“Would you like to come in?”

“Actually, I had a thought, if you are too tired, we don’t have to but,” he looked almost pained and rubbed his hand across his mouth and he seemed to make a decision or resolve himself “but we had not quite finished our tour I think.”

“Oh” Essek was somewhat surprised but still eager. “Yes absolutely. Lead the way.” He placed the book on a nearby table while Frumkin ran to his exit in a hole in the wall. As they began to ascend. Essek spoke up softly:

“Is there a reason that Fjord always declares his direction?”

“Other than showmanship? Absolutely not.” Caleb replied. At this Essek grinned while Caleb opened up the next level.

“I ask that you never come up here without me please Herr Theylyss. Please” he repeated while making pointed eye contact.

“Of course. Whatever it is your wish.” Essek responded genuinely but somewhat surprised as they came to a room full of doors. “What is this place?”

Caleb did not reply but instead said:

“I have only shown the others of the mighty nein this place.” and he opened the door labelled 1. Caleb closed the door behind them as Essek stepped into the humble space and began looking around.

“What is the significance of this house?” He asked before noting the far off look in Caleb’s face.

“Well, I wanted you to know why I found your choices so challenging to ignore. I wanted you to know why it is that I seem to understand so deeply the challenges you face in learning to forgive yourself for what you have done for it is still something I struggle with myself. Deeply.” Essek could sense the gravity of the space for Caleb and came closer.

“I wish you for to know, as I know your greatest transgression, but you do not know mine and it seems there is an unfair imbalance between us of late that I hope to dispel.” Essek was surprised that Caleb thought there was anything comparable to his “transgression” as he put it but thought back to some of the sadness in Caleb and some of the truth in his eyes whenever he talked about the path ahead of Essek and knew there must be something substantial coming.

“This was my home. I am sure it may be challenging for you to imagine ,coming from such a high-ranking family, but we were happy here.”

“Wealth does not inherently create happy families. In fact, I think it is likely the opposite” Essek put in softly. Caleb nodded and pointed to the small kitchen counter:

“My mother used to make bread here. She used to allow me to take small portions of the dough while she was kneading it and I would make little figures. I would -uh- use them as puppets and tell her stories of magnificent wizards who saved all of the empire from the evil creatures that threatened it. She would turn them into small buns when I was finished and told me that if I ate them, it was like making a wish, and that one day I might become that powerful wizard.” Caleb touched the surface of the table and closed his eyes for a long moment. Essek tentatively put a hand on his shoulder which remained until Caleb went over to the hearth.

“This is where I learned to love fire. My father would feed the flames and show me how to keep it well. He’d tell me that fire could hurt and burn but it could also sustain life. Once I became old enough to manage without harming myself, he let me create the fire every night to practice. Later I practiced control flames here, the first spell I ever learned from a spell book.” Caleb turned to Essek and held his gaze. Essek saw the shame and pain that was written in Caleb’s features.

“You have killed many good people in your thirst for knowledge and power. I … I am no different. I killed good, loving people who only wished that I could have been the powerful wizard who saved the empire… “Caleb swallowed and realization sunk in for Essek. “I killed my family and destroyed this home as a result of Trent Ikathon’s teaching methods. It was seen as a ‘required step in becoming the capable wizards we needed to be to protect our nation’. Still to this day he attests that it is what my family would have wanted though I don’t think our stories in the kitchen could have ever prepared them for their end.” Caleb paused attempting to collect himself. His hands were shaking a great deal, but he pushed forward “I have only just begun the journey to forgiving myself. I keep this room here, not to torture myself but to ensure that this happy home is never forgotten, never lost. Each room on this floor is a moment to be captured and preserved. I will show you another.” A few tears had fallen on Caleb’s face, but he did not seem to notice. Essek didn’t have feel he had an adequate response, but he did not want to leave this space without saying anything.

“You have performed your own dunemancy here. You fixed this in time. It is beautiful. Thank you for showing it to me.” Essek said, hoping he did not say the wrong thing. He had very limited experience with people he would consider loved ones and he had never lost one. Caleb didn’t say anything, but he nodded a thank you and pulled Essek across the hall to another room. It was Caleb’s bedroom in the xorhaus. Essek recognized it immediately by the charming cat figurines on the shelf.

“This was the space where you first entrusted me with dunamancy but I did not preserve it for this reason… I did so because it was the first time we worked together, and I realized you were very much someone I wished to know more. I saw a like mind in you...Essek, I understand exactly what the cost of knowledge and power can be and the folly of chasing them, you have seen this now, but I also understand that draw, that pull of power in a way almost no one else will. I know how easy it is to slip off the path and become a tool for destruction once more, and this is why I find it difficult to fully trust you as you have proven to me that we are too similar, and I do not trust myself even with that.” He had finally said it out loud. Essek had been hanging on the word trust ever since Caleb had said he was more trusted than Trent Ikathon, but here it was. More did not mean much at all. And how could Essek blame him when he was correct? They were very much alike, that was one of the things that had drawn Essek in and convinced Essek to teach Caleb dunamancy against his better judgement. Essek looked and stared at a cat figurine, willing his breath to slow, his eyes to focus. He did not understand what it was particularly that hurt him so much about Caleb having a perfectly, reasonably low opinion of him.

Caleb saw Essek beginning to have difficulty containing his emotions and he closed the space between them to once again place a small kiss on Essek’s forehead before placing his own against it. He put a hand around Essek’s neck gently pulling them together.

“I have said it takes time and I believe that. My path out of the pit did not move straight forward and I had many setbacks, but I have begun the journey. I did so by taking small steps -and sometimes large ones - every day to leave the world slightly better than I found it. I will never expunge my past crimes, but I can hope to maybe outweigh them in my overall impact on this world. I see you at the beginning of this journey and I know that one of the most important things in the path to redemption was having companions who walked alongside me on my way to finding it. Having the mighty nein who cared for me and loved me unconditionally, despite these terrible pieces of my past was so...essential… in my ability to begin to overcome them.” His whole body seemed to be sagging with the weight of the world and he pulled away to look in into his eyes “Essek, I know it is easy to see only our faults and everything we have done wrong, but I also know that I am still worthy of forgiveness by some, I am still worthy of friendship and chances to redeem myself and even still worthy of love. And I do not believe this myself many days but Veth and the rest of the nein refuse to allow me to forget it and on days when my belief is not enough, theirs is. And that makes me wish to strive to continue to be worthy of their belief in me. You see?”

Essek was nodding but Caleb could see he was drowning in all of his thoughts.

“Come. I have one more room to show you.” He said gently and walked out of this room. Essek blinked and felt the suddenly jarring distance between them and followed Caleb out of the room. His mind was a swarm.

Caleb placed his hands out for Essek who looked at him somewhat quizzically but took them, nonetheless. They floated up while facing one another to the final floor and Caleb revealed it to him. The floor inspired by dunamancy. Essek’s jaw dropped, and his head swivelled as he took in the room.

“It is no secret that I have a great interest in your craft, but I bring you up here not to remind you of all the power to be gained or lost but to show you of what you already have. You have unlocked so many secrets of the world, but you were never given the chance to study the most important lesson. One that also eluded me for many years. All of this “Caleb gestured out” feels so important, the stretching endless expanse of time and the motes of possibility that we can affect. But” he said firmly “It is not nearly as important as the moment we are living right now, and the people that we share that with.” Essek peeled his eyes off the expanse around them and turned his attention back to Caleb who was looking at him with an expression that he had only seen once before as they unlocked the key to the transmogrification spell. It was a mix of adrenaline, elation, apprehension and excitement. Caleb was building up to something and all Essek could do was be shocked that he was floating in this space of utter beauty and being looked at like that, as if he were the most important thing in the room, as if he was a great spell Caleb was trying to learn the inner workings of.

He began to understand the lesson Caleb was trying to impart as he could not pull his eyes away, despite being surrounded by a veritable playground for his mind, his focus was solely affixed to Caleb and what he would say next. He understood what Caleb meant to say with this room about what really mattered in a way that surprised even Essek himself. Caleb tightened his grasp on Essek’s hands and continued.

“If you will allow me to, herr Theylyss, I wish to do for you what has been done for me. I wish to be the person that reminds you that you can and will find your way back to the light. I wish to be the person who believes in you when you cannot believe in yourself, though I suspect I already have Jester’s help with that.” he quirked a small smile “ I wish to be the one who keeps you in the moment and moving forward. I wish to hold your hand” and he looked down at their joined hands “through your journey to finding yourself.” He squeezed their hands together tightly and then he looked back up with nerves clattering “Essek, you are important to me and I have felt a bond with you since the first time we studied together. That has not gone or broken the way you seem to believe. You have hurt me, yes, but I am still here to hold your hand and hoping that you will prove that my forgiveness is not for nothing. Hoping that you will find a way to be prove that all of this love that I feel for you is not unjustified... for I do not wish for it go to waste.” He searched Essek’s expression and found it unreadable.

Years of practice freezing his face in moments of panic had caused Essek to almost completely shut down while he attempted to process a response. He pulled away from Caleb slightly and sought to pull his hands into a robe he realized he wasn’t wearing. He wished he could hide how his hands were inclined to fidget.

“I uh-” He began “This is much to process.” Essek stammered out. Caleb was already feeling disappointment seep in. He knew that he had thrown a lot of uncomfortable feelings at Essek in a short amount of time, but he had hoped that there would be at least a degree of enthusiasm for his final declaration. Still, he did not want to pressure Essek.

“Of course.” Caleb said failing to hide his disappointment. “I will leave you to your thoughts Herr Theylyss” he said nodding in a formal way.

Essek was still simply busy processing the word love. He was turning it over in his mind and examining it as it was a fully novel concept to him. He tested out how it felt as a description of that odd feeling of warmth in his chest and stomach when he saw Caleb get excited, or smile, or that small tug at an invisible rope in his chest that could be felt when he saw Caleb being good at, well, almost anything. He considered if that had been why Caleb’s opinion had mattered so much more than most. And here he was, standing before Essek and telling him that he could have that love returned. That he felt that way about him. That he was somehow deserving despite all of the things that he had done.

He thought then how he had felt nothing but sympathy and sorrow for Caleb as he heard of what he had done to his parents. He did not blame him for his foolishness in trusting and believing in the things Trent Ikathon had said. Could Essek really be given the same grace?

Around the time that Caleb was just beginning to descend out of the room, Essek’s mind finally caught up with what he had said.

“No!” Essek shouted. “No. No. I did not mean it this way. I just-“ Essek took a breath and felt the mask slipping away and for once he allowed himself to be laid bare in front of someone. Caleb rose back up to his level. “I don’t know if I have ever been loved in the way that you have described. It simply took me a moment to understand. You spoke of loving parents, but I have never been more than a means to end for my family. I was a product of incredible amounts of pressure but never loving care or attention. I was to be useful. Then I became the shadowhand and I had to be distant from the rest. It was my duty to be useful to the bright queen, but it only alienated me further from my peers. It made it easy to betray them when the chance was offered because I had never been close with any of them. I regret so much of what I have done, all the pain that I have caused” Essek grabbed at his own hair and Caleb was surprised to see him allowing himself to be this expressive “but it is made far worse now knowing what friendship and love can be like. To think that I caused people to go off and fight in a war that did not matter and worse that both sides felt losses comparable to what I would feel if you were to be harmed. It feels almost unbearable to know that I could have caused that much pain” Essek began sputtering, tears streaming down his face. “And still, you stand before me and say that I am worthy of redemption and that I am worthy of love?” Essek was ranting now but it was as if so many of the feelings he had always held down couldn’t help but burst forth now that they were given a small bit of freedom. Caleb wrapped his arms around him and held him close, with one hand stroking his hair. Essek rambled on “you had it right when you said I had missed an essential lesson along the way. How could I have been so blinded by my research and studies to never see that the people they would benefit were the point, not knowledge for knowledge’s own sake? And still, you hold me as if I am something precious rather than wretched. It is a kindness greater than I deserve for truthfully, I can tell that you know the weight of what you have done, but until today, until now, I still had never comprehended the depths of the pain my actions caused… to so many.”

At this Essek dissolved into sobs and Caleb held him through them. He kept stroking Essek’s hair and gave him small soft kisses on the top of his hair and waited for the sobbing to peter out. He did everything he wished someone could have done for him when he was going through this. Eventually it seemed Essek had cried himself out. He was still shaking and there were tear lines stained into his purple skin, but he pulled himself back a little to look at Caleb. Before Essek could apologize again Caleb said again:

“It takes time.” Essek nodded sadly and put his hand out for Caleb who clasped it and kissed it his knuckles lightly. “But.” Caleb continued “that does not mean you must spend it alone. I meant what I said. If you wish to be loved and reminded of all the things you are worth and what makes the moment worth living in, I am happy to offer that to you. And perhaps together we can work to make the world a little bit better than when we found it ja? So no other young people go unloved or get led astray?”

Essek was still feeling a whole spectrum of emotions but was able to centre himself enough to unabashedly meet Caleb’s eyes and spoke.

“Yes, I think I would very much like to do that, but with one stipulation.” Caleb smiled at the return of some of Essek’s former, confident demeanor “I know you have many in your life with more experience in affection than I, but I would like to offer my love, as … untested as it imay be, in trade. Together we can hypothesize,experiment and test its bounds until you believe it is up to your standards? Do these conditions seem fair to you?” Caleb was smiling in a way that made Essek pleased, and caused him to consider being reckless once more.

“Ja I think that is accepta-” and before Caleb could finish, Essek pulled him into a kiss. He wrapped his arms around Caleb’s waist and Caleb’s hands found their way into Essek’s hair. They kissed deeply and with the release of the many conflicting emotions both of them had felt over the past weeks.

Essek found the texture of Caleb’s lips and stubble to be a bit surprising but planned on savouring every bit of the feeling. He approached this kiss almost like learning a new spell from Caleb, and followed his lead through the unfamiliar, for though Essek had kissed before, never with much feeling behind it, and this was an entirely different experience. His heart was pounding in his ears, his chest felt full of fireworks and there was something that felt hooked inside of both of them, drawing them closer. It was a startling powerful sensation.

Caleb was surprised not only by the kiss but by the intensity it quickly developed. He felt Essek’s hands pushing into his back and keeping him close, and the soft strands of essek’s hair moving beneath his fingers and the warmth of Essek’s lips and was intoxicated, drinking in every last bit of the experience that he could.

Finally, they broke apart, both flushed and breathing heavily. Essek found himself smoothing down the front of Caleb’s shirt for something to do and pulling a few pieces of cat hair off of it as he asked:

“May I ask something of your path to redemption?” He continued to try to compose his features but couldn’t resist the smile that kept making itself known on his face. It was a broader smile than Caleb had ever seen on Essek and it made his chest squeeze. He thought it would be a new mission of his to procure that smile more often.

“Yes Essek?”

“If we do not have to be alone, are we also allowed happiness? For I must admit that I think this is the happiest I have been in… sometime, perhaps ever.” Caleb thought and looked serious.

“I think so yes. I have to believe that is so.”

“In that case, I think we should kiss more often.” And at that Caleb laughed a full and genuine laugh and kissed Essek on the cheek following by cupping his face in his hands, allowing his thumb draw over the spot that was just kissed.

“Ja. That can certainly be arranged.” and he pulled Essek’s face down for another kiss on the forehead. “But for tonight I think it best if we both get some rest.” He grabbed Essek’s hand once more and descended into the tower, closing doorways behind them until they stopped at Essek’s room.

“I think I may need some time to wind down after all of that” Essek admitted.

“I think I shall be similar.” Caleb agreed.

“In that case, do you wish to read a while with me? Only I had noticed someone had placed 2 chairs in my reading nook.” Essek said with a conspiratorial smile. Caleb seemed to debate with himself a moment before coming in.

“But if I do not recover my spells, I will have to blame you Theylyss.”

“These terms are acceptable to me” Essek replied with a smile that belied his serious tone. And they each took an armchair and began reading, with their hands held between them.

Eventually Essek awoke from a trance he hadn’t even noticed he’d fallen into. His book had fallen into his lap and his hand had drifted out of Caleb’s somewhere in the night. He only required a short trance to be rested but Caleb would need more sleep and was currently snoring lightly from his armchair. Essek cautiously placed both of their books aside and used his levitation spell to float Caleb gently over to the bed. He tucked Caleb in and gave him the gentlest kiss on the forehead and then used the chalkboard above the bed to scrawl I was worried about your neck and shoulders which he felt had just the right amount of cheeky touch.

Essek pondered getting into the bed as well but felt it may be too presumptuous, so instead he sat at the desk at his study and began writing out the events of the night, hoping to capture it’s every detail. Though he had a good memory, he hoped to preserve this turning point for himself the way Caleb preserved history in his rooms upstairs. So, he wrote while Caleb slept.

When the hustle and bustle of the others moving about the tower finally awoke Caleb, he had the moment of concern that arises when waking in a different spot than where you fell asleep, until he saw the message above the bed and smiled to himself.

“The world better watch out if one kiss is all it takes to get Essek Theylyss to start writing jokes” Caleb called out to the room.

Essek came over, looking somehow more perfect than ever this morning (Caleb being unaware that Essek had fussed by the mirror for 20 minutes for the perfectly tousled look…) and handed Caleb a coffee that he had summoned via the cat system. Caleb took it gratefully as he sat up in bed and Essek came to sit next to him on the edge of the bed.

“Imagine what will happen after 2,3 or even 100 kisses?” Caleb continued his jibe. Essek simply raised an eyebrow at him:

“I suppose we will have to test it to find out.”

“I suppose we will” Caleb replied with a grin.

9 notes · View notes

hamliet · 5 years

Text

Pain, Fear, Death, and God: Fyodor and Gogol as Two Halves of Kirillov

God is the pain of the fear of death. Whoever conquers pain and fear will himself become God.

-Alexei Kirillov, Demons

So remember how when I first read Bungou Stray Dogs I started screeching incoherently and turned those screeches into a somewhat-coherent meta on how Fyodor in BSD was modeled after Alexei Kirillov from Dostoyesvky’s Demons?

Well, here’s the follow up.

As I said in my previous meta, Demons is (tied with Crime and Punishment) my favorite novel of all time, and Alexei Kirillov is my very favorite character of all time, in any fictional medium, ever. He’s a walking bundle of paradoxes, existential angst and stunning compassion. But Demons is not necessarily a popular novel by Dostoyevsky standards and so Kirillov, despite being written about by literary critics and Camus, is somewhat obscure. That Asagiri is so clearly inspired by his character is shocking and thrilling for me; I’m pinching myself.

The tl;dr version of Kirillov is that his whole schtick is that he wants to kill himself to prove that he is free and thereby can escape. It’s far more nuanced and complex, as I’ll go into, but essentially both Gogol and Fyodor’s philosophies and goals reflect this.

Gogol does not want to kill Fyodor because he hates Fyodor; rather, it’s because Gogol and Fyodor are two halves of a whole. They are a paradox together, embodying Kirillov’s complexity. Like Kirillov, they are suicidal, because killing one of them is like killing themselves. To achieve their goals, they both need to die.

Fyodor reminds Gogol that he is human and can connect; therefore, Gogol wants to kill him to assert his free will, as he views connections as a cage. Similarly, while we haven’t gotten much insight into Fyodor’s thoughts on Gogol, I think it’s highly likely Fyodor allowed Gogol to kill himself (he thought) because he clings to his beliefs at the expense of his (very much there) empathy, and it’s better for his goals if people who provoke his empathy die. Basically: Fyodor allowed Gogol to “die” not because he doesn’t care about him, but because he does.

For a brief background: Demons itself is an allegory about how people who become consumed by their ideas become possessed by said ideas; thus, they become devils or demons. The actual title of the novel, Бесы, is difficult to translate, hence why it has three different titles in English: The Possessed, The Devils, and Demons. The word “Бесы” in Russian refers to the ones doing the possessing, which is why the latter two are generally considered to be more accurate translations of the title. In particular, the novel demonstrates the tragic consequences of Russian nihilism and singles out moral nihilism. (It’s also looked to as a rather eerie novel, because almost everything it wrote about happening in a--then fictional--political revolution is exactly what happened in Russia a few decades later.)

As I wrote in my previous meta, Fyodor, like Kirillov, is “consumed” by his ideas, something Kirillov laments in Demons. Fyodor’s consumption with his ideals means that he is willing to sacrifice everything for his goals. Gogol, too, shares this trait.

Where they differ is in motivations for their respective plans, motives they share with Kirillov. Kirillov’s master plan is to commit suicide for two reasons: firstly, that he has free will and will thereby inspire society to live freely, and secondly, because he sees life as nonsensically painful and thereby not worth living. The first reflects Gogol’s personal aims, and the second Fyodor’s.

Let’s discuss Kirillov and Fyodor first. Kirillov believes that mankind invented God (keep in mind the context this was written in; God=Russian Orthodox Christianity) to go on living because of the absurdity of life.

Listen: this man was the highest on all the earth, he constituted what it was to live for. Without this man the whole planet with everything on it is--madness only. There has not been one like Him before or since, not ever, even to the point of miracle. This is the miracle, that there has not been and never will be such a one. And if so, if the laws of nature did not pity even This One, did not pity even their own miracle, but made Him, too, live amidst a lie and die for a lie, then the whole planet is a lie, and stands upon a lie and a stupid mockery. Then the very laws of the planet are a lie and a devil's vaudeville. Why live then, answer me, if you're a man.”

Fyodor's disgust for the world and determination to save it from the sin of abilities reflects this same attitude. Life is wrong, so it should cease to exist. Abilities are wrong, so everyone with one should cease to exist. The reason is, most likely, strongly based in how painful Fyodor’s ability has been for him.

Kirillov laments:

“God is necessary and so must exist… But I know He doesn’t and can’t… Surely you must understand that a man with two such ideas can’t go on living?”

...

“If there is no God, then I am God.”

If Kirillov is god, then he is the ultimate master of his fate. Kirillov is very aware of his own limits, and so he thinks this absurd and life pointless.

That conversation continues (Kirillov’s responses are bolded):

“There, I could never understand that point of yours: why are you God?”

“If God exists, all is His will and from His will I cannot escape. If not, it’s all my will and I am bound to show self-will.”

“Self-will? But why are you bound?”

“Because all will has become mine. Can it be that no one in the whole planet, after making an end of God and believing in his own will, will dare to express his self-will on the most vital point? It’s like a beggar inheriting a fortune and being afraid of it and not daring to approach the bag of gold, thinking himself too weak to own it. I want to manifest my self-will. I may be the only one, but I’ll do it.”

This very much reflects Gogol: killing his high moral power (connection and empathy) through the man who identifies himself as a god (Fyodor) to prove his independence and freedom.

But we’ve kind of already seen where this ends:

Gogol you’ve literally shown yourself terrified of dying (which Kirillov is as well). I know Gogol was likely acting in this scene, but given the themes of BSD and Gogol’s character, plus the fact that he did, in fact, choose not to die, I think this is likely somewhat reflective of his true feelings.

But again, Kirillov asserts:

“I am awfully unhappy, for I’m awfully afraid. Terror is the curse of man.… But I will assert my will, I am bound to believe that I don’t believe. I will begin and will make an end of it and open the door, and will save. That’s the only thing that will save mankind and will re-create the next generation physically; for with his present physical nature man can’t get on without his former God, I believe. For three years I’ve been seeking for the attribute of my godhead and I’ve found it; the attribute of my godhead is self-will! That’s all I can do to prove in the highest point my independence and my new terrible freedom. For it is very terrible. I am killing myself to prove my independence and my new terrible freedom.”

As Gogol outlined, what disrupted his plans was Fyodor’s empathy for him, and his empathy for Fyodor. Their connection literally saved his life (hence I kind of doubt their connection will kill them in the end). He cannot die without killing that connection.

Two things almost disrupt Kirillov’s plans. Firstly, and chiefly, it’s his empathy for others. Kirillov is noted to be a character who is extremely kind, good with children, and unafraid to risk himself to help others. When Kirillov finds out his friend betrayed him and is planning to use Kirillov’s suicide to get away with the murder of a third friend, Kirillov is horrified. He refuses to go through with his suicide at first, screaming in horror that his friend is dead and that he unwittingly enabled his killer to end his life. When he does ultimately go through with it, he states that it is because “I want to kill myself now: all are scoundrels.” He goes through with it because his human connections are failing.

Even the novel’s most villainous character concludes “I agree” when Kirillov is called “good.” Kirillov will stop at nothing to help his friends, and he believes all people are good and will become good if they are just told they are. However, the tragic irony of this scene is that the person speaking to Kirillov--Nikolai Stavrogin--is very much a literary example of a psychopath. (Those of you who follow me know I don’t use that word lightly.) However, Stavrogin does not want to be this way; he wants to feel, he wants to be bothered by the terrible sins he’s committed. What he’s asking Kirillov, essentially, is to understand this and call him wrong for what he did, which absolutely no one does in the novel:

“Everything’s good.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. Man is unhappy because he doesn’t know he’s happy. It’s only that. That’s all, that’s all! If anyone finds out he’ll become happy at once...

“And if anyone dies of hunger, and if anyone insults and outrages the little girl, is that good?”

“Yes! ...They’re bad because they don’t know they’re good. When they find out, they won’t outrage a little girl. They’ll find out that they’re good and they’ll all become good, every one of them.”

“Here you’ve found it out, so have you become good then?”

“I am good.”

“That I agree with, though,” Stavrogin muttered, frowning.

“He who teaches that all are good will end the world.”

“He who taught it was crucified.”

“He will come, and his name will be the man-god.”

“The god-man?”

“The man-god. That’s the difference.”

Stavrogin’s examples are based on things he’s done. Kirillov isn’t aware of these deeds, but he does know his friend’s mind better than most of their other friends. The problem is that Kirillov refuses to truly act on this empathy, to accept that men can be scoundrels and good, because he wants what he believes (that all are good) to be so. Kirillov’s too consumed with his desire to end the world (hello Fyodor) to save mankind via proving himself free to actually use his empathy to help his friends. In fact, the murderer points out to Kirillov that if he’d focused more on his friend, he might have been able to prevent the murder.

A similar attitude is reflected in Fyodor’s desire to destroy ability-users (i.e. end the world) and in his interactions with people. He doesn’t put his empathy into forming actual connections, and those he has he deliberately does not invest in (such as when he kills the kid in his introductory chapter). He kills ability users paradoxically because he cares about them and about other people. I wrote about it a bit in this meta here:

Fyodor... lives very much in a world of black and white. He makes Goncharov happy all the time, unable to experience pain or negative emotions. He believes all ability users are a sin and should be destroyed. He’s an idealist in a lot of ways, believing in absolutes (which is also a hallmark of a childish perspective...). he wants to... force every single ability user to feel his pain (that their abilities are a sin) by wiping them out. In short, Fyodor wants empathy despite refusing to listen to the feelings of others. (He understands their feelings; he just chooses to emphasize his pain over theirs.)

Unlike Kirillov, however, whose last scene is renowned as “the most harrowing in all of literature” (I can’t even describe it; it has to be read) I think there’s pretty good reason to hope that Fyodor and Gogol will not end up taking each other out. Because the thing about Kirillov, the reason his character resonates so much with me, is the second reason his plans are almost disrupted: it’s how desperately he wants to live. He just wants to know that his life matters. The way Kirillov expresses these desires is absurd in a lot of ways and certainly hyperbolic, but it’s a desire reflected in most of BSD’s characters, and in, well, a lot of us in real life, too.

Empathy and genuine human connection are the greatest powers in BSD’s world, as we saw recently through Atsushi getting the location of the page from empathizing with Sigma by telling him what he most wanted to know: that he mattered.

Sigma now knows, to an extent, that he matters. At least, he’s been told as much.

Gogol states that Sigma is key to his plans succeeding: Sigma’s ability can tell him Fyodor’s ability, which will enable Gogol to kill Fyodor. Except... Sigma’s ability might just work in an way that cultivates empathy post-connection with Atsushi. If Sigma can trust that he matters, despite having been created by the page and having been abused and subjected to all manner of lies and exploitation, he might be key to Fyodor and Gogol’s conflict resolution rather than to them actually killing each other.

Fyodor matters despite having an ability that seems to make him unable to touch people--because he can touch people with his empathy. (His empathy is, of course, literally what draws Gogol to want to kill him.) Fyodor’s empathy with Gogol has already physically saved Gogol.

Gogol matters even if he is understood by someone, because empathy is a strength and not a weakness. Someone understanding him doesn’t make him matter less, and being bound by feelings isn’t actually a bad thing. His connection with Fyodor has already saved his life.

Both Fyodor and Gogol have now saved Sigma at some point. Sigma’s design, of course, is literally split with two different colored halves of his hair, indicating that the artist likely means to symbolize the clash of two halves (see: Q, who represents how soukoku (Dazai and Chuuya) are two halves of a whole in terms of their best and worst traits). However, they exist in one person, and Sigma seems reasonably stable for someone with his situation.

Additionally, Fyodor and Gogol both are also somewhat modeled after Rodion Raskolnikov, the protagonist of Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, whose name literally means “split” in Russian. (Actually, Kirillov is very much a more internal, tragic version of Raskolnikov.) Like Kirillov, Raskolnikov is a paradox embodied: he’s stunningly empathetic and kind (rushing into a burning building to save orphans), but his philosophy is that it’s fine for him to kill others because he’s a “Napoleon” (special figure; “man-god,” to use Kirillov’s term).

But what is split is ultimately made whole in Crime and Punishment. Raskolnikov meditates on the raising of Lazarus from the dead and essentially resurrects himself, redeems himself.

I highly doubt Gogol and Fyodor’s story will end with them dead because:

It’s BSD and nobody stays dead unless you’re Oda or a red shirt;

Gogol and Sigma have already served us fake-out deaths, so it’s a lot to ask your audience to buy another death from the same character (killing Fyodor is essentially Gogol killing himself);

them surviving and having Fitzgerald-esque redemption arcs very much fits with the themes of Dostoyevsky’s works and specifically with the book after which Fyodor’s ability is named;

resurrection seems to be a motif with everything involving Fyodor, from Cannibalism to this current arc.

#bsd meta #fyogol #bsd 79 #bungou stray dogs meta #fyodor dostoyevsky #nikolai gogol #alexei kirillov #demons #nikolai stavrogin #bsd sigma #sigma #atsushi nakajima #bsd theory

412 notes · View notes

purgatoryapotheca · 5 years

Text

BEELZEBUB

BEELZEBUB is also known as BAALZEBUB, ENLIL, BEL, “PIR BUB”* BAAL ZEBUL and BEELZEBUTH

He is also known as the Goetic Demon “BAEL”

History of Beelzebub

Beelzebub was a prince of the Seraphim, just below Lucifer. Beelzebub, along with Lucifer and Leviathan, were the first three angels to fall. He tempts men with pride and is opposed by St. Francis of Assisi

Beelzebub was also known as Achor by the Cyreneans, which probably meant ‘Lord of the High House’, referring to the Canaanite chief god ‘Baal the prince’. This title could only properly apply to Solomon in his temple, so the Jews changed the name to Beelzebub which translates as ‘Lord of Flies’, possibly because of his supposedly role as creator and controller of the flies in the Philistine city of Ekron.

One of the oldest and most famous demonic figures, Beelzebub also had command over disease — flies congregate around the corpses of the dead, and spread disease from the dead to the living — and his role is to tempt men with pride. He was called the prince of devils by the Pharisees.

According to the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus, Jesus gave Beelzebub dominion over Hell in gratitude for helping remove Adam and other pre-Christian, unbaptized ‘saints in prison’ and bringing them to Heaven, over Satan’s objections. In those early days, Satan outranked Beelzebub. By the sixteenth century, however, demonologist Johann Wierus was listing Beelzebub as supreme chieftain of Hell, with Satan below him.

According to demonology’s lore, when Satan first rebelled, he recruited several very powerful seraphim, Beelzebub among them, to fight at his side. Once he took up his new residence in Hell, Beelzebub learned to tempt men with pride. When summoned by witches or sorcerers, he appeared in the form of a fly, because “Lord of the Flies” was his nom de guerre, as it were. He’d acquired it by visiting a plague of flies upon the harvest of Canaan, or, perhaps, simply because flies were once believed to be generated in the flesh of decaying corpses. Another tale suggests that God created every creature, except the fly — which was made by the Devil.

Those who are close to Beelzebub know he is Enlil. This is from him personally. Enlil was the original “Bel” which later evolved into “Baal.” “Baal” means “Lord,” “Master” “Baal the Prince.” Beelzebub/Enlil was a very popular and well-known God who had cities named after him with the prefix “Baal” all over the Middle East.

Most people who have studied the occult know he is very close to Satan and they both go back to the “beginning of time” here on earth; Enlil and Enki. He is Father Satan’s half-brother. Along with his brother Ea/Satan and Astaroth, he wound up in the grimoires as one of the Crowned princes of Hell and was labeled as “evil,” as were our other Pagan Gods.

“Baal Zebub, the Healing God of Ekron, later became one word–Beelzebub–which came to represent evil and idolatry in the New Testament of the Bible.”

-Excerpt taken from- “Syria” by Coleman South, 1995

Satan and Beelzebub

Beelzebub is best known as the God of the Philistines, He ruled over the city of Ekron. He is second in command to Satan. The Ancient Philistines worshiped Him under the name “Baalzebub.” Beelzebub is “Lord over all that Flies”. Wherever he was worshipped, he was known as God of the weather and meteorology. He also controlled the airways when the Nephilim came to Earth. His name was perverted by the Hebrews to mean “Lord of the Flies.”

Beelzebub takes care of in-fighting between dedicated Satanists. Satan wants unity and Beelzebub enforces this. He can be very strict as Satan does not approve of dedicated Satanists cursing each other.

APPEARANCE

He appears as a giant fly if you summon him.

NOTES

Beelzebub appears several times in the New Testament, but only once in the Old Testament, and never in apocalyptic literature.

Beelzebub is the Patron of all of the Orient, Martial Arts and Asian Culture. He was Prince of the Seraphim and He has a raspy voice

Beelzebub/Enlil is the God of storms, atmospheric conditions, the wind, the rain and the element of air. He is also the God of Entomancy. Entomancy is a method of divination by interpreting the behavior of insects. Beelzebub is also a Master of Astrology and the Zodiac.

The name Beelzebub is sometimes associated with the Canaanite god Baal.

His ziggurat of Nippur was called, “Fi-irn-bar-sag.” He is the God who hurls his thunderbolts and lightning against the enemies of Satan. [More than one Christian church has met with disaster on occasion]. He is considered to be a gracious life-giving and life-sustaining God, taking care of his people, the beasts of the field, the fowls of heaven and the fishes of the sea. “Enlil [Beelzebub] is both a God of war and God of peace; a destroyer and protector, defender, restorer, upbuilder; inimical, hostile and most gracious.” [6]

WARNINGS:

I WOULD NOT RECOMMEND ANYONE CONDUCT THIS EXPERIMENT.

IT MAY BRING GREAT PAIN AND SUFFERING. IF YOU CONDUCT THIS

EXPERIMENT, IT IS BY YOUR OWN WILL.

SUMMONING OF Beelzebub

Draw a pentagram.

Put the black candles around the points and the red candle in the middle.

Take a piece of string and tie all three together and say: I invite you, Oh prince.

When you feel his presence, throw the limestone at the red candle. [5]

Invocation of Beelzebub

This would be used when Opening the Nine Locks of the Abyss

Beelzebub, I invoke thee.

Beelzebub, I summon thee.

Beelzebub, I conjure thee.

Come forth, Beelzebub, and manifest thyself

Within this body, this temple which I have prepared.

Come forth, Beelzebub, and manifest thyself.

(Drink from chalice then say:)

The fourth lock is open. [1]

SPELLS/CONJURATIONS

First print out a copy of this magick square:

CASED

AZOTE

BOROS

ETOSA

DEBAC

Then get yourself rather drunk on alcohol, because evil spirits work better on people that are rather intoxicated. Then wait until midnight… during a full moon would be even better.

Play some Christian Death music in the background. Turn off the lights, light a candle and some incense. Get rid of any

crosses, bibles or other Christian symbols from the room.

Spend 5 minutes meditating on the square. Notice what the words say both backwards and forwards.

Then take the symbol, and draw some blood from your finger.

DON’T CUT A VEIN. DON”T WANT ANYONE TO KILL THEMSELVES.

Then place the droplet of blood on the square and while doing so repeat the following 6 times.

“Oh BEELZEBUB, LORD OF FLIES. ENTER MY SOUL. SHOW ME THE OTHER SIDE. OPEN MY EYES SO THAT I MAY SEE THE DARK RECESSES OF HELL.”

Do this ritual several times. Then give yourself some time. You probably won’t see an immediate change. It can happen immediately, or it might take up to a year.

Demonic Dark Lord … Lord (King) Beelzebub (Night Demon)

(This information comes from our Priestess’s seeking council with him)

Direction: North

Planet: Jupiter

Metal: Titanium

Element: Earth

Color: Muted Dark Red, Black, Grey, Silvers and Blues

Incense: Frankincense, Myrrh, Oud

Rank : King, Dark Lord, Imperial Royal Demon Commander

Species: Lowborn Demon

Realm: Noble and Lowborn Realms of the Outer Spiritual World

Attributes: Strong warrior and one who has a curious mind, one who is wise and brilliant he knows much and has much to reveal. He also has powerful casting abilities when it comes to death curses and death magicks.

Demonic Mantra:

Demonic Hymn:

Beelzebuth (Beelzebub) Demonic Enn – “Adey vocar avage Beelzebuth (Beelzebub)”

Adey vocar avage Beelzebuth

PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS

Zodiac Position: 0-4 Degrees of Aries

March 21st-25th *[March 21-30]

Tarot Card: 2 of Rods [From Azazel]

Candle color: Black

Plant: Fern

Planet: Sun [From Azazel]

Metal: Iron *[Gold]

Element of Fire

Rank: King

Bael is a Day Demon and rules over 66 legions of spirits. [6]

By Black Witch Coven

#beelzebub #baal #bael #demons #demonolatry #satanism #rituals #witchcraft #demonic #lord of the flies

160 notes · View notes

catgirlxox · 5 years

Text

What I Love About "So Long and Thanks for all the Smoothies"

A controversial episode to like, I know.

Just to get the obvious out of the way, I don’t think it’s reasonable to come to the conclusion that Ben is portrayed as a “sociopath” during the events of this episode, specifically near the ending. I realize that perhaps it would have made a clearer point to address the concerning truth about the old universe and everything in it being dead and gone, but I feel as though the target audience for this series was a factor in the decision to keep it simple, so to speak.

I don’t want to believe that the writers intended for Ben to come off as some kind of emotionally detached “sociopath.”

On top of that, resorting to calling him names solves nothing and only unnecessarily creates a bigger problem, especially within the fandom.

Anyway, what I do love about the episode “So Long and Thanks for all The Smoothies” is the maturity, level headedness, and leadership Ben displayed in the moments leading up to the accidental destruction of the universe.

Unfortunately, those rational, dare I even say admirable actions, have gone unnoticed due to his “failure.” Because he had “failed” to save the universe from total annihilation, he is not worthy of being seen as a hero, apparently.

It’s not like the first step to being a hero is possessing the courage to try, right?

Back in Ultimate Alien, we were introduced to Sir George - the founder of the Forever Knights, and by extension, the first ever Forever Knight, who was trusted with the power of Ascalon to defeat Dagon.

Similarly to Ben, he was viewed as a hero because of his dedication and courage...but he didn’t succeed in his mission. He failed, and then, as we know, it was up to Ben to save the world from Dagon.

But do you think that George failing to stop Dagon, even while armed with the power of Ascalon, made him less of a hero in the eyes of the Forever Knights?

I wouldn’t assume so. He shouldn’t be discredited for all that he had done.

Even if George’s failure meant that Dagon would win and take over the world, he would still be regarded as a hero for his courage, persistence, leadership. and years of dedication to his cause.

Did Ben not display those same heroic traits in the moments leading up to the Anihilaarg going off? Why are those so disregarded?

And then to blame him for the destruction, and call him a sociopath? That’s insulting.

The episode opens with Ben and Rook protecting civilians from what we later learn to be the Contemelia ship anchoring itself to Earth, before heading up to space to investigate further. During this scene, this dialogue takes place:

Max: “Now, remember, Ben. We don’t know anything about that ship or what’s on board, so be careful.”

Ben: “Come on, Grandpa. You know me.”

Max: “Uh huh, that’s why I said it.”

A common theory about Ben is that he puts up a ‘front’ to hide his true feelings, so as to not come off as less of the hero he knows he is capable of being. That is possibly what his behaviour at the end of this episode, after all is said and done, could be attributed to as well. But, while that is true to an extent, as shown in certain scenes throughout the series, I don’t believe that is always the case.

What his line here shows me is that he believes in himself and his ability to handle the situation. And, logically, when one believes in themselves, they translate that confidence in a genuine effort to do their job properly. Which, up until a certain...less intelligent character causes catastrophe to strike, Ben was doing.

I’ve theorized about this phenomenon before, but it seems as though if another character, who, for whatever reason, is seen as more ‘credible’ than Ben (most often Max, Gwen, Kevin, or Rook) comments about him in a way which is not entirely positive, it implies, to some of the audience, that Ben should not be taken seriously because he is not “mature” enough to be doing the job that he is.

And, by extension, calling him names becomes justified.

Max reminding Ben to be careful seems to make some of the audience expect him to not do a good job, or fail, as if he is too reckless or immature to be responsible or careful. However, his actions following this interaction show the opposite. He takes his job seriously enough to do everything in his power to prevent this potentially extremely dangerous device from falling into the wrong hands.

And, that effort should be valued and acknowledged.

Once Ben and Rook enter the ship, they are met with multiple morally conflicting characters. Namely, the Vreedle brothers, self proclaimed fugitives who are here “scavenging for weapons”, and Argit, who is in possession of the Anihilaarg, which he most likely stole from the ship earlier.

Not long after, an arguably even more dangerous character is added to the situation - Emperor Milleous, an Incursean dictator, who also conveniently has “destroyer of galaxies” as a part of his title.

Now that is someone Ben would reasonably consider a threat! That is why he immediately begins to put together a plan and give out orders because he knows what to do. What I like about this is that his actions are rational, level headed, mature, and careful.

Ben: “There's no way that, uh, whatchamacallit's real, but the Incurseans are, and they're bad news.”

Just like Max asked of him, he displayed admirable leadership skills in what is arguably a high stress, highly dangerous, situation.

Ben: “We've got to catch the Vreedle brothers before they set off that...[Annihilaarg]! Whatever. I still say it's not a real threat. But I don't want to take any chances when it comes to the Earth.”

I want to address this next point simply because I just know that someone would inevitably bring it up against Ben: that he didn't initially think the Anihilaarg was a real threat until it actually destroyed the universe.

It's a tiny box with a red button inside. Would ANYONE seriously take that as a threat?

Besides it’s appearance, he did take the fact that this potentially dangerous device was in the hands of irresponsible, and known to be chaotic, fugitives, as well as being sought after by an Emperor, who has “destroyer of galaxies” in his title, and who probably wouldn’t hesitate to set off the Anihilaarg himself, given the chance.

Ben didn’t want to take that chance, especially when it comes to the Earth, like he said. THAT was the real threat.

You could say that this is nothing new, because that is what his job entails and that is what he does every episode. But, that’s it exactly. That’s what he does. That’s what he did.

So why is he still being looked at as a sociopath?

Why isn’t somone like Argit, for example, being seen as a “sociopath” when it is ultimately his fault that the universe was destroyed?

Argit: “The Vreedle brothers have left the building!”

Ben/NRG: “With what might be the most destructive device in the universe?! And they're heading to Earth with it! Argit!”

Argit: “Oh, like this my fault?”

I don’t see anyone talking about how he willingly handed the Anihilaarg over to the Vreedle brothers, knowing far better than Ben at the time what it was and what it could do. Besides the fact that Argit is already a morally conflicting character, he actually seems pretty loved by this fandom, but that’s another discussion entirely.

What made Ben a “sociopath”, allegedly, was that he was not shown having some kind of emotional existential crisis, directly after the recreation of the universe.

And, like I had stated earlier, that most likely was due to the fact that the target audience for Ben 10: Omniverse is 8+. That is something we have to acknowledge, even if older audiences still enjoy the show.

The show is not intended for twenty somethings and, as you can probably tell, does not include the use of explicit language or mature themes that take things to the extreme. And before you say that this is why UAF is superior, even the guns used by police in an episode of Alien Force replaced bullets with lazers to accommodate to the target audience. Which, for the record, was also 8+.

(Ben 10: Alien Force - “Save The Last Dance”)

If the writers were going to include a storyline about a device which destroys this fictional universe, and how the superhero Ben 10 makes a whole new one to “bring everyone back to life”, they are going to do so lightly. I’ll agree that the implications of such a thing happening in the real world are concerning, and it would have been appreciated by older audiences if those implications were further explored. But, because the writers are catering to a young audience which they are probably not expecting to jump to the conclusion that their hero is a “sociopath”, that was left out.

Ben, in the episode “So Long and Thanks for all the Smoothies”, was shown taking responsibility of his role as the leader, doing everything in his power to prevent a catastrophe. That teaches the young audience how to maturely handle situations, and prioritize what is important while staying rational and reasonable. When disaster does strike, he is also shown doing all he can realistically do.

It should be admired that, if all he could do at that point was recreate the universe, he brought back everything and everyone the same to the best of his ability. He could have left out the things that would inconvenience him, like Vilgax, or Will Harangue for instance. But he didn’t, probably because it wouldn’t be morally right.

Even if an older audience has a bone to pick regarding the implications of the plotline, you can not deny that Ben had been a good role model for a bad situation. That is what a young audience can take away from this, and I, personally, respect that about his character.

96 notes · View notes

beca-mitchell · 5 years

Text

i took your matches before fire could catch me (1/1)

Summary: Beca and Chloe will always cross paths—the first year after the USO tour. Beca-centric. Rated M for like...one huge smut scene in the second half.

Word count: 8325

A/N: Title from Taylor Swift’s “Dear John”. This was a very different story when I first started working on it at the beginning of this year. I'm not sure I like where it ended up going, but I wanted to share it anyway.

All mistakes are mine.

Happy NYE!

Read below or on AO3.

January

The first time they see each other again, Chloe is in Los Angeles for a weekend and Beca had agreed to meet for coffee.

The first few months after the USO tour, they had been busy with moving, with starting school, with starting a new album, so it had been easier to avoid each other.

But Beca misses Chloe and she knows Chloe feels some of the same emptiness or she wouldn’t have agreed to meet Beca for coffee. Or so Beca tells herself.

It had been awkward at the beginning, but Beca found herself becoming more comfortable as the hours passed and before she knew it, she was standing quickly as Chloe gathered her bag and phone, looking ready to leave.

Chloe smiles at Beca then. It is not quite forced, but Beca sees some strain in it—some desperation. “I hope we stay friends,” she says softly. Beca feels sick and her throat tightens around the emotions that well up inside her. And to make it worse, Chloe continues: “I care about you.”

Heat and moisture spike alarmingly quick beneath Beca’s eyelids. “Friends,” she repeats, tasting the word on her tongue.

(Friends, like how she and Chloe had started; friends, like how they had been just before the depth of their feelings for each other slipped into something more; friends, like they had been when Beca had grabbed Chloe’s jacket and kissed her with everything she had.)

“Yeah, obviously,” Beca says quickly when she realizes Chloe is still staring at her. “Of course. Why couldn’t we be? Friends, I mean. We were before. We still are.”

It is uncommonly cool in Los Angeles, even for January standards, so Beca attributes the shiver that rushes through her body when Chloe’s hand brushes her own to the weather and nothing more.

— — — — — — — — — —

(So they should probably talk about that kiss. The kiss that shouldn’t have happened, but Beca, in a fit of possession and jealousy upon seeing Chicago smiling at Chloe, had grabbed Chloe’s jacket and pulled her in for a kiss.

The shock in Chloe’s eyes had been reflected in Beca’s, but neither of them knew what else to do or say.

Not many more words were exchanged, even when Beca had led Chloe back up to her hotel room and the door had clicked shut behind them.)

— — — — — — — — — —

February

Beca isn't a jealous person. Not at all. Not one bit.

Besides, she really shouldn't be, she tells herself derisively. They were never really friends, even when they technically were. Even when they were co-captains. Even when they shared a house for three years. There was always some complicated underlying attraction to each other and the pressure to perform and put on a show—both in their personal lives and on stage—which translated into a consistently-strained relationship.

And God, it’s Valentine’s Day for fuck’s sake. Beca hadn’t been expecting to see Chloe in Los Angeles of all places, considering how hard it seemed for Chloe to have made the trip in the past few weeks whenever Beca had suggested a visit.

Beca attempts to let some bitterness seep out of her.

Chloe looks...beautiful. Stunning. Radiant. All the things Beca loves about Chloe shine through tonight. Beca spots her nearly immediately when she walks in and tunes out of the company she held within her perch in the VIP booth. Chloe is wearing her favourite ripped jeans and a pretty white top that just screams for something to be spilt on it. And yet, she dances without a care in the world. Her right palm is open, dying to be held. Her left hand clutches a wine glass, liquid precariously licking up the edges. Wine, of all things, in an upscale club in downtown Los Angeles.

Chloe spots her fairly quickly. The surprise in her eyes must be reflected in Beca’s own, but Beca makes no move to get out of her booth for the time being. It’s then that she notices Chloe can’t stop staring at her. It is only a product of the way Beca can’t keep her eyes off Chloe, but the way Chloe’s piercing blue gaze always seems to meet her gaze in return indicates that it’s a mutual sensation.

Finally, it is Chloe who musters up the courage to say hello first. Soft and quiet, unexpectedly appearing by Beca’s shoulder as she stands by the bar, finally escaping the sanctuary of her cordoned-off area.

“Hey,” Chloe’s voice sounds excitedly near her ear. "Beca, hi!"

Beca startles, nearly dropping her drink. “Chloe. Hey.”

“Letting loose tonight?”

Beca laughs, short and mildly acerbic. It is both comforting and unsettling how easy it is to fall into old habits with Chloe—how easy it is to want to open up to Chloe and trust her and love her all at once. “No,” she responds. “Just kind of scoping out the venue.” She takes a quick gulp of her drink for courage. “Are you here alone? Why are you here?”

“There was a conference in town,” Chloe explains, quicker than Beca expects. “A bunch of us took the night off.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Beca says. Or at least, she tries to say because she is cut off by an excited voice calling Chloe’s name and a large, male body appearing by her side. Beca swallows and tries to look anywhere else but the way his hand curls around Chloe’s hip with familiarity.

“Beca,” Chloe says questioningly when she notices that Beca is trying to inch away.

“It was nice to see you, Chloe.” I’m so glad we’re friends , Beca adds as an afterthought in her mind. She swallows back the sharp taste of her drink and looks instead for the closest pair of interested eyes.

“Hey, wait a second,” Chloe calls and before Beca realizes what is happening and before she can really dwell on anybody, Chloe’s hand is wrapping gently around her wrist. “Can we talk?”

“We’re talking now.”

Chloe scowls and shoots a glance over her shoulder at Nondescript Jock #5 before she is pushing Beca towards the women’s bathroom.

“What are you doing?” Beca demands.

“Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

Chloe frowns. “Extra Beca-like.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Of course you don’t—you never do, do you?”

“I really don’t know what that means.”

They’re breathing heavily, both of them standing toe to toe. Around them, the bass pounds and the percussion line is strong, but Beca only feels the pounding of her own heart. This feels too raw—too much like how they had separated after Europe, only this is just a continuation of that ugliness.

(“So you’re just walking away. Again.”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Chloe.”

“I’m not the one being difficult. You’re the one who’s afraid.” )

She hates how much she wants to kiss Chloe.

Beca sighs, some of the fight leaving her. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you. Here. When you’re supposed to be in Philadelphia.”

“I honestly wasn’t expecting to see you here either. I'm not trying to...” Chloe's mouth twists unhappily. "Not trying to stalk you or anything. I'm just happy we ran into each other because we need to—"

“—maybe we should just pretend we never saw each other.”

Hurt flashes across Chloe’s eyes.

“Beca, wait—”

— — — — — — — — — —

March

i didn't mean it, i'm sorry, Beca writes and rewrites in her phone. Over and over. It's like a ritual.

Nothing really works anymore.

When Beca falls asleep, it’s the same dream, the one she had almost every night for months after she moved to L.A.. Chloe is waiting for her when she gets in the door.

She smiles.

She kisses Beca.

She says, “Welcome home.”

Beca shakes off the fantasy, anger and hurt coursing through her. Screw you, Mitchell.

They haven’t really spoken for weeks. Beca is more comfortable at this distance, content on muting Chloe’s social media profiles and pretending like Chloe isn’t totally seeing that guy that she claims to not be seeing.

And the thing is, there isn't really a reason for Chloe to lie to her (even if Beca hasn't really given any concrete reason for Chloe to stay), but the sting of seeing Chloe flirt with Chicago incessantly is still sharp in Beca's memory, so she does the completely grown-up thing and rage-likes a bunch of Chloe’s Instagram and Facebook posts and sends petty emoji-reactions to some of Chloe’s Instagram stories. She hates the flash of vindication that rushes through her when Chloe texts her not too long after.

Hey, how are you?

It’s what she wanted, but she feels gross and petty and not at all like the adult her legal documents claim she is. Beca groans at the still unanswered text message. It’s dumb how jealous she is—how upset she is over something that might or might not be true. She’s trying her best to move on and to stay friends with Chloe because it’s what Chloe wanted .

It’s what they both wanted.

Before Beca has a chance to say anything, bubbles appear again, indicating that Chloe is typing.

i’m sorry if things are weird, the text reads. is everything okay with us?

Then, beca, please

Beca slowly blinks at the series of words. She feels nothing but tiredness within her. Her eyes are dry.

She falls asleep with her phone in her hand.

— — — — — — — — — —

Aubrey is an unexpected confidante. It does feel a little self-sabotaging considering Aubrey’s relationship with Chloe.

“For what it’s worth, Chloe has told me some things,” Aubrey says carefully. “So I’m not completely in the dark, even if it surprises me that you’re calling me at all.”

“I think that we can be friends,” Beca replies. “We just need some time. Everything is too raw right now.”

Aubrey sighs. “You’re both fools.”

“It’s just...hard to get over her,” Beca admits.

“Why do you have to do that at all?”

The truth is, she doesn't. She's just so used to running—all her life, she only ever ran. Only a select handful of people were willing to give chase.

— — — — — — — — — —

She gives it another week—just a few more days to gather her wits.

Chloe sounds so relieved to hear her voice. It makes Beca feel all kinds of horrible, but Chloe never dwells on that.

And like her body is enjoying playing cruel tricks on her, she dreams of Chloe that night—dreams and remembers what it had been like to hold Chloe close, to kiss her that fateful night before her mind and her heart decided to do the stupid thing and fall in love.

(But that happened long ago, nothing Beca could really do about it now.)

— — — — — — — — — —

April

Being in frequent contact with Chloe again means that Beca knows she’s not really dating anybody even if there is some guy who hangs around her a lot. It’s “super casual” (Chloe’s words) but apparently, he’s a “complete buffoon” (Aubrey’s words), so Beca isn’t quite sure whether she ought to be more supportive or discouraging. In the same vein, through similar channels, Beca knows when the guy isn't really in the picture anymore and she hates how easy it is for her to breathe again.

But Chloe seems happy in general. And coming to terms with the fact that she will always have some unresolved feelings for Chloe Beale...it’s kind of a difficult predicament to be in.

It's not that Beca hasn't been casually seeing people too—she's been on a few dates and only one real hook-up in the past few months, but she hadn't felt much for that person. For any of them really. And she hadn't told Chloe about them, only Amy in passing. Not even Aubrey whom she knows would just pass it on to Chloe.

A part of her almost wants to let Chloe know that she's happy to move on, but it was never really communicated between them that there was anything really to hold on to—at least, not verbally, Beca tells herself.

Beca is just so used to people leaving, it's almost easier to let people realize that she's not worth the trouble than to have them realize it when she's grown too attached. It's fucking depressing, in all honesty, but Beca hates the thought of being left behind. She hates distance and pining and all those things attached to relationships that never end up working out.

Like her parents.

She clenches her fist and attempts to refocus on the track she's meant to be listening to. It's not much of a lead single if it sucks.

"Well?" Jason, her favorite sound engineer asks. "Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?"

Beca glances down at her phone, seeing that a new notification from Chloe is waiting for her.

She forces her thoughts away and shoves her phone into her bag. "Again," she requests. "Play it back."

— — — — — — — — — —

Thought of you today, she writes to Chloe later. This new artist on my label wouldn't shut up about acapella. really took me back.

Chloe's reply is quick. i can be pretty unforgettable like that.

Beca can just see the smile on her face.

— — — — — — — — — —

May

“Are we okay?” Chloe asks.

Phone calls are more regular now. Hearing Chloe's voice is less painful, but it only makes Beca fall for Chloe more with each interaction.

Beca heaves a sigh. “We are,” she answers honestly. “I promise, Chlo.”

"Well, then tell me about your day."

"Tell me about yours," Beca challenges.

And just like that, they're okay again.

It's not the easiest, talking to Chloe like everything's okay, but relearning how to be Chloe's friend above all is Beca's priority and she finds that being in love with Chloe and being her friend don't necessarily have to be at odds with each other.

"I'm happy for you," Beca tells her when Chloe finishes a story. She means it.

— — — — — — — — — —

June

It is amidst a small rant about koalas that Chloe casually drops her birthday plans over the phone to Beca.

“You’re throwing a party?”

“A gathering,” Chloe explains. “For my birthday.”

“So a party.”

“Beca,” Chloe whines.

“Chloe, that’s-” great, wonderful, exciting .

“I was hoping you’d come,” Chloe says before Beca can say anything else like she’s afraid Beca will decline pre-emptively. It’s almost frightening how well Chloe knows Beca, but Beca is a little hurt that Chloe immediately would have jumped to that conclusion.

“Chloe.”

“It would mean a lot to me if you were there,” Chloe continues. Her voice is strained, but soft around the edges.

“Of course I’ll come,” Beca says with a small smile, even if Chloe can’t see it. “Where will it be?”

Chloe clears her throat. “New York. Because it’s easier for me and the girls are pretty close by. And Amy already offered her space.”

Beca tries not to think about what happened the last time she and Chloe were in New York. “That sounds nice.” She hates how it’s not a complete lie. “Send me the details.”

Chloe makes some kind of excited squealing sound that nearly deafens Beca, but she can't help but smile.

— — — — — — — — — —

Her hands are pushed against Chloe’s chest, desperate to hold onto something—similar to how she had kissed Chloe in France. Chloe’s arms are around Beca’s waist and she thinks maybe Chloe has picked her up off the floor, just slightly, but Beca cannot feel much else than the sensation of Chloe’s lips moving against hers and how tightly she is pressed against Chloe's body.

But that is only for a moment. Hands start pulling at Beca’s shirt and suddenly Chloe’s fingers are tracing the skin of her lower back. She whimpers against Chloe’s mouth.

They were supposed to be cleaning up.

This feeling is painfully familiar: Chloe’s kisses send surges of electricity and passion through Beca’s whole body.

It is as if every interaction they’ve had the past year has been leading to this. This—this is everything and Beca feels as if every fragmented piece of her being can finally relax; like every piece of her soul is where it’s meant to be.

“Beca,” Chloe breathes out. She is still kissing her, so it suddenly tastes like tears between their lips and Beca’s not sure which one of them has started to cry, but she can’t stop kissing, can’t stop pulling Chloe closer, always closer.

"I don't know how to be without you," Chloe whispers. "Stop pushing me away." That alone causes a surge of emotion to rise up in Beca's chest and she pushes forward again, this time almost capturing Chloe's mouth, unable to resist even if they're both somehow still crying amidst a small pile of solo cups and garbage bags.

"We're drunk," Beca whispers back. They're not.

"We're not," Chloe murmurs, but she steps back anyway, respectful of Beca's space.

It is when Chloe turns back around, clearly intent on finishing their task that Beca grabs her wrist and pulls her, reminiscent of how Chloe had pulled her all those years ago, into her orbit; how Chloe had pulled her all those months ago into the bathroom into the club.

Chloe's mouth is opening against her own before Beca realizes what she's doing, but she is too powerless to resist.

"I'll stop if you want to stop," Chloe murmurs, her hands already dipping beneath the waistband of Beca's pants.

"We should stop," Beca admits with a broken tone.

— — — — — — — — — —

Chloe has to catch a fairly early train back to Philadelphia, so Beca feigns sleep for a bit, even though she knows it is a fruitless attempt at avoidance. Still, they spent the night together—totally innocent—and Beca didn't combust on the spot, so she considers that a success.

"You're not allowed to avoid me," Chloe whispers, pressing a kiss to Beca's forehead. "I'm calling you the moment I reach my dorm."

— — — — — — — — — —

July

Fourth of July in New York—it is Aubrey’s bright idea and Amy willingly hosts. She somehow now owns two apartments in a nice walk-up. Beca is only mildly envious.

She isn’t really expecting Chloe to gravitate right towards her, but she has been thinking of that kiss (and almost-something-more) at Chloe’s birthday party for the past month . And she’s sure Chloe has as well if the furtive glances she continues to shoot towards Beca are any indication.

(Their phone conversations have been strained, but Chloe is an attentive friend and cares about Beca's wellbeing above all, so she never pushes—has never pushed since they last had a hard conversation after the tour.)

But still, neither makes a move. Beca can see Aubrey glaring at her from across the room.

It isn’t that she and Chloe have been totally distant from each other. Their texts have become more frequent and increasingly flirty in ways that Beca had missed. After the USO tour, she wasn’t sure she’d ever interact like that with Chloe again.

But their lives have kind of evened out. Chloe is pretty much done with the first year of veterinary school and Beca’s almost done with her album. It’s weird to see her face on magazine covers and to have to engage in interviews, but it’s pretty worthwhile having Chloe send her excited text messages and photos of magazines whenever she spots Beca’s face.

The miss yous and heart emojis are a nice touch.

Beca nearly drops her phone when she hears the unmistakable clang of somebody climbing down the fire-escape steps. Glancing up, she catches the barest hint of familiar red hair and torn jeans.

Briefly, Beca wonders who she pissed off in a past life.

“There you are,” Chloe says brightly, once her feet touch the ground. She sways a little and Beca immediately stands to help her right herself, lest she topple right over the edge of the railing. Chloe heaves a breath and smiles gratefully at Beca.

Beca frowns, taking in the flush on Chloe’s face and the way her eyes shine brightly.

“Can you just...be careful? What if you hurt yourself?” Beca asks before she can stop herself. She sighs, running her hand over her face as Chloe makes herself comfortable.

“I was looking for you,” Chloe replies, a little petulantly. She pushes her forehead against Beca’s shoulder in an attempt to nudge her. The touch alone makes Beca nearly recoil completely. “Why have you been avoiding me?” Chloe continues, voice muffled against Beca’s jacket. Whether she means over the past few hours or over the past four weeks, she doesn’t clarify, so Beca doesn’t offer a response.

Beca wants to laugh, however. Her brain isn’t working quite at full speed at the moment, because of the double hit of intoxication - both alcohol and Chloe Beale have similar effects on her. Willing herself not to snap at Chloe, she inhales sharply, trying to ignore the way Chloe’s breath feels against her neck. How Chloe’s breath smells a little like her favourite red wine.

Speaking of–

Beca glances at the wine bottle in Chloe’s hand. “You swiped that from the party?”

Chloe seems to brighten upon noticing that Beca is engaging with her in conversation. “Yeah! Want some?”

It is somehow so familiar and so devastatingly Chloe that Beca’s chest aches for a few moments as she takes in the graceful tilt of Chloe’s neck and the high flush on her cheeks.

The attraction reverberates through Beca like a persistent ache.

She isn’t sure what she is meant to say to Chloe. Not when all this air hangs in between them. The air is thick, rife with all the things that remain unspoken.

This uncharted territory is anxiety-inducing for Beca – perhaps for them both. Chloe for all her confidence and charm is surprisingly shy and insecure – a fact Beca came to know with time during their romance and even further back, their friendship. So now, Beca is keenly aware of how Chloe’s foot taps out a nervous little rhythm from where she sits beside Beca, both of them leaning back as comfortably as they can.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Chloe asks again, softer and less accusatory. “And not just now . Since—” her voice wavers. “Since Europe. The tour. Since my birthday. Since always.”

“Chloe,” Beca says, sharper than she originally intends. She leans back, resting her head against brick. Good, she thinks, hoping against hope that her brain connects with her mouth and leaves her heart out of the equation. Beca takes the chance to look at Chloe then, wondering if there are parts of Chloe that she doesn’t know—if there are things that Chloe holds close to herself, like secrets that Beca will never get the chance to know.

Chloe looks like she might say something, so Beca holds her breath, waiting for the onslaught of ash and tainted air. Instead, Chloe’s brow furrows and she takes another swig of wine straight from the bottle—a long one—before she offers the bottle to Beca, eyebrow raised expectantly.

Beca accepts.

— — — — — — — — — —

It doesn’t take long at all. Chloe’s is hot against her neck, from where Chloe has turned her face and her lips brush ever so slightly against Beca’s skin. July in New York means the weather is hot, but that is nothing compared to the heat that spreads from the wet, open-mouthed kiss Chloe places against Beca’s neck.

Beca turns more fully to face Chloe—to question her, really—but she finds her own body automatically reacting to Chloe’s proximity. Her hands are cupping Chloe’s cheeks before she realizes what is happening.

“Please,” Chloe murmurs against her mouth.

Beca was always rotten at saying no to Chloe.

And like clockwork, Beca’s heart pounds erratically when Chloe’s eyes fix on her—when Chloe locks her gaze on Beca with intent and purpose.

“Fuck it,” Beca mumbles.

— — — — — — — — — —

Beca thinks she whispers “I love you” into Chloe’s ear.

She thinks it might be between orgasms - between their attempt to move to the bed and Chloe shoving her against the door of Amy's guest bedroom. Together, they maneuvered past countless bodies, ignoring anybody who tried to speak to them. Give me this one night, Beca thinks desperately.

She feels it so deeply and knows it to be so true and honest - the fact that she loves Chloe Beale with everything in her even if the way they’re fucking each other might kill them both.

She loves Chloe and she can’t hide it because it hurts too much. She never should have tried to hide it.

All at once, memories from the year before come crashing back, slamming down walls Beca thought she fortified.

— — — — — — — — — —

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Beca asks. Demands. She feels hot and angry and upset all at once, watching Chloe make her way slowly across the room. Away from her. Defensiveness is her go-to in moments like this because it feels like too much at once.

At that, Chloe turns around, her own eyes alight with something almost unrecognizable. “Do you know how long I wanted this from you, Beca? How long I waited and waited until it—”

Beca’s heart pounds. “Until what,” she repeats, a little hollowly. “You waited until the last possible second?”

“Ask me to stay,” Chloe says instead. “Tell me you want me to stay and you want me. That you’ll still want me while you’re in L.A. and I’m holed up in Philly. I’ll stay with you. Wherever you go.”

“You can’t stay,” Beca says weakly even though what Chloe asks of her isn't completely off-base. “Chloe, what the fu—Chlo,” she tries desperately. “I would never ask you to stay. I would never stop you from…” she gestures vaguely. “Vet school,” she says half-heartedly.

“That’s crap and you know it. Tell me to stay.”

She doesn't. She can't.

— — — — — — — — — —

She doesn't tell Chloe to stay, but it isn't her fault, not entirely. It's kind of hard with Aubrey banging on the door and demanding that they make themselves available for fireworks.

Beca catches a hint of a smile on Chloe's face.

(It ends up being the inspiration she needs to really finish up her album. She doesn't want to dwell on the past.)

— — — — — — — — — —

August

It’s Amy’s birthday (supposedly), so Beca can’t really find an excuse not to come. She’s trying to be a better friend and all.

And Chloe is Chloe, so she’s one of the first people to hit “attending”.

It is inevitable that their paths would cross again, sharing the same friend group. It takes everything in Beca to muster up the willpower to drag herself out of her temporary New York apartment—her new summer digs and all—and over to Amy’s apartment, which happens to be in the same building. Walking up a couple flights of stairs has never been a more nerve-wracking activity.

Beca immediately makes her way over to the laptop in the corner, taking in the songs Amy has lined up on her playlist. She fiddles with the order a little, glancing up a few times to take stock of the room.

“She’s not here yet,” comes Amy’s clear voice.

Beca jumps, nearly knocking the laptop clean off the shelf. “Amy,” she greets. “I was uh…looking for you. Happy birthday!” she exclaims, injecting real cheer in her voice before pulling Amy in for a hug.

“Thank you,” Amy replies brightly, though her tone does nothing to belie the suspicion. Beca tries to ignore the suspicion in Amy’s eyes. Most of the Bellas know that Beca and Chloe had a falling out, but they don’t know the extent, which, well…Beca supposes that’s the whole point of a secret fling.

Beca swallows and steadies herself before she manages to lift her eyes to look at Amy once more. “Drinks?” she requests finally, hoping the rasp in her voice stays out.

“Sure, right this way, my little DJ.” Amy wraps a firm arm around her and suddenly Beca is being very nearly hoisted through the crowd. “You got the playlist I sent you right?”

“Yes, I’m confused as to why you sent to me though.”

“Aren’t you DJ-ing my party?” Amy asks, mild confusion coloring her tone.

“I guess I am now,” Beca says after a moment. She’s not exactly going to pass up the opportunity to drink in the corner while staring at a long list of music and shuffling songs out of order.

“Not too famous yet, huh?” Amy jokes.

��Nope,” Beca says quickly, refocusing on Amy’s laptop.

Especially when the alternative is to stare at a certain somebody from across the room with incomparable longing.

— — — — — — — — — —

Chloe’s eyes meet hers from across the room and like a sharp bolt of lightning, Beca finds herself as stiff as a board because Chloe still has that effect on her. Especially with the sharp, vivid memory of Chloe’s lips against her own; Chloe’s hands on her body. Her body tenses even more when she realizes Chloe is making her way towards her. Beca attempts to pretend as if she hadn’t been staring at Chloe for the better part of the evening.

Beca has zero idea how Chloe plans to manage their newfound friendship now with all their history between them. Even now, with Chloe looking at her with bright blue eyes—open and filled with emotion—Beca can’t help but have very…decidedly not friendly thoughts about the woman standing in front of her. Philadelphia has evidently been kind to Chloe, kinder than Chloe’s social media posts have let on. Her hair is longer and her cheeks are just a bit rosier, but eyes are the brightest Beca has ever seen.

So she makes her way out onto the fire escape and climbs down to her own apartment, breathing a sigh of relief at the instant solitude she feels.

“Hi,” Chloe greets from above, having followed Beca like she anticipated.

Beca glances up quickly. "Hey," she replies, willing her racing heart to calm down. Chloe makes quick work of the steps and is soon standing next to Beca.

Chloe looks like she is about to step forward into Beca’s space for a quick moment—a quick moment like so many before—and Beca’s body just reacts . Her skin starts to tingle, her lips part and her mouth dries, and every single body seems to light aflame. Her hands twitch by her sides because every last instinct wants her to move forward; wants her to push into Chloe’s body; wants her to put their lips together.

It feels like a craving at least—a desperate need to fill something that has remained empty for too long. Her emotional reserves are plentiful and her body aches to remind both herself and Chloe of what they had.

(One month apart is entirely too long.)

From the way Chloe continues to gaze at her as the silence expands between them, Beca thinks maybe kissing her wouldn’t be a completely horrible idea.

The clang of the bottle against the fire escape startles Beca but before she can say anything or ask Chloe anything, Chloe all but has her pressed against the hard brick exterior of the building and her lips are sliding sloppily against Beca’s like the last few weeks never happened—like they spent no time apart at all.

Beca’s hands automatically grip Chloe’s hips as best as she can, twisting her body to face Chloe more fully. Chloe hums quietly into their kiss - a sound Beca has missed so terribly. It sends both a jolt of sadness and arousal through Beca, forcing her to tighten her grip in the fabric of Chloe’s shirt.

A part of her desperately believes they should stop—that this is wholly inappropriate considering the delicate balance of emotions they’ve struck up between them since that last night in France. Since that last night in June. All the months before.

(But in France, that first time will always remain a pivotal moment—Beca slides her hand down Chloe’s side reverently, wonder in her eyes. She memorizes and memorizes, in awe of each touch and each sound. Everything is new and passionate, burning brightly like the embers of what could be a new love.

And she knows Chloe feels the same.)

But Beca craves this from Chloe - the affection, the touch - the passion.

Leaning further into the kiss, Beca can taste the alcohol on Chloe’s tongue - a hint of tequila and lime, red wine, and perhaps more. Beca wonders what her own tongue tastes like - wonders if Chloe likes the way she tastes still.

Assaulted by the myriad of thoughts that threaten to overtake her, Beca is overwhelmed simultaneously by Chloe’s tongue and her hands roaming freely across Beca’s body.

It’s quick, the way Chloe’s fingers deftly unbutton Beca’s jeans. Beca is suddenly conscious with the rough brick behind her head.

“Should we…” Beca clears her throat and tries to focus because Chloe’s lips are molten against her skin.

“Should we…” Chloe echoes softly, tilting her head back up to press her nose against Beca’s jaw. “I want you,” she whispers, reassurance in her voice, like she worried briefly that Beca was concerned at all about whether Chloe still desired her.

...she had been a little concerned, maybe.

Beca can only nod against the onslaught of feelings and sensation, opting to chase Chloe’s mouth with her own. She soaks through her underwear at the feeling of Chloe’s fingers skimming along the skin of her hip.

Chloe touches her surely and boldly, even though Beca thinks they absolutely shouldn’t be doing this in full view of a public street. Yet, for once, the streets are quiet and only the sounds of Amy’s party echo from above them. Everybody is involved in their own lives—their their own parties. Nobody is looking up. All Beca knows—all she can feel is the sure, steady glide of Chloe’s fingers against the front of her underwear. She barely resists from taking Chloe’s hand and shoving it straight into her underwear, but even if she wanted to do so, her body is rendered immobile for the time being.

Chloe has that effect on her: the effect of being rendered completely helpless because all she wants to do is give herself to Chloe over and over again, even if her heart cries out for some relief.

Beca thinks she curses or at least that something escapes her, but Chloe’s fingers are persistently rubbing at her clit through her underwear and her mouth is latched onto Beca’s jaw.

It’s hard to think, not while Chloe’s fingers hold no rhythm of their own. They bump and push at Beca’s clit in time with the hot pulse between her legs – like Chloe knows enough about Beca’s body to intuitively feel out how close Beca is to her orgasm already.

(Kissing Chloe always was enough to bring her simultaneous ecstasy and joy.)

Chloe’s breath catches occasionally, when her fingers slip down – down to slowly rub and drag Beca’s ruined underwear between her distinctly swollen folds. Her hips buck up and she briefly wonders what would happen if they happened to fall to their death.

She can’t process much else because she’s clamping her own hand between her legs, stilling Chloe’s hand. She just needs Chloe to stay – to stop for a moment because it feels too good and she wants it to last –

Beca’s not sure how long the ache between her legs lasts, but before long she’s coming apart in Chloe’s arms, eyes nearly crossing from the white-hot pleasure that rushes through her. Her clit throbs and licks against the fabric of her now embarrassingly damp underwear.

“I— fuck ,” she breathes out, trying to get something articulate to leave her lips, but Chloe’s hand, still warm and wet, finds its way to her jaw and grips it tightly enough that Beca’s eyes fly open, only to see the fresh desire in Chloe’s eyes.

“I want you,” Chloe mumbles again, leaning in to kiss Beca so thoroughly and steadily that Beca almost forgets they’re drunk. Almost forgets that they’re on the fire escape of her shoddy rented New York apartment because she lives there (because she had jumped at the chance to live there because it brought her thousands of miles closer to Chloe Beale) with her pants partway down her thighs. Almost forgets how uncomfortably wet her underwear is. She jolts, her thigh brushing against the cold leather of couch. “So much,” Chloe continues, voice strained and desperate.

“I want you, too,” Beca chokes out, between kisses. Chloe’s death grip on her jaw loosens and they’re collapsing back into each other, a collision of alcohol-warmed bodies, fuelled by the pain of missing each other to the point of devastating heartbreak.

It’s not a lie. She wants Chloe to the point of frustration. Frustration with herself, frustration with everything about their situation.

And yet, she can’t help herself from sinking into Chloe’s kiss, her familiar touch, her familiar nips and bites across her skin.

“In-inside,” Beca manages to say between Chloe’s increasingly frenzied kisses. “We should go-“ She barely manages to halt Chloe’s hand from sliding back between her legs. Instead, she intertwines their fingers, tries to slow down. “We should go inside,” she manages to clarify.

Chloe pants out against her mouth and nods so slightly that Beca almost misses it. She only feels the barest brush of Chloe’s lips against her own - the marker of Chloe’s nod - before she’s drunkenly pulling Chloe inside the room. Chloe has the sense of mind to grab the mostly empty wine bottle. She drops it on one of Beca’s side tables and they barely make it over the couch before they’re a mess of limbs and badly-aimed kisses. Beca’s back hits the couch, but only barely and they’re both kind of collapsing onto the ground with soft thumps.

Beca fumbles with Chloe’s hair and clothes in a scramble to push up off the ground. “Bed,” she tries to say, but Chloe’s lips are forceful and passionate. Instead, Beca’s sure she only manages to make some kind of garbled moan because Chloe’s fingers are pinching insistently at her nipple and Chloe’s lips are latched onto her neck.

Before Beca can do much else, Chloe is pushing herself off Beca’s upper body, breathing heavily. Beca can make out the desire in Chloe’s eyes. She can also make out the smudge of Chloe’s lipstick and the swell of her lips. She opens her mouth to tell Chloe how pretty she is, but she halts, watching Chloe’s hands tremble as they pull her pretty blue shirt over her head. Beca swallows, leaning up on her elbow to watch Chloe’s progress. Chloe pulls her jeans down, lifting off Beca momentarily to do so. It’s less graceful than either of them anticipates because she very nearly rolls off Beca to do so, kicking at her legs in a desperate attempt to remove her clothing.

Beca reaches (eagerly) for the elastic of Chloe’s underwear, desperate to see all of her again - desperate to relearn Chloe’s body. To her surprise, Chloe bats her hands away and moves to pull down Beca’s already unbuttoned pants all the way. Beca bites her lip and sits up further to help Chloe by pulling off her own t-shirt, tossing it somewhere behind her. She doesn’t remember taking off her jacket, but she’s sure she had it on earlier. Nothing matters, however, because Chloe is draping herself back over Beca’s body, tangling one hand firmly into Beca’s hair and letting the other grip Beca’s hip with almost bruising pressure.

Beca wonders if there’s anything new about Chloe’s body – if there’s anything new about the curves and lines and everything in between – based on the time they’ve spent apart.

Beca moans into the kiss, desperate to feel more of Chloe. She fumbles under Chloe’s bra, trying to find purchase on Chloe’s breasts, squeezing the flesh as best as she can. Chloe’s nipples are hard against her palm and she presses, almost giddy of the familiar feeling (and of the knowledge that she fully manages to incite this reaction in Chloe Beale, still. She craves the feeling of skin against skin, but before she can do anything (not that she could say anything with Chloe’s tongue in her mouth), Chloe is grabbing her wrists and unceremoniously shoving her arms above her head.

“Me first,” Chloe mumbles, eyes nearly crossing as she leans back down towards Beca’s face. Their eyes meet; their breaths intertwine.

Beca can only nod.

— — — — — — — — — —

The rest of the night passes in a series of heated, passionate moments.

Chloe’s thumb is perfectly pressed against Beca’s clit through her underwear, while the rest of her hand is splayed out against the front of the lace. Occasionally her nails scratch at the lace, but Beca can barely feel all of that compared to the sensation of how wet Chloe is against her thigh. Chloe bites her lip, grinding down hard against Beca’s thigh while also using her own thigh to press against Beca through her underwear. With her other hand holding Beca’s thigh up and helping her leg wrap around her hip, Beca can very nearly almost feel Chloe’s pussy grinding against hers, with each upwards brush.

“Please,” she chokes out. “Chlo-”

Chloe’s eyes flash and suddenly she disappears. Beca cries out at the loss and tries to sit up.

In her haze—her Chloe-induced haze—she briefly registers the loss of warmth, before her legs are being pushed apart and suddenly Chloe is staring back at her from between her legs. The sight makes Beca collapse back and she only just drapes her arm over her eyes when Chloe licks her right through the goddamned ruined lace.

It’s a special brand of torture, feeling Chloe’s tongue nudge and prod at her through the lace. She’s soaking through the underwear anyway - she’s sure it clings to her like a second skin. The lace is rough against her – so rough and persistent. She swells with pleasure, trying to squirm up against Chloe’s mouth. Trying to get Chloe to slip beneath her underwear.

She just wants Chloe’s tongue inside her - she just wants Chloe to fuck her like she did before, that night when everything screamed of potential and before Beca had been too scared and wasted it all away.

Instead, Chloe is sucking her clit through the lace, the duality of how wet the material feels and yet how distinct it feels makes Beca’s entire body buck up and into Chloe’s face again . Every sensation renews the sheer lust she feels, building and building until she can’t stand it any longer. She immediately yanks on Chloe’s hair, unsure of when her hands even found their way into Chloe’s hair.

Chloe concedes and lifts herself back up. Her body covers Beca with heat and endlessly soft skin while Beca awaits the return of Chloe’s lips to her own.

When presented with Chloe’s mouth, she holds Chloe’s face close and licks her tongue into Chloe’s mouth as best as she can, tasting the bits of herself that she left behind.

In her haze – somewhere between alcohol and lust – she thinks she hears Chloe’s moan; she thinks she feels the way it reverberates through her body and settles somewhere at the back of her mind. She desperately tries to cling on to each memory as it passes through her with each swipe of Chloe’s tongue; with each harsh suck.

Then, a sigh against her inner thigh and Chloe's ministrations are slowing to stop. "I love you," she whispers, so softly that Beca nearly misses it.

But then she can't do much else than gasp for breath and stare at the plain, white ceiling.

I love you, too.

— — — — — — — — — —

"Stay," Beca murmurs, pulling Chloe's arm as she moves to leave the warmth of her bed. "You can stay for one more night, right?"

Chloe pauses and turns, her eyes the softest Beca has ever seen them. "I can stay as long as you want me to."

Beca smiles, her vision blurry with unexpected tears. "I've only ever wanted you to stay with me. I was just stupid about it for too long."

"I can do that," Chloe promises. She cups Beca's cheek, but makes no move to wipe away her tears. "I'll do that for as long as you need."

And that means the world, for there was a time where Beca thought she had exhausted all of Chloe's time. But, as with most things, Beca learns how wrong she was.

— — — — — — — — — —

September

Beca is mildly uncomfortable when she wakes up.

...For many reasons, though she assesses that the primary reason appears to be that she’s sleeping on a cheap mattress and her arm is trapped under Chloe’s body. Grimacing, she attempts to roll her shoulders a bit, but winces when that action causes a twinge of pain.

Twisting her head, she catches sight of a tangle of red curls and the smooth, gently freckled back she had come to know so intimately.

Her heart thuds in her chest, as she twists her body in an attempt to gently extricate her arm from under Chloe’s side. Chloe is breathing steadily and slowly, an indication that she is still asleep.

She wonders if Chloe dreams of her still, like Beca does; if Chloe dreams of all the things they could do in the future–

(How close that all came to being could have done; how close that came to being would have done. )

Beca pauses in her maneuvering to reach out with her free hand to trace the gentle red lines across Chloe’s back - the remaining marks of Beca’s fingers scratching down the smooth expanse of skin the previous night. The echo of Chloe’s breath hot against her ear and the grip she had maintained on Beca’s thighs rise to the surface, but Beca tamps them down, almost lazily.

She just wants to be.

Sighing, Beca turns to cuddle into Chloe’s back fully, basking in the warmth she receives from how close she feels to Chloe at that moment. She tucks herself close, brings her arms up against the smooth skin of Chloe’s back.

Warmth finally fills her chest.

— — — — — — — — — —

When Beca wakes up again, her lips are pressed loosely to Chloe’s shoulder, both of them still in the same position, though this time Chloe has Beca’s hand in a death-grip and pressed tightly against her chest as she slumbers.

Tentatively, Beca curls her fingers, blinking awake when their fingers neatly intertwine, settling against each other neatly and perfectly.

Without thinking, she kisses a trail up Chloe’s shoulder and leans up so she can press a gentle kiss against Chloe’s neck, warm from the ray of sunshine that comes through Beca’s window. It must be mid-day or at least late morning.

Chloe’s body stiffens as she awakens, but Beca isn’t afraid. “Mm,” Chloe moans out. “It’s too early, baby. Go back to sleep and stay in bed with me.”

Beca smiles into the curve of Chloe’s shoulder. “Gladly.”

— — — — — — — — — —

October

“Do we need to book a ticket for your girlfriend?” Theo asks her offhandedly while they’re planning her agenda for the next few months until the end of the year.

Beca is startled. “Girlfriend,” she echoes.

“Yeah. Chloe, right? Red hair. Taller than you, but not by much.”

“Yeah, no—that’s her. It’s just.” A slow smile spreads across Beca’s face. “She is my girlfriend, huh?”

Theo doesn’t bother responding to that. “Okay so I’m just gonna set aside a ticket for her and she can call me to set up flight details if she wants. You can call me later.”

Beca hangs up with a smile on her face.

Chloe exists her ensuite bathroom, drying her hair. “Who was that?”

Beca stands, reaching out to take Chloe’s towel so she can dry her hair for her. “Just Theo being nosy and asking questions about my girlfriend.”

Chloe grins. "And who might that be?"

"Maybe the person who bought these ridiculous matching costumes for a party we really don't have to go to."

— — — — — — — — — —

November

"My dad's like...super happy I'm dating you," Beca says, going for casual. "So would you like to spend Thanksgiving with my family this year?"

The way Chloe tears up and nods enthusiastically is anything but casual.

— — — — — — — — — —

December

They’re snowed in, but Beca isn’t complaining.

“What if you’d met somebody last year?” Chloe asks. “And then we tried that whole being friends thing. Which totally didn’t work, by the way.” She kisses Beca’s neck. “You’re still one of my best friends though.”

"There was like one person," Beca murmurs. "But nothing."

Beca had thought about from time to time. There would be people who caught her eye during that period when she and Chloe weren’t really anything. Before they’d kissed again. She imagined having to tell Chloe she was seeing somebody, the same way Chloe had kind of told her about that kind-of-sort-of-not fling. She wondered what it would have felt like—to be able to have another option. “I guess you wouldn’t have been trying to kiss me all the time,” Beca sighs.

Chloe sighs as well, with some amount of exaggeration. “Bummer.”

“I'd feel bad for them, though,” Beca says, keeping a straight face.

Chloe looks up, alarmed. “Why?”

“Because they’d have to compete with you,” Beca says and she finally cracks a smile. But she isn't laughing or making light of the situation. Just amazed that she's there at all, with Chloe tucked into her side.

Chloe doesn’t reply, but she does gently tilt her head up and kiss Beca’s chin, before maneuvering ever so slightly so she can reach Beca’s lips.

It relaxes all the muscles in Beca’s body and she lets herself get pushed back into their pillows, the solid weight of Chloe’s body gently covering her own.

Beca relishes in the strong pull of Chloe’s fingers and the confidence of her lips as they work their way down Beca’s body with stark familiarity.

Their conversation is forgotten as together, they ring in the new year.

fin.

#bechloe #pitch perfect #fanfiction #beca mitchell #chloe beale #my fanfic #mine #queue

127 notes · View notes

bubbyleh · 4 years

Text

it was arrogance to think you knew how to handle this - chapter 3

hey chapter 3 baby. title is based on me thinking there’s a lot of letter t in this chapter, mostly from writing tommy’s name. also, tommy time! as always, check down my blog for ao3 link

chapter 3: this chapter is brought to you by the letter t

The pattern continues. Benrey breaks into the human's house in some inconceivable way, or appears outside when he least expects them. Each time, Benrey asks for him to hand over the half-Fae, and they're quickly forced out. Once, the human even hit him over the head with a broom, which hurt a lot. But so far, Benrey hasn't been able to really talk with this guy, and it's so annoying.

Benrey sits on the back of a giant dog, arms folded as their friend does them the kindness of giving them a ride back home. Tommy had been there to pick up Benrey after they, yet again, failed to get the half-Fae. He'd tried to initiate friendly conversation, asking Benrey what they thought about the weather and telling them about their latest read. But instead of responding, Benrey had crossed their arms and looked at the ground, so Tommy stopped talking, at least until Benrey had piped up on their own.

"Man, I don't fucking get it," Benrey mutters to themself.

"Get what?" Tommy asks, looking back over his shoulder.

"This... this guy, man!" Benrey huffs. "He's like, so insistent on keeping the kid!"

Tommy turns his attention back to guiding Sunkist through the woods. "Y-yeah?"

Benrey groans, their head falling into their hands. "I don't understand why he just... won't hand over the baby! He won't even listen to me!"

"How many times has he kicked you out, now?" It's more of a reminder to Benrey than information Tommy needs.

"Ten."

Benrey vaguely recalls something about the definition of insanity Tommy said once.

They're both quiet, the only sound being Sunkist's paws crushing sticks and leaves as she trots forward. Glancing towards Tommy, Benrey can see his brow is furrowed in the way it gets when he's thinking very hard. Benrey falls in on themself a little bit, because they had assured everyone in the village they could do this on their own.

The moment they think it, Benrey realizes that they're actually pretty close to the village. They're not looking forward to the pitying looks they'll receive from the others when they realize that, yet again, Benrey has returned empty-handed.

Without meaning to, a trail of Sweet Voice escapes from Benrey's mouth, beginning with a stark white and ending with a deep blue.

"White to blue means you don't know what to do," Tommy states automatically, used to playing translator. He pauses for a moment. "Why don't- don't you come to my house?"

Benrey really isn't up for interaction right now, especially when they're pretty sure Tommy is going to spend the whole time they're together trying to cheer them up. "I dunno." They look off into the woods and slowly begin to slide off of Sunkist. "Think I wanna... wanna lay on the ground. Here. For a few centuries."

Tommy frowns. "I- I don't think not dealing with your issues makes them go away." He catches Benrey by the edge of their shirt before they fall completely off.

"Yeah, no. You're wrong," Benrey counters. "Let me go. Wanna be dirt."

Benrey feels bad when Tommy sighs heavily. "How about," he says, slowly and carefully, "you come to my house with me, and I'll... let you sit on my shelves?"

It's a tempting offer. Tommy does NOT like when Benrey shrinks down and messes around his house. Something about them being more of a hand full when they're closer in size to one. And what Benrey loves most of all about Tommy's house is their shelves, and they would be a fool to pass up the opportunity to climb them.

"Yeah okay."

- - - -

Benrey swings their legs off the edge of on of Tommy's bookshelves. It is fun to be in high places when you are a small thing, they think. This bookshelf was located next to a window, near Tommy's desk, where Tommy sat as the two of them chatted.

They thought they were lucky when Tommy said they could sit on his shelves, but then Tommy starts talking about how nice the Sweet Voice is, and how they're very good friends, and he appreciates having Benrey around because they're the only other "young" Fae in the village, and oh god, is Tommy buttering them up?

"You know," Tommy says before Benrey can do anything. "I think it's really- really admirable! That you want to handle the Fae kid on your own. But..."

There it is.

"Tommy, I don't need your help."

"And I'm not offering it!" Tommy puts his hands up. "I'm just making a suggestion."

Benrey parrots, "A suggestion."

"Yeah!"

A suggestion is not... necessarily help, so Benrey is willing to listen. Besides, maybe some outside insight will help Benrey realize what exactly is going wrong with their human encounters, because they surely can't figure it out. "Okay, let me hear it."

There's a brightness to Tommy's eyes that Benrey almost attributes to relief. "Well, you said that the human doesn't listen to you, right?" Benrey nods. "Well I've found that it's very helpful to get your points across with written communication!"

Benrey blinks.

"You mean, like, I should carve my reasoning into his door?"

"No!" Tommy shouts. "You should- you should write a letter!"

"Yeah? Why?"

"Because... because when you write letters, it's like," Tommy struggles for a moment. "It's like all your reasons are already there! So you explain yourself all at once and don't get interrupted."

It's the first change of pace to Benrey's methods, which says more about Benrey's stubborn nature than Tommy's ingenuity. With Tommy's guiding hand, Benrey is able to sit down and write what can only be described as the most compelling piece of literature ever penned.

- - - -

hey human guy

it's me. the fae that keeps showing up to your house. my name is benrey, and no you can't have it.

that's a joke. you can't actually physically take names like me.

i just think it's really unfair that you won't hear me out bro. like i'm trying to tell you things but you don't listen. i was telling my friend about how you don't listen to me and he agreed with me that you're an unreasonable little crybaby. he told me to write you a letter because then you'd see everything i wanna tell you at once.

okay so like. i really think you should give your kid to us.

i get you feel like you have to keep it, because you made it, but the truth is you don't? like there are a lot of nice people here. some old guys. it's not like we'd be mean to the dude, if anything, this is one hundred THOUSAND percent better than your house.

like, no offense, you don't know how to raise a fae. you're gonna mess it up, bro, so you better just leave it to us. we can take it.

love forever benrey

Benrey watches from behind a tree as the human reads the note. When he drops the letter and retreats back into the house, Benrey lets themself hope for a moment that it may be a sign of defeat. But then he reemerges with a lighter, and before Benrey can realize what he's doing, he sets the letter on fire.

It looks like he's crying.

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #gordos feetman #gordos freeman #benrey #tommy coolatta #sunkist #my writing #it was arrogance to think

15 notes · View notes

jokertrap-ran · 4 years

Photo

(未定事件簿) 莫弈 [剧情: 第1章] [Tears of Themis] Mo Yi Private Story Translations (Chapter 1-5)

*Tears of Themis Masterlist / Mo Yi’s Masterlist is under construction. *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *In which, Ran attempts Chinese… *(y/n) is your name when in direct referral; otherwise referred to as MC.

Location: Mall

Mo Yi: (Y/n). You're here.

I had just walked into the entrance of the mall when I caught sight of Mo Yi, standing on the stairs.

The sunlight refracted strangely on his silvery hair and his golden eyes were full of happy mirth, as intoxicating as champagne itself.

MC: Sorry to keep you waiting, Doctor Mo.

I had actively pursued the term PUA yesterday but came up pretty short, with a bucket full of questions. I had originally planned to give him a call, in a bid to have him explain the foreign term to me. However, I didn't expect him to be one step ahead of me, calling first.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

MC: Doctor Mo? Did something happen for you to be calling me this early?

Mo Yi: I apologise for having disturbed you during your rest.

Mo Yi: I've subjected Lin Yunyun to Sand-play Therapy, proceeding your findings. There's been results.

Mo Yi: She has unconsciously selected a couple of tools which has a strong aggressive image whilst laying them out.

Mo Yi: However, her aggression is a form of self-protection. Her heart is one that's extremely fragile. Hence, she is doubting the value of her existence.

MC: ...She doubts her own existence? Is this why she turned to self-harming?

Mo Yi: That's right. Based on the results of this, we can say that Lin Yunyun has suffered mental abuse from that boyfriend of hers. And that she has lost the ability to save herself from her own person.

Mo Yi: She is like that of typical PUA victims. Most of their Sandboxes tend to turn out the same way.

MC: PUA stands for Pick-up Artists, right? I've researched about it, but I'm not entirely clear about what it entails...

Mo Yi: Some things are hard to explain in just a mere line or two. How about we meet up if you've got the time to spare?

MC: Sure. How does the mall sound? It's along the way for both of us.

Mo Yi: Alright. I'll get ready to leave immediately.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

I thought that I'd be the one to arrive first since I lived closer to the place, but Mo Yi was already there before me.

Mo Yi: I've only just reached as well. I apologize; I couldn't really explain everything to you over the phone call this morning.

Perhaps the topic he was about to approach next was a grave one, for the gentle expression on his face darkened.

Mo Yi: Lin Yunyun's boyfriend utilized the typical techniques of PUAs. I thought they had already broken off with each other.

MC: I looked it up yesterday, but isn't PUA just a way for introverted boys to improve their emotional intelligence?

Mo Yi: At first, yes. Back when it was first founded.

Mo Yi: However, PUA started diverging from its original intention along the way as it developed; from a method of actively changing oneself to a means of satisfying one's selfish desires.

Mo Yi: Men who find themselves unpopular in real life use PUA to create different personalities for themselves. Emperors, Prodigal Sons, Poets...

Mo Yi: Equipped with a complete set of varying personalities, it is easy for one to build up a facade in the virtual world.

MC: Prodigal Sons and Poets are easy enough to understand on their own, but what exactly is an Emperor?

Mo Yi and I were walking alongside each other and I could occasionally feel the eyes of the passerbys on us.

He only smiled at my question.

Mo Yi: The Emperor persona in the harmful version of PUA is something that's different from the well-known concept that the public attributes it to.

Mo Yi: They look as if they're doing well for themselves on the outside. But after successfully netting a girl, they'll reveal that they didn't come from a good family background, and that they've always been looked down by others.

Mo Yi: A hardworking, motivated man who has suffered but yet succeeded in life. This image is one that simple girls will fall for with no problem at all.

MC: But it's not like girls are stupid either. Why would they fall for something so obviously fishy and flimsy?

Mo Yi: This might come as something rather sudden, but I wish to hear your thoughts on me, (y/n).

MC: Huh? My thoughts...? Someone with a successful career...a very good and talented Psychiatrist? I don't think any ordinary person can live up to what you have.

Mo Yi: I see...so that's what you think of me.

A lonely look suddenly appeared on his face.

Mo Yi: I'm not as great as you think I am. I am but a stupid bird that had flown the nest too early.

Mo Yi: No one really appreciated me in the past, but their attitudes all changed once I worked hard and got some achievements under my name.

Mo Yi: The title of being a genius has never belonged to one like me. I can only hope that there'll be someone who doesn't care about titles by my side. Someone who appreciates me from the bottom of their heart, supports me and sees me for who I am.

MC: ...Doctor Mo...I...I didn't know that you came from such a situation.

I didn't know how to react to his unexpected revelation.

MC: I cannot become the person by your side...but you'll always have my support; so you're definitely not alone.

After hearing my answer, Mo Yi's saddened expression of loneliness faded and morphed into that of a quiet smile.

Mo Yi: And you've just fallen for the trap of immoral PUA schematics.

MC: Huh!? Wait, you...you were just acting???

Mo Yi: That's right. People tend to feel a kind of compassion, wanting to help those in a disadvantaged position. This is especially so when a mature person shows their fragility in front of them.

Mo Yi: This immoral version of PUA takes advantage of this kind of mentality, using it as a way to score.

MC: ...And here I thought I definitely wouldn't fall for something like that.

Mo Yi: Now, if I were to carry on with this method that the immoral PUAs use, I'll continuously try to demean your self-confidence. And eventually, deny you of your own value and self-worth.

Mo Yi: And when you feel worthless before me, working so very hard to gain recognition...

Mo Yi: You'll become a complete puppet in the palm of my hand.

MC: A puppet in the palm of your hand...You mean, Lin Yunyun also fell for something like that; that's why she's slowly edging towards suicide?

Mo Yi: Yes.

MC: ......

The "Person" will lose their sense of self and forgo their own opinions; entrusting themselves to a fake person and would choose to sacrifice themselves on a single command. This wasn't love; this was voluntarily lowering oneself to a slave towards the other party.

Mo Yi: This twisted form of PUA causes devastation. It turns a girl, brimming full of life, into that of a puppet, or even a pet. One that satisfies their own selfish desires.

Mo Yi: It leaves them begging the other party for mercy under the facade of this so-called love.

He suddenly lowered his voice and bent down slightly. The couple of silvery, moonlight-like strands fell out of place as he bent down. Seeing them dangling before my eyes made me tempted to reach out and grab onto those scattered strands of moonlight.

Mo Yi: True love will bring hope and light into a person's life. It'll turn them into a much, much better person than before.

The distance between us was so close that I could catch a whiff of the scent that lingered on his clothes without even trying.

Mo Yi: You might meet the one that'll turn you into a better person at any point in your life, but you might not realize it at the time.

Raising my head, I could clearly see the looks of warmth and gentleness that resided within his eyes. And reflected in those depths, was me.

MC: ......

I patted myself on the cheek, trying to snap my slightly confused brain that had found itself momentarily attracted to Mo Yi out of it.

MC: What if the girl manages to see the man's true colours? We might be able to put a stop to it before it goes too far.

MC: Is there a way to deal with men who are PUA? I want to help Lin Yunyun get rid of him.

Mo Yi: Men who utilize the methods of immoral PUA are normally not satisfied with having just fulfilled a single goal.

Mo Yi: They're well-versed in hunting for targets. Especially young girls who've never fallen in love or those who've been emotionally hurt before.

MC: That's to say that I can chat him up and pretend to be interested in him?

Mo Yi: I am still unable to ascertain just how far Lin Yunyun's boyfriend has taken the PUA methods to. Thus, it'll be dangerous if you choose to take action now.

I couldn't help but to feel a little embarrassed at my insistence of wanting to take the initiative when I had just fallen for Mo Yi's invitation of immoral PUA not too long ago.

MC: ......

Just as I was thinking how to approach this mysterious boyfriend of Lin Yunyun's, Mo Yi suddenly spoke up.

Mo Yi: How about we act as a couple, (y/n)? That way, it'll be easier to lead the snake out of the hole.

Mo Yi: And I'll have a reason to stay by your side and watch the other party's every move, effectively preventing you from facing any danger whatsoever.

MC: P-Pretending to be a fake couple!?

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-3) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-6)

#Tears of Themis #Mo Yi #Translations #Otome #未定事件簿 #莫弈 #Mo Yi Private Story #Tears of a Personal Psychiatrist

6 notes · View notes

another-mexico-oc · 4 years

Text

The most used Mexico´ cliches in fanfiction and comics (And surely this can apply to any other OC)

Traducción en Español: AQUÍ

DISCLAIMER:

This post DOES NOT intend to throw shit and attack specific authors or their work, so out of respect we will not mention names. If you have read my other posts you will know that this only has the purpose of entertaining and to give a personal opinion.

Also, this does not intend to be a manual or guide on how to write a good comic or fanfic. It is only a compilation of repetitive elements found throughout these works.

Now, let's continue ...

Hi! How are you doing? I hope you are safe at home, and in case you have to go outside take your precautions.

I have been in Hetalia's fandom for more than a year, and the Countryhumans' less than a year, and both my cousin and I have seen and read enough material from Mexico's OCs, enough to compile in a list the most popular cliches when reading a fanfic or comic which involves this character. As I said at the beginning, this is not a guide of what to do and what not, but we invite creators to find new ways to tell the same stories (or even new ones) differently and to not fall into the predictable.

( Perhaps it is because in my university career one of my teachers was very demanding with coherent scripts and stories, and that she tended to review them 10 times before giving the approval, that I became very demanding with the creation of stories and characters. But that's my personal issue! )

Sarcastically, this should be called "The clichés that cannot be miss for your Mexico´ story" :

1. The Mexico´OC was created ONLY to be the love interest of another character (the author's favorite):

In the same way, the author´ comics and fanfics will be of the romantic genre, and it will involve his favorite ship (or his various ships if he/she is a multi-shipper). Making a brief conclusion, there are few works in which Mexico stands out as a character, without having the love interest, or the famous harem, as the main plot.

And if you were curious, here is a chart that shows the most used ships in the Hetalia´ case, although in 2020 it may have slight changes:

(Denmark and Norway?! I have never found any fic about them being paired with Mexico)

2. María Sue and Gary Estuardo:

More cliché this could not be. Even when I´m mexican myself, I realize that the representation of my country has received the Mary Sue treatment by the fandom, both in Hetalia and in Countryhumas, and mostly by the latino and mexican community. I already talked about this HERE, but I'll summarize it:

Regardless of whether Mexico is a man or a woman:

- They will be the center of the universe, all the characters will kiss the ground they step on, they will be the most cute person in the world, without flaws, and their greatest virtue will be his or her ethereal beauty that will make everyone to fall in love with them, with just an eye blink.

- It´s never their fault and they will never face the consequences of their actions, e.g. causing WW3. What's even more, he or she is just a poor victim of the evil countries that want to take advantage of his/her territory.

- Having got laid or dating half of the world will not cause them serious consequences or a negative reputation.

- Personality? Oh my, that´s very complicated to write, instead I will narrate how my female Mexico arrived at the restaurant with a dress that highlighted her feminine attributes and how her long and abundant hair made more than one person to sigh; Or how my male Mexico wore tight pants that showed his perfect toned legs, and that when he smiled he made blush every country.

If it was a parody, I'd accept Mexico to be a Mary Sue or a Gary Stu. But usually the authors want you to take the story and the character seriously. So... nope.

3. Plots taken from soap operas, or telenovelas:

Believe it or not, there are authors who have admitted that their Mexico´ fanfics are based on mexican telenovelas. And the worst thing is that telenovelas have the most cliche stories in the world! Think about it, you have a good and humble, but kind of dumb person, who in this case is going to be Mexico, who falls in love with a handsome and rich person, who will obviously be a first world country, but there is someone who wants to finish their romance. You also have forced marriages, fights, misunderstandings, slaps, super dramatic scenes, passionate scenes, cheesy titles...

Mix all this elements together, and you will get:

For comedy purpose, we will be using my OC)

4. The fanfic or comic always, ALWAYS, has to start with a world meeting:

I propose a challenge for you and your friends. Gather together and search for Mexico fanfics, no matter the fandom where you all came from. Take a shot, or put a coin in a jar, for every time the first chapter begins at a meeting.

And almost always it is here where the author builds the romantic story, examples:

“It was a normal day in the boardroom, everyone was arguing while Germany (United Nations if it is a Countryhumans fic) tried in vain to put order and discipline. Only a nation was waiting for a certain person with brown skin and delicate features, to enter through that great door… ”

“Suddenly, a brown skin girl with black and curly hair (Seriously guys, where did you got the idea your average mexican girl has natural curly hair?!) entered the room, and the entire room went silent. Everyone who was there had something to do with that young lady, and seeing her there, turned into a full woman, left them stunned. She was gorgeous.”

Another cliché, but this one can be in any story, is: "Realizing that it was getting late, he got up, took off his pajamas, groomed, combed his hair, and put on his yellow shirt with his ...". There are several ways to start the story without the famous world meeting and the character's morning routine.

5. The harem and love triangles (or any other geometric shape):

This cliché could not be missing either. There are a lot of Mexico x TheWorld´ fanfics. As I said before, I am not against the shipping and the harem of Mexico, each one is free to ship whatever they like, as long as there is respect between the community.

But even when an author wants to focus on a single couple, let's take for example Canada x Mexico, he necesarily has to include USAMex and RusMex as secondary couples, and at some point it gets exhausting and reforces the Mary Sue treatment. It seems that for many authors, Mexico's international relations automatically translate into a “romantic relationship”, and not into a friends or business partners one.

And also, the construction of the relationship it feels sometimes very empty. The author doesn't give time to show how they become a couple or how they found the chemistry in the other. In the third chapter they are already making out!

6. The toxicity:

Oh yeah.

I don't blame this clichá, my cousin and I concluded that healthy relationships are rare in Hetalia and Countryhumans. Practically all countries have one or two flaws that at first sight makes them look toxic. And in Mexico's fanfics and comics, particularly those involving USAMex, the character gets involved in a possessive and codependent relationship.

If Mexico is not a dominant male or a femme fatale, it will be a submissive character who will allow all kinds of abuse. Or in each chapter he or she will doubt about his/her relationship, and will make their partner jealous.

To write a healthy relationship, you must work on the characters' strengths and make them both face their flaws, but instead, the authors take these flaws and make them the basis of the relationship.

7. The party´ chapter in which things get ... heavily crazy:

Okay, so we have our first chapter at the world meeting, where we establish the main couple. Now what we need is the stage for the lovebirds to confess their love ... while being drunk. In many works we will find the countries gathered at a party (usually a Latino party), and the author will narrate all the crazy events that occur, including how Mexico and his sweetheart, will confess their feelings after having taken a few bottles, and sometimes this gets to ...

8. The chapter (or chapters) + 18

This is almost a requirement for many fanfic´ writers, and is always written in the same way. The author will narrate you in detail from the moment they begin to undress until the climax moment.

9. Spain will never stop calling Mexico "New Spain", despite the fact that more than 200 years have passed since the country's independence and its recognition:

And in the case of Hetalia, Mexico must have the same last name as Spain: Hernández Carriedo. Yes, in the same way that United States last name is not Jones, but Kirkland, like its ex-colonizer England; or that Belarus last name is Braginski as his brother Russia, and not Arlovskaya.

Also, although Spain continues to call Mexico "New Spain", he will never call Argentina "Rio de la Plata" or Colombia "New Granada". Similarly, England and France will never call America and Canada "13 Colonies" and "New France" respectively. It seems to be something exclusive for Spain and Mexico.

10. Repetitive references and jokes, or lack of knowledge about the country.

Paco the chihuahua dog, Mexico and Sudamericans fighting over the avocado´s name, Mexico having flashbacks of his/her past with the Aztec Empire and with the USA when they were colonies, Mexico complaining about his/her rulers and corruption within the country, Mexico crying over Texas, Mexico demonstrating his/her beautiful culture to other countries …

Not to mention when someone makes an Mexico OC and his knowledge of the country is very basic: tacos, sombreros, Day of the Dead, always hot climate, the wall issue with America, Aztec and Maya as the only ancestors of Mexico, Texas, burritos... Sorry if I sound rude but, those people need to read and investigate more, and watch less movies where Mexico has that yellow filter.

11. Bad translations

Okay, this is something exclusive of the spanish speaking fandom, but I´ll tell you what´s their issue.

Some author had the brilliant idea to make the dialogues of the countries in their respective languages, followed by placing the Spanish translation in parentheses, and from there many followed suit. The problem is when you notice that they don´t speak or understand the language, and instead they use the Google translator, obtaining results like this:

There have been several occasions when I am reading America and England´ dialogues, and it makes me want to write in the comment section: “DON´T USE THE GOOGLE TRANSLATOR! ” I wouldn´t know what to say from the rest of the countries, since my French is very basic,and I have hardly learned one phrase from the others languages.

My advise for these authors is to find a person who is fluent in the language and who can help them with the dialogues. Or even better, try to avoid this cliché, because at the end of the day people will only read the translation, and it is already implied that each country speaks in its respective language. Also doing this is very pretentious.

The less you can do is to add in the dialogues well know words, like adiós, hola, bonjour, ciao...

12. Changing the canon personalities. Or worse: turn a loved character into a villain.

I already said this HERE too. Basically, for the author to make his Mexico an empathic character and to make other countries to fall in love with him or her, they must conveniently change their canon personalities. This applies more in Hetalia than in Countryhumans, since this last one belongs to the community and nobody can establish what is canon and what is not. On the other hand, in Hetalia the characters already have their own personalities, and neither plays the role of villain. And there is a big difference between being an antagonist or a villain, but I´ll let you to investigate it yourself.

This cliché is closely related to the Mary Sue treatment, because if I want readers to empathize with Mexico, I must turn another character into an evil person who is going to put him through hardships. And normally this character is the United States or America, whatever you call him.

If I want Russia or Germany to fall in love with Mexico, I must rewrite their characters and throw out the unstable part of Russia, and Germany's little experience regarding romantic relationships, just to make them the most romantic and sentimental people in the world.

✥ ✥ ✥ ✥ ✥ ✥ ✥ ✥

There you have it! I think I already roasted 80% of Mexico fanfiction and fanart, but is not like they are going to dissapear with this post. On the good side, for every time I cringed reading some of these works, I have saved a good amount money, you must try it. I should try an aside blog where I criticize bad fanfiction... But at the moment, that´s all for today! See ya!

#mun says #personal opinion #hws mexico #aph mexico #hetalia mexico #countryhumans mexico #fanfiction reviews #clichés

25 notes · View notes