#not to act as canon compliant or as an accurate character study

[mechazushi]

After the Fall {AN ACTUAL SHORT STORY THIS TIME} [Kaiju No. 8] (Could be considered as possible Ep11 spoilers; interpreted artistically)

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"Kafka Hibino." Captain Mina Ashiro started, "No. Kaiju Number Eight. I am taking you into custody." She leveled her gun to him. Her voice as steady as her hands, taking care not to let an ounce of sadness that had filled her soul melt her outward resolve. The companies were distraught and heavily wounded. Most of the infrastructure in the training area had been reduced to ash. An arched border line had been etched into the pavement around them. One side was mostly intact with spider cracks in various locations. The other side was a pale, dusty mess. No surface from the border and beyond was traversable with all of it being splintered, jutting, and uneven.

At the peak of the arch stood a half dissolved monster, melting back into a man. When the flecks peeled off and drifted into the remnants of the wind, a face began to emerge. Kafka Hibino, the former member of the Third Division had ousted himself as the elusive Kaiju Number Eight. He stood stone still, letting fragments of his alter form slough off as he never took his eyes off his captor. He wanted to think he knew what she was thinking, that this is just protocol, that there was no place in her heart that harbored ill will or intent. Mina wouldn't use her gun against him, right? They could still be friends, that he could still fight for his spot at her side.

He couldn't tell. Mina was unreadable as ever and Kafka couldn't blame her. He had been reprimanded enough times to know that this was just how she had to be in front of others in the Division. Her place wasn't a position where she was afforded the leeway to be physically emotional. Emotion was considered weakness, and she had to be strong for the others. To the officers, she was being seen as a strong captain, standing against a Daikaiju threat. It didn't matter that this was Kafka, that everyone had seen that it was Kafka who made a harrowing choice to save the lives of thousands. All they saw now was a monster, no matter how human and familiar its face was.

"Hoshina. I need you to cuff him." Captain Ashiro commanded. Hoshina heard, but was refusing to act. He couldn't bring himself to look at the situation in front of him. A man he trusted, a man he had considered as a friend and compatriot, was confirmed to be a threat to the world. Hoshina wasn't sure at the beginning what Kafka's circumstances were. He knew that things were off, but he chose to ignore them. The whole reason for letting Kafka join as a cadet was so Hoshina could investigate him, and he failed to do even that. All because he couldn't look past his smile. How could a man with a smile so bright and genuine ever be a threat to others. He didn't believe it, refused to believe it. He wasn't going to slap cuffs on a man that didn't have a threatening bone in his body.

But was he a man? Everyone saw Kafka gain impossible speed. They all saw Kafka, as a kaiju, blast into the sky and launched the bomb to a safer distance. Was Kafka a kaiju now because he was strong and dangerous? Or was he still a man because he understood sacrifice? Kaijus didn't need to deal with pesky feelings. They didn't have to worry about what others thought of them. All there was in kaiju minds was to eat and destroy. Kafka could express emotion, and has expressed desire outside of destruction. If Kafka knew that others would turn and run in fear if they knew what he was and what he could do, why did he do it anyway?

"Hoshina." Captain Ashiro commanded again, dislodging her Vice Captain from his thoughts. He still didn't want to do this, still choosing to believe in the man behind the monster's mask, but it wasn't a good idea to make the Captain repeat herself. Reaching into his side pouch, he dug up one of the plastic handcuffs that most officers are issued with. They were issued with the intent that defense members might encounter people taking the opportunity for ransacking during invasions and could preform arrests until the offender could be picked up by proper authorities. Hoshina walked up to Kafka and held the industrial zip-tie in his hands. Every neuron in his skull felt like it was screaming in retaliation, making his hands hesitate in the action of placing Kafka under physical arrest. He almost wanted to laugh. Did anyone here actually think that these meager restraints could hold back a person with a registered fortitude rating? Kafka slowly held out his wrists in front of him, looking like a toddler that was expecting a ruler to come down on them in punishment.

"It's okay. I know." Kafka whispered imperceptibly to him. His head was bowed solemnly, but he looked at Hoshina as his face remained ever reassuring. He almost felt like slapping the look off of him. How dare he act like this. How dare he try to be apologetic and caring for others in this situation. Why couldn't he be an asshole and run, fight, do anything to save himself. For god's sake, why can't he be selfish. Having to deal with a daikaiju on the loose would have been less gut wrenching than having to send a fellow soldier to an uncertain fate.

"Captain Ashiro, I can explain-" Reno Ichikawa was shouting as he came barreling over the fallen debris as nimbly as possible. Following behind at a much slower pace was Kikoru Shinomiya.

"Save it Officer Ichikawa!" Ashiro barked at him, "Telling by your outburst at this time of all places, tells me you have some knowledge on this as well." she holstered her side arm now that Kafka had been successfully restrained.

"You too, Shinomiya. Hoshina told me about his suspicions about how you managed to neutralize the honju at the acceptance trials earlier this year and with you showing up behind Ichikawa here, I can assume that you're in on this too." She began to wordlessly direct those around her and made moves to stand behind Kafka and Hoshina.

"Okonogi, send several vehicles over to the training area. We have multiple wounded and a lot of tired soldiers that I think would rather drive than walk back to barracks. Leader Ebina, gather some of your people and start marking a path through the rubble so we can transport the wounded."

"Roger that, Captain. Do you want me to send an armored vehicle for Kaiju Number Eight?" replied Okonogi. Captain Ashiro looked hard at Kafka, now back to appearing completely human and in the plastic cuffs. Hoshina was looking right at the captain. Blood had stopped dripping down his face minutes ago, but it was still clear that he wasn't in any shape to fight anything more powerful than a mouse right now. She took in the fact that his hands were placed gently on top of Kafka's limply curled fists, a sight that Kafka couldn't pull his eyes away from.

"No. Leave the armored vehicle for now. We might need it to be fueled and stocked for whatever happens tomorrow." Ashiro replied back after serious consideration. With most of the Division looking the way it did, and the person most capable of going head to head with a daikaiju of small size looking like death warmed over, she acknowledged the fact that Kafka; or Kaiju Number Eight, she hadn't stopped her brain from fluctuating between the two, hadn't taken the opportunity to bolt for the hills. She figured if he was going to try anything, he would have as soon as she leveled her sidearm at him. In the bright moonlight over head, she could see the person she once considered a friend chuckle noticeably.

"Thanks for that, Captain Ashiro. Those trucks don't have the best air condi-"

"Save it. I don't want to hear another word from you tonight." Captain Ashiro commanded. She could clearly see the word's effect on him as he visibly flinched at her sharp tone. As the officers around her got into position and steadied their hands on their rifles, she pointed her finger off over Hoshina's shoulder, indicating that they should start moving. Kafka's feet regretfully began to shuffle around to face the direction he was supposed to go in, but when he tried to take an actual step he hissed loudly and nearly collapsed to his knees onto the pavement. Hoshina didn't think for a second as he rushed forward to catch him before he landed, propping himself under Kafka's broad chest and grabbing his shoulder to keep him balanced. The chorus of six safety switches all clicking off in unison could be heard behind the two of them.

"Shit- Sorry, sorry! Knees were locked." Kafka said, glancing over his and Hoshina's connected bodies.

"Sorry." He added, seemingly addressed to no one in particular.

'Maybe that was addressed to all of us.' Hoshina thought as he helped Kafka readjust to his feet. Once he felt okay enough to walk, he began to move forward at a sluggish pace. It was clear to Hoshina that he wasn't walking slow on purpose, and that it really must have taken a lot out of him to propel himself into the air and sucker punch a twenty kiloton yoju bomb into the lower stratosphere. Hoshina kept a hand on Kafka's upper back as he gently guided him through the path Ebina's team had marked earlier. With the moment they were in being as quiet as possible, save for the occasional echoing crash of broken rubble hitting the ground all around them, Hoshina took a second to think.

'I mean, when you think about it, that should be enough to knock the wind out of anyone capable of doing that in that sort of situation.' He stunned himself with the words in his head. How could he even try and logic out what a man with the power of turning into a Kaiju was even qualified to accomplish? This whole situation was absurd and he hated it. He hated everything in that moment. He hated Kafka for putting himself in danger, he hated Captain Ashiro knowing she was only doing her job, he hated himself because he was the one who told Kafka not to get attached to others on the job because God only knows what could happen and here he was, feeling attached knowing damn well that he was going to feel like shit because he was basically loosing the best damn thing this Division had going for it!

Hoshina couldn't writhe in his personal hell for much longer as the group had made it to the busted doors of the training grounds. The remnants of his fight with Kaiju Number Ten as well as debris from the explosion had all been pushed to the sides as best as possible. A few tents had been erected to preform triage and separate the barely scratched from the mortally wounded and treat them appropriately. A rotating convoy of open air trucks and military jeeps were set up at the far end of the street carrying the tired and lightly wounded to somewhere else on base for rest, if it was available for most. All activity seemed to slow, almost stopping in some areas as Kafka led his paltry parade showcasing his imprisonment through the masses. It almost felt like a display of a man being condemned. Okonogi pulled ahead of the line in her own commandeered jeep and pulled it to a stop in front of Kafka and Ashiro. The captain told the six behind her to grab a vehicle for themselves and follow close behind, before wordlessly hopping into the passenger seat of the car. As Hoshina hopped in the exposed backseat, he could hear Kafka groan and hiss as he settled into the spot on the bench next to him.

"Hssssss, haaaa, hoooo. Wow, sitting down. A novel idea. Who knew?" Kafka talked exhaustedly as he fumbled with the lap belt using his restrained hands.

"Miss Okonogi, not to presumptuously assume your driving skills, but you mind being careful and avoiding potholes and barricades on the way to my cell. I'm gonna take a nap." Kafka's head slumped unceremoniously against the metal bar framing the back of the jeep and immediately started to breath heavily, almost as if he was asleep already. His closed eyes meant he didn't get to see Mina's irritated glare she sent his way before she took the clipboard that Okonogi brought with her. Hoshina rested his elbow against the car's sidewall and placed his face in his hand, staring at an unaware Kafka.

'He's asleep. This no good, dirty, rotten, lying, mutant Kaiju bastard is asleep?' Hoshina thought angrily. As he felt the car move forward and tuned out Captain Ashiro and Okonogi's conversation, he realized all he could think about in that moment was him.

'A man saves an entire base and this is how we thank him.' Hoshina's inner monologue continued. He knew he wasn't the only one here who felt like this, and when the news got out in the morning he was sure lots of others were going to have mixed feelings on this as well. Arresting him was for the best, he knew that as well. Good intentions or no, human or no, it didn't change the fact that Kafka can become a kaiju. The whole purpose of the Divisions was to eliminate kaijus. The fact that Kafka was allowed to breathe, let alone sitting in the back of a car with the two most powerful people on base at rock bottom of their best, spoke volumes about how crazy and fucked up these circumstances were. Protocol was kill on sight, and Kafka knows this. Yet here he was, sleeping the rest of his freedom away.

'It wouldn't be hard, either.' Hoshina thoughts continued, 'I may not be able to put up a good fight at the moment, but we can assume he's mostly human right now. He's asleep and tired, which means he's vulnerable' He played with the tip of the handle connected to his sword. 'I could end it all for him right now and he wouldn't be wiser.'

But he wouldn't. Hoshina couldn't lay any hand on him with deadly and harmful intent behind it, now and forever. Monster or Human, it didn't matter anymore. Nothing could ever change the fact that Hoshina had one percent of trust in this man right now. And he wondered if Kafka could feel that too, because why else could he be so blissfully asleep right now.

'He's not going to be like that for long.' Hoshina thought bitterly. The protocol was kill on sight for honju and yoju, yes, but that stopped at daikaiju. they were killed like any other threat, but whatever that was left of the body after the fight was sent off for research. Research and experimentation. Hoshina knew that it was a snowball's chance in hell that the leaders of the Defense Force were just going to let them keep Kafka on base, but were they going to let Kafka stay alive and intact? Hoshina could feel his heart be poisoned and start to cramp up at the thought. He had to look away for a moment , lest tears started to mix with the blood and stain his cheeks even more. It took several sharp breaths and a solid minute of mental filing to help his chest feels normal again.

Hoshina tried to take another look at the mystery that was his fellow soldier. A face as still as a forest pond, covered in already healed scratches. Light from the moon created soft shadows on his eyelids and neck. flickering and shifting in tandem with the shakes and jolts coming from the moving jeep. His worker's tan looking more pronounced than it usually did. Kafka looked stoic and peaceful, which created a stark contrast to the unearthly and demonic visage Hoshina has associated with Kaiju Number Eight. It was an awful situation Hoshina found himself in.

On one hand, he wanted to come across the bench and hold him. Whisper calmly in his ear that everything was going to be okay. That he won't have to worry about whatever that's going to come for him in the morning. On the other hand, he wanted to be the one that was being held. To have all those sweet and empty promises whispered back at him, to be told that things would be fine for him too. Kafka won't have to leave the base, that this whole kaiju transformation business was just the concussion talking, and the base will be back to operational in no time at all.

None of those things were going to happen. The base reconstruction was going to take forever, Kafka was going to have to leave, and nothing was going to be fine. Hoshina turned away again, feeling the chest tightening again and wanted to keep his tears to himself for the time being. He couldn't cry now because there was a superior officer present and didn't also want to wake Kafka. He couldn't cry in the morning because he needed to be strong in the face of whatever decision that was to come down on his officer's head. As the first shifts of color indicative of the approaching dawn began to brighten the night sky, Hoshina tamped down every bit of emotion he had to let out later into the first few minutes of however much sleep he was going to get in those twilight hours.

This was going to be a rough few months, wasn't it?

[cafejulii]

I was scrolling through instagram and came across that one scene of Kurapika repeatedly punching Chrollo while on route to make the trade off with the phantom troupe, a scene that though is not canon in the manga nor 2011 anime, is in hxh 1999. I went to the comments to see what others had to say on this addition, and was disheartened to find many fans unanimously coming to the agreement, especially because of this particular scene, that the main difference between Kurapika's characterization in 1999 vs. 2011 is that he's fundamentally "more childish" or "isn't able to keep his anger repressed as well"; rhetoric that I personally couldn’t disagree with more, respectfully.

I must say, they are correct about one thing though, in my opinion; Kurapika in the 1999 version is indeed characterized differently. All of the main four are. Its actually one of the main reasons why I prefer hxh 1999 despite not it not being fully accurate to cannon with the addition of several non-canonical scenes and dialogues. Such scenarios looked upon the original narrative given, estimated what would be the missing pieces in between in order to get to the current picture, and then used a combination of both the filler and original cannon to create characters who are consequently much more dynamic than their original counterparts. All the creators have done was really just set off on a proper set of chain of events in the plot to follow their development.

(In short, hxh 1999 is akin to a very well written, cannon compliant, fanficton with a very specific focus on character study through its additional scenes)

This is one of the many reasons why I find this scene particularly meaningful, as it serves as a direct expansion on Kurapika's characterization. Kurapika is the sort to scrutinize every action he makes based on his self imposed moral structure. We see this aspect of him made clear in the hunter exam, in which Leorio asks him if he's really willing to go to the depths it would take to become a blacklist hunter, knowing this fact about him just simply from the way he talked about hunters, and why, he found becoming a hunter just for the money, unjust. Kurapika, in response, assures him, that he will do anything, no matter if he deems it morally impermissible, if it meant to find and enact his revenge on the Spiders. However, when it came time to follow through with his statement, there is an inherent hesitation made or a flat out failure to act upon it. The very first instance of this is seen when it came time for him to kill the prisoner in trick tower so that he may advance past the third phase of the exam, resulting in a further advancement to his goal as quickly as possible.

He flat out refused to do so, despite it being the easiest most logical thing to do. The man was knocked out unconscious after all. And of course, Kurapika did state that he'd be willing to do anything. So then, why didn't he do it?

Because to him, killing in any circumstance is wrong. He creates a moral paradox for himself:

Cause of Revenge= morality->guilt-> duty

Execution of revenge= duty-> abandonment of morality-> guilt

And moreover, he is horribly self aware of this fact. He knows that discarding pieces of morality for the sake of his mission will fundamentally change him. His duty will never bring him peace and he knows it. In fact, it is the opposite, for he knows it will torment him relentlessly to the point in which he either breaks, or instead, he will become apathetic to it all. The later is the result he strives for though, as to follow through with his mission, he needs to be complicit in the face of evil.

But throughout the narrative, time and time again, it is evident that such moral sentiments never leave him. Sure, he works as a body guard for some of the most notorious criminals in the underworld, so rotten that Melody even goes as far to describe them as "devils", but fails to abandon his paradox. For Christ's sake, he even said in this particular version, that he found the sounds of pain Uvogin made while dying to be so abhorrent to the point, he couldn’t fathom how Uvo does it does it at; nonetheless without feeling any form of remorse. Kurapika loathes violence so greatly that he feels revolted in partaking in it, even if it is towards the person in which inflicted violence on him first. This displays that, to an extent, he held pity for Uvo, not in the sense that he regrets his actions but in the sense they had to be done at all, yet bares this sin for the sake of his brethren. But at the heart of it, especially since so little was gained for his overall mission, he falls to the gripping weight of his actions due to the breach of morality and it overtakes him for a brief moment.

But afterwards, he must carry on regardless if he likes it or not. He must continue up until the point in which he feels indifference to every morally abhorrent thing he has to do for the sake of his mission. Yet of course, he is not there yet, and because of this it only rightfully expected that his anger would boil over due to his moral turmoil, only for him to retreat in a sort of shame directly after doing so, realizing this part of the cycle he signed up for.

And this is why he rages at Chrollo. It's simply a part of this said cycle.

He punches him repeatedly, not only for the murder of his people, but the choices that he had to make as a result of the slaughter; that he was forced to create this paradox and resort to vengeful duty in which can only be fulfilled by measures of violence. The repeated punches, to me, are not done for the sake of incapacitation or for killing Chrollo (after all he couldn't have as that would mean that Gon and Killua's lives would be lost and it's apparent he'd never allow that) but as to give the biggest "fuck you for being so senselessly violent and cruel that in order for me to enact a properly weighted vengeance for my people that I must become just as senselessly violent, just as senselessly cruel, as you are."

Utilizing violence to mourn against the use of violence; this act is the pinnacle of it. A genius, visual representation of his profound moral conflict created for the audience. This is why this scene was so impactful. This is why this scene was needed.

[petit-etoile]

even  if  the  world  collapses, i  will  be  alright

pairing: shadowheart/karlach wordcount: 3,388 content warnings:  spoilers for shadowheart's act iii quest, don't worry they get together after this other tags:  canon compliant,  character study,  introspection,  pre-relationship,  shadowheart is bad at feelings,  c.unnilingus, v.aginal fingering note:  i don't normally write pairings outside of astarion/tav.  i'm sorry if things seem ooc or not quite accurate enough.  i usually only write for a.starion/t.av so i'm nervous as to how this reads !! archiveofourown: here.

summary:  Karlach knows the truth Shadowheart wants to show her.

‘Karlach?’

Shadowheart barely understands what has brought her here. Perhaps it was the loss of a mother’s love or the emptiness of divinity flooding her bones. She shivers. She will never confess to crying, to cutting her hair off in a fit of rage. That is not her image. She was a Sharran beauty, a devout worshiper, and now…

She looks at her silver braid and tries not to feel sick. I am nothing but a confused girl, she thinks spitefully. Bile rises in her belly, and she tears her hair down before she feels weak. It hardly helps.

Karlach’s tent is large and looming, enough space for herself and all their companions if they felt like getting together. It’s warm and inviting. It’s… A safe place. Shadowheart isn’t ready for the jeers of their peers when they see what she’s done to her hair. She climbs in to hide.

Karlach is inside because of course she is. The tiefling woman is too busy singing and using a whetstone to sharpen her blade to really notice her intruder. Shadowheart almost feels grateful she can pass by as a ghost unannounced. She crams herself into the corner and wraps her arms around her knees, pressing her mouth against her leather pants, fingers clenching to avoid feeling empty. The swelling ennui is a familiar emotion  —  She could not remember the last time she had not fought against despair, not since the illithid ship, not since the Moonrise Towers.

Seeing Dame Aylin everyday was almost a vicious mockery. That the child of Selûne could stand so tall without a fear in the world but Shadowheart could not. The wound on her hand refuses to throb. If she is lost, why is the Goddess of Loss not guiding her? It was not a true betrayal. Anyone would have refused… Shadowheart still loves her or so she supposes she does. She has not known a life that did not include Shar’s teachings and her cruelty. She feels as though she’s falling into an ocean made of pitch. There is a faint part of her that is assured she will die. Her goddess wills it so.

Karlach doesn’t turn around for a minute or two. She’s busy humming a song that Shadowheart doesn’t recognize, and Shadowheart stares miserably at her spine. It makes her feel somewhat frustrated. Here a woman who had lost almost everything and is still as happy as can be while Shadowheart… 

Shadowheart is indecisive of how she feels.

She clenches her fist.

‘Just a moment,’ Karlach calls over her shoulder.

‘Take your time,’ Shadowheart replies. She’s been seen after all. She begins touching the skin around her nails, delicately squeezing and prodding them. They’re sore after her evening at the river washing sins from her hair. ‘I hope you don’t mind. The others were…loud.’

Karlach does not take her time. She sets her weapon aside and turns around almost immediately. In her haste, she seems to forget. Shadowheart watches as a thousand gorgeous sparks shine throughout her body. Her amber gaze comes to life, fragmented like stars in the sky. Karlach focuses on Shadowheart first and then her hair, grinning from ear to ear.

Shadowheart doesn’t have the time to flinch before Karlach is reaching across the distance, grabbing a strand of her hair and pulling it closer to her for inspection. She navigates the closeness of the tent on her knees, and like she’s parched, she inhales Shadowheart’s scent. It’s a communion of sorts. Her flesh is the flesh of Shar, and her blood the holy ichor. The sincerity of Karlach’s interest floods every part of Shadowheart’s body. Like Dame Aylin to Isobel, Karlch can’t seem to get enough.

‘Shadowheart, your hair  —  ’ Karlach breathes. She holds Shadowheart’s freshly dyed tresses against her nose. ‘It’s like moonlight! It’s fucking amazing.’

A compliment? Shadowheart’s throat seizes up. She wants to look away or to disappear entirely. There is nothing left that she can do besides tolerate Karlach’s awe of her. But it warms her frosty skin, and she meets Karlach’s gaze bravely.

‘So you like it?’ she asks faintly.

‘Of course I do!’ Karlach replies. ‘You look incredible, really. Like you’re the moon  —  ’

Shadowheart knows what expression contorts her face. Karlach immediately looks apologetic, eyebrows pulling together. She begins to apologize, but something overcomes Shadowheart. She doesn’t want apologies. She doesn’t want anything akin to pity. She wants release. Shadowheart leans forward and kisses her, mashing their noses together uncomfortably. It’s unchaste. It’s hostile, almost. But whatever she might feel about it, Karlach kisses her back, both hands coming to cradle the side of Shadowheart’s face.

It’s exhilarating.

Karlach is everything Shadowheart is not. Not repressed, not devout, not weak. She is larger than life and above it all. Her skin smells like warm fire and her hair always smells of chestnut and honey no matter how many she’s killed. It must be some sort of talent.

Shadowheart wants more and more. She pushes Karlach harder than she means to and while it doesn’t do much, it does cause Karlach to grab her wrists roughly. She kicks her greatsword haphazardly out of the tent flap.

‘Let’s not get hasty, Shadowheart,’ Karlach warns her.

‘Shut up.’

‘This isn’t a fight,’ she says. ‘Don’t make it one.’

‘What do you know?’ Shadowheart asks bitterly. ‘Perhaps I want it to be a fight. What good has being pious done for me? It’s all nonsense and you know it. So I say, let’s fight, Karlach. Let’s fight the way we know how.’

Karlach doesn’t say anything at first. It’s like she’s thinking of what to do next, but Shadowheart knows better. It is careful restraint to keep her infernal engine from overheating. Karlach likes the idea of a challenge, and what is a greater challenge than this? Shadowheart wants to be cruel. It might work better if it were Lae’zel she sought out, but it isn’t. Instead, she raises her chin and struggles against Karlach’s hands around her wrists playfully. Karlach knows the truth Shadowheart wants to show her.

No matter how hard she tries, Shadowheart will always be the lost girl in the woods who trembles at wolves. No goddess will cure her malady. The same could not be said about mortals whose hearts are prone to rupturing. Shadowheart wants to ignite the flame. She raises her arms above her head. She submits to Karlach’s will and watches her lights turn blue.

‘I can sit here and I can talk about my feelings,’ Shadowheart says, tone blasé, ‘or we could fuck the stress away, you and I.’

Karlach’s lips press into a firm line. ‘I  —  I want to make sure you’re feeling alright.’

‘I’m feeling about as well as anyone would,’ Shadowheart snorts. She shakes her head. ‘Do this with me or don’t, but don’t mistake me for someone who wants to lament her feelings. I’m not that kind of girl.’

‘Just for tonight then,’ Karlach says, and that’s good enough. She’s a romantic after all. A dreamer. A wish-upon-the-stars kind of woman. Shadowheart is almost jealous. ‘Tomorrow,’ she warns, ‘we talk about it.’

‘Fine,’ she says with a shrug.

Shadowheart tries not to frown. In its entirety, it is probably the best offer that she would get from anyone else. A night of careless and raunchy sex. With Karlach, too. Shadowheart struggles with the weight of it, the complexity of the offering. But it’s what she wants. It’s all she wants. She closes her eyes. Shar would have made her forsake this. Karlach’s hands are tight around her wrists, and the sound of her infernal heart beating is better than any opera. She leans forward and devours Karlach’s lips.

If Shadowheart is going to hell, she may as well enjoy it.

There’s something fascinating about being pinned down by someone who wants to be good. No whippings, no torturings, just a wholeheartedly good time. Karlach pulls her around like she hardly weighs a thing, and when Shadowheart’s back is pressed into a bedroll that smells of ash and honey, she can’t help but shiver. Karlach doesn’t command her to stay put, but she does. She’s a good listener and always has been. She waits patiently as Karlach makes quick work of her camp clothes and tries not to preen at the way Karlach swallows thickly as her nightshirt opens up and her breasts spill free. She smiles.

Karlach leans forward and mouths at her breast, sharp teeth over sensitive skin, and her hands move to focus on the task at hand at Shadowheart’s hips. She’s lifted by the curve of her ass so that Karlach can fuss with her leggings, pulling them down her legs as quickly as she can amd tossing them aside without breaking contact with her nipple. It’s too delicate. It’s too dainty. Shadowheart closes her eyes.

Karlach does not ask her ‘if she’s ready.’

For once, she isn’t treated as though she is willing to be broken or that she craves it. It’s almost a silent vow, a secret prayer. You will be ready for me. You will take it. It’s a much nicer situation than the reverse. Shadowheart has wept and wailed since they left the Shadowfell. She is done with tears. She is done being lost. Karlach sweeps her hands down her body like she’s never touched someone before  —  and, well, she hasn’t, at least not in a while. That’s a kind of hunger that can never be contained.

‘Stop being so gentle,’ Shadowheart says.

‘No,’ Karlach replies. ‘You’ll take what I give you tonight. Kindness and all.’

Shadowheart grinds her teeth. ‘I don’t deserve it. I don’t want it.’

‘We all deserve things we don’t want,’ Karlach says patiently. ‘Now shut it. You came to me, remember.’

Shadowheart tosses her head in despair. She’s almost certain she will cave into this emotion, this serenity that pours over her in waves. She is going to fade away tonight. Her hair is no longer as dark as the night. For all her talk of grandiose kindness, Karlach is rough. She pulls and digs her nails into Shadowheart’s supple flesh as if determined to take her apart and put her back together. Instead of a Sharran teaching guiding her every move, it’s instinct. The instinct to be a hero that pollutes Karlach and causes her to become something unrecognizable in the heat of battle. A howling beast. She presses her burning mouth to Shadowheart’s navel and sets fire to her skin.

Karlach begins her relentless assault. She starts by hooking her arms around Shadowheart’s thighs and lifting her hips up so that she can slot her mouth against Shadowheart’s cunt to begin feasting. It’s unprompted, it’s unscripted, and it’s so much more than Shadowheart could have ever imagined that she can’t stop the startled moan that slips between her lips. She’s lifted as though she weighs nothing. Her heart stutters.

It’s messy and frenzied. Karlach lets out an equally shocked noise, and Shadowheart searching for her eyes does more damage than good. She doesn’t know what she was expecting to see, but the hunger is better than she imagined. Shadowheart was a ripe fruit begging to be plucked, and for an adventurer, it was the finest feast of them all. Karlach’s fingers dig into her back sharply as she tries to control herself. Shadowheart hisses. The pain is welcomed.

She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to control anything. Shadowheart leans into the touch and quivers. This goodwill threatens to eat her whole. Karlach licks and sucks at her insistently. It’s almost as though she’s afraid the taste will be gone if she doesn’t indulge now. But it will be there. It will always be there. Even Shadowheart can’t tamper the flames of jealousy. And she is jealous. It buds in her chest every time Karlach smiles at someone who isn’t her.

‘You’re so wet,’ Karlach murmurs against her thigh. ‘You taste so good.’

Shadowheart squeezes her eyes shut and tries to ignore the shiver that races down her spine. She isn’t sure what it is about what Karlach said that drives her crazy. Or she does, and she just didn’t want to admit it. Despite being an astute pupil, she was never perceived as good. Karlach makes her want to be.

‘That’s what you want to be, isn’t it?’ Karlach murmurs. Her eyes flicker and Shadowbeart burns. ‘You want to be a good girl  —  ’

I don’t know who I am anymore, but the sound of Karlach’s voice rumbling to tell her how well behaved she’s being is enough to stop the torment for now. She isn’t sure how she’s going to survive the night. Her thoughts turn to dust the moment Karlach presses her tongue flat against her clit and tortures her so well that even the Mother Superior would be jealous.

Shadowheart lets out an unrefined whine and reaches for the first thing she can. She drags Karlach’s pillow and places it under her hips to relieve pressure, and then whatever little self-disciple Karlach has snaps. She devours like she never has before, and Shadowheart’s back arches so far off the bedroll she’ll feel it in the morning.

It isn’t enough for Karlach to indulge. It would be so easy to make Shadowheart come by using her tongue alone, but Karlach presses the broad of her palm against Shadowheart’s hip and slides a single finger inside as if to test the limits. Then she slides in another, and Shadowheart is already so full she doesn’t know if she can take anymore.

It’s the size difference, Shadowheart thinks. She’s always been svelte and lanky, but Karlach is muscular enough that her mind begins to wonder nastily. Karlach is able to support her weight while feasting on her flesh and doesn’t even seem to mind. It’s too much. Shadowheart thinks she might fall.

Shadowheart’s stoic disposition crumbles beautifully beneath Karlach’s hands and tongue. The frigidity dissipates as Karlach adds a final third finger, bundling so tight inside of Shadowheart that she can hardly stand it, and when Karlach sucks and twists her fingers, Shadowheart cries out so loudly she’s convinced she’s woken the entire camp. She digs her fingers into Karlach’s hair and tries to keep her hips still, but she can’t help the way her legs shake on either one of Karlach’s shoulders. So tight, she feels dizzier than she ever has.

‘Karlach  —  ’ Shadowheart says weakly. 

Karlach shakes her head and doesn’t say a thing, not even as Shadowheart comes so hard she loses her vision. She slips and falls lax against the pillow and Karlach chases her down, unwilling to let her escape too far. Shadowheart presses a hand against her chest to stop her racing heart but it isn’t enough.

Karlach over-stimulates her and giggles wickedly against her cunt, squeezing her thigh with her freehand. She doesn’t stop until Shadowheart has come again with a hoarse wail, curling on her side as if that will help her escape the never ending building pleasure in the pit of her stomach. Only once Shadowheart has come thrice is Karlach satisfied to release her in a boneless puddle on the bedroll.

Shadowheart’s body still twitches with the memory of Karlach’s fingers twisting deep. She squeezes her thighs together and tries to even her breathing by pressing her fingers against her belly. It doesn’t help. The only thing that lends any aid is Karlach’s chest pressing against back. She’s acutely aware of the differences of their stature  —  Karlach engulfs her entirely like a wildfire. She is a forest. She is the roots beneath the willows and the silence of the night. A wolf that howls at the moon.

The moon. Shadowheart pushes her sweaty bangs out of her face. She is content to rest and catch her breath as long as Karlach will allow it. It’s hard to feel kicked out of the tent when Karlach presses a tender kiss to the back of her head.

Shadowheart’s eyes open frantically. She is forced to admit what she’s always been afraid of. There is something not right with her past. She’s never chased the shadows before, but the Noblestalk had reminded her of things she never wanted to know.

‘I changed my hair,’ she says numbly. She stares at the flap of Karlach’s tent in muted horror.

‘It suits you,’ Karlach murmurs.

‘I don’t want to be in pain anymore,’ she says. She stares at her hand.

‘Is there anything I can do?’

Yes. ‘No,’ Shadowheart says. ‘Is it alright if I rest here?’

Karlach is silent for a moment. Finally she says, ‘You can stay the entire night if you want.’

Shadowheart turns to face her. It’s hard to confront the things that she’s afraid of. She looks Karlach right in the eyes and tries to relax, biting the inside of her bottom lip to keep from frowning. Every day since the illithid ship has been lived in fear. She doesn’t want to be afraid anymore. She doesn’t want Karlach to be afraid either.

‘Well, shall I?’ she asks. She reaches between Karlach’s thighs.

‘Ah, no need,’ Karlach says with a shameless laugh. She’s blushing, and the only proof is the flame that flickers against her skin. ‘I, uh, already did.’

‘Oh,’ Shadowheart hums. It hits her. ‘Oh.’

Karlach doesn’t even seem the least bit embarrassed about it, and why should she? It’s flattering, to say the least. Shadowheart folds her hands back between them both and watches as Karlach settles for the night, dragging over a fur cloak to be used as a pillow. Shadowheart doesn’t have the heart to ask what happened to the other one. She’s fine enough knowing that their rendezvous was the culprit. But as Karlach’s eyes flutter shut to rest, Shadowheart’s stay open. She realizes she doesn’t know how to sleep next to another person.

It isn’t the same as sleeping in a camp surrounded by companions. There’s no idle chit chat or laughter to distract from the fact that her only companion was Karlach. There was no flickering fire to drown out the sound of her misery. Only Karlach’s quiet breathing and the smell of the dye in her hair, the thought of starlight replacing the twilight, the memory of Dame Aylin knowing who she was. Shadowheart reaches her hand across the distance.

Her fingers bump against Karlach’s. She has the audacity to be surprised when Karlach takes her hand and smooths her fingers across Shadowheart’s skin. She braces for pain that never comes. Lady Shar really has left her. Shadowheart doesn’t know why, but it makes her throat close.

Would she ever stop feeling like a child who knew nothing? Anger burns hot in the bottom of her throat as she tries to relax, but then the fury and fear and abandonment are washing over her in waves and she sobs.

Shadowheart doesn’t sleep, and Karlach respects her wishes to leave it alone for the night. That doesn’t stop her from imagining what it would be like. Shadowheart has spent her entire life running away from the brightness of the moon, but Karlach is so beautiful beneath the pale light. It’s strange. Shadowheart has never allowed herself to want before.

It has always been about Lady Shar’s will. It has always been about following Mother Superior’s creed. This was another taste of rebellion that would have had her palms caned until they bled. It feels like this will be the only chance for freedom now that the goddess has closed her eyes to Shadowheart.

Karlach’s face is soft and slack as she sleeps. She snores too. It’s an undelightful sound. It fills the entire tent until there’s no ignoring it. Yet Shadowheart doesn’t mind. She doesn’t care even the slightest bit. She would listen to it willingly if it meant happiness.

This is one of the easiest decisions Shadowheart has ever made. In the morning when Karlach wakes up, Shadowheart goes with her. They break their fast together by a stream and take time scrubbing their bodies clean of filth. When Karlach touches the small of her back, Shadowheart smiles for the first time since the Shadowfell.

‘A smile suits you,’ Karlach tells her earnestly.

Shadowheart stares at the water. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I think the moonlight does too.’

[elamarth-calmagol]

What actually is LACE? (an informal essay)

What’s LACE?

Laws and Customs among the Eldar, or LACE, is the most popular section of the History of Middle Earth books.  It's available online as a PDF here: http://faculty.smu.edu/bwheeler/tolkien/online_reader/T-LawsandCustoms.pdf .  There’s a lot of LACE analysis in the fandom, Silmarillion smut fics are usually labeled “LACE compliant” or “not LACE compliant”, and I’ve been seeing the document itself show up in actual fics, meaning that the characters themselves are discussing it.

LACE is an unfinished, non-canonical essay split into several parts.  It covers the sexuality of elves, which is mostly what people talk about.  It also covers elvish naming (which I want to make a whole different post about), the speed at which elves grow up, changes that happen throughout their lives, their death and rebirth, and finally the legal and moral issues of Finwe remarrying after Miriel’s death.  The discussion about rebirth conflicts with Tolkien’s later writings about Glorfindel’s re-embodiment, but to the best of my knowledge, LACE is the best or only source for most of the topics it covers.

However, LACE is not canon since it doesn’t show up in the Silmarillion.  Counting all of the History of Middle Earth as canon is literally impossible, considering Tolkien contradicts himself all over the place.  It is only useful because it has so much information that is never discussed in the actual canon.  Many people consider it canon out of convenience.

Another important thing to remember is that, other than presumably the discussion of the growth of elvish children, the information is only supposed to apply to the Eldar (meaning the Vanyar, Noldor, Teleri, and Sindar) and not the dark-elves such as the Silvan elves and Avari.

The rest is behind the cut to avoid clogging your feeds.

Problems with LACE interpretations

But because it’s hidden in the History of Middle Earth (volume 10, Morgoth’s Ring), barely anyone actually gets the opportunity to read it.  I don’t think most people are aware that you can get it online, so it doesn't get read much.

I feel like this leads to a handful of people saying something about LACE and everyone else going along with it.  I definitely did this.  I was amazed by all the things that were in the actual essay that nobody had ever told me about, or had told me incorrectly.  For example, most people seem to believe that elves become married at the completion of sexual intercourse (whatever that means to the fic author).  In fact, LACE explicitly says that elves must take an oath using the name of Eru in order to be legally married.  Specifically: 

It was the act of bodily union that achieved marriage, and after which the indissoluble bond was complete… [I]t was at all times lawful for any of the Eldar, being both unwed, to marry thus of free consent one to another without ceremony or witness (save blessings exchanged and the naming of the Name); and the union so joined was alike indissoluble.

I’ve seen a marriage oath being included in a few stories recently, but most writers leave out the oath entirely and just have sex be automatically equivalent to marriage.  What would happen if elves had sex without swearing an oath?  I don’t know, but I’d love to see it explored.

Then there’s a footnote that might explicitly deny the existence of transgender elves... or not, but I’ve literally only seen it mentioned once or twice.  Overall, I feel like all of LACE is filtered through the handful of people who read it, and we’re missing out on a lot of metanalysis and interpretations that we could have because most fans never see the actual document.

Who wrote LACE?

I mean within the mythology of Middle Earth, of course.  Since LACE appears in the History of Middle Earth and not the Silmarillion, we can be pretty sure that J.R.R. Tolkien himself wrote it and it wasn’t added to by Christopher Tolkien.  But that’s not the question here.  Remember that Tolkien’s frame narrative for all of his Middle Earth work is that he is a scholar of ancient times and is translating documents from Westron and Sindarin for modern audiences to read and understand.  The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings come from the Red Book of Westmarch, and I believe The Silmarillion is meant to be Tolkien’s own writings based on his research (though it might also be an adaption of Bilbo’s “Translations from the Elvish”, but I haven't looked into that).  So what does LACE come from?

Christopher Tolkien admits in his notes that he doesn’t know.  He says, “It is clear in any case that this is presented as the work, not of one of the Eldar, but of a Man,” and I agree, because of the way it seems to be written as an ethnographic study rather than by someone who lives in the culture.  Honestly, it talks too much about how elves are seen by Men (e.g. speculating that elf-children might look like the children of Men) to be written by an elf.  This changes once it gets to the Doom of Finwe and Miriel, but that could be, and probably is, a story told to the writer by an elf who was there at the time.

Tolkien actually references Aelfwine in the second version of the text.  The original story behind The Lost Tales, which was the abandoned first version of the Silmarillion, was that a man from the Viking period named Aelfwine/Eriol stumbled onto the Straight Road and found himself on Tol Eressea.  He spoke to the elves and brought back their stories to England with him.  So it makes a lot of sense that Aelfwine would also write about the lives and customs of the elves for an audience of his own people.

Does LACE exist in Middle Earth?

I keep finding fics where first age elves discuss “the Laws and Customs” openly, as if it’s a text in their own world.  I usually get the impression that it was brought by the Noldor from Valinor.  But did the document actually exist in that time period?  For me, the answer is definitely not.

First of all, LACE was probably written by a Man, meaning it could not have dated back to Valinor in the years of the Trees, because Men hadn’t awaked yet.  In fact, the closest thing to an established frame narrative for it is that it was written by Aelfwine, who comes from the time period around 1000 CE (though Tolkien doesn’t seem to have pinned him down).  This is at least the fifth age, if not later.

But what if you don’t believe that it was written by a Man?  It still couldn’t have been written in the First Age, because it discusses the way the relationship between elves’ bodies and souls changes as ages go by.  For example:

As ages passed the dominance of their fear ever increased, ‘consuming’ their bodies... The end of this process is their ‘fading’, as Men have called it.

A lot of time has to go by in order for elves to get to the point of fading.  As a bonus, here’s another reference to the perspective of Men. LACE also discusses the dangers that “houseless feas”, which are souls of elves who do not go to Mandos after their bodies died, pose to Men.  How would they have known about that in the First Age?  It further says that “more than one rebirth is seldom recorded” (which isn’t contradicted anywhere I know of), and that’s not something you would know during your life of joy in Valinor, where almost nobody dies.  That’s something you learn after millennia of war.  This has to be a document written well after the Silmarillion ends.

So what about the sex part?  That’s all we care about, right?  Well, it is entirely possible that this was written down by the elves and Aelfwine translated it (though my impression is that he mostly recorded stories told orally to him and that elves were not very much into writing, at least in Valinor where you could get stories directly from someone who experienced them).  However, why would the elves write this down?  They know how quickly their children grow up.  They’ve seen actual marriages.  They don’t need that described to them.  And if they did have a specific document or story explaining the expectations of them when it comes to sex and marriage, why would they call it “Laws and Customs”?  That’s a very strange name for a set of rules for conduct.  I’m sure they had a list of laws written out somewhere in great detail, like our own state or national laws (that seems very in character for the Noldor, at least).  But I seriously doubt that those laws are what we’ve been given to read. LACE is not an elvish or Valinoran document.

Is LACE prescriptive or descriptive?

Here’s the other big question I’m interested in.  Prescriptive means that the document describes the way people should behave.  Descriptive means that it describes how people do behave.  And the more I worldbuild for Middle Earth and the culture of elves, the more I want to say that LACE is prescriptive in its discussion of sex, marriage, and gender roles.

But wait.  I’ve been saying for paragraphs that I think LACE is Aelfwine or another Man’s ethnographic study of elvish culture.  Then it has to be descriptive, right?

Does it?  How long do we think Aelfwine stayed with the elves?  Did he wait fifty years to see a child grow up?  Did he get to witness a wedding ceremony?  Did he meet houseless fea?  I don’t think he could have done all of that.  Maybe a different Man who spent his entire life with the elves could, but then when was this written?  When the elves were still marrying and having children in Middle Earth or when so much time had gone by that they had begun to fade already?

Whoever wrote this was told a lot of information by elves instead of experiencing it firsthand, the same way he heard the stories from the First Age from the elves instead of being there.  Maybe it was one elf who talked to him, maybe several different ones.  But did those elves accurately describe their society the way it was, give him the easiest description, or explain the way it was supposed to be?  If I was describing modern-day America, would I discuss premarital sex or just our dating and marriage customs?  Maybe people would come away from a talk with me thinking that moving in together equated to marriage for Americans in the early 21st century.  And I don’t even have an agenda to show America in a certain way, I'm just bad at explaining.  Did the elves talking to what may have been the first Man they had seen in millennia have an agenda in the way they presented themselves?

Or did the writer himself have an agenda?  Imagine going to see these beautiful, mythical, perfect beings, and you find out that they behave in the same immoral ways Men do.  Do you want to share the truth back home?  Or do you leave out things that don't match your worldview? Did Aelfwine come back wanting to tell people what elves were really like?  Or did he want to say “this is how you can be holy and perfect like an elf”?

Anyone studying the Age of Exploration will tell you that Europeans neber wrote about new cultures objectively, and often things were made up to fit the writer’s idea of what savages looked like. For example, my Native American history teacher in college told a story of how explorers described one tribe who (sensibly) didn't wear clothes as cannibals, because cannibalism and going around naked went together in their minds and not because of any actual incident.  Unbiased scholarship barely existed yet. Even Tolkien was extremely biased and tended to be imperialistic, as we all know.  There’s absolutely no reason to think that Aelfwine wasn’t biased in his own way.  (Of course, now we have to consider what biases a Danish or English man from the centuries around 1000 would have when it comes to things like gender roles. I assume he would have been more into divorce and female warriors than the elves are said to be.)

But is that what Tolkien intended? Probably not. He probably wanted LACE to be descriptive. But he also never got much of a chance to analyse the essay after the fact, which might have led to him discussing its accuracy and even the exact issues I just pointed out about explorers. Anyway, we know he's biased, and honestly, what he intended has never slowed down the fandom before.

Conclusion

In short, I take LACE to be a prescriptive document describing the way elvish culture is supposed to be, not a blueprint I have to stick to in order to correctly portray elves.  I also don’t believe the document that’s available for us to read existed even in the early Fourth Age, where The Lord of the Rings leaves off.  There maybe have been some document outlining the moral behavior of elves, as a set of laws, but thats not the Laws and Customs we have.

Of course, canon is up to you to interpret.  If you want Feanor discussing LACE with someone back in Valinor, go ahead.  If you want to throw out LACE entirely, go ahead.  It’s not even a canonical essay.  All of this analysis is honestly useless when you consider the fact that no part of LACE exists in any canonical book.

But that’s Tolkien analysis for you.

[becasbelt]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell, Beca Mitchell/Jesse Swanson Characters: Chloe Beale, Beca Mitchell, Jesse Swanson Additional Tags: Angst, Pining, Canon Compliant Summary:

Five times Beca Mitchell was in love with Jesse Swanson, and then the one when she suddenly wasn’t.

Or

Beca and Jesse, as told through the perspective of Chloe Beale.

Title from The Paper Kites’ “Holes”

* * *

1.

Chloe really didn’t mean to get herself into this mess.

“This mess” meaning having a crush on one of her best friends.

Admittedly, she should have seen this coming. She should have known that her strange fascination with one Beca Mitchell went beyond an admiration for her incredible musical capabilities. She should have known that what she felt for Beca the moment she saw her at the activities fair wasn’t just intrigue, but attraction; attraction that would soon bloom into full-on feelings.

The thing is, Chloe didn’t know for sure if she was actually into girls until this point. She had suspected, yes, but she had felt nothing strong enough to confirm that suspicion.

Enter Beca Mitchell.

If Chloe hadn’t been attracted to girls before Beca waltzed her way into her life, she certainly was now. Though, maybe ‘waltzed’ isn’t exactly accurate for how the situation played out. Shuffled, maybe? Trudged?

Yes, trudged.

As soon as Beca Mitchell trudged into Chloe’s life, she knew for sure that she liked girls. Which was fine, she was totally okay with that. It’s just-

Beca was straight.

Supposedly straight, at least. Chloe had no reason or facts to believe otherwise. What she did know for sure, though, was that Beca liked one Jesse Swanson, and the evidence for that knowledge was sitting right in front of her.

“It’s just, I don’t know if he actually likes me. Like, we kissed at Nationals and he seemed pretty into that, but we haven’t really talked about it since then. I don’t really want to bring it up, though, just in case he regrets it and wants to forget it ever happened. Which, like, is whatever and it’s fine.”

Beca and Chloe are in Beca’s dorm room, thankfully evil roommate-free, sitting on Beca’s bed. They had originally been studying for their finals coming up- well, Chloe had been studying. Beca was playing around with a mix on her computer- when the topic of Jesse came up. It had been a few weeks since they absolutely crushed it at Nationals and emerged champions, and in those few weeks Beca and Chloe had gotten closer; a fact that thrilled Chloe for obvious reasons.

In all their time together, however, Beca never brought up Jesse, which Chloe was grateful for. When Chloe had turned around on stage and saw Jesse and Beca lip-locked, her heart had throbbed painfully in her chest and she’d had to fight to keep bile from rising in her throat. Jealousy was an ugly emotion, and one that Chloe didn’t want to feel.

She figured it would be alright. It was just a silly crush, after all. Chloe got crushes all the time. They mostly all come and go quickly, leaving behind very little heartache. Beca would be just another passing emotional fling.

Only, the feelings Chloe had for Beca were sticking around a lot longer than she anticipated, and the closer she got to Beca, the stronger the feelings for her got. Chloe was ready to wait them out, though. She couldn’t act on them, not now anyways. Beca had a Jesse (maybe), and Chloe was still figuring out her sexuality. Telling Beca how she felt would only end in disaster.

So they hadn’t really talked about Jesse much. But when Chloe saw Beca’s phone light up with a text notification from him, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. She just had to know if they were seeing each other or not. As soon as Chloe asked Beca how things were between her and Jesse, it was like a dam broke. Beca had never been much of a talker, but apparently she had things to say about her feelings for Jesse.

“I just don’t want to ruin anything before it even starts, you know?” Beca absentmindedly plays with a loose thread on her comforter as she talks, laptop pushed to the side for now. “I dunno. Should I say something to him? Ask him what us kissing meant to him?”

At this, Beca looks up at Chloe, wide-eyed and confused. It’s then that Chloe realizes that no matter how much Beca may downplay her emotions for, well, just about everything, she does feel them. And her feelings for Jesse were much stronger than she was letting on. Chloe makes a decision right then: she had to help Beca, even if it meant sacrificing her own feelings.

“You two have got to work on your communication skills if you’re going to make this thing work,” Chloe teases. Beca flushes a little, but doesn’t say anything. Chloe gives her an easy smile. “Jesse obviously has feelings for you. I’m sure he just has the exact same doubts as you do, so he’s nervous to talk about it, just like you.”

Hope creeps its way into Beca’s eyes. “So you think I should just go for it?” She asks earnestly.

Chloe hesitates for only a second before answering, “Yeah, I think you should.”

It only kills her a little on the inside.

But it’s fine because it’s only a little crush. It will pass. At least, that’s what Chloe tells herself.

The next day, Chloe gets an excited text from Beca informing her that she and Jesse talked about everything and that they had a date that evening. She also thanks Chloe for her advice, and says that she couldn’t have done it without her encouragement.

Chloe takes a deep breath and sends back a “No problem! Happy to help!” in response.

And pretends that it doesn’t break something inside of her, something that feels suspiciously like her heart.

* * *

2.

“Hey, has anyone seen Beca this morning?” Chloe asks as she enters the kitchen. It’s Saturday morning, which means it’s the unofficial-and-not-mandatory-but-kinda-totally-mandatory Bella’s breakfast morning. Chloe loves Saturday breakfast. She looks around the room, her gaze landing on Fat Amy. “Amy, is she still asleep?”

The Australian snickers a little, then says, “Oh yeah. I’m sure she’s definitely asleep, just not in her own bed.”

The room fills with snickering and various lewd comments from the rest of the girls. Chloe’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “If she’s not asleep in her bed, then where… ”She trails off as the realization hits her like a truck.

Jesse. Beca’s not asleep in her own bed because she’s asleep in Jesse’s bed. For the first time ever, Beca’s missing not-mandatory breakfast because she’s with her boyfriend. Probably asleep. Probably naked.

It’s not that Chloe didn’t think this day would come; it’s just that she didn’t think it would happen this soon. They had only all been living in the Bella house together for about two months, since the beginning of school. In that time, Beca had never spent the night anywhere other than her own bed.

Of course Beca and Jesse would have sex. They’re young, they’re in love. There was no reason they shouldn’t be having sex. Chloe just didn’t want to think of that possibility at all. Whenever the topic of Beca and Jesse’s sex life came up with the other girls, Chloe usually found some way to extract herself from the conversation. She had no idea if this was their first time together or their tenth, and she was perfectly fine with not knowing.

Chloe’s feelings for Beca had stubbornly stuck around through the summer and into the new school year, even though they hadn’t even been around each other all summer. Beca had gone home to Seattle to live with her mom while Chloe had stayed in the Bella house. Jesse had gone off to wherever he was from, also separated from Beca all summer.

(Chloe told herself that she didn’t hope they wouldn’t last during their time apart, but she definitely had hoped. The first time she saw Beca after their time apart, her excitement was immediately replaced with green sickness when Beca appeared before her, on Chloe’s doorstep, her hand loosely intertwined with Jesse’s. Chloe pretended like it didn’t make her want to throw up.)

Chloe’s feelings stuck around, but it was fine. She was fine.

At least, she was fine until Beca walked through the door that morning.

Beca wears the clothes she had on yesterday, a small smile, and a mismatched assortment of bruises along her neck. The rest of the Bellas start whooping and whistling as soon as she walks into the kitchen. Beca humors them with an awkward little bow and wave before making a beeline to the coffee pot. She glances at Chloe on the way and they make eye contact for all of half a second before Beca looks away again.

The Bellas continue to heckle Beca throughout breakfast, and Chloe does her best to ignore them. One thing she can’t help but notice, though, is that Beca is positively glowing. Chloe doesn’t know if the other girls notice, since Beca is answering their questions in her usual sarcastic, deadpan style, but Chloe can tell. Beca’s shoulders are relaxed, her eyes sparkle, and she spreads butter on her toast with a little more gusto than is typical for this time of morning. It’s subtle, but it’s definitely there.

Beca Mitchell is happy, and Jesse was the one to make her that way.

Chloe gets up and scrapes the rest of her breakfast into the trash before heading upstairs to her room. Saturday morning breakfast suddenly didn’t seem as appealing as it used to.

* * *

3.

Sometimes Chloe lets herself get lost in a fantasy where Beca and Jesse are only friends, and she and Beca are the ones in love. A world where Beca kissed her at the end of their performance at Nationals two years ago.

The thing is, it’s a really easy fantasy to get lost in, because it doesn’t all have to happen in her head. She’s basically living it.

It’s easy to get lost in that false reality when Jesse and Beca don’t show much physical affection for each other when they’re around other people. It’s easy to pretend that they’re only friends when Beca punches his arm when he makes a dumb joke, or ruffles his hair when she’s teasing him about something. Easy to believe that her feelings are recuperated when Beca chooses to sit next to her instead of Jesse at social events.

But that’s not even the easiest part.

The times she gets the most lost in the fantasy is when they’re not even around Jesse. When they’re home at the Bellas house, cuddling on the couch during movie night because Beca is so adorably grouchy and Chloe just can’t help herself and Beca doesn’t even try to stop her from pulling her in close; just grumbles for a minute before leaning into her. Or at the grocery store buying pizza rolls because Beca’s been craving them so damn much lately and Chloe has a car and she’s really never been able to say no to Beca, even though she has a test to study for, but that doesn’t matter when Beca’s looking up at her with her big blue eyes and saying, “Please Chloe? For me?”

Sometimes Chloe wonders if Beca knows how she feels. Beca will give her this look sometimes- Chloe’s not even sure how to describe it, can’t decide what emotions are going on in her eyes when she gives her the look. It’s there when Chloe grabs Beca’s hand under the pretense of not getting separated in a crowd. It’s there when Chloe skips all of her classes to take care of Beca when she’s sick in bed.

And it’s there now as they dance together at some nondescript frat party, pressed together so close that Chloe doesn’t even know how she’s getting oxygen into her lungs because all of her senses are overwhelmed with Beca Beca Beca.

She might just be imagining it, or trying to will something into reality, but Chloe doesn’t think she is. She knows she can’t be imagining it whenever Beca looks at her with that look in her eyes that’s full of contentment, confusion, and something else she can’t quite put her finger on. Fear? Clarity?

Love?

No, she can’t think that way. That line of thinking has led Chloe to more sleepless nights than she can count. There is no way that Beca Mitchell loves Chloe Beale in the same way that Chloe Beale loves Beca Mitchell.

So for now Chloe will just shove down her feelings, which she is something she has gained a real talent for, and distract herself with alcohol and the feeling of Beca’s body moving against her own. And maybe let herself indulge in the illusion that Beca is hers, and only hers.

Chloe drapes her arms over Beca’s shoulders as Beca’s hands move to grip her hips, their bodies moving in sync with each other. The crowd around them pushes them impossibly closer by the second, forcing Chloe to move her head so that she’s cheek to cheek with Beca. Chloe can feel Beca’s breathe on her ear, on her neck, and it shoots heat all throughout her body. Her entire body is buzzing, and she’s not sure how much of that is due to the alcohol in her system.

Beca’s hands move to rest on her lower back as she leans back a bit so that they’re face to face once again. Chloe’s hands unconsciously move to play with the hairs at the nape of Beca’s neck. She watches as Beca’s eyes flutter shut for half second before locking onto her own, and there’s that look again, more intense than ever before. So intense that it takes Chloe’s breathe away.

Beca’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, and Chloe has to force herself not to stare. She tries not to dwell on the fact that Beca’s eyes seem to keep glancing down at her own lips, because she knows that it doesn’t mean anything.

Beca opens her mouth to say something, and Chloe swears that she’s leaning in closer to her, and her thoughts are consumed with Beca Beca Bec-

“BECAW!”

The moment is broken in an instant. Chloe all but jerks away from Beca as her eyes clear and she turns in the direction of her boyfriend making his way through the crowd towards them.

Her boyfriend. Beca’s very real boyfriend who is breaking their very fake moment. Chloe feels foolish suddenly; she let herself get so caught up in fantasy for a moment it almost felt real. She watches as Beca beams up at Jesse as he finally reaches her, yelling something at him that Chloe can’t hear over the sound of the music and over the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. Beca laughs and throws her arms around Jesse’s neck, and just like that, Jesse has replaced Chloe as Beca’s dance partner.

All of the sudden, Chloe needs to leave this party. There’s too many people, too much heat and she feels like she’s suffocating. Chloe fights her way through the moving bodies and tries to locate the exit. On her way, she passes the fold-out table serving as a bar and is offered a shot of something. Chloe doesn’t check what it is, doesn’t care what it is; just throws it back and continues on her way.

The cool night air is a relief against her burning skin when Chloe finally bursts through the door of the frat house and onto the front lawn. She takes in large gulps of fresh air and tries to hold back the tears. Chloe glances behind her at the door, half hoping to see Beca appear in it, making sure that she was okay.

Only, there is no Beca. Beca is dancing with her boyfriend inside, utterly smitten and content. Chloe walks home alone, vision blurry and heart heavy.

* * *

4.

They never talk about Jesse.

Well, they do sometimes, in passing. Like when Chloe asks Beca what she’s doing later and Beca says she’s hanging out with Jesse, and Chloe will just say “oh” followed by a tense moment of silence that ends when one of them clears their throat and changes the topic, both avoiding the others’ eyes.

So they don’t really talk about Jesse.

It’s weird. Beca and Jesse have been dating for three years now, yet the topic only seems to get more and more like a taboo over time. It’s gotten to the point where it’s almost a forbidden subject now.

The weirdest part about it, though, is that it is only forbidden between Beca and Chloe. Chloe’s heard Beca talking about Jesse with the other Bellas, seen her be excited with Stacie over something that Jesse did for their anniversary, and watched her show a picture of him on her phone to Amy. Beca talks about Jesse all the time.

Just never with Chloe.

When Beca gets home from a date with Jesse, she’ll tell the Bellas she had a good night and maybe indulge in sharing a few details from her evening before heading up to bed. She’ll stop at Chloe’s room first, though, and check in with her. She never shares any details with her, never says how her night went, and Chloe never asks.

It’s almost like Beca knows how Chloe feels, and is just being considerate by not talking about her boyfriend with her best friend that is stupidly in love with her. It wouldn’t be a surprise if she knew; Chloe’s never been very good at hiding her emotions.

Maybe Chloe wants her to know. Maybe if Beca knew how she felt, it would lessen the near-constant ache in her heart.

So they don’t talk about Jesse and that’s weird, and Beca may or may not know how Chloe feels about her and that’s fine. They have Worlds to focus on anyways.

Focusing on the world competition has let Chloe turn all of her attention and thoughts away from Beca and towards becoming champions. It actually proved effective all year long, until they’re all standing on stage together being announced winners.

The moment they win, happiness fills every corner of Chloe’s body. She can tell the rest of the Bellas feel the same way, because they’re all jumping for joy and screaming and hugging each other. Chloe makes her way through hugging each and every one of her girls, her family, as Fat Amy snatches the trophy away from Beca and hoists it into the air with a war cry.

Then Beca’s in front of her, looking as excited as Chloe feels, and suddenly Chloe has to fight the onslaught of emotions that well up inside of her: joy, relief, love- maybe most prominently love. Chloe doesn’t realize there are tears streaming down her cheeks until Beca reaches out and wipes them away with an understanding smile, tears threatening to fall from her own eyes. Then Beca pulls her in for a hug and Chloe is home.

When they all finally make it off the stage, still bouncy and excited, Chloe considers finally telling Beca how she feels. They’ve graduated, they’ll be going their separate ways soon, and Chloe has just enough adrenaline to give her the courage to do what she’s been afraid of doing for so long.

Screw it.

She puts a hand on Beca’s arm, stopping them as the rest of the Bellas continue on. Beca raises an eyebrow at her, curiosity evident in her eyes. “Dude, what’s up? Gonna start crying again?” she teases, crossing her arms. “I told you that you should wear waterproof mascara.” Beca smirks to let her know she’s only joking.

Chloe chuckles a little and shakes her head. “No, that’s not it. It’s just- there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now.” Beca’s eyebrows scrunch together and she nods her head to get Chloe to keep going. Chloe takes a deep breath, eyes locking onto Beca’s, and goes for it. “Bec, I’m kind of in lo-“

“Jesse?” Beca’s eyes are looking behind Chloe over her shoulder. Chloe whips around to see none other than Jesse Swanson approaching them, an American flag draped over his shoulders and a goofy grin on his face. Chloe’s heart plummets.

“Sorry, Chlo, I just gotta,” Beca doesn’t finish her thought before she’s running towards Jesse, yelling things like, “You’re here!” and “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming, you asshole!”

Jesse laughs and scoops Beca up as she all but launches herself at him, her arms around his neck and her feet dangling off the floor as Jesse holds her against him. They’re laughing, and Beca buries her face in his neck while Jesse’s eyes close in content. Chloe stands in shock because this was not how that was supposed to go, watching them hold each other close.

It’s then that Chloe realizes that although home for her is in Beca’s arms, Beca’s home and heart have always been with Jesse.

* * *

5.

There are a few methods of coping with her feelings that Chloe has tried, most of them proving to be astoundingly ineffective. She’s tried telling herself they weren’t real, let herself believe that they would be returned one day, and ignoring them completely. She’s tried distracting herself with studying, excessive work-outs, and TV shows. None of them worked.

Her current method may finally be working, at least more than the others.

Dating.

Funnily enough, Chloe hasn’t really had any desire to date since her feelings for Beca grew from simple attraction to full-on love. It’s not that she doesn’t find anyone else attractive, because Chloe always appreciates a good-looking human being. Not having options isn’t an issue either, because she has been asked out plenty of time over the past few years. She’s turned them all down, even though there was nothing wrong with them. It’s just-

They’re not Beca.

Lately, though, Chloe has been basically forcing herself to go out with people. Deep down she knows that none of them will last, and she’s not actually interested in pursuing anything long-term with them, but at least she’s trying. She’s forcing herself because she’s tired of loving someone and not getting love in return. She’s trying because she’s desperate to feel something again other than pain, and if she starts something with someone and she gets her heart broken by them, at least it will be someone else that causes her pain.

Since moving to New York with Beca and Amy half a year ago, Chloe has gone out with a good handful of people, both men and women, much to Beca’s surprise. The first time Beca heard that she was going out with a woman, her eyebrows shot nearly into her hairline. Chloe had just winked at her and walked out the door.

The one good thing about all the dating is that she’s been sufficiently distracted because it’s new and exciting and something different from what she’s been doing for the last four years. The sex helps, too. She doesn’t feel quite as… frustrated as she did for a long time. It’s fun and good and it’s working.

But none of them last. Chloe always finds something wrong with them. One guy is too tall; another one’s hair is just a shade too dark. Something about one woman’s blue eyes just feels off, and another’s nose is too pointy. There’s always something wrong.

Too tan.

Doesn’t like music.

No piercings.

Not Beca not Beca not Beca.

Chloe’s walking home from a pretty good date. He was nice and attractive and funny. Did all the things someone should do on a first date. Chloe had fun, she really did. She even told him that she would love to do it again sometime.

So she has bit of a bounce in her step as she climbs the rickety stairs up to her, Beca, and Amy’s tiny studio apartment because she had a good night which doesn’t happen very often for her lately. Chloe’s humming some song she heard on the radio earlier that she can’t get out of her head while she fishes around in her purse for her keys to unlock. Once she hears the familiar click of the lock, she pushes open the sticky door with some effort, and reveals a sight that makes her gasp.

Beca is sitting on their shared pullout bed, bulky headphones around her neck and tears streaming down her cheeks. She’s wearing one of Chloe’s Barden hoodies, and based on the dark spots on the sleeves she’s been using it to wipe her tears to no avail. Chloe quickly shuts the door and drops her bag on table before rushing to Beca’s side, pulling her into her arms. Beca immediately sinks into Chloe’s side and starts crying into her shoulder. Chloe runs her fingers through Beca’s hair and rubs hands up and down her back, murmuring comforting words to help Beca calm down.

“Beca,” Chloe tries after a few minutes when Beca’s sobs have quieted down to sniffles. Beca doesn’t lift her head from Chloe’s shoulder, only burrows deeper into her side. Chloe tries again, “Bec, did something happen? What’s wrong?”

It’s then that Chloe notices that Beca’s laptop is set off to the side of the bed, opened to Skype. Chloe’s stomach drops. The last couple months have been rough on Beca and Jesse’s long-term relationship. Chloe has spent many nights lately comforting a crying Beca as she misses Jesse, telling her over and over again that it would get better, and it was only temporary and that they could get through it.

(Chloe pretended that every word she said didn’t feel like her stabbing a knife into her own gut. She also tried not to take pleasure in the way that Beca would cuddle up to her at night when she missed Jesse, because finding joy in her best friend’s pain was selfish and so wrong in so many ways.)

But Chloe had never seen Beca cry this hard before. Chloe doesn’t want to fear (hope?) the worst, but her she has a feeling deep in her gut that she knows what’s happened.

Chloe gently pushes Beca away from her, lifting her head and wiping tears from her cheeks. Beca’s honestly a mess- eyes puffy, mascara ruined, cheeks flushed, nose runny. Chloe’s heart breaks at how vulnerable she looks.

“What happened?” Chloe asks again softy, needing to confirm her suspicions so she knows how to help Beca.

Beca’s eyes are on her face, but Chloe can tell they’re not focusing on anything in particular. She’s just staring aimlessly. “Jesse ended it.” She whispers, voice cracking on the last word. “He ended us.”

More tears roll down Beca’s cheeks and Chloe reaches up to wipe them away again, keeping her hand on Beca’s cheek. She chooses not saying anything in case Beca wants to continue, which she does after another minute of sniffling. “He said the distance wasn’t-wasn’t working. That it was too hard.” Beca’s eyes suddenly flicker up and focus on Chloe’s own. “He said that I wasn’t trying hard enough to make things work.” A whimper falls from Beca’s mouth and Chloe rubs a thumb over her cheek soothingly. “He said that-that he didn’t know if he loved me anymore because he didn’t think that I loved him.”

At this, Beca crumples again, pain filling her expression as she collapses back into Chloe. Chloe doesn’t even know what to say, so she just kisses the top of Beca’s head and holds her close. Chloe knows that nothing she says right now can make Beca feel better, because she knows a thing or two about heartbreak.

She knows how impossible it is to put a broken heart back together.

* * *

1.

Getting back into a routine after a vacation is always a struggle, especially when that vacation involves touring around Europe with her favorite people in the world; doing the thing she loves most in the world.

Work had been long and tiring today, and Chloe honestly just wanted to go home and flop in bed and watch some Netflix cuddled up with Beca. Only, that wasn’t possible. Chloe had said goodbye to her that morning.

Chloe had said goodbye as in, Beca left for LA today and Chloe had said goodbye to her until who knows when. Beca had gone to live in LA while Chloe was staying in New York.

To say that saying goodbye had been hard would be putting it mildly.

It was all so unexpected, Beca leaving. 24 hours after they arrived home from the USO tour, Beca had gotten a call from Theo telling her that he was working out details and logistics for Beca to move to LA so that she could start her career as a big-shot music industry person. Three days after that most of Beca’s stuff was loaded onto a moving truck and being shipped across the country.

Two days after that she’d said goodbye to Chloe and gotten on a plane bound for the other side of the country.

Chloe hadn’t even known how to process it all. It had happened so fast that she didn’t even realize how sad she was until she was on the subway on the way to work after saying goodbye. She cried- no, she sobbed the whole way to work, getting plenty of strange and pitied looks from strangers around her. One old lady even offered her some caramel candies and a tissue. The tissue she took, the candies she declined.

Chloe’s coworkers knew that something was wrong with her, though they all seemed to sense that she didn’t want to talk about it, which she was grateful for. She was able to pull herself together by the time she got to the clinic, but if anyone had asked her what was wrong she knew she would have broken down crying again.

Chloe sighs as she pulls her keys out and starts unlocking the door to her apartment, preparing herself mentally for the sight of an empty apartment. There would be no Beca laying bed listening to crappy demos from wannabe singers; there would be no Beca working on her laptop at their tiny kitchen table. No Beca burning grilled cheese at the stove and filling their apartment with the scent of scorched bread, causing Chloe to laugh at her as she cracks open a window.

With a sniff, Chloe pushes open the stupid sticky door, looks up, and-

There was Beca.

Beca Mitchell sat at their kitchen table, laptop bag by the floor next to her chair, and the same clothes she had on her back when Chloe left this morning. As soon as Beca sees Chloe, she shoots out of her chair.

Chloe’s jaw drops. “Beca? What are you doing here?” Chloe asks, incredulous. “I thought your plane left five hours ago.”

Beca nods her head as her eyes roam all over Chloe’s face. Her feet stay firmly rooted in place. “It did,” is all she says.

Chloe’s eyebrows scrunch together, confused as to what’s happening right now. “Then, why are you h-“

“I couldn’t get on the plane,” Beca suddenly rushes out, interrupting Chloe. Chloe’s mouth snaps shut as she watches Beca start to tap her fingers against her leg. “I couldn’t get on the plane because I couldn’t leave you.” Beca says, slower and more quietly this time. Beca’s eyes lock onto Chloe’s and she takes a step forward. “I went to board, and I was thinking about how my life was going to change, and how I was finally getting what I always wanted, and imagining how my life was going to be and that’s when I realized you wouldn’t be in it. You wouldn’t be in my life anymore and I realized that that wasn’t what I wanted.”

Tears are welling up in Chloe’s eyes, though not spilling over quite yet. Beca takes another couple steps forward until she’s standing about a foot away from Chloe, who’s still standing in the open doorway of the apartment. Beca takes a shaky breath before continuing. “I’ve always wanted to go to LA, Chlo, you know that. But it wasn’t until it was within my grasp that I realized it wasn’t what I wanted most in this world anymore. It’s you.”

The tears are streaming freely down Chloe’s face now, but she can’t find it within her to care. “Beca, are- are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Beca smile is nervous but genuine as she says, “I love you, Chlo.”

Chloe lets out a watery laugh, and Beca looks disappointed and alarmed for a second before Chloe takes her hands and says, “I love you, too. God I love you so much.” Then Beca’s laughing too as she pulls Chloe in for a hug. They stand there for a minute, just wrapped up in each other’s arms, laughing like the fools they are.

Chloe pulls back from their embrace too look into Beca’s eyes, and there’s the look. The look that Chloe could never interpret, except now Chloe can clearly see what’s going on in Beca’s dark eyes. She was right all those years ago; love was the thing she wasn’t letting herself see. Chloe brings her hands up to frame Beca’s face. “Is this real?” She asks, not letting herself believe quite yet.

Beca smiles the biggest smile Chloe’s ever seen from her and wraps her arms tighter around Chloe’s back. “It’s real. If you’ll take me, that is.”

Chloe chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Oh please. I’ve already chosen you a hundred times. Who’s to stop me from choosing you a hundred more?”

When their lips meet, Chloe thinks this is a lot what feeling complete is like. Beca’s put a lot of holes in her heart over the past few years, but Chloe thinks they’re off to a good start with filling them back up again.