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neochan · 2 years ago

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THE PRIDEFUL GAMER (M)

SERIES MASTERLIST LINK | remember this is part two of a series! read part one for context!

PAIRING | best friend!haechan x reader

SYNOPSIS | lee donghyuck had the largest ego you’d ever seen for someone who stayed cramped in their dorm room all night playing video games; but when you stay in with him the night after a raging party, you find yourself realizing that ego just might be deserved.

WC | 10.8k

WARNINGS | cursing, mentions of alcohol & weed, sexual comments, hyuck shirtless and covered in paint, party games, comments abt virginity, switch!hyuck (slight sub, lean dom), sexual content (nothing too crazy).

A.N | i know you guys have been waiting for this, so i hope it lives up to the hype :) and if it doesn't - sorry

“Haechan, I need you to fuck me.”

Your reflection stares back at you in the mirror, tired eyes ringed with heavy circles and glinting in judgement.

This was fucking ridiculous.

No matter how many times you sat in front of the mirror and practiced, you couldn’t get the words out with a straight face. Even the wet dreams that plagued your sleeping hours weren’t enough to prepare you. After all, you still couldn’t believe what you were going to ask Haechan to do. Or participate in, rather.

It wasn’t that you were scared, or that you didn’t want it, because trust and believe your mind and body both craved him; it was just stressful. Asking your bestfriend to give you some dick and then go on and mind his business like nothing happened?

Unfathomable.

But it was Haechan, and something in your brain told you he’d jump at the chance to fuck you; at least you were hoping so. How could you not think that when he said things like –

“If I open the door, am I gonna see boobs?”

Case in point.

You yell back, a blush of embarrassment heating your face while you fumble around to act like you were putting on makeup and not practicing asking him for sex, “No you pervert!”

The door swings wide open and the boy in question steps into the tiny room, “That’s a damn shame.”

God Damn.

Ever since that alcohol induced dream, your body had taken the liberty of reacting every time you caught sight of Haechan. It didn’t matter if he was drunk with pasta sauce smeared all over his face after he smashed a bowl of ravioli (true story), or if he was all done up for a class presentation on the history of the toaster oven (out of all things); your body reacted the same either way.

It went further than just sight though. If you so much as smelled someone wearing similar cologne to what he normally wore, arousal bells started ringing and you had to sprint home to relieve the ache between your legs.

This time wasn’t any different.

Fluffy, dark brown hair is what you see first, gelled stylishly in effortless waves around his head, save for the small curls on the nape of his neck. When you move your gaze lower, you lock eyes with his, and a spark of curiosity blooms. Then it’s his perfect pink lips set in a cute pout, and rounded jaw that you often stared at when he ate because it made you think of how good he’d be at eating you out. The thoughts start to creep into your mind, and you have no choice but to shake them out and replace them with something else, which so happened to be his outfit…or lack thereof.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt, revealing a cute tummy with faint lines and deeply toned biceps. You’d punched him in the stomach once before, and you didn’t need to see abs to know that that man was rock solid. Multicolored neon body paint decorated his torso and back, tiny splatters here and there, but the star of the show is a lime green handprint wrapped around his throat (Jaemins probably). His black sweats also had paint on them, but his combat boots didn’t have a drop of color. If he expected to get out of the frat with them looking spotless, he had another thing coming.

“You do know the theme is neon?” His voice jolts you back into reality, and the blush that was gone finds its way back to your throat and cheeks. You were literally sitting in front of the mirror with a neon pink bralette on, why was he asking you this? Slightly, you nod. “Then why are you staring at me? I know I’m not ripped like Jen or Jaem, but come on, I can rock the dad bod!”

“Haechan. Take this with a grain of salt, but you have a decent body.”

Automatically, the compliment goes to his head, “Wanna see all of it sometime?”

Yes, please.

“No.”

A cheeky smile forms on his lips, “Thought so…”

“I’m actually surprised you’re going. Don’t you have a video game competition or something?” You stand up from your spot in front of the vanity and grab your leather jacket that was laying on the rack beside it.

“I can’t pass up free liquor. You know this.”

For some reason, your outfit seems like its missing something, and desperately your eyes are searching for it… ah! A necklace. You couldn’t go in a frat without some form of jewelry. Unable to reach behind yourself and clasp it, you hold it out to Haechan who doesn’t hesitate to grab it and push your shoulder, so your back was to him. “So, the plan is to get hammered?”

Tender fingers brush aside your hair, a spark igniting in the pit of your stomach. You feel almost giddy at his touch, and you’re not sure you entirely hate it. You anticipate more, and he doesn’t disappoint. His hands reach around your throat, the heavy pendant resting at the base of your throat while his fingers work at the nape of your neck to clasp it.

“The plan is to get absolutely drunk, find a bad bitch and fuck her till the entire house knows my name.” His voice is low, dropping right next to your ear, and the air blowing from his lips makes your shiver into his touch at your neck.

“S-Sounds like a good plan.” you whisper.

What was this boy doing to you?

“Wanna help?”

“H-Help? Help with what? Help you?”

He backs away, hands held out in front of him and a smile cracking his features, “Yeah. Wanna help me find a frat bunny?”

I’m right here.

“Oh, uh, sure.”

“Perfect.” He starts to head out before turning back to you, “You didn’t think I was gonna ask if I could fuck you… did you?”

Your response comes out suspiciously fast, but Haechan had pregamed before stopping at your dorm, and he definitely didn’t catch it, “No! I would never! You’re like… really fucking gross. Sorry Hyuck.”

“Ahhh, theres the Y/N I know!” he claps you on the shoulder, “By the way, Jeno and Jaem are waiting in the car downstairs so hurry up.”

With that, he’s gone, the slamming of the front door resonating deep in the pit of your stomach, your nerves buzzing, and every muscle tense.

This was going to be a long night.

People were already throwing up in the bushes by the time you and the boys arrived, but you’d rather wade through puke than sit in Jeno’s car a second longer.

The entire ride to the frat house was a mess. From being squished between Jaemin and Hyuck, thanks to Jeno reserving the front seat for his precious bottles of Smirnoff and Hennessy (Seriously, he wouldn’t move them. He even buckled them up in case he crashed the car. As if the bottles wouldn’t break.) to having one of said bottles passed around the backseat and promptly spilled all over your upper body; you couldn’t take it anymore.

Unfortunately, the situation was made worse by Haechan's actions. As the cold alcohol spilled all over you, his hands peppered over your body, gliding through the sticky liquid that was rapidly drying. When he touched the lace of your bralette, his fingers inadvertently brushed against your nipple, reigniting the warmth in your stomach.

You really hoped he hadn’t noticed.

Jaemin, on the other hand, kept shoving his arm around to try and garner your attention towards his phone, which had pictures of sorority girls pulled up.

“Which ones should I take back to my place tonight?” He kept asking you, again and again and again until you and his minty breath were quite acquainted.

Needless to say, you wanted out.

So, when the car came to a screeching halt along the sidewalk, you were all but climbing over Jaemins lap to get the door open.

“You know, I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to have you all over me, but this isn’t what I meant.” The flirtatious jokes from Jaemin were already starting, but he wasn’t the target tonight, Haechan was.

“Sorry, Haechan’s body odor was starting to get to me.” You send a warm smile to the boy clambering out of Jeno small coupe behind you.

“I literally haven’t even started being mean to you yet, why are you throwing insults?” Haechan stands tall, the heels of his combat boots making him tower over you, “And I’m wearing old spice anyway, this shit lasts ages. You must have been smelling Jaemins dick… I heard it’s quite overused.”

The pink haired boy whips around, hands shoved deep into the pocket of his sweatpants, “Why are you mad I get more pussy than you?”

Jeno thrusts a bottle of alcohol into you and Haechans hands, leaving Jaemin empty handed, who looks at you with a pout. You uncap your bottle, a dark thing of Hennessy, and pass it to him.

Haechan snorts, “Not mad, just annoyed that you keep me up all night with your grunting.”

Jaemin passes the bottle back to you and gives you a wink, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, the four of you start walking through the grass and up the steps to the frat house.

The front lawn was littered with red, plastic solo cups, ping pong balls, and empty beer cans. Toilet paper hung around a poorly spray-painted piece of cardboard that read, ‘welcome to the jungle’. College students hung around the porch smoking cigarettes and weed, and somehow a joint ends up between your fingers before you’ve even reached the front door.

“Wanna shotgun that?” Haechan smirks, wiggling his eyebrows when you shove the loosely wrapped blunt between your lips.

Inhaling takes a minute, the burning sensation of the weed filling your lungs and immediately reaching your bloodstream. You blow the smoke directly in Haechans face as a way of declining his offer, though pressing your lips against his and sharing a smoky kiss sounded real good right then.

He waves a hand in front of his face, “Fine. I see how it is.”

Whoever handed you the blunt plucks it out from between your fingers before you can pass it to Haechan and disappears around the side of the house.

“Well, that was mean.” Jaemin sighs defeatedly.

“I’m pretty sure Renjun is inside selling if you want to buy something off of him.” Jeno shouts over his shoulder.

“Fair warning though, he doesn’t roll well.” You spit tiny green pieces of marijuana onto the front walkway and cringe at the taste. There was a reason you didn’t like edibles.

Jeno just nods to the freshman pledge assigned to door duty (a scrawny boy who went by the name of Shotaro) and shoulders the front door of the house. Immediate booming bass finds your chest and rattles through you, the smell of spilled alcohol and cheap drugs clouding the house in a thick smog. Black lights hang from the ceiling, the people loitering near the entranceway glowing brightly in neon oranges, blues, green, yellows, and pinks.

You vaguely notice a few of the brothers roaming around passing out beers to the partygoers, but one in particular notices the four of you crowding the entrance and discards his last beer to a random girl at his side before jogging over.

“Jae!” Jeno and the brother lock hands and embrace, slapping each other’s backs in a way that looked painful.

The only reason you had gotten into the frat parties all year long was because of Jaehyuns and Jeno’s relationship – they were on the hockey team together, and brothers.

Jung Jaehyun was a senior, the head of the most popular frat on campus, NEO, and Jeno’s half-brother. You’d never really interacted with him, but from what you heard, he was a nice guy with an even nicer girlfriend, and they were head over heels in love with each other. You didn’t see her around anywhere, not that you would know what she looked like.

“Looking for someone?” Haechans voice, gravelly and low, finds your ear and makes you shiver despite how hot it was in the house. You hated the way he made your body feel, but not as much as you should have.

“You’re about to be looking out of one eye if you don’t back the fuck up.” Hostility was not your strong suit, but Haechan just drug something out of you.

“Jesus Christ, you need to drink. You’re so much better drunk. A lot nicer.” He smiles down at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and you can physically feel your heart beginning to melt.

A little voice in the back of your head is telling you to say, and you’re so much better when you shut up, how about you put that mouth to use between my legs?

But you refrain.

It’s very hard to refrain.

You almost slip.

That is, until you realize Jaehyun has since walked away and left the four of you to party how you please.

“Okay. I’ll be staying sober. Well, as sober as a good couple blunts make me. Please try to stay in the house, it makes it so much easier when it’s time to go and I have to round you jack offs up.” Jeno smirks, handing his bottle of alcohol to Jaemin who gladly takes it.

You’re surprised he hasn’t already gone looking for someone to fuck, it was well known that him and Jaehyun didn’t particularly get along. Something about Jaemin fucking Jaehyuns ex… you didn’t know the full story.

Jeno grabs Haechans bare shoulders, “Please, for the love of God, do not jump in the pool again. Last time you almost drowned and I don’t feel like planning a funeral for your sorry ass.”

“I make no such promises, but I will try my best.” The younger boy beams.

“Alright, go have fun, and try not to catch a STD. I’ll be over with Renjun if you need me.” And with that, your friend Jeno breaks from the group, his neon painted bare back shining brightly amongst the crowd right before he fades in.

Jaemin breaks off almost immediately after chugging the bottle of alcohol Jeno had given him.

Haechan, who wasn’t one for parties and usually stayed holed up in his dorm room playing video games all night, sways by your side awkwardly.

“Aren’t you gonna go find a frat bunny to fuck?” You shout over the blaring music.

He looks almost nervous when he shifts his gaze to you, “I don’t really see anyone of interest… except you of course. Wanna go fuck in the bathroom?” A shit eating grin blinds you right before he lifts the Smirnoff bottle and takes a swig, finishing it with a grimace.

Wouldn’t it be nice to say yes and get his part of the challenge over? Fuck, how you wanted to grab his hand and drag him to the nearest bathroom, but frat parties weren’t the place to hook up, and you wanted to take your time with him anyway.

“I wouldn’t let you touch me with a ten-foot pole.”

“You’re telling me you don’t wanna hit this?” He rubs his free hand across his chest and stomach, dipping it so far as to drag down a bit of his sweatpants. A strong V-Line peeks out and you almost choke on air, eyes bugging out of your skull.

“Keep your fucking clothes on Hyuck.” You sputter.

He cocks an eyebrow and reaches out for your hand, which you hesitate to take. What was he doing? Was he trying to bring you into the nearest bathroom?

All he does is tug you towards the main room, an open area full of students dancing, drinking, and smoking, “Interesting… Come on, let’s party.”

The feeling of his calloused fingers enlaced with yours was enough to send your mind spiraling deep into the thoughts that plagued your dreams – like what it would feel like to have them wrapped around your neck, or shoved between your thighs, maybe even down your throat.

Mentally, you tell your brain to shut up (it always did get slutty in these environments).

“Y/N!!” A girly voice shouts off to your left, dragging both you and Haechans attention. Lisa, a girl in the same major as you, who you’ve known for a couple years now, is barreling toward you and the boy you’re linked hand in hand with. She shoves a few partygoers to the side, an opened beer can in her hand which she’s cautious enough not to spill.

When she finally makes it to your side, her eyes dip down and make note of your hands crushed together, a freshly waxed eyebrow popping up in question at you. Immediately you yank your hand away from Haechan, who glares in protest but doesn’t say anything.

“I didn’t think I would see you here!” She’s beaming head to toe and slings a paint splattered arm around your shoulders.

You smile back, “Jeno made me come.” She’d had a crush on Jeno for ages, and from the look on her face at the mention of his name, it still existed.

“Oh, he’s here? I didn’t even know!! I need to go find him asap.”

“Well yeah, it’s his brothers party and all…” Haechan pipes up from beside of you, nervously biting at his nails. He always chewed his cuticles unrecognizable.

She looks up at him with a weird expression before extracting her arm and turning to face you, her back to Haechan, who sneers and throws up a middle finger in her direction. It makes you chuckle, but thankfully she doesn’t question it.

“Well, a bunch of us are playing games upstairs if you wanna join.”

You start to say no, but you can tell in her eyes that she wasn’t going to take that as an answer, so you nod your head, “Sure.”

A squeal so loud heads turn, erupts from her mouth, “Good!!! Ima go find Jeno and then head up there. I’ll see you soon.” And with a kiss to your cheek, she’s gone.

“Well, guess we’re playing games.” Haechan huffs, reaching for your hand now that she was gone, “I hope it’s spin the bottle so I can kiss you.”

Me too.

Rolling your eyes, you start towards the stairs, “Haechan?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Haechan didn’t shut up.

In fact, he kept his mouth running all the way up the stairs, through the bodies loitering in the hallway, around a puddle of puke, and into the makeshift living room Lisa must have set up.

Not like you were paying much attention to what he said anyways. Instead, your mind chose to focus on the way his back looked in the dim lighting of the frat house. Underneath a layer of pretty tan skin, the boy was all muscle, stretching and tensing when his lithe legs carried him up the inclined stairs. And when he turned around to make sure you were still following him, despite his hand being attached to yours, you notice the muscles carried all the way around to his abdomen and torso.

Because the house was hot and humid, the paint splattered on his chest was fading and streaking. The neon paint dripped down his body, with some even dribbling into the waistband of his sweatpants. The idea of the paint staining his v-line creates a sensation of warmth in your stomach.

You wanted to see him naked so bad and it made you mad.

What happened to the boy who stayed in his room every day and barely touched vegetables? What happened to him being a friend and just that? Had one night of drinking skewed your common sense? Or was this just a side effect of the challenge you were doing?

Whatever, he’s fucking hot and he has a big dick, you argue with yourself, images of what you saw on his phone flashing through your mind.

Haechan getting his dick sucked by some random girl, forcing her to deepthroat and then whimpering.

The thought alone almost makes you steer him into the nearest bathroom, but the makeshift living room comes too soon.

“I literally can’t get rid of you.” Jaemin perks up from his spot on the floor, bottle of liquor tucked away in his lap.

“Talk to Lisa.” You shoot back flatly.

As you glance around the room, you realize that the only person you recognize is Jaemin. While a few faces seem familiar, you can't recall their names or where you may have seen them before.

Hyuck guides you over to the circle where everyone is seated and takes a spot, leaving you to settle in opposite him. "Looks like it's just you and me," he says with a grin, displaying his gleaming white teeth. You can't help but wonder how they would feel against your inner thighs, and you unconsciously clench them together while crossing your arms.

You didn’t know how long Lisa and Jeno were going to be, or if she was still downstairs recruiting more players, but you’re lucky not to be left alone with your thoughts too long, because a couple minutes later, she, Jeno and Jaehyun (surprisingly) filter into the room, one after the other.

Haechan’s eyes cut to you, and he smirks, eyebrows wiggling in a stupidly suggestive way.

“Okay! Seems like we got enough players.” Lisa pipes up, taking the spot next to you that sat empty (thankfully no one had sat and tried to make acquaintance. you were too sober for that). Jeno sits off to your right, and Jaehyun takes the spot next to Haechan.

Jaemin leans in towards the circle, appearing invested as he asks, "What game are we playing?" His gaze travels up and down Lisa's body, and he licks his lips. You roll your eyes; of course, she was the one he was after tonight. Too bad her eyes were on Jeno.

She gives a short giggle before replying, “How about seven minutes in heaven?”

A low murmur ripples through the circle but affirming head nods set the game in motion.

Honestly, you find the game awkward and childish, something played in your early high school years, but maybe the universe and luck would be on your side tonight.

Wasn’t the whole point of tonight to get into Haechans pants? This silly little game was the perfect opportunity.

He seemed to be on the same wavelength because one glance and you see him making kissy faces directed at you.

Why the fuck was he so weird?

And why did you want to crawl across the circle and kiss him?

“Great, can we use that bottle Jaemin?” Lisa asks, and he’s quick to shove it in the middle. He must really want her to come home with him tonight if he’s giving up his alcohol that easily – or the bottle at least.

Lisa takes a finger and spins the bottle, the handle flying around so fast it looked like a blur. You hold your breath, silently praying it doesn’t land on you. You could probably hear a pen drop in the room (plus the thumping bass coming up through the floorboards).

It comes to a standstill, pointing at a random girl you’ve never seen before. She looks nervous, but that was to be expected, right?

Lisa spins the bottle again and you thank your lucky stars when it lands on another girl in the circle.

Two girls down, about 12 of you left.

The next few rounds follow a similar pattern, with two unfamiliar people being chosen and then awkwardly leaving the circle. At some point Jaemin and a blonde headed bimbo filter off to surely fuck.

The game starts to feel pointless, but then the bottle lands on you.

Haechan immediately perks up from being previously slumped against a pillow. The bottle of Smirnoff by his side was slowly draining, and you could tell he was feeling it a bit. A rosy blush spread itself on his cheeks and his eyes shined bright. An eager look crosses his face when Lisa tips the bottle into spinning.

Whoever it landed on was going to be shoved in a tiny closet with you for the next seven minutes. Time ticked slow, your eyes following it’s every move.

Spinning.

And spinning.

And stop.

“No fucking way.” Haechan pouts.

Your eyebrows raise, a short, disbelieving laugh rushing past your lips. The bottle has landed between Jaehyun and Haechan, more towards the latter, but nearly dead set between.

“Well, who is it then?” Haechan urges, pushing himself up on his knees, “Cause it’s more towards me, so I think it’s only fair…”

“Maybe by a single degree.” Jaehyun argues, locking his eyes with yours and giving a lopsided smile.

It strikes you as odd that Jaehyun, who you're pretty sure has a girlfriend (Jeno had mentioned her once or twice), is even participating in the game. Despite this, he seems to be making eyes at you, smiling with deep dimples and winking. You just stare back at him, causing the tips of his ears to flush red. You weren’t going to be the cause of a scandal if he was, in fact, still dating that girl.

So the dilemma (that wasn’t really a dilemma) dawns on you. Your best friend or the boy who (maybe) had a girlfriend? You contemplate storming out of the room and forfeiting the game – but what was the fun in that? And anyways, Haechan looked like he was getting antsy.

“Come on Hyuck.” you grumble, pushing yourself up off the dusty floor and slipping out into the semi-crowded hallway. The boy eagerly follows on your heel until you’re shouldering a random door and slipping into a dark room.

It feels much bigger than the closet you were envisioning, though where was the fucking light? Both of you search the walls to no avail. Faintly, you see the outline of a bed and walk over to it, dropping down on the sunken mattress – Haechan following your lead.

“What a coincidence that it’s you and me. I mean, I knew you wanted to fuck me, but seriously, how did you rig a spin the bottle game?”

In this moment you’re glad for the darkness enveloping the room – then he wouldn’t see the shock and embarrassment flooding your face.

Defensively, you shove his chest, “Shut up. I didn’t rig the game.”

The smirk is almost evident in his tone, “Oh, but you do wanna fuck me?”

“No – Haechan I wanted to play a game. Of course fate would give me your ass.”

“Maybe fate wants us to hook up.” he murmurs.

I’d agree with fate then, you think.

A million thoughts flood your mind in a millisecond. How convenient it was that you were stuck in an empty room, with a bed, with Hyuck – with a shirtless Hyuck. The dim lighting outlines the contours of his chest, and you can feel yourself clenching your thighs together for what felt like the umpteenth time.

“Would you like that?” You whisper, slightly leaning closer to him. He wasn’t that far away. Maybe a foot at most.

“Is the sky blue?” He retorts, ever so slightly leaning into you too.

You roll your eyes, “Is that a trick question – because it’s nighttime right now and the sky is black.”

“I don’t know, maybe you should kiss me and find out.”

His voice is lower than normal, which surprises you. But not as much as the statement. You knew he was like this – forward and flirty. Though it’s different when you actually want to reciprocate.

Time slows down and the electricity of the moment surrounds you two. His lips are inching towards your own, long, slender fingers grabbing your thighs.

Fuck, it’s happening – Everything you’ve been dreaming about for weeks on end. How did this happen so fast?

You can smell the alcohol on his breath – wondering if he’ll taste sweet like brandy.

“Hyuck…” you whisper, “ I-“

Light and sound flood the room, startling the fuck outta you and making you jump three feet back into the headboard.

“Oh shit –” the partygoer curses.

The girl on his arm giggles, “’m sorry. Didn’t mean to barge in on you two!” They slam the door, and the muffled sounds of the party bring you back to the present.

Yellow spots cloud your vision as you fumble to stand up, almost tripping over what you can assume to be a backpack.

You swallow thickly, “Let’s go back downstairs.”

“I’ll meet you down there.” Haechan whispers, one hand running through his hair, “You go on ahead.”

Without another word, you slip into the hallway and slink down the stairs – into the hands of hundreds of drunk college kids. You see Jaemin taking shots and Jeno smoking it up with Renjun.

What the fuck just happened.

And why did I ruin it.

After a good twenty minutes away from each other, you realize he was the only person who you cared to hang out with. So, you found him utterly intoxicated on the kitchen floor and forced him to dance with you.

Well really you just forced him off the kitchen floor which he really didn’t want to leave, but once he was up and moving, he took you by hand and made the night worthwhile.

Now two hours later, with most of the alcohol Jeno had supplied gone, all you can think about is sucking Haechans dick.

It’s because of the way he danced (and smelled, and looked, and…). His hands reach out and greedily grab at your waist, fingers twisting through the empty belt loops of your jeans. A bit of the paint he had on was smudged against you, thanks to him pulling you into a bear hug earlier in the night.

He was drunk, and it made him extra touchy. Though you didn’t mind, in fact, you welcomed it now that your resolve was slipping. So, when he pushes you against the wall, one hand held high over your head, his other circling your jaw, it’s no surprise that your heartbeat goes wild. A blush rises hot on your face; his eyes finding yours and piquing with dull amusement.

“I gotta tell you a secret-” he slurs, swaying in your arms. He thinks for a minute before putting a hand over his mouth, “Wait, I can’t tell you.” When you don’t respond, instead, electing to stare at him in amusement, his lips jut out into a pout, “Why don’t you like me?”

One of your hands pushes against his slick with sweat chest, “I do like you?” Your breathing becomes labored when his lips pull back in a sloppy grin.

“You like me? You like me!!” Haechan teeters a bit to the left, almost falling into another couple that were vigorously making out, “They need to get a room… we need to get a room.”

We had a room.

“We need to get a room?” You question, eyes widening when he leans in so close he’s only an inch away from kissing you.

“Can I kiss you?”

It feels like the room comes to a crescendo, every sound clashing yet becoming silent at the same time. All you can think about is his mouth and how pretty and pink his lips are. How it would be heaven to meld into the strong grasp of your best friend. How the constant nights of intimate dreams of him weren’t enough to satisfy you. How you should have taken him up on his offer in that damn room.

How you wanted to go to that damn bathroom now.

But this was wrong.

The wrong time, wrong place, wrong everything.

You were drunk, he was more than drunk, and surely that would affect whether you thought he fucked the best.

From around his shoulder, you spot Jeno staring at you with a beer in his hand – so much for staying sober. He’s smirking, slightly chuckling, and cocking his eyebrows at you as if asking, ‘you gonna kiss him?’

“Haechan.”

The boy has gone from being semi coherent to humming some sort of song that wasn’t even close to the one that was playing.

“Haechan!” you shake his shoulder in an attempt to snap him out of the stupor, and suddenly he stands up tall.

“Y/N, I missed you!!! What are you doing here?” It was like he was seeing you for the first time.

He was too drunk to function. You should have expected as much, but you’re still slightly disappointed that you wouldn’t be able to go forth with your plan.

You sigh and grab his arm, the disappointment nearly sobering you up, “Let’s go find Jeno and get you home, okay?”

His eyes go frantic, “We can’t forget Jaemin! We have to find Jaemin!!!”

“Don’t worry Hyuck, I’d leave you here sooner than I would him.”

Maybe then I wouldn’t have the urge to ride you on the frats sofa.

“Meanie.”

Steaming bags of takeout hang off your arm as you fumble to push your way through the unusually small dorm door.

“Hyuck! Jaemin!” you yell, hoping one of them would dart out of their room and help you with the load of cheap food you were threatening to drop on the ground. You shouldn’t be surprised when all is silent except for the smash of controller buttons and Haechans frustrated screech.

You wade through the mess that nearly makes you gag – piles of clothes, dirty socks and mud caked shoes. Books and pages of lecture notes litter the ground accompanied with crushed RedBull cans – evidence that Haechan did indeed leave his room at some point.

“Yo, you really need to clean this shit up.” you pantomime throwing up and toss the bags of takeout on Haechans dark blue bedspread that was actually made for once.

His back is to you, eyes trained on the video game he was playing, giving you a half-hearted grunt to acknowledge what you said. The too-big headset threatens to engulf his head, nearly sliding off as he jolts forward in the gaming chair.

“Fuck! Fuck! No… no… don’t… SHIT!” Exasperation floods his tone once the screen turns completely red and his character returns to the main lobby. “You guys suck ass.”

Without hearing their response, he shuts off his monitor and spins around to face you, who was patiently waiting on his bed, “Sorry. I woulda got the door for ya, but…” he gestures behind himself.

“It’s fine.” you mumble.

His eyes travel from your face and to the short ass skirt that was slung over your hips. Immediately your face heats up. Why was this awkward? Does he even remember what happened last night? How you almost kissed in some random frat bros room? Or how he had you pressed up against the wall, asking to kiss you. Does he remember the drive home? How he laid in your lap, drunkenly massaging your thighs? Surely he had to remember you tucking him into bed with the promise of takeout tomorrow night?

But when you look him in the eyes, you just see your friend eager to eat – not someone who you nearly fucked last night.

You clear your throat, “Um, where’s Jaemin?”

Haechan shrugs and starts sifting through the boxes of rice and pork cutlets, “He left early this morning. Said he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Bet that means he’s going to get some pussy.” He takes a bite of rice and speaks through the mouthful, “Twenty four hours though? That’s a long ass time for him.”

You snort and take the box of rice he was gesturing towards you, “Nah, that’s light work for Jaem. As long as he lets us know he’s alive, I think a sex bender might be best for him.”

“You know, he’s still mad that you wouldn’t let him leave with that girl last night.” Haechans laugh rings through the room, making you smile. He had such a pretty voice.

“He was drunker than the both of us combined.” You tear the end of a soy sauce packet and dump it into the container in your lap. “Speaking of, what do you remember from last night? Did you, like, totally black out?”

“Not much, just that you were coming over today.” He says through another mouthful of food.

Great, so he didn’t remember anything. How convenient for you.

“Well… you ended up peeing on this guy when we were leaving because you missed the bush.”

“I missed the bush?”

“The whole bush.”

“Oh my god.”

“I know.”

The food was long gone, with empty containers flooding his trashcan that begged to be taken out.

You were bored.

Here you were, laying on his bed with a lowcut shirt and a fucking miniskirt, and he was back to playing his game.

For the past hour you tried to get him to join you, but to no avail. Who knew that your first target would be the hardest to fuck? How can you accurately judge how good he fucked if he wouldn’t even lay on the bed with you?

One last chance or you were leaving.

This was an all or nothing moment.

“I’m horny.” It was a declaration. A statement so bold, he turns ever-so-slightly towards you and raises an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

You scoff, “You heard me. I need to fuck someone or something.”

The squeak of his chair rings through the uncomfortably silent room as he adjusts himself. What was he thinking? Was he disgusted? Flustered? Did he feel the same?

“Well now that you mention it…” he swallows thickly. Was it hot in his room? Could you feel it too?

You push yourself up into a sitting position, “Come help me.” His dark brown eyes flutter, the tops of his cheeks dusting a light pink color, but he stays silent. "No smart reply? No sexual comments? Did I really fluster the Lee Haechan?"

He gets up from his gaming chair, almost toppling over in the process and spilling the can of Redbull he was clutching onto for dear life. "I am not flustered. " The mattress dips under his weight as he gets comfortable next to you, his gaze falling to the lowcut shirt you wore, "Can’t I touch them if you’re serious?”

His bottom lip juts out in a pout, obviously joking around (your boobs always seemed to be the butt of his sexual comments), but even still, you find yourself removing your shirt before you can think.

The look on his face is priceless, wide eyes almost bugging out of his skull, “I was kidding! Jesus Christ Y/N, put your shirt back on!” his voice has somehow pitched up two octaves, obviously taken aback, but for some reason his eyes remain open and transfixed. It looks as if he’s almost salivating, especially when he watches your nipples perk up from how cool he kept his room.

Reaching out a hand, you clasp his wrist and bring it closer to your body, “But I’m serious.” The bewildered expression never left his face, even when you had him cup his palm around your breast, and then when he took matters into his own hands and gave you a fair squeeze, which made you giggle.

“Am I dreaming? This must be a dream?”

You hop up on your knees, making your tits bounce in the process which drops Haechan’s jaw, “Not a dream, very much reality.”

Slowly and sexily, you crawl towards his seated position beside you, “I want you Haechan.” You breathe the words out slowly, giving him time to comprehend what the fuck his best friend just said.

Confusion flits across his face and he hesitates, “But Y/N…”

“But what? I want you. I want you to fuck me.” His pupils blew wide at the confession.

“Y/N… I can’t.”

Disappointment fills your heart and deflates your ego in a millisecond. You should have known. How could you be so stupid? Of course, he didn’t want to fuck you. You were best friends for fucks sake. It would ruin everything. Why did you even try? Because you were drunk and horny the night the challenge was first brought up? Pathetic, really.

Haechan must have seen the worry and doubt fill your eyes because all of a sudden, he’s grabbing your shoulders, “No, It’s… It’s not because I don’t want to,” His eyes wash over your half naked body, and he licks his lips, “Trust me, I want to…but I’m…I’m.”

Leaning in ever so slightly you whisper, “You’re what? Scared?”

It was a taunt, a tease, a challenge, and he knew it, but he just shakes his head, “Y/N… I’m a virgin.”

Now it was your turn to be shocked, completely taken aback by this new revelation, “You’re a… virgin?”

Pink tints his cheeks and collarbones peeking through his oversized t-shirt, and he hangs his head to avoid eye contact, “Yeah, I’ve never had… never had sex.”

“But you always say –”

“I talk a big game, okay?” The reply rushes from his lips, embarrassment kicking him in the ass, “Yeah I’ve gotten head before, and I’ve eaten a few girls out, but I’ve never had actual sex. It’s… just never happened I guess.”

Here you were, trying to seduce not only your best friend, but your best friend that has just told you he was a virgin. You were trying to steal a virgins innocence. How fucked could you really be?

To be fair, he always acted like he got hella pussy, you argue with yourself.

“Jaemin knows.�� He mutters, as if it was of any relevance to the situation.

“Well,” You start, sitting back on your heels, “Here I am shirtless, asking you to fuck me…” His eyes flicker up and lock with yours, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Another challenge.

He did well with challenges, and this time was no different.

You continue, “Unless you believe the ‘only have sex after marriage’ bullshit –”

“Absolutely not.”

Greedy eyes search for an answer on his face, but there’s nothing, only a permanent blush and frantic furrow brows, “Okay, then do you wanna go back to gaming?”

“…No.”

He still isn’t advancing, just sitting with his hands dropped into his lap and looking at you with his wide doe eyes, “Then what?”

You sit there, watching as Haechan fidgets with his hands, clearly nervous about what comes next. The sexual tension that hangs between you two feels like a thick fog. You want him, and you can tell that he wants you too, but the knowledge that he’s a virgin puts a damper on things.

You don't want to be the one to take his virginity. That's a big fucking responsibility, and it's not something that you take lightly. You start to wonder if maybe you should just call it a night and go home. But then Haechan speaks up, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to be a virgin anymore."

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and you turn to look at him, really look at him for the first time since you arrived. He looks vulnerable, and you can see the fear in his eyes. But you can also see the determination. He knows what he wants, and he's not going to let anything stand in his way.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You know what you want too, but you also know that this is a big deal. You can't just jump into things without thinking them through. "I don't know if I'm the right person for that, Haechan," you say finally. "Taking someone's virginity is a big deal. It's not something to be taken lightly."

Haechan nods, his eyes still locked with yours. "I know. But I trust you, Y/N." His words make your heart skip a beat, and you can feel your cheeks heating up.

"Okay," you say finally. "Okay, we can do this.”

Somehow, the tables had turned on you; and this was getting a lot sappier than you had anticipated.

The awkwardness settles back into the room, Haechan staring at you with his doe eyes, the nervousness flitting about his delicate features.

It’s a beat – a short pause before he speaks so low you almost miss it, “You know I want to fuck you.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

Maybe he’d give you a logical answer and you’d understand; put your shirt back on and let him get back to his video games while you silently scrolled Instagram.

But when was he ever logical?

And when were you ever one to back down?

Faster than you can register, he’s pushing your shoulders backwards until you fall breathlessly against his pillow. He climbs over top of you, his usual goofy smirk replaced with an intensity you both had felt the night before at the frat house. “Nothing’s stopping me.” His breath tickles your cheeks, “But I can’t tell if you’re fucking serious or taking a joke way too far.” A scoff rumbles in his chest, “I’ve damn near bared my soul to you tonight.”

“Not a joke-” you try to argue, but he talks over you.

“Ya know, just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean you can treat me like a plaything.” his head lolls to the side, “Well I mean if you wanted to, you could – but that’s not the point..” He sighs, pressing his face closer to yours, so that you were almost nose to nose. One more inch and you’d be kissing him, “I’m trying to say that if this is a joke… I’m sorry, but I’m gonna fuck you.”

“I – Are you sure about this? You won’t regret anything in the morning?”

He scoffs, “Have you not been listening to me when I speak to you? I’ve been wanting this for ages,” Eyes, half-lidded with desire, wash over your exposed chest, “I’m not gonna regret a damn thing.”

The butterflies in your stomach flutter uncontrollably when Haechan dips his head and captures your lips in a kiss. All you can taste is the fizziness of the redbull he’d been drinking earlier, and something undeniably him. It was urgent and wet, lips sliding over yours to deepen the kiss, dribbles of spit smearing on your cheeks. He was messy.

“No regrets.” You solidify, breath hitching in your throat when his hands cup your breasts – his thumbs flicking over your nipples.

He groans, hips desperately pushing against you, “Let me eat you out.” he asks, though it wasn’t really a question because he starts to lower himself down your figure; pressing wet kisses to your chest. First it’s your collarbone, then the swell of your breasts, all the way down until he hovered right above your skirt.

Your head is reeling with how forward he was, “You’re kinda bold for a vir-”

He slaps a rough hand over your jaw, “If you even so much as utter that word, I’ll shove my cock so far down your throat you won’t be able to speak for a week.” Tauntingly, he quirks an eyebrow as if to dare you, “And anyways,” he continues, moving his hand up to ruffle your hair, “Just because I’ve never stuck my dick between a woman’s thighs doesn’t mean I don’t know how to please one.”

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow, in shock or contemplation of his words, you weren’t sure.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that baby,” Lust drips from his words like venom, the pet name rolling off his tongue a little too certainly, “Sitting up here playing video games has made me exceptionally good with my hands,” he smirks, “and I guess I’m naturally good with my tongue… I don’t know, you’ll have to tell me, yeah?”

Furiously, you nod your head, eyes wide and marveling at this side of Haechan. The one slightly out of breath and bursting with the need to taste you. He was hot. More so than you were expecting. You should pay closer attention sometimes.

He doesn’t waste time undoing your skirt. Instead, he pushes it up until it bunched at your waist, and pretty pink panties were the only thing blocking him from doing what he wanted. Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he pulls them down agonizingly slow. “So pretty.” he whispers.

Without hesitation, he flattens his tongue and licks up your slit, a low rumble building in his chest. You tasted exactly like he had imagined.

The contact makes you gasp, and you fumble around for something to hold onto – choosing his hair as the only viable option. One tug and he’s whining against your clit, hips pressing into the bed unbeknownst to you.

“Y-you like hair pulling?” You question, doing it again to test the waters. He doesn’t answer, just groans against your pussy, tongue swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Strong arms hook underneath your hips and pull hard, until you’re sat right up against his face.

“Hyuck.” you whimper, legs shaking. He was relentless, nosing your clit and fucking you with his tongue – all but lapping at the embarrassing amount of arousal wetting the inside of your thighs. “Hyuck!”

He perks up, lips puffy and jaw shining in the dim light of his bedroom, “What?”

You feel almost shy at his stare, a blush settling over your cheeks and burning hot at the back of your neck, “D-don’t wanna cum just yet.” You stutter out.

Surprisingly, he rolls his eyes, “Let me stretch you out a little bit, okay baby?” There’s no time for you to respond because two of his fingers press against your entrance and slide in with ease. Simultaneously he dives back in, teeth slightly grazing your clit.

“Fuck!” Your back arches up off the bed, hips rolling against his face. His fingers pump into you, the stretch leaving your thighs shaking.

“See baby, all done,” He slips his fingers out and gives you one final suckle, “God, I can’t wait to fuck you.”

Words are unattainable right now, head still reeling from how fucking good he was with his tongue. That’s where he’d gotten the most practice, but you weren’t expecting that. It was what – less than two minutes? Yet you were already fucked out, body buzzing with excitement. If that was just the beginning, what was to come?

While lost in your thoughts, Haechan rid himself of his shirt and shimmied his shorts down.

The video didn’t do him justice.

Yeah, he looked decently big on his phone screen, but after weeks of contemplation, you could only assume it was the angle.

Oh, how wrong you were.

His cock stood thick and heavy, proudly slapping his lower stomach when he moves to throw his clothes on the floor. It was red and leaking pre-cum, and your mouth waters. Oh, how you wanted to hop up and stuff him down your throat. You wanted to milk him until he was shaking and sobbing for you to stop.

But another part wanted him in you, now.

Deep lines of muscle were etched into his torso – contracting when he leant down to kiss you again. You can taste yourself on his lips, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. Haechan was whimpering; all but shaking against you. The vibrations shot straight into your veins like a drug and when he pulls back and sits on his knees, you almost moan.

You are no better than a man.

Watching the way he touches his body, so soft and careful; tugging at his cock impatiently while his eyes are transfixed on the way your pussy clenches around nothing – it sends a desperate signal down between your thighs.

“Enough!” You whine, “Want you in me.”

His trademark smirk appears on his face, “Okay baby… but..,” he chews on his bottom lip in hesitation, “… I don’t know how long I’ll be able to last..”

“I don’t care!” You wail, annoyed, “Fuck me.”

“So demanding,” He huffs, hands fumbling to push your thighs apart. Looking to you for reassurance that everything was alright, he appeared somewhat uncertain and hesitant.

“It’s okay, ” you breathe, gasping when he pushes the head of his cock against your entrance. “Hold my hand!” It was a statement to make him feel surer of himself, but deep down, you knew it was because you were just as nervous.

Shakily, his hand slides into yours and pushes it against the pillow next to your head. He takes a deep breath. This is silly, he chides himself, just stick it in! You’ve been dreaming about this forever! Be a fucking man.

Slowly, he pushes himself fully into you while still maintaining eye contact.

“Fuck!” you both curse at the same time. His eyes flicker in the back of his head, lips trembling when he bottoms out, now sheathed inside your warm cunt. It’s taking everything in him not to cum right there – and you know it too. He stays like that for a minute longer – not moving, just processing.

“Hyuck…” You whimper, resting your legs on his back. He mumbles a mhm, too focused on steadying his breathing, getting his bearings, finding the will to actually fuck you. “Hyuck, you have to move.”

“M-maybe we should use a c-condom.” He stutters, eyelashes fluttering and tangling together. The interlocked grip on your hands falters when you rut your hips up against him. “F-fuck, we need to use a condom.” His breathing is labored as he tries to gather everything he’s feeling and seeing at once. The way your pussy sucks him in, squeezing around his length just fucking right, the feeling of your nipples brushing his chest every time he bottoms out, and the wet kisses being pressed to the juncture between his neck and collarbone. It was making his head dizzy, and he can feel himself already about to – “I’m gonna cum if you keep, fuck – y/n, stop kissing my n-neck.”

Lost in the satisfying pleasure of him stretching you out, you hadn’t even realized you were kissing him – everywhere. Licking at the place just below his earlobe, suckling bruises into the honey gold skin of his throat, and nipping at his jaw. And every time your lips or tongue grazed him, he shallowly thrusted into you – too caught up in the sensations to get a steady rhythm.

You purse your lips in a pout, pulling your head back to rest on the pillow, and stare up at him, “Why stop if you like it.”

“Good p-point.” He stutters out, burying his head into the crook of your neck. Maybe that would hide the pink tinging his cheeks – the embarrassment. Or maybe it was because he wanted to be enveloped by you completely. “Fuck,” He groans, his cock dragging against your walls with a concentrated pace – like he wanted you to feel every inch of him. And if that was the case, he was succeeding.

You mewl and moan every time he slips out of you, just to fuck into you deeper than before. Time doesn’t pass, you don’t register anything but the burning sensation in the pit of your stomach – one that catches you off guard. As you arch your body into his touch, your mind begins to cloud.

Words of praise spill from your lips uncontrollably, "You're doing so well," you murmur, and he whimpers. “So good Hyuckie,” You moan, feeling his head still buried in your neck. “Keep going, baby.” The encouragement rips a broken sob from his throat, but he keeps driving his cock between your legs. He couldn’t stop – how could he? You were like his own personal brand of heroin.

His voice comes out muffled when speaks, “Want you to- fuck.. need you to...” His fingers are trembling, jaw slacked as he forgets his train of thought, “Slow down, wait – I need you to, y/n.. oh fuck this.” a rush of air tickles your body as Haechan tightens his hold and flips you over; worming his way underneath your body so that your legs were now slotted over his waist, cock still pushing into you. “There we go,” he mutters.

The action sends your head spinning, and a squeal rips from your throat. “Woah!”

“Woah!” he mocks, bullying his cock into you at such a fast pace, you were battling to keep your balance. His hands held onto your hips so tightly, there were bound to be a few fingerprint shaped bruises tomorrow morning. But that didn’t matter – not when he was burying his length into you again and again and again, abusing your g-spot to the point you’re babbling nonsense.

Your thighs are quivering on either side of him, struggling to keep yourself bouncing on his cock. Equally shaky hands pepper his chest in an attempt to hold onto something as the fire in your stomach burns hotter. Every whimper, every sob, every moan that falls past his lips is like another burning ember – shooting and twisting through your veins.

“G-gonna cum, Hyuck, gonna – “ you mewl, clawing at his collarbones and shoulders.

A harsh slap lands on your ass as he continues to piston his hips up underneath you. Just hearing you say the words edges him even closer to his own orgasm, “Please baby, cum – shit, cum on my cock, you can do it.” He groans through gritted teeth. Another smack lands, “God, I know you can do it.”

Your eyes roll back as you completely fall apart – he never stopped fucking into you. Not even when you all but collapsed on top of him, heartbeat erratic and gasping for breath. Not even when you begged him to slow down, begged him to give you a chance to recover, maybe get into a different position.

“Just give me one second baby, fuck, I still need to cum,” Like a lightbulb went off, he perks, “Wait- where do you want me t-to cum,” He’s rocking his body into yours now, sweat rolling down his temple with the exertion of holding back. “An-Answer! I can’t hold it anymore you feel too fucking good.”

Swirled in your own euphoria, you barely register his words, yet you manage to whimper against his neck, “Cum in me Hyuckie, please, I’m on the pill.”

The permission is all he needs, but the nickname is what sends him straight into a head high that has him burying his cock deep in you and releasing. Strong arms wrap around your torso and pull you against his shaking body while spurts of cum flood your pussy. He sounds exactly like he did in the video he showed you a few weeks ago – like he was sobbing with relief. Whining and whimpering, lolling his head side to side as he fucks the last of his cum deep into you.

He tries not to move, he tries really fucking hard, but every time you twitched, it squeezed around him again and again – curses flying from his body as he tried to squirm away. He slips out of you quickly, cum smearing on his belly and all over your thighs, “That was…”

You can hear his heartbeat – almost as erratic as yours is, and he’s puffing air, trying to catch an even breath. Both of you are sticky and tired – worn the fuck out. If you tried to push yourself off of him, you think you might topple over, so you don’t. You stay locked in his embrace, listening to the way his breathing slows and chest thumps.

“That was what?”

He runs a hand through his hair, “Everything I’ve dreamt of.”

Giggling, you snuggle closer to him. Who knew he’d be the type to sweet talk after sex. With how much he boasted and teased, you thought he’d be more… you don’t know… arrogant? You liked this side of him though.

Ah, shut up! you think to yourself, you’re not falling in love with him, so stop.

Haechan was a friend no matter if he did just fuck your brains out.

“Gonna go to the bathroom.” you mumble. Anything to get away from him and the swirls of ooey-gooey feelings.

Clambering off of him proved to be easier than you thought earlier, and the wobble to the bathroom was only slightly embarrassing. You thank God for privacy when you shut the door behind you.

As you look at your reflection in the mirror, you realize how much of a mess you are. Your hair is disheveled, mascara smudged and streaking, and your lipstick is smeared. Dark colored hickies scattered across your chest and collarbones. Despite this, you feel satisfied and content (Regardless of any stupid feelings that might be lingering).

Yet if Hyuck were to sneak in the bathroom behind you and beg for another round, you’d give it to him, no matter if the original challenge was a one and done kind of deal.

Your eyes widen into saucers… the challenge.

It was actually done – or at least partially.

You smirk.

Challenge 1/3 complete.

Maybe you should have stayed the night, but you were gone before the sun peeked over the tree line.

Haechan was still faintly snoring when you had slipped out from underneath the covers, and he only slightly stirred when you accidentally banged your toe on his gaming chair. His parted lips, and tinged cheeks made him look like an innocent angel.

One that you corrupted.

As you hurriedly walk back to your dorm building, you can’t help but feel a little bit of guilt fluttering about your stomach.

“Was this really a one-time thing?” he had asked right before his eyes had fluttered closed.

You had sighed, fidgeting with a thread on his comforter, “I don’t know Hyuck… maybe… I – I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Perhaps his shoulders had deflated with disappointment at your response, but you’d like to think he was just tired.

“Okay, let’s pretend it never happened then. Everything can go back to normal and… and if you want, I’ll be here to satisfy you again.” He had grinned then, although rather grim.

“Deal.”

You shoulder your dorm door and drop your bag on the kitchen table before grabbing a water out of the fridge. Thirstily gulping, you realize that even though it was his first time, he knew how to wear you out.

Points for that, you think.

You quietly slip into your room and take a seat at your desk after tossing the crushed plastic bottle into the trashcan. This is the moment you've been waiting for - a chance to rate the very first boy in the challenge. You grab a stray notebook from a stack nearby, open it to a fresh page, and begin.

Points for doing good his first time…Points for multiple positions…Points for eating you out first…Points for being whiny…Points for being eager…

There wasn’t really a system for your rating, but you take a satisfied look at the number and nod your head.

Congratulation Hyuck, you’ve received a 7.4/10, you think.

Despite it being his first time, he did exceptionally well. Who else could have lasted as long as he did, said the things he did, or fucked the way he did. Slowly, you find yourself slipping back into the memories, a play-by-play from start to finish – until a ping from your pocket drags you out.

Your heart leaps up in your throat.

What if it was him? What if he was asking why you left?

When you pull your phone out from your back pocket, you sigh in relief. It was just Jaemin.

You toss your phone onto your desk and slump against the chair. Jaemin didn’t press the question of why you were up… and hopefully he didn’t say anything during breakfast.

Pushing yourself upright, you dance through the laundry strewn across your floor and into the bathroom.

Despite what you said, you also had to wash the sex smell away. God, you were becoming just like Jaemin. Up at the ass crack of dawn to shower off cum and sweat and spit. Unexpectedly, you grip the shower curtain as a thought bounces around the inside of your skull.

Na Jaemin was just getting his dick wet… with Yeji, of all people. One of his recurring fwb situations.. But.. he was fucking her.

The video he had showed you the first night flashes through your brain. His cock thick and proud, pushing into the girl so fluidly, so rhythmically, so intensely. Until she squirted and he laughed. He had fucking laughed. You remember what he had said, “God you’re so fucking hot. NaNa did that, didn’t he? Mhm…come here pretty girl.”

And even though Haechan had pounded you into the next week, you feel yourself clenching around nothing.

Don’t worry Jaemin, your turn is next.

did you like it? if you did, consider leaving me a like, a reblog, a review, or some feedback in my askbox :)

A. NOTE | big thank you to lou, @peachjaem00, for helping me get over my writers block for this fic.. and for just being fucking awesome! i love you <3

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felassan · 5 months ago

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Dragon Age: The Veilguard info compilation Post 2

[Link to Part 1]

Post is under a cut due to length.

There is a lot of information coming out right now about DA:TV from many different sources. This post is just an effort to compile as much as I can in one place, in case that helps anyone. Sources for where the information came from have been included. Where I am linking to a social media user’s post, the person is either a dev, a Dragon Age community council member or other person who has had a sneak peek at and played the game. nb, this post is more of a ‘info that came out in snippets from articles and social media posts’ collection rather than a 'regurgitating the information on the official website or writing out what happened in the trailer/gameplay reveal’ post. The post is broken down into headings on various topics. A few points are repeated under multiple headings where relevant. Where I am speculating without a source, I have clearly demarcated this.

Character Creation

It is the best CC BioWare has ever made in a game [source]

The faction we choose will determine who we as protagonist Rook were before they were recruited to put a stop to Solas [source]

Certain conversation options are only available to Rooks of certain factions. For example, Grey Wardens get conversation options that are focused on the Blight, as they know more about it from other people. It also impacts how people talk to Rook (reactivity from characters and then faction reactivity from plots relating to that faction) [source]

Faction choice affects a lot of things [source]

There aren't unique missions (I think this means like the playable Origins in DA:O), but faction choice does set the course for Rook for the rest of the game [source]

"body customization and morphing. From more muscular characters, to curvier builds, and just about any shape you want to give your character, there are all sorts of toggles to adjust so you can give them any figure you want". "There's even features that let you choose proportions, so you can alter their height, give them wider shoulders, and much more" [source]

There are makeup options [source]

There are tattoo options [source]

The hair uses a "Strand system" to "make them behave and move in a believable way for the different races" [source]. (Fel note/speculation: I think "race" here refers to irl, as opposed to like human vs qunari or something, as the language they are using for human/elf/dwarf/qunari is "Lineage")

There are 4 voices to choose from for Rook: two feminine and tow masculine (one American, one British for each) [source]

In CC, 'Lineage' is the game's parlance for race i.e. human, elf, dwarf, qunari [source]

We can pick Rook's name, but the dialogue calls them 'Rook' [source]

In CC we can "make a few key decisions that will impact how The Veilguard begins" [source]

"I really do think its our most feature-ful character creator ever." [source]

Story and lore

In the opening segment of the game (see more on the story's opening moments here), we're too late and Solas' ritual worsens, so Rook and the companions go to stop him. When travelling to the next location (Arlathan Forest) in the chase after Solas, the characters travel through an eluvian [source]. The Forest is where his ritual is taking place. Varric then asks the player if he should confront Solas, and players then work to take down the surrounding statues in order to stop the ritual. "I won’t spoil what happens next, but I’ll just say the player and Veilguard have a tall task ahead of them if they want to save Thedas." [source]

Four of the 6 faction options for Rook (Mourn Watch, Lords of Fortune, Veil Jumpers, Shadow Dragons) are "rooted in northern Thedas" [source]

There aren't unique missions (I think this means like the playable Origins in DA:O), but faction choice does set the course for Rook for the rest of the game [source]

A line of dialogue Dorian had at the Winter Palace in DA:I about what Tevinter is like informed the devs' approach to bringing to life the setting of Tevinter: ""There's a line in Dragon Age Inquisition that we always like to call back to," Epler says. "Dorian goes to the Winter Palace, which, up to that point, is probably the most impressive thing you've seen [as the Inquisitor], and [he] says something like, 'Oh, this is cute.' And we had to ask, what does it look like? What is Tevinter if Dorian sees that [the Winter Palace] and thinks that?"" [source]

The fact that Minrathous used to be the land of the elves was factored into the location's design. John Epler: "You can see the architecture has changed. It's become a lot more elven focused. And something that we've kind of hinted at, but we've never really shown explicitly, is the idea that Tevinter is built on the bones of the ancient elven empire. Tevinter itself, Minrathous itself, all the magic you see, that's just a pale imitation of what the elves are capable of. So you'll start to see as you get deeper into the game, the elves, for example, worked Lyrium into their building materials. Tevinter can't quite figure out how to do that. So instead, you'll see more gold and gems, kind of imitating it, but not ever quite approaching what the elves are able to do, and really creating that continuity of the space. Obviously, Solas isn't too thrilled that this world is the way it is, because he lived in a time of miracles and magic, and even the most magical place in Thedas isn't magic like the elven people used to be able to do" [source]

At the end of the opening portion of the game there is a "jaw-dropping title card cliffhanger" [source]

On the opening sequence: ""One of the things we wanted to do with this game is make the prolog feel like the final mission of a different game," John Epler says. "We really needed to get the stakes, the spectacle, right off the bat. Obviously, players who had been waiting to confront Solas have been waiting for just this moment."" [source]

Each companion has their own storyline that runs parallel to the main story [source]

You cannot succeed without the companions. Each of them has a reason why they need to be part of your party, why they need to help you stop the end of the world [source]

All 7 companions are recruited in the game's first act [source]

The firey demon looking guys shown near the start of the Gameplay Reveal are Rage Demons. Demons in general got a revamp in this game "to more closely align their look", this can be seen with the shades and the Pride demons as well. "they’re creatures of emotion so they have a spectral nervous system look" [source]

The Pride demon the group fight at the Solas face-off in the Gameplay Reveal video "was more a direct tie to Solas than anything else, but it didn't escape us how much it echoed the beginning of DA:I". they wanted to show the stakes and the scale of Solas' power [source]

Characters, companions, romance

Harding was one of the earliest characters that the devs wanted to bring into DA4, because she was such a fan favorite. She is this game's 'traditional returning' character [source]

Each character's romance flavor or style is different. They don't want every character for the romance to feel the same. They want everyone to have their own flavor that's appropriate to them as a character [source] [two]

"We found as we were building a story, more than ever before, it's a story about the people around you; a story about building this team, and working with them." [source]

Each companion has their own storyline that runs parallel to the main story [source]

You cannot succeed without the companions. Each of them has a reason why they need to be part of your party, why they need to help you stop the end of the world [source]

All companions are pansexual (specifically pansexual, not playersexual) [source]

Their pansexuality may come through in what we learn about their backstories [source]

No companion romance is race-locked [source]

Companions reference their past experiences or partners, and they reference who they'll become romantic with. [source]

If you don't romance a character, they may find a different partner for themselves. This could be within the companion roster itself or outside of it in the broader world. [source] For example, if the player does not romance Harding, she may get together with Taash [source]

The game is rated M [source]

The game contains nudity [source]

We can start flirting with the companions pretty early [source]

All 7 companions are recruited in the game's first act [source]

It is not until later parts of the game that you really commit to romance and things get pretty spicy [source]

The nudity, spicy things etc is more towards the end of the game [source]

The devs want the companions to be relatable and fully realized. So things get spicy, but in a more relatable way for people than e.g. some of the more shocking and comical scenes of this nature in Baldur's Gate 3 [source]

How sexually explicit the scenes are varies between characters. Some are more spicy than others. They have diverse personalities like in real life. "Some of them are more physical, more aggressive, and some of them are more... we have a gentleman necromancer [Emmrich], for instance, that is more intimate and sensual." [source] "some characters may be a little more steamy while some characters maybe a little bit more innocent" [source]

The romance and relationship system is more fleshed out than in previous BioWare games. A character's romance will be better woven into their personal story arc and into their involvement in the core questline of the game [source]

"BioWare has also worked to ensure that getting to know your characters as friends feels just as satisfying - and that just because you're not banging your buddy, their (platonic) relationship with you will still continue." ""One of the things we tried to do with The Veilguard is it's not just romantic relationship building," Epler continued. "You need to get to know a person before you can really build that kind of relationship with them, and if you choose not to build a [romantic] relationship, we never want to feel like you're being cut off. There's no 'okay, well, their arc isn't progressing, I'm done'." We want to make sure the non-romantic relationships are deep as well, with friendships not just for companions and yourself, but also between companions across the party."" [source]

GDL reprises his role as Solas [source]

Gameplay, presentation, performance etc

The game has a photo mode [source]

Combat is fast-paced [source]

If you pause the game using the ability wheel you can scan enemies to learn more information about them [source]

Each of the 3 main classes is distinguished by how it generates and spends energy for abilities [source]

Each of the 3 subclasses for each 3 main class promise to offer some meaningful distinctions from each other [source]

for this, rogues have momentum. You build momentum by attacking, by dodging, by parrying, and you lose it by being hit, so there's really a focus with rogues on avoiding damage, avoiding attacks. They build momentum quickly, but they lose it quickly. Warriors have rage, which they build a little bit more slowly, but they don't lose [source]

Attacks can be cancelled [source]

Regarding enemy weaknesses, some of these are elemental. In other cases their defenses are more vulnerable to specific types of abilities [source]

Combat seems to be a matter of managing our abilities as best we can to whittle down enemy defenses and take advantage of their weaknesses [source]

Over the course of the game we get access to three abilities per companion as well as an additional two abilities we can slot, and an additional ability that coms off of items that the devs will not talk about for now [source]

Fully offline single player, no EA account linking, no micro-transactions [source]

The game uses advanced rendering tech in Frostbite, nice subsurface scattering, high quality meshes, while having a striking pseudo-painterly look [source]

There are blood spatters in the game [source]

Production values on the game have gone through the roof. It looks like a big improvement on what came before [source]

On the music: "lots of foreboding tunes mixed with epic flair" [source]

Good voice acting, great facial animations, good hair tech, busy-looking environments and worlds [source]

It's not open world. "There are open areas you can explore around in, but it's mostly structured/mission based, sort of like Mass Effect." [source]

There are difficulty options [source]

They will talk about PC spec stuff at a later time [source]

There is probably an option to see damage numbers [source]

There are many reasons why the game is M-rated [source]

There are lots of abilities, with 3 swapped in on the wheel at any one time [source]

There are a bunch of accessibility options and they will talk about these soon [source]

The ability wheel gives you flexibility to enhance your playstyle. If you don't want to use it at all, you don't have to and that's no issue as shortcuts are available [source]

[☕ found this post or blog interesting or useful? my ko-fi is here if you feel inclined. thank you 🙏]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #solas #lgbtq #mass effect #pls remember if you are following me you should be 18+ ^^

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fayes-fics · 2 months ago

Text

The Secrets We Keep: Pt II

<< Part I

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Knowing someone your whole life doesn’t mean they can’t surprise you… (part II, see above for link to part I)

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f), cunnilingus, hand job, vaginal sex, woman on top, orgasm. Also a lot of fluff and a few dashes of angst.

Word Count: 8.5k (13.6k for complete fic, including Pt I)

Authors Note: Part 2 of 2. Part 1 linked above. My longest gestating WIP! It’s been more than 18 months since I received a request for this secret diary fic. Tulip Anon, I have no idea if you still follow me, but I hope you think I did your detailed request justice. Here is the conclusion to this Benepic! Betaed by the awesome @colettebronte, who I can’t thank enough. Enjoy! 🫶

-vii-

The first thing you feel is throbbing pain, an insistent drum in your head, mouth dry as if you have been chewing cotton wool—the instant regret of excessive drinking floods through you. However, when your eyes reluctantly peel open, your predicament escalates.

You have no earthly idea where you are. Or how you got here. The last thing you remember was Benedict kissing you; then the room was literally spinning from entirely too much brandy.

Still in the dress you wore yesterday, but tucked under crisp white linens. A trace of a familiar scent upon the pillow that you cannot quite place in your fuzzy state. Gingerly sitting up, you try to get your bearings, not yet awake enough to have any reaction beyond puzzlement.

The room is darkened, thankfully, save for a sliver of the rising sun that slashes across the bed through a narrow gap in the curtains. You are in a large mahogany four-poster bed; the room is decorated in rich jewel tones—heavy velvet burgundy drapes and dark blue Persian rugs, panelled walls on which stunning artwork hangs. Embers glow in a nearby fireplace as you spy your pelisse hanging on the back of a door and your shoes neatly arranged nearby.

Then you twist and see the bedside cabinet, and your stomach plunges.

There, alongside a glass of water, is your notebook. Your secret notebook. The one that should still be concealed within the hidden pocket of your pelisse. But instead, it is here. And what is worse, it is open. Open to a page with one of your favourite sketches of Benedict: his eyes crinkling against the strong rays of the sun, a carefree smile on his face.

Instantly, you grab it and slam it shut. Fingernails drumming urgently on its silken cover, now hugged into your chest. Horrified that your mystery generous benefactor, who must have seen you to bed, has also been privy to your most private thoughts.

Galvanised by a need to solve the mystery of who, you relinquish your tight hold on the tome. It is then that a folded letter slips out of its pages and drops into your lap. Tentatively, you unfurl the paper and are aghast by the headed notepaper declaring the author and revealing your host. The worst possible person you could think of.

But then your gaze falls to the elegant script inked onto its thick parchment, and your life is indelibly altered.

Dearest Y/n

I hope you are well-rested. There are so many things I am impatient to impart, but I must begin with an explanation and, indeed, an apology.

You are in my bedroom, at my lodgings. I brought you here as I saw no other option that would guarantee your safety and welfare, which is always my utmost concern. I made pains to ensure your arrival here was not seen, and I must assure you, in case your recall is uncertain, that nothing has happened between us beyond our kiss.

Now onto my apology, which is two-fold, although I suspect it should contain multitudes more. Firstly, my most sincere and unreserved apologies for my ungentlemanly conduct at our last two encounters. As wondrous as those kisses were, they were nonetheless inexcusable. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my impulsive actions.

Secondly, I must apologise for my discovery of this, your private diary. My knowledge of its existence is purely accidental; I removed it from your coat merely as a wish for your possessions to be in neat order upon your awakening. My knowledge of its contents, however… for that, I must throw myself at your mercy and beg for your forgiveness. Curiosity and liquor are not the best companions, and it seems both got the better of me.

In what I hope is partial recompense, I will confess a secret of mine. Arguably selfish in nature and most likely the worst possible timing, too. However, given what I have now seen, I am utterly compelled to convey it….

I love you, y/n.

Most ardently and most truly.

There is no person in the world I would rather spend time with. Whose thoughts I am always impatient to know and whose every moment I wish to be a part of. For some time now, you have occupied my every thought.

It is why I felt compelled to act when I heard from Eloise about your impossible situation. I will do anything within my power to assist you. It is why I said that I want to alleviate your burdens. I meant every word and more. My happiness is seemingly inextricably calibrated to yours—when I see you happy, it brings me great joy, and when I see you are not, it brings a pang to my chest I know not what do with.

I would have taken these feelings to my grave… were it not for this diary. When what I found hidden within ts pages gave me the exquisite burden of hope. Hope that perhaps you return my affections? May indeed have done so for quite some time as well?

I must also take a moment to compliment your poetic talent, and that is to say nothing of your artistic abilities, which quite frankly are humbling. Dare I dream of a day that we could paint together? Sorry (Again! Multitudes indeed!), I am likely getting far ahead of myself.

I will not be home when you read this. Partial cowardice on my part, no doubt, but born out of utmost respect. You always deserve the right to choose, y/n, and that includes what you do with this confession. I do not wish for you to be obligated to see me or let me know your response, thoroughly eager though I am to hear of it.

If you wish to speak to me before your wedding ceremony, please leave your hair ribbon tied to my phaeton upon your departure. I will find a way to see you. If you do not, I shall, of course, respect your decision.

A vila mon coeur, gardi li mo: You will always have my heart; I hope you also choose to be its haven.

Benedict

You could read this confession a thousand times over and still scarcely believe it; the depth of his feelings declared plainly, boldly, and so lyrically in writing. You pour over it once more, giddily aglow, your fingers tracing across his elegant, looped script, your lips moving as you mouth his words, needing to have them within you somehow. Then, you lovingly refold and place the letter between the last two blank pages of your notebook—a more fitting denouement to its contents you could not imagine.

You put on your shoes and pelisse, still floating on a cloud. A valet meets you in the hallway and, with a wordless nod of acknowledgement, leads you out of the rear mews entrance, handing you a large silk scarf to conceal yourself under. With one final glance up at Benedict’s abode, you unfurl the ribbon from your hair and, insides aflutter, tie it in a neat bow onto his phaeton before wrapping the scarf around your head and stealing out onto the streets of Mayfair.

-viii-

Still in a daze about Benedict’s confession, you slip into the servant's entrance of your family home, tiptoeing through the dormant kitchen and tugging off the scarf. Just as you believe yourself home-free, Mrs White, head cook and ersatz maternal figure, materialises from the pantry, nearly dropping a bag of flour in surprise.

“Lawks alive, sweet child, you gave me a fright!” she exclaims, clutching her chest. “Pray tell, why are you sneaking into my kitchen at the crack of dawn?”

You cringe and turn sheepishly to meet her gaze. “Sorry for the scare, Mrs White. I, um, indulged rather too heavily last night. I was in no fit state to return home. I stayed with a trusted friend.” The truth, albeit behind a veil of obfuscation. “Please do not tell Father!” you add hurriedly.

As she plunks down the flour and smacks her fingers together to rid them of its nascent dust, she chuckles. “I shall not divulge if you do not… for I was already under your father’s employ when I did the same many years ago, the night before I made my Harry an honest man.”

“Deal!” you giggle, clutching your notebook tight to your chest, unable to quash the ebullience fizzing in your being.

“You look as if you caught a rainbow and sold it to the sky,” she declares, crossing her arms and observing you closely. “Wedding day excitement, yes?!” she adds pointedly with a raised eyebrow, even as her tone very much suggests she suspects otherwise.

“Of course, Mrs White…” you concur, attempting to conceal the quirk of your lip.

She rolls her eyes and shoos you affectionately towards the hallway. “Away with you! I suspect the less I truly know, the better…”

You say nothing; just give her a nod and race up the servant's stairs, keen to make it to your bedroom unseen.

As soon as you are safely there, you toe off your shoes and only then relinquish your vice-like grip upon your notebook to hurriedly change into your nightgown as if you had been asleep in the house all night. Enacting a plan you conceived on the brisk walk home, you grab a night bag from your ottoman. Flinging open your wardrobe, patently ignoring the wedding dress hung upon its door, you bundle the notebook with a couple of your favourite outfits and stuff them into the bag. Buckling it shut while you scoot across the room, you open the sash window and - with a quick check of the garden below - drop the bag into the large rhododendron beneath, hopeful the dense, fragrant blooms will conceal its presence for now.

Just as you are closing the window, a gaggle of ladies descend upon your room, led by your fussing mother, your ladies' maid Rachel among them. Realising she has had to lie to keep your cover since yesterday at the modiste, you silently shoot her a brief look of reassurance.

“Rise and shine, darling!” your mother chimes. “‘Tis your most special day!”

And then everything is a blur as the preparation for your wedding starts in earnest, you still slightly detached from it all, your thoughts purely of Benedict. It is only sometime later that you get a few moments of peace with just Rachel as she puts the finishing touches to your look.

“You seem changed, my lady…” Rachel opines sotto voce, sliding a pin into your hair.

You say nothing, even as your eyes meet in the vanity table mirror, unwilling to confess details of what has transpired just yet. Unsure yourself even what it could mean until you get the chance to see Benedict yourself, your stomach in knots to do so.

“I told your family you took dinner alone last night in your room after returning from the modiste, and then you went to sleep…” she whispers, leaning in even though you are alone.

“Thank you. I am truly grateful,” you offer sincerely before adding: “I will tell you more when I am able. I do beg one more favour of you…?”

She makes eye contact again in your reflection, giving a brief tentative nod after a pause.

“If you should hear from a Bridgerton valet, please follow any directions he provides,” you implore, the image of your hair ribbon fluttering gently in the breeze emblazoned in your mind.

“A valet? Not a ladies’ maid?” she checks softly, frowning.

“Yes, just please… do as he asks?”

“Yes, my lady,” she demures before reaching for your jewellery.

It is only as the carriage you and your mother ride in shudders over the cobblestones towards St George’s church an hour or so later that reality comes crashing in.

So engrossed in thoughts of seeing Benedict all morning, you had almost forgotten the dreadful fate that likely awaits you. A sudden spike of fear that he will not turn up, that something will prevent him from seeing you, or, heaven forfend, today’s stiff breeze has blown your hair ribbon asunder.

All at once, your head is spinning, your dress feels too tight, and there is a plunging dread in the pit of your stomach, your skin prickling hard before your vision seems to swim with dots before narrowing to blackness…

“Y/n!? Whatever is the matter?!” your mother’s alarmed voice rings out as you woozily return.

You are slumped sideways against the glass window, its cool surface a balm on your suddenly fevered temple.

“Is it what I told you about your wedding night…?!” she frets, her laced glove tickling your forehead as she appears to be checking your temperature. “I can assure you, you will get used to it…”

You bat her away and slowly sit upright, taking a calming breath while also trying to blot out the memory of her talk about marital relations right before you left the house. Not able to confess it as unnecessary without raising suspicion, you had to endure a stumbling, unhelpful explanation of things you already know. Indeed, you have witnessed at Granville’s parties, even if you have not taken part yourself.

But then the sudden thought of being required to do such with Lord Farringdon has you grasping the curtain, your empty stomach heaving at the mere prospect. The silent hope that Benedict can assist you at the eleventh hour is the only thing that stops you from passing out anew.

With a shaky gait and a queasy, oily feeling, you alight a few moments later, your mother lending an arm of support as your father and brothers pile out of the other carriage. This is to be the entirety of your wedding guest list. You have pulled into a side courtyard of the church, concealed behind high walls, away from the inquisitive sights of the Ton. The rushed nature of the union and Whistledown’s latest means your family has no wish for this to be a public event, keen to be rid of scandal. Only your immediate family, your husband-to-be and the vicar - a friend of your father’s - know of today’s ceremony. Well, and Benedict. You did not even get the chance to inform Eloise of this expedited schedule.

As he leads you up the stairs and into the side vestibule, your father informs you that Lord Farringdon is already awaiting you at that altar and that he will appreciate a swift ceremony. You swallow thickly and nod mutely, sensing the window of opportunity creaking closed with alarming alacrity, each incessant tick of the church clock seeming like both forever and not enough time, scrabbling for any chance to stall.

Just as you are about to lose all sense of hope, you see movement over your father's shoulder that has your heart leaping into your throat. There, through a mullioned window, you see the distorted outline of a phaeton swiftly pulling up on the other side of the church from where you entered, a palpable wave of relief and excitement washing over you.

Benedict has come!

-ix-

“Father, may I please have a moment alone?” you rush out breathlessly, pulse-pounding hard in your ears. Hoping he will interpret your request as mere nervousness about the imminent ceremony, you add: “Before I must take this big step and become a wife?”

He reluctantly grants your wishes, brusquely telling you it should be brief before following the rest of your family through the doors into the nave.

As soon as the coast is clear, you are darting out the entrance again and running around the outside of the church, wedding dress swishing around your legs, until you skid to a halt next to a pillar that conceals you from the street.

There, before you, arrestingly beautiful and jumping athletically down to the pavement, is Benedict—a vision in a blue velvet jacket and teal cravat.

Your eyes meet, and your knees want to buckle; such is the magnitude of the moment. He bounds up the granite steps and crushes his lips to yours briefly.

“No time to talk,” he rushes out. “If you wish to escape, take my hand, for we must depart now!”

Your heart hammers as you do the only thing you could ever want to: grab tightly onto his proffered hand as his face breaks out into the most arresting smile. Then it's a blur as he whisks you down the steps to his phaeton, hoisting you up onto its leather bench and throwing a blanket into your lap, then clambering in himself. With a shake of the reins, you lurch and take off down an alleyway at a rapid pace. The velocity of motion, red bricks of buildings whizzing by mere feet away, has you momentarily stunned and so you almost jump out of your skin when he speaks loudly over the rushing noise.

“Cover yourself before we get to the street,” Benedict advises quick-fire, only taking his attention off the road briefly to nod to the blanket. Just as you are struggling to conceal yourself, the horses careen onto Park Lane, attracting attention for the speed you are already travelling.

“Benedict!” you chastise, your arm shooting out to grab the side of the partial umbrella-like hood that arches over you, having to cling on for dear life. “This is not exactly a stealthy escape!”

“I know,” he grimaces, not looking at you, “but we must make haste and be as far away as we can as soon as possible.”

“Regardless of destination, we will need to stop at my house!” you almost have to yell to be heard over the jostling wheels on either side of you.

“Why??” His whole face screwed up in disbelief.

“I must gather some things! I will not leave without them, Benedict!!” you warn.

“What could possibly be worth stopping for?” he decries, the whole vehicle swaying violently as he rounds another bend.

“Perchance, other clothing?!” you wither loudly, frowning that he had not considered such, before adding: “And your letter!?”

His head whips around to look at you and there is an intensity in his gaze that has your heart stuttering. An all-consuming want to kiss his lips as his gaze falls to your mouth. Only the urgent yelp of a pedestrian you narrowly avoid colliding into rips your attention away from each other.

He rights the phaeton, tugging the reins so the horses slow.

“Alright,” he concedes, quieter, calmer. “But please do be as quick as you are able…”

You don't get the chance to inform him you have already packed and stowed a bag because he is pulling up in the quiet mews behind your family home. You jump down and take off, sprinting through the small gate and across the lawn. Soon, you are diving into the large bushes on the side of the house beneath your bedroom window. Fumbling around, you have to wrestle your dress from a branch before you reach the wall. Emitting a muted noise of victory as you are finally able to grab your bag and out of the foliage without looking.

“Miss y/l/n!?”

You jump out of your skin, spinning to see Mrs White standing at a nearby door, wielding a rolling pin.

“Mrs White, please,” you beseech, “please, do not tell anyone!”

She takes stock of you: your animated state, your wedding dress torn over your knee where it snagged upon that branch, a night bag grasped in your ringless left hand… and she appears to make a calculated decision.

“I fear I could not, my child,” she offers with a shrug, “I do not see anyone for me to tell of…”

The small, sympathetic nod and smile toying her lips has you barreling towards her, throwing your free arm tight around her as flour dust puffs onto the silk of your dress. You utter your thanks, flooded with gratitude, hugging her close before disentangling, you take off sprinting before she can say anymore.

-x-

As you depart from your family home, a companionable silence settles between you—a tacit understanding that there is much to discuss, but the journey is not the ideal place to do so. Both resolute to put some miles between yourselves and your family, likely now emerging from the church and wondering where on earth you are. A flare of guilt in your belly for not informing Rachel or even your mother. You resolve to send word tomorrow that you are safe without providing details.

As the edges of London give way to the countryside, you do decide to ask one simple question.

“Where are we headed, Benedict?”

“I have a suggested destination….” he begins enigmatically, an odd cadence to his voice, “but we will discuss that later, once we stop for the night at an inn.”

There is a little flutter behind your ribs at the thought, but it is forgotten as a strong gust of wind whistles over the carriage, making you shiver and burrow into the blanket, wishing you had grabbed your pelisse from the night bag before setting off.

You startle as Benedict pulls you snugly into his side, adjusting the carriage hood and then the blanket, too, so he provides partial shelter from the winds as they whip across the fields.

“I am sorry I do not have an enclosed carriage for you to journey in comfort,” he winces, his speech humming into you. “But it is best we use this speedier option anyway. We will cover more ground swiftly travelling light.”

You nod in acknowledgement. “Thank you for the blanket, at least; it is very considerate,” you respond, not unpleased to have an excuse to cuddle into him as you reassure him: “I am well now.”

Indeed, the warmth of his flank on yours and the steady rocking motion of the carriage is soporific, the whirlwind of the day hitting you even though it is merely lunchtime.

“Please rest if you need to,” he intuits, “I will wake you if needed.”

And despite the elements, you find the lure of sleep inevitable.

A warm wetness on your brow stirs you.

“Y/n…”

You wish you could always be roused like this; your name a soft rumble from Benedict’s lips as they trace gently over your forehead. You nuzzle unthinkingly into the sound and feel, which has him chuckling into your skin.

“We are here, at the inn….” he murmurs, his breath hot into your hairline.

You blink awake. “We are?!’” You twist to see you are stopped alongside an elegant Tudor wood building. “How long have I been asleep?!”

“All afternoon,” he admits, a touch sheepish. “You looked so peaceful and I assume you must need the rest after a tumultuous few days.”

His touching manner has a warmth spreading behind your ribs that makes you push up and land a kiss on his jaw.

“Thank you,” you whisper, pulling away but pleased to see a dot of colour high on his cheekbones.

“‘Tis nothing,” he demures before changing the topic. “I am sure you are hungry and in need of refreshments. So we shall dine and remain here for the night. We have covered a considerable distance from London already—around forty miles.” He jumps down and stands expectantly holding out a hand for you to follow suit as he continues speaking. “To avoid attention, we should present ourselves as family relations—cousins, perhaps?”

“I am in a wedding dress,” you remind as you wrestle your way out of the blanket and reach for him to descend.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he scans down your form, lingering slightly.

“Oh yes. Well. Umm. Perchance as husband and wife then?” he flusters as you step down with his assistance.

“Would that not draw the attention you mentioned we should avoid?” you murmur, your hands still joined even though you are on the ground now.

“Do you have another suggestion?” he queries, his breath warm on your face as you stand entirely too close, fingers flexing around yours.

“Unless you wish me to remove my dress out here…” you goad, a little crest of victory as his pupils rapidly dilate and he huffs a breath, “...then I do not.”

“We have much to discuss,” he almost growls, which stokes something low in your belly as he tugs you along towards the entrance, only stopping to nod briefly to the inn’s groomsman who emerges to take care of your horses.

-xi-

The tavern at the inn is a warm, convivial space, wood-panelled, the smell of delicious foods wafting in the air alongside the tannin of wine and the ferrous tang of dark beer as crowds of people of all walks of life gather. Benedict sees you into a corner booth away from other patrons as he orders food, then goes to secure your accommodation for the night.

As he returns, passing you a glass of wine, there is a nervous churning in your gut; this is the first opportunity you have had to talk properly since you awoke to his life-changing letter.

“I have no idea where to begin,” he confesses, looking perplexed, and it makes you reach out in reassurance over the table, pulse strong in his raised veins under your fingertips.

“Your letter was the single most wondrous thing I have ever received,” you offer honestly, his eyes softening, making your heart flutter. “Benedict,” you take a steadying breath before ploughing on with the truth you have never spoken aloud before, “I have loved you for as long as I can remember…”

His face lights up, and his hand turns under yours, your palms touching as he laces your fingers together in a tight knot, then brings your joined fists to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently.

“Why did you never tell me?” He entreats softly.

“Why did you never tell me?” You return lightning quick, a quirk on your lips that has him chuckling.

“An entirely fair accusation,” he concedes, shuffling closer and grabbing your other hand, your heads so close together now. “I suppose I thought my feelings irrelevant, futile even, that you would secure a titled husband. Though why your father chose such a vile one confounds me, I must confess.”

“I believe that a chastisement,” you commence but are interrupted by food arriving at your table.

So, as you eat, you explain the whole story between mouthfuls. That you were able to delay your debut last season in your father’s absence, but it meant this season, he was determined to see you matched swiftly. Recounting fondly your time spent with your Aunt Eliza, Benedict appearing impressed as you reel off all the skills you now possess. You also talk in detail about how her encouragement meant you fell into the London art scene and how you know Henry Granville. Benedict listens intently, taking bites of his dinner, but his attention never wavers from you as you recount everything.

“So yes, I believe the match was about my father’s wish to quash a perceived rebellion more than a match society might deem appropriate for the firstborn daughter of a Viscount.”

“An untitled second son, even less so,” Benedict muses softly, downcasting his eyes, a flare of insecurity that has you putting down your cutlery and grabbing his jaw.

“Benedict, please do not,” you petition, rubbing a thumb over his cheek. “You know me. You know that I have never cared what society might think! If I were to marry, I would only ever want it to be a love match. I would not give a damn if my husband were a penniless beggar as long as he loves and respects me.”

You pause as he raises his soulful gaze to yours, your faces so close.

“Luckily for me, the man who stole my heart fifteen years ago is neither penniless nor a beggar. He is a wonderful, caring, handsome, passionate artist who I would indeed be lucky to paint next to,” you conclude with reference to a line in his letter, a scene you can picture so clearly it seems more premonition than a dream.

“Fifteen years?” he repeats, a look of utter wonderment as he turns his lips aside to kiss your palm where you still cup his face. You nod, a little nostalgic smile tugging at your lips as he adds: “Then I must confess… I have never been more grateful for my incessant curiosity; it led me to your diary and thus to this very moment.”

He takes your hands from his jaw, then kisses both of your knuckles again in turn, but this time, he lingers, his lips warm, damp and pursed open, and a trace of his tongue dabs your protruding bone. A shiver runs down your spine, stoking something acute, dangerous and exhilarating.

“Do you know I have kept that notebook hidden since I was fourteen? Sewing a secret pocket into all of my coats or hiding it under floorboards so it would never be found. For six years. Yet it took you less than one evening…”

“Maybe it was waiting to reveal itself to the one person who needed to see it the most…” he muses between kisses, his breath gusting hot over your fingers.

That seismic but simple poetic sentence devastates your ability or wish to talk anymore—a thronging need for him that you are powerless to resist any longer.

“Take me to our room, Benedict,” you command, voice tremulant with want and hope.

His head shoots up, his face a captivating tapestry of barely bridled passion and astonishment.

“But I-I booked us separate rooms,” he stumbles, confounded, and that gentlemanly act just makes you want him all the more.

Uncaring that you are sitting in a wedding dress in a public tavern, you pitch forward and capture his lips in a kiss that instantly becomes passionate and demanding, your hand running into his hair and tugging him closer.

“You should return the key and request your money back, for that will not be necessary…” you decree, breathing the words into his mouth.

That seems to light a fire in him. He shoves back the table and sweeps you into his arms bridal style, striding out of the room purposefully, his mouth hot on yours, your pounding heartbeat almost drowning out the bawdy, raucous cheers from the drunken patrons you pass.

-xii-

Once the room door clicks closed behind you, his demeanour softens. He gently removes your shoes before setting your stockinged feet down on a plush rug in front of a roaring fire. He tugs his jacket off so he stands before you in a colourful waistcoat and ruffled shirt.

“Are you certain?” His ask is chivalrous, tinged with such delicate hope it makes you melt.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life,” you declare candidly, boldly stepping towards him.

His hands encircle your waist as yours slide up his biceps, the warmth of his skin through the crisp white fabric making your blood run warm.

“I may be chaste, but I know of what we are to do; I have been at Granville’s, remember. I also know that I want this. So very much.”

“I am the luckiest man…” he asserts in a low rumble, your honesty seeming to ignite him again as he crowds into you.

It’s an electrifying kiss that has your scalp tingling: his hands moulded to you, mapping your every curve as you take from each other as you never have before, desperation bubbling over with each parry of tongues. His fingers land on the buttons of your dress, between your shoulder blades, silently asking permission.

“Rip it off me,” you urge impulsively, chest heaving within your stays. “I want you to destroy this very dress and everything it represents….”

His responding growl inflames your core, molten liquid heat as his large hands grab the material and tear it asunder from your body so you stand before him, trembling with desire in just your stays and chemise.

He guides your fingers to his waistcoat, the crackle of the fire and the huff of his breaths the only sound in the room. His chest rises and falls steadily as you work on each button. When you reach the last one, he shucks the garment from his torso, then crosses his arms and discards his shirt in one swift motion, sailing away in a puffed arch. The broad expanse of smooth chest before you has you tongue-tied. A lean musculature and pale complexion reminiscent of Italian renaissance sculpture… but living, breathing and looking at you as if you are the most precious thing on earth.

Long arms wrap around you, enveloping you in his warmth, fingers spidering up the notches of your spine through the thin cotton of your chemise until they reach your stays and pluck upon the laces there. He unties them slowly as his lips trail hotly down your throat. You have observed forms of intimacy but didn't expect the firsthand experience to be so rich, so all-consuming. The sights, the sensations, the scents. Like the tangy undernotes lurking beneath his woody cologne, an aroma that is all him, his bare skin. It makes your mouth water and lean into him; a want to be a part of him almost—so much heat and touch.

As your loosened stays drop to the floor behind you, a clawing need for his flesh on yours has you rapidly discarding your chemise over your head, naked now save your stockings. But before he has the chance to see, you propel yourself into him again, his solid chest colliding with your breasts, your peaked nipples trapped against his warmth. A loud groan from his lips that you swallow as you push up onto tiptoes and wrap your arms around his strong neck, kissing him ferociously. His grip slides down to grasp your bottom, pulling you into him, something rigid pressing your stomach through the refined wool of his trousers.

“Let me look at you,” he pleads, withdrawing a half step, his eyes sweeping covetously down your body as you feel aglow in the heat of the adjacent fire. “You are so beautiful,” he attests shakily, an insistent throbbing between your legs that is all of his making, so close without any stimulation.

“Touch me, Benedict.”

It’s equal parts order and request, grabbing his wrist and guiding it low over your belly. His elegant fingertips curl through the patch of hair before swiping between your legs, dilated pupils boring into yours as you emit a wanton moan, knees almost buckling. A strong arm wraps around you to keep you steady as he observes you up close, repeating the motion, parting your folds this time, you honeying upon his fingertips as he glances over your swollen clit.

You whimper his name, and he claims your lips again, sliding the pad of his fingers over that spot over and over. Fingernails digging into his arm at his expert touch, the air swirling with the wet sound and scent of your arousal.

“You smell so utterly divine,” he groans, pitching forward and almost biting your bottom lip in a toothful, desperate meeting, your moans echoing over his tongue. “I need to taste you,” he stutters.

You have to shoot out an arm to grasp the mantlepiece as he suddenly drops to his knees before you and buries his face into your mound, inhaling deeply, his nose pressed onto your clitoral hood. He is so primal in his desperation as he lifts one of your legs and places it over his shoulder, diving into your folds, his tongue a wet, hot spear over your swollen nub. Your other hand burrows into his thick head of hair, scratching along his scalp as he hums his approval into your damp heat, the vibration causing sparks of pleasure to fan out.

It takes what little shred of concentration you have left to stay upright, clinging to the fireplace and him, rocketing skyward so dizzyingly fast, slack-jawed, breathless, rooted in your body as you gawk down at him. You had no idea this would be so intense, so carnal. His stare is fixated upwards on you, reading your reactions like a book, his glazed jaw moving with expert precision buried between your legs—an intoxicating sight that burns into your retinas.

“I need you to come for me, y/n,” he begs hotly into your soaked flesh, his tongue a muscular swipe greater than his fingers, his fingers plucking the ribbons holding your stockings loose so they slide down to your feet.

“I want to do so with you…” you gasp, unable to prevent whatever forms in your mouth from slipping out, leaking profusely onto his chin.

“You will; I promise,” his gravelly assurance, the permission you need to let go, riding his tongue with abandon, your body undulating, chasing that ephemeral high you have only experienced from your own touch before. But this is so much more, so wholly other, magnitudes indeed, the words from his letter never far from your thoughts even as you spiral somewhere close to bliss. His gaze locked onto you, able to read all your signs: skin flushed, ragged pants, shuddering with each quest of his tongue.

And then he gently bites your clit, and you are gone, his hands needing to clamp onto your hips to hold you upright as your body convulses. You cry out, sagging onto him as your body races with a high that fizzes in every cell, radiating in waves of pleasure that have you calling out, uncaring who may hear, incapable of anything but clinging to his hair for dear life and scrunching your toes into the thick wool rug underfoot.

You know you utter a curse, entirely overpowered by the euphoria coursing through you as he stands back up and pulls you into his arms, kissing your cheek chastely, the scent of you strong on his face. But as you come back to yourself, renewed passion stokes in you, determination to give as good as you have been given, a drive for mutual pleasure that has you shoving him backwards forcefully.

He falls back onto the bed, a look of total surprise claiming his face as you crowd over him, laying prone, attacking his trouser buttons with a vigour that has him stunned, his mouth agape. But he doesn't move to stop you, far from it. There is a flash in his eye as you grab his hands and cage them onto the sheets briefly before returning to attack his clothing. Wordlessly, he lifts his pelvis when you tap his hipbone, and then you are tugging his trousers down and off, flinging them across the room.

You are momentarily taken aback when you look down and realise he is without underwear, now as naked as you. His cock, nestled in a small patch of hair, is larger than you have seen before, tinged dark pink and leaking from the tip. It looks so good you bite your lip, a twinge deep inside that is pure want.

His moan is beautiful as you take him in hand. He is hot and steely in your grip as you move your hand up and down, learning his contours, fascinated by the contrast of how silky his skin is.

“I am so glad you have seen things you should not have,” he groans, squirming delightfully, so very responsive to your touch. It makes you greedy always to have him like this, yearning for you as much as you do him, stuttering your name as you change your grip and move a little faster.

“Please stop…” he grits out, his hand covering yours and slowing your motions, but you can tell it is utterly reluctant. “I am too close, my love…”

That reflexive term of endearment makes something melt behind your ribs, and you crawl up over him as you release his cock, claiming his lips in a kiss, his hands encircling your waist, pulling you down so that his cock is trapped under your pubic bone.

“I love you,” you breathe quietly over his lips, holding his face, wanting to convey the depth of feelings you have for this man.

“I love you too, y/n,” he replies earnestly, his eyes glassy, a cloud of emotion claiming his expression as his hands cup your jaw as well, a profound moment of heartfelt sincerity amid this tableau of fevered physicality.

“May I?”

Your ask is hesitant as you rearrange, sliding your legs up either side of his hips, signalling your wish to ride him, a need to be the one to give your virginity to him more than him to take it. Something achingly significant in the ability to choose.

He nods a reassuring and spellbound look, and a beguiling hitch in his throat as his tip brushes your entrance.

“It may hurt a little, my love,” he advises, wincing as if wishing that was not the case for you.

“I know,” you murmur back, grabbing his hands to aid you in sitting up so you have more range of motion.

And then, with a steadying breath, you lower yourself onto him, mouth falling open at the invasive stretch with barely a fraction of him inside you. His face is a kaleidoscope of everything you hope for him—joy and bliss. Your fingers grasp tight around his knuckles, your joined hands a knotted fist, as you feel a pinch of pain that makes you suck air through your teeth, knowing this is the moment you become a woman. So glad it is with him, the categorical love of your life.

Luckily, the ache is fleeting, and you sink lower, him moaning your name lyrically, you puffing a breath at the complete fullness. A pressure holding you open that is so galvanic you now understand the hedonism of what you have previously witnessed—the drive to satisfy an urge that is innate and potent.

“Oh my god, Benedict,” you stutter, as finally he is fully seated within your body, clinging to him, held open in the most arresting way.

“I know, my love, I know…” he soothes, untangling your hands to touch your skin, running his palms reverentially down your body. “You are amazing, a wonder…”

“Guide me…?”

He smiles and whispers gentle instructions for you to push up with your thighs and then sink back down, his hands now clamped around your waist to assist you. The sensation is indescribable, the drag of his cock against your walls as you slowly ascend and descend, trying to catalogue every second as a precious memory.

Your speed increases as you get used to the physicality of movement, a cloying, dewy heat spreading over both your bodies as you move in unison. He starts to tilt his hips off the bed to assist in your strokes, pushing to a new depth that catches your breath and has you muttering a curse, your hands scrabbling his abdomen, enjoying the flex of muscles there. His grip moves to your breasts, teasing your nipples in a way that has you gasping and riding harder. His fingers snagging on your sensitive buds is a beeline zipping to your engorged clit, that mashes into his body with every downward stroke you take. Still on a high from your last orgasm, it won't take much more for you to come again; this time, you hope in tandem.

His movements become more urgent, his noises louder, his touch firmer, squeezing you, bucking up with force now, making you moan with each new plunge onto him, as if he craves to leave an imprint of himself inside you.

“Are you close, my love?” you query, borrowing his term of endearment. It has his screwed-shut eyes flying open, his hands flexing on your hips, and a ripple up his rigid cock you can actually feel.

“Yesssss,” he hisses back, “please call me that again,” he entreats through clenched teeth, a prominent vein in his neck pulsing hard as his whole being seems to tense.

“My love,” you coo, treating it like a gift to bestow, addicted already to the effect it has on him, his fingers digging into your flesh in a way that will leave marks you will be proud to wear.

You move faster now, the sturdy bed squeaking in protest, the sound of your damp skin slapping together, taking even yourself by surprise at how visceral this is, especially for a first time. Expecting it to be less somehow and enraptured that instead, it is better, burning brighter than anything you have ever fantasised of—skin and sweat, muscle and bone, heart and body in rhapsody.

One of his hands squirrels between your legs, fingertips hooking against your clit, and within seconds, you are breaking. Your vision whiting out as you slam onto him, your pussy clenching in waves, his cock almost too much as you float somewhere that is both within you and a thousand miles above. Dimly, you sense his nails scrape your flesh as he calls out your name, loudly, debauched, wrecked, a strong pulse through his length as he shudders then goes entirely still, a warmth blooming deep inside your channel that is his seed, something about it so very primaeval.

You slump inelegantly onto his chest, huffing breaths, altered fundamentally by this magical experience. His touch is soothing, encouraging to lay upon him as he softens within you, eventually slipping out as you lay nuzzled together, exchanging soft words of sated joy—a sudden tide of fatigue lapping your edges. Fuzzily, you feel Benedict chuckle under you and, with hushed, tender words, rearrange your pliant body, rolling you onto your side and curling protectively around you, a warming presence that has sleep seizing you almost immediately.

Awakening the following morning in Benedict’s arms is sublime, his stubbled lips grazing your neck as he rolls you under his warm weight. Just as your body stirs under his sensual kisses, he stops and sighs, dropping his forehead onto your clavicle.

“I wish to spend a lifetime right here, entwined naked with you, my love, but alas, I must desist,” he laments softly. “We need to get moving…”

“You never did say your planned destination,” you point out, running your fingers into his lush hair as he tilts his handsome face up to meet your gaze.

“Did I not?” He lilts, feigning ignorance. “I blame you entirely; your beauty is far too distracting..” Flattery falling from his lips reflexively. “Well, anyway, we must make haste if we are to reach Scotland by Friday as I have planned.”

“Scotland?” you echo breathlessly. “That is so far! Why there?”

“Gretna Green, my love,” his eyes sparkling as he hovers over you, entwining the fingers of your left hands together, his thumb brushing your ring finger. “I hope you are amenable to my proposal...”

And your heart veritably explodes.

-xiii-

The journey is long but worth it. Your wedding, five days later, over the border in Scotland, is everything you could hope for—a beautiful, romantic, private moment for just the two of you, promising your lives to each other in secret. Something thrillingly illicit about its location, too, the place to which all forbidden lovers escape. You do not wear a wedding dress, just a simple light blue chiffon one you had thrown into your night bag, always a favourite since Benedict once complimented you in it. He wears a cravat in the same colour. Exchanging matching wedding bands engraved inside with the same phrase Benedict signed off his love confession with: A vila mon coeur, gardi li mo (Here is my heart, guard it well).

You are happily ensconced in his idyllic Wiltshire cottage by the time family reactions to your elopement reach you almost two weeks later. The Bridgertons are supportive if a little shocked; the dowager Viscountess is always enamoured with a dramatic love story. Your family is less so, but they cannot deny a match with a Bridgerton is no bad thing, even if it was fleeting gossip fodder. You hear from your mother that Lord Farringdon did not demand compensation for your abscondment from the altar. Apparently, you were not the first to do so. Rumour has it that the odious man is negotiating a marriage deal with the Cowpers for their wayward daughter. It may be the first time you have felt a pang of sympathy for Cressida.

Mostly, you are grateful that the more scandalous truth surrounding your union - Benedict stealing you away on your wedding day - never becomes public knowledge. Every couple must keep some secrets from the world, no?

Although, a couple of weeks later, on a leisurely Sunday morning, you discover your marriage can no longer be considered as such.

“Darling, you might want to see this…” Benedict drawls casually, wandering into the bathroom as you luxuriate in warm water.

He drops the latest issue of Lady Whistledown onto a nearby stool as he tugs off his shirt, apparently planning to join you in your bath. Your mouth falls open in shock as you grab the pamphlet. But it is not from his naked form as his trousers hit the floor; it's from what you read:

Lastly, this author may have to eat her hat. News has reached me that Mr Benedict Bridgerton had indeed done the almost unthinkable and married the spirited Miss Y/n Y/l/n. They exchanged vows in a quiet ceremony far from the prying eyes of the Ton and will now settle in Wiltshire, I hear.

“How did she find out?” you ponder aloud as he slides into the tub behind you. Surely Whistledown must be close to the Bridgertons to discover as such?

“I have not a clue. But perhaps I should send her some honey from our hives to make her headwear more digestible?” he jests, interrupting your reading by pulling you backwards into his arms.

“Mr Bridgerton!” you chastise playfully, holding the paper aloft to save it from the sloshing he creates as he surrounds you, laughing carefree, so much delightfully naked skin around yours.

“Are you done reading Mrs Bridgerton?” His tone changes to a husky murmur in your ear, his fingers trailing distractingly upwards over your ribs under the water.

“You just brought this to me, husband,” you riposte pointedly, but your argument dies off into a wanton noise as his hands slide up and cup your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples expertly. You abandon any attempt to focus on the page, tossing the paper aside and twisting to capture his lips with yours.

Upon the floor, as water splashes onto the wood nearby, the last few sentences you missed glow in a shaft of sunlight:

Congratulations on the latest Bridgerton love match, and I wish them a lifetime of happiness. As I am certain, do all of you.

What secrets will I unearth next, dear readers? Even I do not yet know. But I look forward to it. Don’t you?

Yours sincerely,

Lady Whistledown

masterlist • wips • taglist (follow this blog to be tagged)

Benedict taglist pt1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

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genshin-scenarios · 7 months ago

Text

what flowers they’d give their s/o

Summary: A raffle request from my Adopt a Wanderer preorders! They’re a mix of genshin and HSR, but I’m posting it here as Wanderer’s included! If you'd like to see more HSR content from me, feel free to drop a request at @tiramisu-rambles!

Characters: Wanderer, Luocha, Jingyuan, Aventurine, Sunday

Content warnings: implications of character death in Luocha’s part.

Adopt a Wanderer: Digital Store

Red String of Fate Prompt List

Wanderer: Anemones

Sincerity, forsaken love, anticipation, protection from evil.

Just like the many versions of himself, anemones are windflowers with various meanings depending on their color. And despite the hurt Wanderer’s been through, his barriers are worn down by your honest intentions; your brightness, moments of quiet connection, and how you’re adored by many.

He’s glad the wind has brought him to you. These flowers may have a delicate appearance, but it’s obvious that neither of you are so fickle.

“They’re a protection from evil, apparently. Something about closing its petals when it rains.”

“Really? In that case, I have a version of that already with you!”

It’s a bouquet made with multicolored hues, where he hands himself to you. A small thanks for acknowledging his past, and a few blooms that represent anticipation for the future.

It’s been a while since he’s been vulnerable enough to feel nervous about something. But it’s a more positive spin on the emotion, akin to excitement when he knows he’s going to see you — but Wanderer would rather choke than use a word so innocently childish to describe himself.

Due to its wild nature, anemones also symbolize relaxation and a reminder to enjoy the moment. To take in opportunities at the right time, as he’s learned from you.

Luocha: Marigolds

Resurrection, energy, good luck, warmth, prosperity, jealousy.

Luocha sees you in the warmth of the flowers, as powerful as the Sun despite your bubbly outlook. He sees the light, which makes him worry he might taint your smile with his true nature.

You thank him for the flowers, thinking of him as the miracle doctor that’s giving you a gift. He is, but he also hopes you don’t get closer without being aware of what he is.

Marigolds represent despaired love, although this is mostly on Luocha’s part as he constantly sidelines himself, making himself a ‘side character’ rather than a potential partner for you. But he’s too selfish to completely step out of your life, accepting your invitations to lunch and walks along the harbor. He says the world feels peaceful around you. It’s true.

These flowers are often associated with life and death. In this case, it’s Luocha’s silent promise to always protect you, even if you might not want it yourself.

And if there comes a day where he has to pick between saving one or another… He’ll make sure you get out alive. Perhaps he’ll even save the bystanders around so you’ll keep calling him a wonderful doctor, before his powers fail to heal his own wounds.

Jingyuan: Forget Me Nots

Clinging to the past, faithfulness, remembrance, true love, fidelity.

‘I’ll keep you in my thoughts,’ they say. A warm sentiment from the General, and behind them the memories of all he’s gained and lost in the past.

Jingyuan is used to being alone. He’s a leader after all, who wears the air of one without a care in the world. He’s capable and busy, but what he says as a teasing remark contains words that can be read very differently.

‘Don’t forget me.’

Forget me nots also symbolize links to the past. For a long-life species, it’s easy to feel the days melt together, and beautiful sights aren’t as vivid anymore.

That’s why Jingyuan thanks you for letting him remember — remember what it’s like to be surprised again, to see the sky and find it breathtaking, along with your voice in the wind. He wants to remember all of this as long as he can, so he gives you these flowers on occasion to remind himself.

“Do you miss me that much, General?”

“Of course. There isn’t enough time in the world to spend with you.”

He starts to appreciate his lifespan again, for having the chance to run into you along the way.

Aventurine: Daffodils

Honesty, truth, forgiveness, appreciation.

Despite the amount of lying and masks he wears, Aventurine knows there is truth in the anxiety he feels around you. The same feeling before a risky gamble, where he hopes his bluffs will deceive his opponent.

…He doesn’t know what he’d do if you ever looked at him with disappointment. If he somehow managed to fool you into expecting something he cannot give; heart ringing hollow, echoing deeper and deeper in resonance every time you interact.

Perhaps one day this hollow ringing will actually turn into a heartbeat, and he can finally face you as Kakavasha. (Put aside the fact that despite his persona, Aventurine is still facing the world with honesty in every act).

He also chooses Daffodils because, in his attempt at excusing these sentiments, he simply thinks of you as his source of honesty and truth. A Sun that the flowers lean toward, after blooming each spring despite the desolate, cutthroat winter.

‘Please forgive me. Please don’t look away.’

Daffodils also symbolize rebirth, new beginnings, and good luck. Perhaps you can draw this out of Aventurine, who’s been on guard against the world for as long as he can remember?

Be the sunlight that sifts through the window, greeting him every day; a good-luck charm he continues to believe in.

Sunday: Violets

Peace, devotion, healing.

You bring him peace. With every smile you direct at Sunday, he feels hope that the world around him can be rebuilt. ‘You heal me,’ the flowers say. And despite how candied flowers dry bitterly on the tongue…

‘After all this is over, I’ll devote myself to you.’

He can’t be sure if you believe him, but Sunday has long disposed of the idea of predicting you. ‘It makes you human’, his sister once said.

Violets are reminders of loyalty, thoughtfulness, and dependability. Sunday looks out for you at every corner, even if his presence isn’t tangible. He notices your little victories and joys, feeling his heart twinge from the distance. And when your days are bleak, just know there is another soul mourning with you, playing a song to soothe your sorrows.

He’s devoted to you long before the drama of politics are done. In a sense, one can almost say he’s too caring — from a glance it appears he’s not bothered with you, and watch for a minute longer, the small, irrelevant commands given to his subordinates ring clear with thoughts of you.

Sunday doesn’t put a spotlight on his love, yet showers it with the adoration of the moon. Quiet, graceful, and just a bit selfish.

#wanderer #luocha x reader #sunday x reader #aventurine x reader #jingyuan x reader #hsr luocha #hsr x reader #hsr sunday #hsr x you #hsr aventurine #hsr jing yuan #genshin wanderer #genshin x reader #genshin x you #hsr imagines #hsr writing #hsr reader insert #hsr headcanons #honkai star rail

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1moreff-creator · 21 days ago

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DRDT CH2 PT2: Full Analysis

While CH2 Part 2 was releasing, I chose to make liveblog-reaction posts to the episodes to record my immediate thoughts for posterity, but that meant that actual, coherent analysis was pushed to the side in favor of me freaking out over… everything going on. But goddamn; even accounting for recency bias, this might just be my favorite trial of any DR style killing game I’ve ever seen (though admittedly I'm working with a small sample size). So I felt it merited a bit more… cohesive analysis. That’s what this post is!

WARNING: This post is around 28k words long. Do not click "read more" unless you're ready for lag, and make sure to take breaks while reading if needed.

Spoilers for DRDT CH2. CW: Murder, suicide, hanging, execution, gun violence, self-harm, blood, stabbing (fork).

(Btw you can find my immediate reactions in my post masterlist. Not linking each individually here because I hit Tumblr's 100 link limit. I know, I know)

How do I even structure this? I guess I’ll start with the actual case itself, then go character by character because WOW.

Also, I hope you forgive that I can't put images for every referenced piece of dialogue (Tumblr 30 image limit when I catch you...), so I'll save them for when they're necessary and instead add links to the referenced quote in the episode.

The Case

Although I’ve made many posts talking about this damn thing, I don’t think I’ve ever expressed just how cool the actual mystery is. The evidence is all there from the beginning bar the note and alibis, introduced in a way that doesn’t make the method obvious, but that still allowed the audience to figure out the main aspects without much issue. Everything follows logically, and while there’s a few things that ended up being less important than some expected (that glove will haunt the fandom forever I fear), everything got explained in what I consider to be a pretty satisfactory way. It wasn’t obscenely complex or crazy, but I consider the method to be just right for a chapter 2 case.

Oh and the Nico case was cool too, even if half the shit in that crime scene will haunt me forever. Why were there two weights off to the side-? not important.

If there’s one critique I can give the actual discussion of the case (and this is legitimately the only real critique I have of this entire set of episodes), I’d argue that the way the method is presented is… weird. Like, I get why, DRDT is clearly more focused on character conflict than the murder mystery aspect, but there were still a lot of moments where it felt like Teruko’s thought process wasn’t explored properly, to the point where it sometimes felt like Teruko just… magically got the answers whispered to her by the ghost of Kirigiri.

As an example, take the ball of clothes over the rafters. Ace mentions the issue of getting the rope up there, and Teruko immediately jumps to the right conclusion of the seemingly completely unrelated ball of clothes.

To illustrate why this feels weird, let me tell you what my thought process was when I came up with the theory (because again, the evidence was laid out well enough that I did manage to call this, even if I got a fair bit of other stuff wrong). Obviously it's not the only admissible thought process, but it's a good example to see how I feel the presentation of evidence should have been handled.

We know Arei was hung from high up (Veronika’s account) -> We can confirm something happened on the rafters because the lights are broken -> Brainstorming how that could have happened (screening room connection? Secret ladder?) -> Perhaps something was thrown up there with the rope attached -> Ball of clothes.

In the series, however, we get:

Arei was probably hung from high (Veronika’s account) -> Discussion continues, literally the entirety of Nico's situation gets explained -> Ace brings up the issue for the first time like three years later-> Teruko immediately points to the ball of clothes -> The lights are only mentioned after.

You get what I'm saying? The progression doesn't feel as natural, because we immediately jump to the conclusion without discussing the evidence that leads to it. This also happens with things like the pulley method, where Teruko explains everything before bringing up the tape on the spinny thing, which is the only thing implicating said spinny thing in the method. And I feel like the reason quite a few people felt there should be more to the case is because the evidence wasn't presented properly.

That said, this is an extremely minor point. Again, DRDT is more focused on character drama than murder mystery, so I don’t particularly mind if I can nitpick a few things in the writing surrounding the mystery solving.

And oh boy, was there character drama this trial! Thank the gods I’m only covering Part 2, I think I’d die if I tried to talk about the entire trial as a whole.

Character Analysis

I’ll go in order, starting with the characters I feel had the least prominence, and making my way to the ones who really stole the spotlight this part.

Mai Akasaki

No content lol. Though this is probably a good time to mention that, in this post, I'll mostly ignore theorizing related stuff and focus more on straight up character analysis, even if the two sometimes intersect. Game Theory-like speculation will mostly be saved for dedicated posts :p

Xander Matthews

He got mentioned, but he’ll come up in David’s section so. Skipping him.

Min Jeung

Well, there were a few references. Such as:

Min: I'll fix your mistake! - Teruko: But I'll fix my mistake.

Something something, David-Xander vs Teruko-Min parallels, etc. And also:

I like the visual symbolism that the images are effectively flipped (Teruko on the left-Teruko on the right and hugger on the right-hugger on the left, Teruko facing the camera-Teruko facing away), because the situations are inverted. In Min’s, the culprit hugs Teruko after she dooms them to their fate, and in Eden’s, a non-culprit hugs Teruko as she starts defending them. I did notice on first watch, but didn’t say anything because at the time it was still possible Eden was the culprit. Alas, the symbolism is consistent!

There's only one last thing to mention about Min. One tiny, itsy bitsy detail that probably has no lore relevance whatsoever.

MonoTV [2-16]: Now loading the default XF-Ture Tech personality drivers.

Min [BE1]: But one day, we were visited by the founder of that big company, XF-Ture Tech. He told my parents that he would sponsor me and pay for all of our expenses.

Oh yeah, MonoTV was created by the same company that sponsored Min as the Ultimate Student! Hey, what the fuck?

We'll get into it more later in the (I cannot believe I'm about to say this) MonoTV section (or rather the post linked to in said section), but MonoTV seems to have been created specifically for the killing game. This means there's a very real chance XF-Ture Tech is behind all this. That paints the sponsorship of Min as a strikingly shady thing (well, more than it already was), to the point there's a very real chance Min is straight up connected to the origins of the killing game, if not outright the mastermind. We'll have to see how this plays out later, since right now, we're still lacking a lot of critical context.

But hey! We might get more Min content in the future! I, for one, am very, very excited.

Charles Cuevas

Not too much character insight on this one, but he got a couple of cool moments. As always, funny, bounces well off Whit, very helpful in the trial, weirdly knowledgeable about jockeying (or maybe he just, like, thought about it, it’s not like most of what he says aren’t conclusions anyone could arrive at by simply knowing what horse racing is), and-

Charles [2-15]: I'm the only person reasonable enough to make that sort of judgement call. Everyone else who does so is being biased to the point of idiocy.

-it’s nice to see his pridefulness didn’t just go away after CH1! He’s neat :)

J Rosales/Moreno

Half of her dialogue this part is just her talking about how murder is bad. It’s fine, it’s just odd.

I guess if you want someone to point out murder’s bad, J’s one of the only real options, isn’t she? You need a confrontational character (so no Eden or Rose or Whit), who wouldn’t be a hypocrite (this eliminates Nico, Ace and Levi, arguably Hu since she defends Nico), who is mentally stable enough for their opinion to be held in high regard (this eliminates Arturo, David and Veronika, alongside half the cast), who is willing to derail the trial to talk morality (eliminating Charles and arguably Teruko), and who isn’t dead or missing (like Xander, Arei, Mai or Min).

Wait that’s the whole cast. Holy shit she actually is the only one that makes sense to be murder bashing how is this even possible.

…Regardless, you could still argue that you don’t need someone constantly pointing out murder’s bad, meaning there could very much be a deeper reason J is being so vocal about it. Apart from possibly being setup for her to be primary support moving forward, I personally think all this points to her just having a very strong set of beliefs regarding most things, which we could already kinda infer anyways.

Or maybe Mariabella killed a guy. Yeah, sure. Why not?

Veronika Grebenshchikoba

There were certainly a couple interesting Vero moments here, which is always fun. It was finally confirmed her secret was, as most theorized, the “took on your talent to distract yourself from the need to hurt yourself for fun” one. I mean, I feel like everyone called that one from the moment the curtain fell away from the screen with the motive secrets, but you get the idea.

We also learnt she had a pact with Hu regarding their secrets, which I would love to learn the details of, and definitely makes me interested in where these Recap Foils are going, as well as-

Veronika [2-13]: After all, my own so-called secret isn't even the worst thing I've done. Isn't that so utterly disappointing of this motive?

… whatever the hell that means. Why’s she gotta be so ominous? (I love this about her).

The last notable scenes to point out are all the scenes where she's... Veronika, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Her psychoanalysis of Levi will probably wait for when I talk about him, and her help during the time Teruko was figuring out the murder method is appreciated, but specifically about her:

Veronika [2-15]: Swallow your pride and say that you're too weak, too stupid, and too incompetent to perform this murder. Accept the fact that no one thinks highly of you. Or defend your dignity at the risk of admitting that you're perfectly capable of committing this murder and continue to be our number one suspect.

I just think the voice acting in this line in particular is very auditorily pleasant so I wanted to point it out :D

But Episode 15 actually has a much more insidious Vero moment, which I felt was way more noteworthy. After Ace admits to the crime, he goes on his whole speech, which includes directly calling out Veronika's words as part of the reasoning why he killed, there comes a point when Ace calls himself a "piece of shit", and no one denies it. When that happens, Veronika smiles.

Veronika: Oh my. How tragic.

She is such an awful person, just such a piece of garbage. I adore her.

Anyways, my appreciation of actually horrible women aside, we need to discuss the biggest question she leaves us. And that is "hey, why is her reaction to Ace's execution and Levi's almost death so different from her reaction to Min's death?"

Veronika [about Min, 1-12]: Min died in such a cruel manner...

Veronika [about Levi, 2-16]: If Levi dies because of this... Kehehe... I'm sure I'll miss him, but... This is quite a way to go. I can't say I wasn't entertained.

Veronika [about Ace, 2-16]: Aha... Ahaha... How incredible...

So, after considering it for a little bit, I think we're lacking a little bit too much critical information on Veronika to confidently state why the hell her reaction is so different, but I can come up with a few different possible answers. I'll list them in ascending order of likeliness in my opinion, and we'll see just how wrong I am once we get more insight on her!

+Veronika cares more about Levi than Ace, and more about Min than Levi. This is because she just said Ace's execution was "incredible," while she mentions she'll miss Levi, and obviously looks genuinely distressed over Min. I see no actual reason to believe this, though, because I... don't think Vero and Min ever even interacted beyond the trial? So unless we're pulling some very strange Veromin agenda out of nowhere (or Veronika is Mai Akasaki), this doesn't work imo.

+Veronika was acting in T1, but doesn't care by the start of T2. Possible, and it's true that Vero was more self-conscious about freaking people out in CH1, but I'm not sure if there's enough evidence to truly say she was only pretending to be distressed by Min's death.

+Veronika's reactions are based on the executions (and execution attempt) themselves, not anything else. This is consistent with her specifically reacting to the way Min died ("Min died in such a cruel manner") rather than the death itself. She specifically says she'd be entertained by Levi's death, and is clearly entertained by Ace's. So, I guess she just finds Min's execution particularly cruel/boring? Does she... have wolf related trauma? Test related trauma? I don't know, but I think this fits decently well, so.

+Veronika's slowly getting worse. A logical conclusion from the fact that she reacted one way in T1, and another literally four days later. Certainly possible given her analysis of people shattering in the killing game, so for now this is the interpretation I'm going with.

Whit Young

.... Sigh. You're not even that important to this part, how are you still gonna require so many words of analysis?

Alright, let's start with the pretty infamous scene where he talks about drop hanging. I do want to make one thing clear; just because Whit talks for a pretty long time about drop hanging, it doesn’t mean he actually says anything particularly groundbreaking. Like, everything he says is very logically sound, which means they’re conclusions anyone could have drawn.

Like me. Because even though I don’t think I wrote them down explicitly, I did more or less arrive at the same conclusions as he did, and I don’t have any experience with drop hanging. I’m clarifying this because I’m on enough lists as it is just by firefoxing shit like “can turpentine knock you out” and “how long do people pass out after being strangled” I do not need any more allegations on my person!

That said, I am also not a fictional character who exists within a story which follows narrative conventions (as far as you know, anyways). Whit is. And it’d be silly to instantly dismiss that the dev specifically chose Whit, a character who is otherwise not the most helpful in trials, to be the one to deliver this explanation, and without any interruptions no less. Even Teruko and Charles usually have one character or another finishing their explanations, like Levi when Teruko explained the slingshot or… Levi when Charles talked about jockeying. Huh, Levi kinda goated?

Thus, because the dev specifically chose Whit to give this explanation with no interruptions, we can infer that he may have a special connection to drop hanging. Given what we know, I find it likeliest that his mother committed suicide by hanging. At present, I don’t find much evidence that he would have attempted himself, though…

You know how Whit dyes his hair to look like his mom’s? And how Color Theory in LGI gives him (among other stuff) “degraded copy”, likely in reference to this? If his mother killed herself via hanging, do you think he would try to replicate that, too?

Food for thought. Again, not much reason to believe it yet.

Other than that, there are... the allegations. The part started strong with MonoTV stating it let slide a rule violation because it was funny (especially weird given what we learn in 2-16, but Whit's not the only rulebreaker in the cast so we're chilling). And then, 2-16 happened.

Whit [seven seconds before Teruko's execution, 2-16]: Charles, stop talking and cover your eyes! [...] Whit [post Levi shooting]: Ah, crap. The smell of blood is really strong. Even though I told [Charles] not to look, he still...

And, of course.

Whit: ...

Of course.

Alright, so let me start by the elephant in the room. The hand behind the back. The moment the cast learns the elevator doors won't open, we see Whit with his left hand behind his back. Many have assumed this means, understandably in my opinion, that he may be holding a remote control of some kind to close the elevator. In other words, Whit's the mastermind. But, while I consider him one of if not the best mastermind guess in the market, I don't think this is good evidence of it.

You see, there's no reason to believe such a remote would be required. By all accounts, it should be MonoTV's AI who is keeping the elevator closed with no need for outside interference, regardless of who the MM is. There is simply no reason to believe that any MM would have an "elevator manual stop" or even an universal remote (apart from J!MM for obvious reasons), because it should be MonoTV who is running this stuff.

As an aside, I will point out that, per the CH1 QnA, every character is right-handed apart from Teruko (lefty) and Arei (ambidextrous). You could use this to argue Whit shouldn't be doing anything with his left (the hand behind his back), but that's not good reasoning, as the sprite might just be drawn that way for aesthetic reasons and you're supposed to ignore handedness. Eden also used her left to rip out Xander's eye, apparently. I haven't seen anyone bring it up, but I have made this mistake before with a certain bat swinging Milgram prisoner, so I'm saying this to avoid others making the same mistake.

That clarified, however, the first point is still valid. Although I consider it perfectly possible, at present I do not believe Whit is holding anything behind his back.

Why does he pose like that, then? To answer that, perhaps it'd be better to answer what the deal with his other behavior is.

Because it's weird, right? Whit focuses on Charles even when everyone else, Charles included, are fretting over Teruko and Levi. And then, despite being able to brush off things like Levi's secret confession and Min's execution with nothing but a "that's wack," joking about rewatching said execution, etc., somehow the elevator being closed is what finally gets him to bring out the breakdown sprite?

Well, yes. And this shouldn't be all that surprising, imo. Because everything about Whit's reaction is perfectly in line with his previous behavior. Not to say it isn't weird (it is), just that it's weird in the way Whit's always been weird, and not in any new special way.

This is because every part of this reaction comes from the already established way Whit deals with tragedy; he avoids it, and moves on. You'll immediately think of Whit's mom when I say that, the way he omits her death whenever he speaks of her to the point he genuinely forgets that's a thing until a few seconds after the secret Rose received was brought into the conversation, but there's more examples that are actually closer to this situation. In particular, I want to direct your attention to the investigations in both chapters so far.

For the first trial, Whit spends literal hours hanging out with Charles while the Chemist has a breakdown, to the point he almost didn't investigate at all. This is excusable, of course; he was helping someone in need, and the culprit was thought to be obvious enough that investigation wouldn't be necessary.

The second, though, is perhaps a bit stranger. First, Whit doesn't look closely at Arei's body because he was busy comforting Eden, apparently. Alright, fine. But, hey, how did he try to comfort Eden after everyone started to filter in?

Whit [2-8]: There, there. Pat pat. Do you want to sit down somewhere else?

He immediately wants to leave the room. But, he's still trying to help Eden; maybe he's projecting? Because he'd want to leave the room if a loved one died, so he's asking Eden if she wants to do it?

Except, he does leave the room. He doesn't have any other lines in the playground past this point, and then he starts investigating with Charles, the one dude he knows won't enter the scene of the crime.

And you know when he splits off from Charles?

Whit [2-8]: If you're worried about Rose tampering with evidence, then all you need is another witness to watch over her, right? I can do that, since I'm here. I mean, unless Charles needs me for something.

My guy will genuinely do anything except investigate the playground.

And that's where the pattern starts to be noticeable. Whenever something bad happens, Whit finds any excuse he can to distance himself from the situation. And to be clear, they're usually good excuses; it makes sense for Whit to do all this in a vacuum, it's just odd that he constantly finds them. Other examples include him bringing up alibis when the note first comes up, and then, when he's pressed about it:

Whit [2-9]: Eden has [the note]. Ask her.

He doesn't even... want to have the responsibility of the note? Admittedly that could be for other reasons, but still.

With this pattern of avoidance in mind, the things he says in 2-16 are perfectly explainable. Instead of focusing on Teruko's incoming execution or Levi's injuries, he chooses to focus on Charles, because that's easier for him. He's once again finding an excuse to look away from tragedy.

By the way, I don't want to make it sound like Whit doesn't care about Charles as anything but an excuse to get out of thinking of bad stuff. It's pretty clear a big part of why Whit does the shit he does is that he genuinely cares about Charles as a friend (crush?). Whit probably does want to help Charles just for the sake of helping him, but it does come with the benefit of helping Whit avoid stuff he doesn't want to think about.

This whole avoidance thing is also why Whit is so perturbed by the elevator. When Levi gets shot, Whit probably hopes that they get to leave the trial room quickly to take care of him, at which point Whit can just avoid the situation entirely by just sticking to Charles like usual. But they can't. The elevator is shut. Not only does Whit probably realize that means they have to watch the execution, but it also means Whit is not able to get out of the room where a guy is actively dying, and sticking to Charles only lets him ignore the situation so much.

Why does he have his hand behind his back? Well, this is gonna sound like I'm on anti-Whit!MM copium (I swear I like the theory well enough), but I think he's simply balling up his fist out of stress. It's just that Whit "I don't want to talk about any problems ever and don't want anyone to ever know when I'm suffering" Young is instinctively hiding it so no one sees any sign that he might not be okay.

Does that make sense? Barely? Well, it's not like "emergency elevator shutdown button" is particularly more believable in my eyes, so that's the answer I'm going with for now.

Anyways. Jesus Christ Whit you're barely even relevant to this part how the fuck did you still force me to write so much about you.

Arturo Giles

I have less to write about Arturo than Vero and Whit because he's a bit more straightforward, but I'm still putting him here because he was more directly important this part. Speaking of, what notable things did Arturo do these episodes? Ah, right.

Arturo [2-12]: You shut your whore mouth!

"I thought you were only doing necessary imag-" This one's necessary shut

I'm using this to talk about the big speech about his talent, that he started studying plastic surgery when he was 12 and that it's impressive he's a plastic surgeon this early in his life. Props to dev for addressing this, I know some people are irked when characters are in the medical field from way too early in life without good justification like this. The fact he started so young also adds to the theory that Arturo's home life sucked, because it'd be really odd for a 12 year old to already be planning to leave otherwise.

The way the cast keeps insulting his skill, even though as he's said several times over the course of the series, the shit they expect him to do is way beyond his area of expertise, is a good way to build up to the way the cast also dismisses Ace's intelligence and skills later.

Other than that, there was one more moment when Arturo took part of the spotlight. When Levi gets shot, despite everything that happened earlier, everyone still turns to Arturo to save the Stylist. This leads to one of the most human moments Arturo's given us since 2-10:

Arturo [post Levi shooting, 2-16]: I--! I'm not that kind of surgeon! I've told you, over and over, I have no experience with saving lives! Something like this! There's no way I can do it--

Apart from the stellar voice acting that cannot be pointed out enough times, Arturo's doubt over Levi's condition is certainly a good setup for CH3, I'm really interested in how he'll handle this. Especially because...

Do you think he'd think of Felicity, looking at Levi like that? Because just like Arturo ignored Felicity's feelings (to an extent) in pursuit of his dream, he also neglected to study the more standard medical knowledge in favor of becoming a plastic surgeon faster, and now he needs that standard medical knowledge to save Levi's life. Food for thought.

Arturo is definitely an interesting character to watch out for moving forward, he's certainly in for a very curious CH3. Final note:

Arturo [to Levi, 2-13]: How could you simply *forget* that you murdered your own family member?

Get it because the death of Felicity haunts him even though he didn't kill her himself- Man I love recap foils.

MonoTV

I cannot fucking believe that this hunk of metal is getting its own section, but it is. 2-16 what an episode you are.

Thankfully, I've already expressed most of my thoughts about this damn thing in this linked post, so I'll just refer you to that one instead of writing it all again. As a summary, there's quite a few lore implications to the fact that we now have a clearly stated purpose for MonoTV, a goal for the killing game, a connection to XF-Ture Tech (because MonoTV seems to have been specifically created for the game), and I'm really wondering why the hell the default XF personality seems to care so much about Teruko and where that could lead to in the future. Also, very curious where the theme of fate will be taken with it, as well as where dev is planning to take the fact that it seems to have feelings of grief and pain and maybe even cares about Teruko??? Or has compassion in general??? What is wrong with this dog-

Rose Lacroix

Btw I greatly appreciate everyone who colors her name rainbow, I see you and you're valid for it. I need to color code my highlighting though, and if I have to do rainbow for every word I highlight I will actually die. Also I would need to put in an epilepsy warning in my posts lol

Rose got a few nice lines, but when it comes to her, there's one big moment that's really on everyone's mind.

Rose [2-14]: Has it really gotten this bad? I think my brain is falling apart. I can't even recall what day it was when that happened. Levi: You can't remember? I was under the impression that your memory was the best out of everyone here. Rose: It's true that I remember everything I see. But that means that most of my memories are meaningless junk. The kind of thing a normal person would forget without a second thought. But I can't forget. My brain won't work the way I want it to. I can't draw associations so easily. Everything reminds me of something meaningless, and I get distracted. And the worst thing is that I remember it all in perfect detail. Xander's body. Min's execution. I can't even look at Teruko without seeing blood. I know I'm supposed to remember everything. I know I'm supposed to be smart. I know I'm supposed to be helpful. Yet I'm not. I... I'm sorry for being useless. Maybe if I tried harder, if I just got over myself--

Do I... need to talk about this, beyond pointing out how good the VAing is? Everything about it is heartbreaking, but pretty straightforward. It's an extension of the conversation she and Teruko had in 2-5, where we also throw in Rose's growing self-doubt and self-blame over everything that's going on around her. It adds into the theme of this cast pushing expectations on each other (like wanting Arturo to be a better doctor or Ace being too stupid to do a murder), throws in some parallels to Teruko and Hu and Eden (the self-blame sisters!!! *fire emoji* *fire emoji* *fire emoji*) and Xander (the survivor's guilt boy!!! *fire emoji* *fire emoji* fire emoji*), foils with J (J who rejects what others like Mariabella want from her VS Rose who internalizes the expectations and accepts the whole Spurling situation), there's the "a normal person would forget" wording that kinda connects her to Nico and Levi and David (the "feeling separated from other humans' experience" siblings!!! *fire emoji* *fire emoji* *fire-), obviously memory is connected with Charles and Teruko, etc.

You see why I don't always talk about parallels? I have to bring up every single character up every time because that's the shit that happens when your writing is this *fire emoji* *fire emoji* *fire emoji*.

The other thing is Nico, but maybe it's better to keep that for their section. Overall, just a fantastic feast for enjoyers of Rose angst.

Arei Nageishi

You know this trial went crazy when Arei got a whole ass character arc during it, and she's the dead one.

For this part in particular, the big Arei moment was obviously during 2-13, when we finally got to hear the end of the conversation between her and David. I'm not transcribing it, because I'm sure we all got the gist. Arei figured out one of the main themes of the chapter, that everyone is a flawed person, and that means that no one's ever too far gone. There's always a possibility of becoming a less shitty person, and that's sweet.

But beyond Themes, learning what Arei's mindset about good and bad people was really helps to understand her actions before this point, though I do find it interesting that the whole "sorting people into good and bad" mentality she had is actually pretty similar to the way she talks about people in her FTE, which is some fun consistency!

Arei [CH1 FTE]: Yup, that's right! I organize everyone I meet into categories of how I should bully them.

... Well the context's different but you get the idea.

Arei used this principle of "sorting" people into "good" and "bad" to deny herself the possibility of getting better, because trying to change is scary. Man I wonder why that rings a bell.

Teruko [to Whit, 2-2]: But if you start talking about me and saying that I could be a good person if only I make an attempt to change, then I'm going to stop you right there. Don't say that I could be a good person, because all it'll do is make me feel bad that I'm not.

Ah right because Teruko's a well written protagonist. And actually wait, isn't there someone else?

David [2-11]: "People can always change?" What complete bullshit. No one ever changes. People who are born lazy, useless and stupid will stay that way until they die. If you were able to "improve" yourself into a better person, then it only means you were a better person to begin with.

Ah right because David is a well written character. Carry on then.

I do wonder why she waited until night three after the motive handout to talk to David about it, though, instead of doing directly after the playground breakdown. Was it, like, she didn't want to confront it directly after and only got the motivation/courage/whatever after talking to Eden? And then couldn't find David until then? It's odd, but I imagine there's no, like, big reason behind it necessarily.

Eden Tobisa

Hey Eden sorry I suspected you as the killer for a year can we still be friends? :,)

There's two big Eden moments to take into consideration, one in 2-14, one in 2-16.

Eden [2-14]: Why... No one... believes in me... Why? I'm... Arei's killer? No... No way....... Hu: Eden? Please don't cry. Eden: This whole time I've been trying to hold myself together... because Arei died...... I wanted so badly for this all to be a dream, and for Arei to be alive and by my side.... But now, you all think I killer her? Why? I cared about her! Arei is... She could have been my friend! Why would I kill her?? Levi: Eden, please calm down... Eden: Why am I being accused of murdering Arei? I wanted to help her! I just wanted to be friends with her! Why would you say that I killed her? Is it because you think I hated her? That's not true! I didn't hate her! Teruko: Eden.

I'm gonna cut it off there and resume in a bit, partly so I can organize this better and partly to make absolutely sure I don't hit the Tumblr limit on characters in a single text block (because my entire blog is evidently dedicated to testing this hellsite's limits lmao).

There's honestly a surprising amount of nuance in this small breakdown. We start with re-establishing that Eden is someone who constantly tries her hardest to remain strong in the face of adversity, holding herself together as best she can when her newest friend just died and she's more or less blaming herself for it.

Then, while I always praise the voice acting (because it deserves it), I need to bring special attention to the sheer amount of emotion in that "Why? I cared about her!" Hearing Eden genuinely frustrated at the accusations on top of her sadness is heartbreaking, and just a wonderful display of humanity from a character who is at times almost inhumanly patient. Makes me feel bad for suspecting her, and she's fictional in our world!

On top of that, "she could have been my friend" is an interesting choice of words regarding Arei. This is where having hyper-analyzed all Eden lines comes in handy lol. Because taken at face value, it means that Eden recognizes that her relationship with Arei wasn't at a stage where she could genuinely called her a friend, given that as far as we know the last conversation they had was after the Arturo thing. Nice depth!

The rest is pretty standard, though again the phenomenal VAing still makes my heart ache. Continuing:

Eden: Teruko... I didn't kill Arei..... Do you believe me?! Teruko: Listen-- Eden: *sniff* I, I didn't do it! Please.... Believe me... This whole trial has been cruel to me.... Help me, Teruko... I can't stand it... I just wanted to help Arei.... I didn't kill her... Teruko: You know I can't just take your words at face value, Eden. Eden: Please, Teruko... You're my friend, aren't you? Friends help each other... So please, help me... I promise I didn't... I didn't kill her.... I'm innocent... Please trust me..... Please.....

AAAAAAAAAAA-

Okay with that basic reaction out of the way, because evidently the reactions didn't have enough "text screaming" for me to fully get it out of my system, this is just a really heart-wrenching scene. Just the combination of VAing, music and visuals, man... ouch. It's especially tragic when taking the following line into account:

Eden [2-3]: Teruko, relationships aren't transactional. It's not that I did something good for you that you should do something good for me.

The Eden hyperfocus comes in clutch again- Is it weird that being an Eden!Culprit believer for so long is making me appreciate her character more now that she's confirmed innocent? :v

Teruko has, up to this point, never outright claimed herself to be Eden's friend, at least not as far as I can recall. Hell, her lines following Eden's plea for help seem to completely disregard the idea.

Teruko [2-14]: So for now, I'm going to assume you're innocent. Eden: W-What? Really? Thank you so much, Teruko... Teruko: Don't... get me wrong. This isn't out of kindness or pity or anything else. This is only because you helped me in the last trial. I'm repaying your favor, and nothing else. That's why I'll trust you, just this once.

How much she means that is for the Teruko section. What's important is that this means that when Eden says "you're my friend, aren't you?", she is actively going against her claim that relationships aren't transactional. She expects Teruko to consider herself Eden's friend because Eden has done a lot of stuff to try to make that friendship work.

This. Is. Wonderful. Don't you love it when characters fail to uphold their beliefs when faced with a horribly stressful situation? Well, I love suffering, so I sure do! :D

To be clear, I'm not trying to paint Eden as a hypocrite or anything. She's right in saying that relationships aren't transactional, and is justified in asking Teruko to help her because she considers Teruko her friend, even if it's a slight contradiction. After all, what are humans if not a swirling well of contradictions, desperately arranging themselves like the magnetic moments of a metal to try to make the slightest bit of sense of a reality they hopelessly seek to understand-

Ehem. The point is I like Eden a lot :D

Speaking of wonderfully human moments, time to switch to the other big Eden character moment!

Eden [2-16]: This... This all could have been prevented, couldn't it? [...] Of course I know [we can't blame ourselves for Ace's murder]. Ace planned to kill Arei, and even before that, he was planning to kill me. Rose: Then how can you forgive him? Eden: I never said I forgave him. It's just that... The Ace that I met for the first time wasn't a murderer. I... I can't forgive him. He killed Arei, after all. She was innocent, and he killed her for unfair reasons. But... Those unfair reasons were unfair to him as well.

You know, we joke about how awesome it is that the entirety of the DRDT cast is mentally unstable (because it is), but it's also cool to see the one actually more or less functional member of society in the group being the voice of reason like this. Not to spoil anything, but I find her stance regarding Ace's murder as the most reasonable stance one could have, and it's always cool to see a character who has reasonable opinions every now and then. But having such an opinion is easy when you're outside the show and the characters are all pixels on a screen; the fact that Eden can still find it in herself to be charitable towards Ace's situation while not outright forgiving him for his actions is a really powerful statement about her strength and sense of morality. Eden could not stop catching Ws this part.

Anyways, here's a few more fun Eden moments this part gave us.

Eden [2-15]: Wait, but... Is Ace even capable of doing a feat of strength like that? He's injured, after all.

I just think it's sweet Eden tries to defend Ace even when she's the other prime suspect :)

Levi [2-13]: And if tomorrow it turned out you all had passed away, I'd care as much as if we had never met. Eden: But you're a good person. Why are you saying these things when it's clearly not true? You're so kind to everyone. You're always helping others out, even when it'd be easier not to. Like that time Ace almost died. You kept trying to help him, even if he always pushed you away. Isn't that what "a good person" does?

For all the Eden Ws, she had to take an Eden L. Come on, Eden, Levi doesn't need to actually care to be a good person, he just needs to do good things, you know this :(

It makes sense character-wise, though. Eden has a surprisingly strong belief system, which is heavily shaped by her emotional nature, so it makes sense that Levi's Deal of doing good things with no emotional attachment to them would throw her off.

Still cool of her to accept Levi as a good person even though she just learnt he killed four people, however. It's good characterization; despite her misunderstanding with the lack of empathy thing, she still chooses to judge Levi based on the things she's personally observed, as opposed to making assumptions over things she only has half the story for.

Man, she's just so mature and cool and awesome and not fucked up in any way! Now that the tape thing's been resolved, I can't think of a single thing that would make anyone think that she might be a little-

Ah. Right.

Well, as a first reaction, this is definitely an Eden W in the oh so prevalent... DRDT powerscaling scene? She apparently managed to slash at Xander's eye, twice, with a fork. And with her non-dominant hand no less!

So... what the hell am I even supposed to do with this? Unfortunately, we're currently missing gigantic amounts of critical information regarding this situation, meaning I can't for the life of me come to any conclusions, at least not confidently. I tried to look at the pre-prologue dialogue to see if I could find anything, but...

Ouch... I really wasn't expecting her to attack me like that. I made a massive mistake to trust them. I can't rely on anyone. All by myself... I have to end the killing game. And even if I can't do that... I have to kill Teruko Tawaki. No matter what.

Fuck am I supposed to gather from this.

Uh... someone told Xander that Eden would be down with whatever plan Xander had to end the killing game if he just showed her whatever documents we're seeing in the Bloody Hands scene??? And she got too scared and just stabbed him with a fork??? Who is the "them" who told Xander this, a group of people, or a single person and Xander's playing the pronoun game? Or was it Nico???

Nico [1-9]: Are you really using unclear pronouns for dramatic effect? That's such a cliche.

Fuck it, locking in Nico as the one who told Xander to talk to Eden, just because that's the funniest possible reason Xander could have used "they" there. I doubt it's true, but it's gonna feed my God complex if I get it right, so-

Yeah, in case it isn't obvious, I have very little idea what this scene could even be about. Very excited to see where this could go :D

Nico Hakobyan

Nico stole the show for practically half of 2-14, so it's natural we should start at the main event.

First, the soft confirmation that Nico really did attack Ace with a plan to get away with the murder and escape as the blackened, particularly framing Hu by using her wire. This... vaguely contradicts something they claimed earlier, so we gotta discuss the implications.

Veronika [to Nico, 2-9]: Is this what you were envisioning when you tried to kill Ace? That the trial would happen like this, but with Ace instead of Arei dead? Nico: I didn't... I never thought about it... I... I never should have... done that...

Were they just... lying here? Did they mean something else?

My best guess to explain this apparent contradiction is that Nico thought about the trial in a more... impersonal sense? Like, when planning to kill Ace, they figured they should try to hide that so they didn't go down with him, but sort of... ignored that winning the trial would kill everyone else? It's hard to describe, but that's what I get from that line as well as:

Nico [2-14]: I tried to kill [Ace] because I don't like [him].

When they say they "never thought about the trial," they probably mean that they never thought about the full implications of it, even though they did plan for it. They knew in some level they were supposed to hide the murder if they did it, but things like escaping the killing game and actually getting everyone else killed didn't fully register. This thought process makes sense in my mind, I hope it makes sense in yours because I don't know how to describe it any better :v

Second.

Eden [2-14]: That's- That's so cruel! Nico, why? Aren't we all friends? If something was bothering you, you could have talked it out with someone else you trusted? Nico: ... Someone I trust? What are you talking about? I don't trust anyone here.

Fantastic bit of characterization here. Nico, despite being relatively civil to anyone they're not actively planning to kill, apparently trusts no one. However, I want to explore what exactly that means. Because it's not like Nico is paranoid they're gonna get killed per say:

Hu [2-12]: Nico does have an alibi. I was having breakfast and tea with them in their room early in the morning as well. Drop it, Ace.

I can think of few better opportunities to kill someone than being alone with them, in their room, at around 7:30 AM when it's still officially nighttime. Nico, at least, trusts that Hu won't kill them, though whether that's because they're confident they could survive anything she tries or because they genuinely trust she wouldn't try at all is up in the air.

Point is, Nico is distrustful, but not as paranoid as, say, Ace. Because of that, currently, I believe Nico's claim that they don't trust anyone is an extension of things they've said before; that they prefer animals because people are unpredictable. Really, Nico's lack of trust being interpreted as "not trusting people to react to their concerns properly" is very consistent with the way they've acted in the past, particularly their reaction to getting forced into revealing their secret, so we probably shouldn't be surprised.

Nico [2-6]: I thought you would laugh at me. I was worried you would pick up rocks and start throwing them at me or pick up clumps of mud and start throwing them at me.

Next point:

Nico [2-14]: You all are right. I tried to kill Ace and pin the murder on Hu. What else should I say? Ace: W-- "What else should I say"?? You tried to murder me. You fucking tried to murder me! And after all's said and done, you can't even say something as simple as "sorry"?! Nico: ... I tried to kill you because I don't like you. Even now, there's still no use to try and pretend that I like you. If I say "sorry," you're still going to hate me.

... Yeah.

Nico [2-2]: If you're having dinner and want someone to pass the salt, you can say, "Please pass the salt," or you can say, "Give me the salt." One of those things is supposed to be more polite than the other, right? But why? They both mean the same thing. They're just slightly different mixes of words. It's like that. I don't understand why some mixes of words come off as "rude," and some don't, even if they mean the same thing.

I don't even think I need to explain this further. I think it's pretty clear why Nico wouldn't apologize to Ace. Nico's just not to into social conventions.

Except:

Veronika [2-15]: What's wrong, Ace? You seem stressed. [Your neck injuries] are only wounds. What's the issue? Could it be that almost being murdered has traumatized you a little bit~? Ace: You think?! You think that almost being killed could have maybe given me a little trauma!? Nico: ... [Whispered voice clip: "I'm sorry"]

This one's... odd. Nico doesn't say it loud enough for Ace to hear, evidently, so it's just a genuine reaction to the harm they've caused. What could have triggered this change? Uh... maybe a little extra trauma dump will help? Let's pick up after where we left off in 2-14.

Rose [continued]: D-Do you even regret what you did to [Ace]? Do you regret what you were planning to do to everyone else? Nico: O-Of course I regret doing it! I'm not Levi, of course I feel bad about something like that. I'm not heartless! Levi: Heartless? Nico: That was the worst choice I've made in my life. I wish I had never done that. But looking back, I still understand why I did. I... I just can't stand being treated like that. My teachers, my classmates, my father... I don't ever want to relive what they did to me. It's because of those kinds of people that I can't be happy with who I am. That's why I hate Ace.

Okay cut off there. First, interesting to see Nico calling Levi heartless. I've seen it brought up that it makes sense for Nico, who struggles to relate to other people on a good day, to latch onto any defense of their "normalcy" they can, including "I'm not the weirdest person here" despite how hurtful that can be to say. That's some neurodivergent on neurodivergent hostility right there! Fun to see characters being flawed in new and unique ways /gen.

Apart from that, there's some nice reveals to Nico's backstory, which are always welcome. We already knew Nico was harassed because of their identity, but now we have names (as in, identity of aggressors); teachers, classmates, and Nico's father. That obviously comes with a question; was Nico raised by a single father, or did they have other relatives who were more accepting? For now, we got no clue.

But that final line is important, because I believe it's what explains Nico's whispered apology in 2-15.

Nico [already written]: It's because of those kinds of people that I can't be happy with who I am. That's why I hate Ace.

Nico's apology comes after Ace explicitly mentions being traumatized over the murder attempt, in particular in regards to his neck wounds. This can be taken as Ace revealing he's not happy with a part of himself (scars) as a result of Nico's actions. When abstracted this way, the comparison to Nico's situation (unhappy with a part of themselves (gender identity) as a result of others' actions) is much clearer. Nico apologizes for accidentally causing Ace a comparable trauma to their own. Which... I think makes sense from their point of view? People apologize when they do something hurtful they didn't mean to; Nico meant to murder Ace, so no apology for that, but they didn't mean the trauma, so they say sorry for it. Not that Ace heard it, but you know.

... That's a weird ass thought process, but I think it makes just enough sense to explain the apology. Let's finish the 2-14 scene.

Nico [continued]: Even so... I'm not a child. I know that murder is wrong. I'm not the victim here. I know that it was dumb to resort to murder. I don't even know what I thought I would have accomplished back then. I mean, I started regretting it as soon as Eden and Teruko saw me. I don't expect you to forgive me. Very few people ever do. So I don't see the point in acting sorry. ... That's the entire truth of my murder attempt. I don't have anything else to say.

So... "I don't even know what I thought I would have accomplished back then" seems to corroborate what I said earlier about Nico not truly grasping the full implications of a trial while they planned the murder, which is nice.

Nico's attitude over this ("I'm not the victim here") is nice to see, and makes me very interested in where their arc is going to go from here. Especially since Nico maturely accepting the blame is already causing friction between them and Hu (even if Hu doesn't seem to notice), and will likely continue to do so in the future.

Hu [2-14]: You all are too cruel! None of you understand how much stress Nico was under! And yet you continue to insist on bringing this up. Can't you see that you're traumatizing them? Nico: Hu, I-- Hu: Don't worry, Nico, I'm on your side. I'll always defend you. I can be reliable for you. You trust me, right? Nico: ... I never asked you to defend me--

... We're gonna have to talk about this in the Hu section.

Finally, "I don't expect you to forgive me. Very few people ever do."

Nico, what the hell does this mean? What have you done in the past that requires so much forgiving? What in the [DR2 CH3 killer]-?

Unfortunately, this is one of those "we're missing critical information" situations when we can't even begin to speculate what, if anything, this is supposed to mean. We'll move on and patiently yet eagerly await elaboration.

There's one more big thing to bring up in respects to Nico, and that's... Rose. For who knows what reason, Nico never gives an explicit answer to whether they actually were interested in learning to paint or not.

Rose [2-14]: Did [Nico] even want to learn to paint? Or to be my friend at all? Or were they only using me as a tool for murder? Nico: ...

Regardless of what the answer is, that's kinda weird. I'm leaning "no, they didn't want to learn to paint," because it sure would be a hell of a coincidence that they just happened to gain an interest in painting just when they're planning a murder that happens to require a painting supply.

That said, Nico does still seem to somewhat care about Rose, and probably would like to be her friend. At least enough to eventually apologize to her out loud.

Rose [2-16]: [Ace]'s right. Only Nico took [the turpentine] from me, and I really doubt they gave it to Ace afterwards. Hu: You're always attacking Nico like this! Nico: It's the truth, though. And Rose is right. I kept it. I still have the turpentine in my room. I'm sorry.

And it's not like anything this chapter erased the FTE:

Nico [FTE]: I was going to thank [Rose] for hanging out with me. I really enjoyed her presence.

So, while I can't know for sure, I hope Nicorose can make a comeback, at least in time for Nico to die so dev can inflict extra psychological pain on Rose! :D

Final highlight:

Nico [to Levi, 2-13]: If you said you killed [your father] because you just didn't like him, I could understand that. But you're saying you forgot about taking a life...

Apart from Nico obviously projecting their own murder motives on other people, do we think Nico ever considered killing their own father? I doubt they actually did, else that would probably be their motive secret (provided it's not a Veronika situation where their secret isn't the worst thing they've done), but I could see them considering it given how they talked about him and Ace in the same breath, and... yeah Nico sure did want to kill Ace alright.

Hu Jing

Hu was quite fascinating this part, wasn't she? For someone that actually ended up having zero relation to the murder, she sure had a lot of important character scenes. Let's start with the confirmation of a particular theory that really helps understand her character better.

Hu [2-13]: I've been quite selfish this whole time, keeping my secret because I didn't want you all to think less of me. Most of all, I wanted to lie to myself and pretend that I had no ties to the person that I used to be. I wanted to believe that the past never happened. But that's just self-centered. I've always been a selfish person, haven't I? I should put those feelings aside and do what is right. No, I should have done this from the start. I will share my secret as long as you all promise to immediately move on. I have Veronika's secret, and she has mine.

Well that's just sad.

I don't think I particularly need to analyze this, it's all pretty explicit. Hu wants to be relied on because she feels useless if she doesn't provide guidance:

Hu [2-11]: I have to be the one to give everyone guidance. That's the only thing I can do. If no one relies on me, then I won't be useful anymore.

And if it comes out that she's attempted suicide, then in her eyes, that makes her less reliable.

(Obvious disclaimer is obvious, the character's views don't reflect my own, there's no shame in having attempted suicide or needing help to keep fighting it, etc.)

As a result, she dislikes the memory of that "hopeless child" who attempted three times, and wishes to avoid talking about it if possible. Metamorphosis (butterfly) and rebirth (water by her name being "still lake") symbolism pulling through.

Also, while there's many reasons someone could attempt suicide, that little "I've always been a selfish person, haven't I?", especially combined with other statements she's made in the past, heavily implies her attempts were a result of self-loathing :( . Thus why she so desperately seeks value in herself by helping others, which is sorta crumbling as everyone she put her faith on (David, Nico especially) starts to reveal themselves as not-that-great-people.

Hence why I'm worried we might see a fourth attempt in the killing game. Her secret quote seems to go against the idea, which combined with some of her statements in the series proper make me doubt it, but y'know... The precedent's there.

Anyways, I'm bringing this up first because, again, it helps understand her other actions this chapter.

Hu [to David, 2-12]: Unacceptable! What on earth [sic] is your problem? I have had it up to here with you! Because this killing game requires us to live, you think you should just reject that notion and kill us all? You lied to me, manipulated everyone, and tried to make us all commit mass suicide! You really are the lowest of human beings. You have no right to decide whether I, whether any of us, live or die, all because *you* feel like you have no chance! If you're so bent on dying here, then die! But don't you dare try and make everyone else die with you. If we decide to continue living, then we will. It is not and never will be your decision as to what happens with our lives. David: ... Rose: Wow. Hu can be scary. Hu: ... I'm sorry to everyone else. But I've lost my patience. I won't apologize to David.

(Obligatory props to VAing ofc)

I mean, yeah, it makes sense for someone who used to be suicidal to be mad at David's bullshit. Especially considering that, in regards to "you lied to me, manipulated everyone here," the line I mentioned before about providing guidance continues like this:

Hu [to David, continued from before, 2-11]: I have to be the one to give everyone guidance. That's the only thing I can do. If no one relies on me, then I won't be useful anymore. You knew how I felt, and yet you... You... You toyed with my heart! All that time you acted like you were encouraging us to reveal our secrets to "prevent conflict." That was all a lie!

Assuming the whole "You toyed with my heart!" thing isn't referring to a conversation we don't have information on (which, to be clear, is 100% possible), it's possible that at this point in the trial Hu felt bad for going along with David's plan, especially since she might have believed it directly led to Arei's death. I think it's worth noting that she's one of the two first person to speak after Ace confesses, and she asks if he did it because of the motive.

Ace [2-15]: I killed Arei. That's exactly right. Shit, it sounds really bad when I say it out loud. Eden: Why? Why did you kill her? Why would you do such a horrible thing? Hu: Did you kill Arei because of MonoTV's motive? Because you wanted to keep your "secret" hidden--

Which could be read as her trying to confirm whether or not going along with David's plan was a good or bad idea, maybe?

Admittedly, "going along with David's plan" in her case literally just means "she told David, Nico and Teruko that people used to call her Julia," which you could argue is too small for her to genuinely feel like she contributed, but keep in mind the "you toyed with my heart" line is directly before a line referencing the "reveal the secrets" plan. At the very least, she didn't go against it, not in a significant way anyways.

If I'm right to be reading these lines the way I'm reading them (which, again to be clear, might be wrong), then David purposefully used Hu's desire to help and be relied on to get her to agree with his plan, or at least not go against it, or at least Hu feels he did. Whether he intentionally targeted her, or if his methods to convince the others to convince the cast of revealing their secrets just happened to strike a cord (zither pun not intended) with Hu, is still unclear, but both are possible.

So she's already incredibly pissed at him for that, then he says he wants everyone dead, yeah my girl's got the right to go off.

Though, speaking of Hu blaming herself for what happened to an extent:

Hu [2-16]: Arei wasn't killed because of an accident. Bad luck or not, Ace had made up his mind to go through with this murder! So we can't possibly blame ourselves for failing to prevent something like that.

This is after Ace confirms that the motive and David's BS had nothing to do with the murder, so Hu can fully deny blame for what happened. Which is relatively fair, it's not like being mean to someone makes you guilty if they then choose to kill someone, but it's also presumably really important for her mental stability.

Did any of that make absolutely any sense? Maybe. Hopefully.

And that's just all the Hu-only stuff. Because a big part of her character this chapter was defending Nico far beyond what anyone could possibly see as reasonable. I'll bring back the example I gave before, because I think it's by far the most extreme.

Nico [2-14]: Someone I trust? What are you talking about? I don't trust anyone here. Hu: Stop! Just stop it! You all are too cruel! None of you understand how much stress Nico was under! And yet you continue to insist on bringing this up. Can't you see that you're traumatizing them? Nico: Hu, I-- Hu: Don't worry, Nico, I'm on your side. I'll always defend you. I can be reliable for you. You trust me, right? Nico: ... I never asked you to defend me--

Like, this goes beyond unreasonable. Nico literally says they don't trust anyone in the killing game, but Hu still thinks they trust her for... some reason. And even though Nico says they never asked her to defend them, Hu continues doing it past this point.

The thing is, though... why? Like, I get the basics here, it's what we talked about earlier. Hu only finds worth in herself by being reliable, and she sees Nico as someone who needs her reliability, so she tries to defend them no matter what. Hell, she even specifically says "I can be reliable for you" in the quote.

But... is there a reason she's so adamant towards them in particular? She doesn't get like this when Eden starts being accused, even though they have a good relationship with each other. Apart from reciting Rule 10 when it first comes up, once that gets thrown into question, the only thing Hu says when Levi and Arturo talk about Eden possibly being the killer is:

Hu [2-14]: Eden? Please don't cry.

She never pushes back against David's claim that he saw the corpse, even though that would practically exonerate Eden via BDA; that's Nico who does that. And Hu never claims Eden is being traumatized by being accused even though she clearly takes the accusations a lot worse than Nico was taking them in 2-14.

So, like, what the hell? Is there a deeper reason she's so defensive towards Nico and not Eden, or am I just going insane?

Well, at this point, if such a deeper reason exists, I have no clue what it could be. I could speculate about Nico reminding her of someone in the past, be it herself or someone else, or maybe Hu just sees Eden as less "in need" because she's generally more stable and happier than Nico, but really, I have no way of knowing.

The thing I can talk about in regards to the Hu-Nico thing is its parallels to Veronika-Arturo and Levi-Ace.

Veronika-Arturo is funny because, well.

Veronika [2-10]: Arturo, you're... You're so... Fascinating. You're really entertaining. So I'll take your side. I don't care about morals. I don't care about whether people get hurt or whether they die. I just need to be entertained. If you become more and more irredeemable, then I'll only love you more~ I want to hear all about those terrible things you did with no justification. Arturo: For someone who's taking my side, you sure are making me look a lot worse!

I really love how a big part of the Vero-Hu recap foil so far can be reduced to the "I can fix them" vs "I can make him worse" meme :p There are their secrets as well, but that analysis will have to wait for further elaboration on them, presumably in CH3.

Meanwhile, Levi-Ace... will have to wait for the Levi section, because this is already getting quite long for Hu, and it requires a bit more context on his character.

Miscellaneous highlights!

Hu [2-14]: Hang on! Eden isn't the killer! Don't accuse her! Charles: Not this again. You can't keep blindly defending the people you hope to be innocent if you don't have evidence, Hu.

Hu: I do have evidence! Why are you writing me off? All because I-- ... *sigh* Rule 10...

Damn she really gets defensive when you question her reliability huh?

Well, moving on. That was a pretty long section, hopefully the next one will be easier to write.

...

Oh. Oh no.

David Chiem

YOU

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

Genuinely what is this motherfucker's problem? Everything he does seems to contradict something he did before, for reasons unknown. The only way I can even begin to try to analyze this son of a bitch is to go through everything he does in the series in chronological order, because trying to figure out his thought process in any other way would drive me in circles harder than anything in LGI ever did.

The first thing David truly does that informs us on his later actions is forming a genuine and positive relationship with Xander. In case the LGI MV didn't make it clear that David genuinely cared about the Rebel, we finally got near 100% confirmation of why exactly David liked him so much.

David [2-12]: You, and everyone else listening. I do so kindly request that pretty please stop talking about Xander at all if you don't know what the fuck you're talking about. It pisses me off to no end. After all, it's still unbelievable to me... ...That I'm the only person here who remembered him. Even if you all lost a year of memories for this killing game, there's no reason you shouldn't have recognized who he was.

While we unfortunately don't get much more clarification, it seems David knew what Xander did to earn the title of Ultimate Rebel, and likely admired him as a result. As per Xander's numeral I in LGI, "I have always looked up to you."

This admiration is presumably why David was so adamant in the first trial that there was no way Xander really tried to murder Teruko.

David [Debate Scrum, 1-8]: Are you saying that Xander is a killer? I find that difficult to believe.

You might argue that maybe he was just trying to throw the first trial, the same way he tried to throw the second. But that's not possible.

This is where we get to Weird Point #1. David didn't want to lose the first trial.

Nico [1-11]: Ah, right. Min was going from the laundry room to the kitchen. That path crosses the computer lab. She would have seen Teruko's body if the door was open. Min: ... Ace: And why exactly would the fucking door be open? Nico: U-Um... David: I suppose Min may have arrived near the computer lab's entrance just as Charles left. If she was curious, she would have even gone out of her way to see what was happening in there.

If David was trying to throw, he wouldn't be the first to explain how it would be possible for Min to be involved in the murder. And this is only one example, there's other lines where he specifically suspects Min. Apparently, he simply cannot handle a bad bitch winning (committing murder and trying to sacrifice 14 lives for her own benefit).

However, something in David shifts upon seeing Min's execution.

David [1-12]: I... I've seen enough. There's no point in keeping my hopes up anymore. We are all certainly going to die here.

This line is said pretty somberly.

Which is weird. Because not four days later, David will be trying to throw a class trial, which will kill everyone and him. Interesting detail about that, David doesn't seem to believe that the blackened will escape if they actually voted wrong, based on this line.

David [2-12]: 15 lives. Some of them are very dear to you. And your own life as well. Is there anything at all that could be more important to you than those 16 human lives?

Where he seems to imply a wrongful vote will cause 16 deaths.

But the thing is, it's not just the trial, is it? David also tried to instigate a murder through his "reveal all motive secrets" idea. That's what he does during the majority of CH2, starting in 2-4, just two days after Min's execution. Now, it's fully possible that at this point, he wasn't yet planning to throw the next trial, but rather, he was just doing this to hide his own secret. He certainly considers losing his "speaker persona" a genuine sacrifice, so it isn't unbelievable that he'd hope for a murder even if he was planning to win the trial if it happened.

David [2-12]: Even so... Lying about all that wasn't easy. Even I like to have good relations with others, however fake they might be. And I had to throw that all away. I know that no one will ever trust me, believe in me, or look up to me again after this. But doing "good" things requires sacrifice. Sometimes that sacrifice is being seen as "a good person." That's what I learned from Xander. Even if doing something will make you hated, if that action is for a greater good, then it's an action that you have to take.

(By the way, his views of goodness as martyrdom are quite interesting and I'm curious to see where it will go, but currently we don't have much more than this line for insight on it)

However, I don't quite think that he just wanted to keep the others' goodwill; I think he was already hoping to throw from the moment he started instigating the murder. And this is where we need to ask; what was it that made David switch up? What happened between the first trial and the second that made his goals change from surviving to... whatever he's cooking now? Because in case it wasn't clear from how I'm talking about it, I don't believe David gave the real reason for his throwing to the class. Let's look at the "confession."

David [2-12]: Ugh, fucking fine. You want an answer so badly? Any answer? ... I...

Ah... We're... in a television show, after all. That's... what MonoTV said, right? "Entertainment" is an ongoing show. If Min successfully got away with the very first murder and escaped while we all died, then isn't that way less interesting for a TV show? What's the point of roping 14 other people into one murder, only to kill them all off immediately? The killer is supposed to fail and be executed. We're all supposed to catch the killer, again and again, and participate in trial after trial. You're *supposed* to try to survive. All of you who are trying to solve these class trials to continue living on are playing straight into MonoTV's hands. [Confident] As if I'll accept that. I don't care how low I'll sink, or how despicable I'll have to become. I'll do anything to carry on Xander's ideals by ending this killing game, even if it means that I have to dirty my hands.

Although I wrote it all out, I want you to focus on the start: ".... - I... - Ah... We're... in a television show, after all." Even beyond the meta argument that it's unlikely we'd actually get the answer to why Xander wanted to win the class trial this early in the series (which is a valid argument, but I prefer to theorize without meta reasoning), that hesitation should tell you everything. The way it's written, it makes it seem like David is hesitating because he's making everything up on the spot, up to the "Ah..." potentially being the exact moment David figured out what angle he wanted to take. Given he's already admitted to both being manipulative and wanting to get everyone killed, this is the only reason I can see for why he'd hesitate to give such a relatively simple and "reasonable" (as in, it logically follows even if it's still insane) answer.

So, now we have two questions. What does he actually want to achieve by throwing, and why did he only start pursuing it after the first trial ended?

Well, let me say first that I don't think we're supposed to be able to answer these questions yet. Obviously; we're dealing with shit very closely connected to some pretty large, overarching mysteries of the series, which we probably won't get full answers for until much later than CH2. But we can try to speculate the general direction of what the answer will be. Let's look at another one of his lines to try to do just that.

David [2-13]: Achoo! Ah--Bless me! Also, excuse me! Wow, thank you for your support, everyone!

(I only included that line because it's fucking hilarious and I didn't want that to go unappreciated :p)

I have another interruption~ Hu: ... David: Teruko. Own up your [sic] goddamn secret already. You are the last person to do so. [...] Teruko: ... My family. David: ...

So, just like everyone who is somewhat deep in the DRDT theorizing community, I don't think this is true. I am pretty sure David has Teruko's secret, that secret being "How could I even select what secret to be your motive? Just about everything you've done in your life is worth killing for. The killing game is all your fault." There's many reasons beyond the weird ass David sprite pictured above, which many have already covered, but as a quick overview: the family secret ("you're constantly blaming yourself for the death of your parents and siblings. It doesn't matter that it's not your fault, just that you didn't go with them") fits Xander better (see: Bonus Episode 2, Xander's secret quote being the definition of survivor's guilt), the family secret mentions "siblings" plural when Teruko's only claimed to have one brother, we don't know what happened to Teruko's parents and brother when we know Xander's family is dead, Teruko didn't believe David when he said he got Xander's secret so she probably suspects the killing game one is hers, "this killing game is all your fault" is consistent with the second anniversary art code ("It's all your fault" in a picture which only features Teruko reaching out to presumably-Mai's hands, which disappear), etc.

So now we have four questions, because evidently I'm quite bad at this. Apart from the two mentioned before, we need to ask why David lied about the secret he received, and why he was happy when Teruko answered with the family thing.

But sometimes, one question can answer others. The reason I'm bringing this up is because I believe David's heel turn was likely motivated in some way by receiving Teruko's secret. Take a look at his immediate reaction when the secrets are first handed out.

Pretty frowny, huh? Yeah understandable given the secret he received is "hey the killing game is all the girl that Xander tried to kill's fault." Unfortunately this is the only reaction David has to any of the secrets, as the rest of his dialogue after this is just explaining J's secret. Well, and this:

Eden [2-1]: Then let's end the killing game before [the motive secret reveal]! Nico: Eh?! David: Optimistic as ever, Eden. I'll do my best.

Which is kinda funny in retrospect. Yeah, he sure did do his best to end the killing game before the secret reveals.

Tangent aside, the important thing is that David wasn't necessarily surprised by Teruko's secret, but rather, uh... Well it's hard to read him on expression alone. Frustrated, maybe? Possibly mad that Xander didn't succeed in killing her? It's also worth noting that this is shortly before Teruko goes into her whole "I don't plan on leaving" shtick, which includes the following tidbit (and yes David is in the room to hear this).

Teruko [2-1]: And I'd recommend that you drop that foolish optimism for making it out of here alive. With 100% confidence, I can say that... You will all die down here without ever seeing the outside world again. Ace: This bitch is totally out of her mind. Teruko: I'm not saying this out of ill-will. It's simply how this story works. You all have the misfortune of being "characters" in a story where I'm the "protagonist." Because of that, you're all doomed.

What's so important about this? Because I believe that, in David's mind, this proves Xander right. It proves that there is something off about Teruko, that he probably did have a good reason to attack her, that the note he received wasn't complete bullshit. If there is any single thing that would get David to follow Xander's footsteps, regardless of whether he has the full story or he's just doing what Xander was trying to do even without knowing the reasons the Rebel made the moves he made, it would be getting confirmation that the person he tried to kill specifically has something suspicious going on.

Especially because David does, in fact, seem to have a very weird fixation on Teruko.

David [2-14]: As long as there's a possibility that the evidence is false, as long as there's even the slightest reason to distrust others, then Teruko cannot trust Eden. Isn't that right, Teruko? Teruko: ... David: It's in your nature to distrust people. Everyone you know has already betrayed you. There's no one in this world who won't hurt you. Even the people you love will turn their backs on you in the end. You know that well enough, don't you? So distrust in others. Because that's the only way you know how to live. Teruko: ...

(Obligatory props to VAing ofc)

... Alright so it's five questions. Because how does he know all that?

Let me knock that one out quickly, though. Right now, I don't think this is solid enough reason to suspect that David knows more about Teruko than he's letting on. I could be wrong about that and David could just be aware of her entire backstory, but I currently don't believe that.

Instead, I think this might actually be an extension of his talent, in a way. The joke that he gave Teruko a "demotivational speech" is funny, but I also think it's actually on the right track. David knows the right things to say to someone to inspire them, to push back against their insecurities, as he did with Arei in the playground breakdown. Thus, it logically follows that if he's able to identify emotional weakness to push against it, he would also be able to exploit it.

Or, try, at least. He actually fails pretty spectacularly, since Teruko ends up trusting Eden anyways, and I don't think there were any reverse psychology 5D chess moves on David's part given his immediate reaction to Teruko's 2-14 speech to Eden.

Like, that's the face of a man who tried to be slick and failed miserably.

(And in case it isn't clear, I don't think his lie of seeing the body had anything to do with the trial, he did it just to fuck with Teruko)

In any case, what happened here is that he figured out the (relatively obvious, it doesn't take an Ultimate to see this) trust issues that plague Teruko, and is trying to make them worse in order to... uh... fill in the blank I guess. One option I've considered is that he knows something about how her luck works, that it hurts people she likes, so if she doesn't trust anyone then her luck's effects will be concentrated entirely on Teruko. However, that requires a pretty deep understanding of something he shouldn't have that much info on, so I don't find it that likely. Also I'm not 100% sure if this is how her luck actually works so there's that.

Yeah, unfortunately, at this point I struggle to see exactly what David's angle is here, which is probably intentional given, again, CH2. However, it does somewhat tie back into what we were talking about. Along with everything else I've mentioned, this fixation on Teruko's trust makes me believe that David's heel turn is at least partially motivated by receiving her secret.

And if we once again combine questions 3, 4 and 5, we can actually arrive at a new conclusion. We know David's hiding Teruko's secret, we know he's happy that she's not calling him out on it, and we know that he has a vested interest in getting her to distrust others. With all these combined, I believe that David is trying to look for a way to manipulate Teruko specifically as a backup plan if the cast managed to win the trial, which they did.

By getting her to distrust others, she'd isolate, making her an easier target for manipulation as she wouldn't have anyone to fall back on if David starts getting to her. And the secret is good blackmail, pretty straightforward why he he hasn't revealed it yet. That's also why he's happy she helped him keep it hidden; he can pull it as a card to make her seem less trustworthy and isolate her further. "She lied about her secret, she was trying to hide it." If she had been honest and said that neither the family nor the poison secret fit her and that someone lied about their secret, it would make her look comparatively better once the secret came out. In other words, it makes the blackmail even better, especially because now David knows for a fact that she wants to keep it hidden.

That brings up to question 6: why does David want to manipulate Teruko in the first place? And this is where we finally reach a dead end, because again, CH2, we're not gonna get all the answers yet. I have less than zero idea what David will try to manipulate Teruko into doing, when he will make his move, what his end goal is, or any other question you can imagine. I have my doubts that he'll succeed, obviously, but of course that depends a lot on what his final angle ends up being.

So, let's recap.

David knew of Xander before the killing game, admiring him because of his work as the Ultimate Rebel. As a result, David tried to establish a good relationship with Xander once the killing game started.

David originally rejected the idea of Xander attacking Teruko out of denial and nothing else. He had genuine faith his friend wouldn't do that. David wanted to catch the correct blackened in the first trial.

Upon receiving Teruko's secret and hearing her speech about everyone dying as a result of misfortune, David begins to believe Xander was in the right, and chooses to pursue what he thinks Xander was trying to accomplish. This includes trying to instigate a murder and admitting to killing Arei.

David lied about his motivation to throw the trial. I don't know if he's specifically trying to kill Teruko, or if he thinks everyone in the cast needs to die for some reason, or if he genuinely has no idea what Xander was trying to do and he's just following his actions blindly, or if it's something else entirely; whatever motivation he actually has, it's not what he said.

As a backup plan if the cast manages to win the trial, he hides Teruko's secret and plans to manipulate her via blackmail, for reasons yet unknown. This is why he's happy that she also keeps it hidden, and why he tries to build her distrust in others.

And that's the basics of what I believe regarding his actions... related to throwing the trial and Teruko. We still have one more David Moment TM to deal with.

David [about the Arei conversation, 2-13]: ... Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I didn't say anything to her, and she didn't have much to say to me either. Arei simply got annoyed with me and left without saying anything else. Nothing else happened between us, I promise. Eden: You promise? You absolutely promise, you didn't say anything to her? David: One hundred and one percent, I promise. Ace overheard everything, and what he told you all was the entire truth. Does that satisfy you? Eden: ... That's... a relief. That you didn't make her feel bad, I guess.

So, question 7, why does he hide the truth from Eden? I doubt he suddenly gained an interest in progressing the trial without further interruption. He's also not doing this for Eden's sake; what Eden wanted to hear was that Arei walked out of that conversation still hoping to change for the better, which she did. Hearing that Arei still wanted to "be less shitty together" even after knowing David's a manipulative asshole would have made Eden very happy.

But David doesn't want to hurt Eden, either. If he did, he'd lie and tell Eden that he said something that made Arei run out crying and having lost all hope, or something. I also can't really think of anyone else who would have much of a reaction either way, since as bad as it sounds to say it, Eden's more or less the only person who was genuinely invested in Arei's progress. Maybe "the blackened," but if David doesn't know who the blackened is, there's no way he'd know how they'd react, so it's likely not because of that.

So, if David doesn't hide the truth for the sake of the trial, and he doesn't lie because of Eden, and he doesn't lie because of anyone else, then he's lying for his own sake. I believe that David is trying to hide how much he genuinely cared about Arei, and probably doesn't trust himself to be able to tell the story without giving the game away.

And to be clear, he did genuinely care about Arei. If his immediate reaction to her death doesn't convince you, his breakdown after hearing the Arturo-Eden-Arei story should.

David [2-8]: Of course. Of course this would happen.

David [2-10]: If Eden and Arei really had that conversation, then it explains a lot. I had my doubts. A clearly suspicious note, asking her to meet alone and with no explanation as to why. During a *killing game* of all times. What kind of person would fall for such an obvious trap? You'd have to be shortsighted, naive, foolish, senseless, downright idiotic. ... Unless, of course, you were Arei. That girl wanted desperately to prove herself as a "friend" to Eden. And yet she completely lacked any experience with what "friends" were actually like. Of course it never occurred to her that handing out suspicious notes was not something that normal people did. What could she know about "friendship," after all? Someone like her, who had not once experienced kindness in her entire life up until now? Even if she had her misgivings about something so suspicious, she must have pushed it aside due to her unwavering faith in her blossoming friendship. A friendship that she didn't understand in the slightest. It's... It's so... Ahaha. It's just so foolish. For someone to take advantage of Arei like that. It's absolutely unforgivable. All she wanted was to change. What a reprehensible person this killer is. I look forward to seeing their painful execution.

(Do you think all this talk about "suspicious notes" is making him think of Xander with the suspicious note he received? Don't know, maybe :p)

Between David hiding the end of the conversation and the whole "Arei was a temporary weather spell" line, it seems he's really committing to the role of someone who doesn't care about Arei.

There are many reasons he could be doing this, but I believe he's just pulling a Teruko: Showing no vulnerability, because if he did, then maybe people would actually try to reach out to him. And then they'd get hurt like Xander and Arei; quote one of the Hamlet quotes in LGI (one of the eight lol): "I did love you once. You shouldn't have believed me." And/or David would need to confront how awful he is to try to change and better these new relationships.

Because it's a lot easier to be an irredeemable asshole who will never get better, than to confront the reality that he can, just that it's hard. Cue parallels with Arei and Teruko and Ace and you get the idea.

Final note, completely unrelated.

Whit [2-12]: Hey, hey, you could say those fish were a... red herring? David: Ugh! Goddamn it, Whit, does everything you say have to be made into some shitty dumb joke?! You're actually really fucking annoying! Shut the fuck up!!

Question 8: Why is David so pressed about Whit's jokes? At the moment, my only guess is that Whit's attitude of always remaining positive enough to crack jokes reminds David a bit too much of his "cheery" persona, which also is supposed to always remain optimistic in the face of adversity, and David either hates that because he hates himself, or because he's envious that Whit can hold that optimism without trouble (as far as David can see). I lean on it being a combination, where he does hate his "cheery" persona, but also wishes he could genuinely be like that, but it's very hard to tell atm.

Alright that took way too long. Can't wait for this all to be proven horribly wrong the next time we get any solid info on David!!!

Levi Fontana

Hey Levi sorry for calling you an accomplice for like a year are we still cool? :,D

Although Levi had a lower amount of Big Moments than David, I consider them more impactful to the chapter. And when you're talking Levi, you're talking 2-13 and 2-16. Let's start with the former.

Levi [2-13]: The secret that Arei received, "You're a murderer, and you hold no remorse...." That's my secret. [Cast reactions] If you were wondering, it's not in my legal records. The court struck it from the records. Ace: No shit! There's no way Hope's Peak would have scouted a murderer! Levi: Don't make the mistake of switching cause and effect.

Let's take our time with this one, it's a long speech. First, nice to see we called this secret, it's nice. Also, I'm not the first to point this out, but it's a neat bit of characterization for Levi to first talk about the legal side of his secret instead of anything more related to emotions; he only really cares about the effects things have in the present (that'll become explicit in a bit), so the first concern he thinks of are the legal repercussions.

Then, Hope's Peak... Hope's Peak why are you this shady. Between Rose's situation, the Ultimate Contest for Eminent Students, and now this, it's now three times they've specifically targeted people in vulnerable positions. Four if you count Teruko, but that would imply they rigged the lottery for the Lucky Student, which I would believe but we currently don't have evidence for. No wonder Xander has issues with them, they're cooking something weird.

Rose [1-4]: I'm sure Hope's Peak wants me to become some sort of appraiser or forgery detective with the skills that I have. Taking some offending youth and turning them into a productive member of society would be a pretty good look for them.

Unnamed Classmate [BE1]: Why would Hope's Peak announce [the UCES] 12 years before it would actually take place, when all the would-be contestants are just children? Min: Because they wanted the contest to hang over the heads of kids like me for 12 years, from childhood all the way into high school. They wanted to single out those who were obsessive enough to spend their entire lives preparing for this one test from childhood.

Unnamed Classmate [BE2]: If you set out to do something, then never give up on that, no matter what obstacles may stand in your way. Even if it's risky or against the rules, as long as it's for a good cause... I'll trust that you know to do the right thing. Xander: Yeah. Of course. That's why I've come to Hope's Peak, isn't it?

We currently have no clue where this is going, but I'm noting it for further reference. Let's pick off from where we left.

Charles [continued]: Care to explain yourself? Levi: At the time, I was confronted by three guys who tried to start a fight with me. I believe they were some old enemies. I killed their leader first, which may have been justifiable as self-defense, but then I tracked down his two remaining friends several days later and beat them to death. J: "Old enemies?" "Leader"?? Were you in the freakin' mafia or something? Levi: No. J: ... Levi: ... J: Are you not going to elaborate?? Levi: I don't particularly think I need to elaborate. After all, that happened in the past and has nothing to do with Arei.

One question this speech leaves us with is "why did Levi track down the other two after killing the leader?" We don't have enough info to tell for sure, but I assume it's a matter of safety? Like, Levi thought those two would try to attack him again if he left them alone, so he needed to make sure that didn't happen. I think that makes enough sense for me not to lose sleep at night over it, but of course I'm open to being wrong.

Also, this is the point where Levi's pure pragmatism becomes apparent. "It's not important right now, so why would I elaborate?" A philosophy which is born from his lack of empathy which will be discussed later. This pragmatism is probably why he's the one to argue that Eden was in an advantageous position to kill Arei; the logistics of murder come before emotional aspects in his mind, which is understandable.

Eden [continued]: Who... Who did you even kill? Levi: They were three guys... a few years older than me... Uh... I don't remember their names or who they were.

Do we think Levi knew their names at one point and forgot, or did he somehow track down two people without learning their names? I find the former more likely, just wanted to point that out.

Levi [continued]: I was a bit of a delinquent when I was younger, so they could have held a grudge against me for any reason. Maybe I smashed their windows and robbed them? Or, wait, maybe something to do with that car I blew up once? Rose: That's... kind of a lot to admit all of a sudden.

One thing I always enjoy is when the character who reacts to cut off a monologue has some kind of connection to the thing being discussed. Like, of course Rose is surprised at everything Levi is saying. She's out here being haunted by the crimes she committed, to the point where the debt she put her family in is her motive secret, and then this other guy has broken All the Laws and is just admitting it openly lol.

Levi [continued]: I've forgotten most of the details, as I haven't though much about it since I was cleared of my charges. Sorry, I can't really remember why that happened. Arturo: How could you forget something so important? You can't even be bothered to remember their names? Did you not care that you killed three people?

Speaking of matching reactions to character, Arturo "I feel unending guilt over the death of my sister who I did not even directly kill" Giles cannot conceive how someone else isn't haunted by the lives he took, more recap foiling at eleven.

Veronika [continued]: You say that your backstory and secret aren't relevant to this trial, but they are. That second part of your secret, that you "felt no remorse" for killing people... If you don't care about murder, then you'd have a much easier time killing than anyone else here. You may even be unbothered by the fact that passing the trial would mean everyone else's execution. After all, you seem completely detached while admitting not only to murdering 3 people, but to several other crimes as well. Almost as if you didn't care about any of this. At least not from a moral standpoint, that is. Levi: I won't deny it. That is indeed how I feel. Ace: You are one sick bastard. What could you possibly say in your defense.

This is the first big hint of Levi's low to non-existent empathy, but I'll wait until it's fully elaborated on to discuss it in depth. Also this hints to Ace business that will be discussed in his section. Why am I even writing here.

Levi [continued]: That incident happened when I was in my junior year of high school. My junior year was also the year that Hope's Peak scouted me as the Ultimate Personal Stylist. To my understanding, it would have reflected poorly on Hope's Peak to recruit a murderer, so they pressured the court into not pressing charges.

I do wonder now why Levi even started styling in the first place. By his own admission he's pretty new to it, though he's got at least a year or two of experience if he was scouted in junior year (I think? USA why can't you fucking number your grades like sensible people I don't know what "junior" means without firefoxing that shit). Maybe a job he picked up after disownment? Though that heavily depends on when and why he got disowned in the first place; was it because of his father's murder, the murder of the three dudes and the court case just took a while, or was it something else? Questions to mull over, but can't answer without further info.

Levi [continued]: Err... Hang on. Now that I've thought about it a little more, my motive secret may not be referring to those guys. It could also be referring to the time I murdered my father. J: Wait, you-- YOU WHAT?! Levi: It's quite difficult yo tell what these motive secrets truly mean because they're all phrased so vaguely... It's a bit of a bother. J: No, fuck that noise! Go back! The hell you mean, you fucking killed your dad? Levi: Correct. I simply forgot about it up until now. That would make four people in total that I've killed, not three, I think...? Arturo: How could you simply *forget* that you murdered your own family member? Nico: If you said you killed him because you just didn't like him, I could understand that. But you're saying you forgot about taking a life... Levi: It wasn't that important. Not even the police cared about a man like him, so nothing came out of it. I truly just forgot.

(why is everyone blue you're fucking up my color schemes-)

Back to the whole "appropriate reactors" thing, while I've already mentioned the Nico thing, I think it's cool J (the anti-murder spokesperson with a bad relationship with her mother) specifically says 'dad,' while Arturo generalizes to 'family member.' Someone's being reminded of his past~

I find this admission pretty funny for a few reasons, and very interesting for many others. Funny because my guy is complaining about the vagueness of the motives while admitting he killed his dad and not elaborating in the slightest. Interesting because... why did that happen? Levi doesn't respond to Nico's comment, so it seems like he didn't particularly dislike his father or anything? Especially in the context of the way he's talked about his family in the past.

Levi [responding to Eden, 2-1]: No, not at all. It's for the best that neither I nor my family see each other ever again. Eden: Eh? If you don't mind me asking, why? Levi: Why? My father, my mother, my brothers... We were all bad influences on each other. That's all that needs to be said.

I mean, Levi's father probably wasn't a shining beacon of hope or anything, given the police didn't even investigate his death, but like... lumping him in with the mother and the brothers, and just saying they were "bad influences" instead of, like, genuinely shitty people, it all makes it sound like there's no specific grudge against the father. Which makes sense, right? Even his father would feel like a stranger, as Levi will describe later. I really wish we get some elaboration on this, because I'm pretty curious about what kind of situation would lead Levi to this. I did try to check what's caused Levi to snap before, see if I could figure out what could have prompted it:

Ace [1-9]: What's the damn point of this whole trial if we're going to make choices based on dumb crap like that?? You useless shit-for-brains! Are you even taking any of this seriously?! Whit: Huh? Am I taking this seriously? Nah, not really. Ace: YOU--! Levi: Ace, calm down. You are not helping at all with this argument-- Ace: You shut your damn trap too, Levi!! I'm done with you trying to play the moral high ground by pretending to be some peacemaker! "Oh dear, oh my, calm down, everyone. Let's not fight, alright? Aren't I such a level-minded pacifist?" Stay the hell out of this if you know what's good for you. Levi: ... Ace: That's right. Shut your damn mouth, you coward-- Levi: Fuck. Off. Ace. How far do you want to push it? Do you think that I don't have a limit to my patience? I would gladly strangle you right here and now to shut you up if I were allowed. But if you're the coward I know you to be, then you should back up before you dig your own grave. So shut. Your mouth. Before I shut it for you.

Uh... Personal attacks against Levi? Yeah I have no idea what the hell his father could have done to prompt the murder. As usual, we're missing too much critical information to make a call on it. I'm gonna wager a guess that Levi didn't plan the murder, but rather it was an in the moment decision, but again I have no actual way to be sure.

Levi [continued]: Frankly speaking, I see no reason to remain hung up over some incident that is long past, especially as it ultimately had no impact on my life. Eden: You forgot about all of the things you did simply because you didn't face any consequences? That's incredibly selfish! Shouldn't you feel even a little bit bad? Those were human lives you took! I don't know what happened within your own family, so I can't pretend to understand why you killed. But even then, I'm sure those other people had families and friends who cried over their deaths!

Again the responders; remember how Eden feels guilty over both Min and Arei's death even though she never "faced any consequences" for them (mainly because she didn't actually do anything wrong but you get the idea)? Yeah that.

Levi [continued]: *sigh* I wonder if I should really tell you the truth, or if it's best to keep it to myself. I don't know how you all will see me after this. Teruko: You've already admitted to murdering 4 people. If you insist on not being completely honest with a secret this bad, then you're going to be the next one on the chopping block. Out with it.

Considering the stuff he says later, it's interesting to me that Levi seems to be more worried about revealing his lack of empathy than admitting to murder, especially with the knowledge that he's only doing this because he thinks being honest will make him "a good person."

However, I think it makes sense. Amongst the cast, there's already several people who either killed or tried to: Xander, Min, and Nico. But a lot of the others still speak of them in good terms; David talked about how good of a person Xander was for several minutes, Eden has made it clear she still misses Min, and Hu still defends Nico. Not to mention that Levi himself already threatened to kill Ace, and got called "a good person" by Eden just a few hours later. That means that, although admitting to murder will probably make the others more wary of him, there's precedent that Levi will still have people who stick by him after all's said and done.

Meanwhile, as far as Levi can tell, he's the only one who doesn't understand empathy in the slightest. And that means he has no way of telling how the others will feel about him if he reveals it, which is why he's more nervous about it than the murders. It plays on the themes of feeling disconnected from the rest of humanity that characters like Nico (via gender identity) and David-

Tally 5 Page: "... I wasn't capable of ever becoming human in the first place."

-have going on, which is definitely something that's cool to mull over. I hope these three get some kind of interaction about this in the future.

By the way, as always I'm just kinda guessing why Levi does the things he does and says the things he says, I could always be wrong.

Levi [continued]: It's not really that I don't care about killing people. Rather, it's more accurate to say that I don't care about people at all. No matter how much I hear about such things like empathy or compassion or love, none of those concepts resonate with me. Are those emotions really universal? The idea that people naturally "care" about others is a completely foreign concept to me. Nico: Eh? What are you saying? Levi: Judging by your reaction, I suppose that's a bad thing. But I wouldn't understand why. On the other side of this planet, there's a person who's suffering. Maybe they're even drawing their last breath. But none of you care, do you? Why would you? They're a stranger, after all. You don't know them. Their life holds no consequence for you. For me, everyone I've ever known is that distant stranger. It doesn't matter how long I've known you, how much we've done for each other, or even if you were my own father... You're still a stranger to me. And if tomorrow it turned out you all had passed away, I'd care as much as if we had never met.

So here's the big reveal, bolded text and all. Levi has extremely low empathy. I'm not gonna try to assign any specific disorder because I'd have no idea what I'd be talking about, but the empathy thing is pretty clear. I'm also no authority on whether this would be good representation for that or not, but for what it's worth, I think it's done pretty well. Levi's perspective is presented neutrally, in a way that shows his lack of empathy doesn't inherently make him a bad person, but not shying away from some of the real effects that can come from it (combined with other factors of course), such as the whole 4 murders situation.

I also like the way Levi describes it. It does a good job of getting the audience to understand his feelings, while still holding quite a bit of characterization in there. For example, the reason he gives for why the cast wouldn't care about the stranger on the other side of the world is because "their life holds no consequence to you." Even when trying to speak from the others' perspective, his understanding of why someone would care about someone else is still shaped entirely by what tangible effect that person has in the other's life, in a way sorting people by "holds consequence/holds no consequence."

Eden [continued]: But you're a good person. Why are you saying these things when it's clearly not true? You're so kind to everyone. You're always helping others out, even when it'd be easier not to. Like that time Ace almost died. You kept trying to help him, even if he always pushed you away. Isn't that what "a good person" does? Levi: In all honesty... I don't personally care what happens to Ace. Whether he lives or dies is none of my concern in the end. Ace: ...?! Levi: But it is a "good" thing to make sure someone else doesn't die, even if I personally do not care about the outcome. I truly believe that. But I adhere to that principle out of duty, not sentimentality. Does that make any sense?

So I'm gonna do a funny here and skip Ace's reaction to this, because that's more for the Ace section than this one. I also already talked about Eden's reaction to this.

Instead, I'll focus on Levi, particularly the question of "does Levi actually care about Ace?" To answer that, it'll be helpful to get the full Veronika Breakdown TM.

Veronika [continued]: Hm hm... I understand now. You're quite the interesting person, Levi. From what I've seen of you so far, your personality has been awfully inconsistent. It's like you don't know how to act. Trying to act like "a good person" without any intuitive sense of what's good or bad is hard, right? For someone like you, who lacks compassion, it must be quite difficult to pretend to be nice. You're always guessing as to what a normal human would do in your situation. You're so awkward in social settings because you can't tell what other people want. You act like a big pushover because if you go the other direction and stand up for yourself, you won't know where to stop. You offer to do things for others because you've observed that "good people" help others, and you parrot noble assurances without understanding why. Such things like that. Not only are you trying to act without a script, but you don't even understand the story. And you slip up constantly. Levi: You explained it better than I could. You really have an intuitive understanding of other people, Veronika. That's a trait I envy. The way I see it, it would be beneficial if I was "a good person." Then other people would trust me and not pick fights with me anymore, and they'd do things for me because they "liked" me. If I was a good person, then I wouldn't have to live a life full of violence anymore. I did everything so that I could have a better life.

Okay hold on there's a bunch to talk about here. Let me do that before circling back to the Ace Question.

Veronika is thankfully good enough at describing the stuff she said that I don't feel the need to elaborate on that. It's basically just a perfect read of Levi's actions so far under this new frame of someone who lacks empathy yet still is a good person. His awkwardness, his outbursts towards Ace, him being sort of a pushover, everything. I also like the little comment of Levi envying Vero's understanding of people, it's neat characterization.

Aside from that, there's also cool contrast between the way Levi sees being a good person as a sort of purely pragmatic social contract (being good leads to a peaceful life and ensures others help you) and Eden, which as referenced earlier sees friendship in a purely emotional and non-transactional way. Not exactly fully comparable, but close enough, and still worth mentioning given the chapter starts with a conversation between the two of them about how they're good people. Both of these have their merit, the point is that, in the end, no matter the reason you have for doing good things, regardless if it's out of sentimentality or just duty, doing good is enough to be a good person. While still of course keeping in mind Arei's message that no one is effortlessly good 100% of the time, and simply trying to be as good as you can be and improve on your flaws is enough.

Also, "I did everything so I could have a better life," huh?

Arturo [referring to Felicity's suicide, 2-10]: How is it possibly my fault that I wanted to live my own life!?

Get paralleled, idiot >:D

Wanting better things for yourself can end up having good effects on others (Levi being good to the cast), or negative (Felicity dying), fun contrast.

But I'm beating around the bush. The question I asked earlier, does Levi actually care about Ace?

Well, there's definitely room for interpretation, but my read is... well, not in the usual way. I mean, Levi explicitly says he doesn't particularly care if Ace lives or dies, so that's kind of a giveaway that he still very much does not feel empathy towards him. To better understand Levi's perspective, it might be helpful to analyze the previously mentioned Hu-Nico and Levi-Ace parallels.

Fandom has long since grouped together Hu and Levi as the "parental figures" of the group, and while I don't particularly enjoy applying familial relations to friendships, there's some basis for the interpretation. They both (to varying effect) commonly act as peacemakers and moderators in the context of the group, but have had this position compromised by emotional outbursts (Hu's defense of Nico and Levi's threats to Ace). Hell, there's even parallels in the way people react to some of these outbursts.

Levi [after the previously linked outburst, 1-9]: I'm terribly sorry for that, everyone. Please continue discussing as you were earlier. Ace: So scary!!

Rose [reacting to Hu's "fuck David" outburst, 2-12]: Wow. Hu can be scary.

To be fair the 2-12 outburst is far more justified than a lot of Hu's others, but you get the point.

They both act this way for similar reasons; to control the cast's perception of them. Hu wishes to be seen as reliable in order to feel useful as a way to counteract her suicidal tendencies and self-loathing, while Levi wishes to be seen as a good person for the reasons he states (to live a peaceful life where others do things for him). And in order to do this, they've both chosen to focus on one person in particular to "protect" or help in some way; Nico for Hu, Ace for Levi. The reasons for this are different mind you, but the effect is similar enough.

However, while it's still unclear why exactly Hu is so adamant about Nico in particular, we kind of know why Levi is focused on Ace. Simply put, before the second trial, Ace was sort of the only person who had legitimate reasons to dislike Levi, at least in Levi's mind. Because of the death threat in trial one of course. Most people haven't really expressed an opinion on Levi either way, but they're civil and at least neutral towards him. Hell, Eden even specifically says Levi's a good person after the death threat, and since she's a pretty rational person, it follows most of the cast would see him that way as well, given how quickly they all moved on from the death threat.

Ace was the exception, however. Ace was very explicitly (and understandably) pissed at Levi for the death threat, so he stood as somewhat of a threat to Levi's goal of being seen as a "good person." Levi trying to fix things with Ace is an extension of this goal, and I don't think there's much else to it. Even to the very end, Levi's frustration at Ace doesn't come from a sense of betrayal or sadness or remorse for not being able to stop the murder, or anything like that. Levi only gets frustrated at his inability to understand Ace, which we already knew from his envy of Veronika's psychoanalysis abilities is a point of insecurity for him.

Ace [2-16]: I just needed a reason to stay mad at you, any reason at all, goddamnit! [sic] Levi: Why? Why do you have to force yourself to be angry at me? You just said you know that you're in the wrong, so why do you still do it?! I don't understand. I can't understand you, no matter how hard I try.

Levi, under this reading, still doesn't "care" that Ace is about to die, not in the way Eden felt bad about Min's death for example. He's frustrated that he's trying to be a good person towards Ace, and it isn't working for reasons he can't grasp. More on those reasons in the Ace section.

I am very curious as to how he'll react to Ace wanting to speed up his execution to try and save his life, and I predict Levi will probably try his best to honor Ace's memory and his sacrifice, but as always, out of duty and not sentimentality. Sorry Acevi fans, hope you still find a way to make it work :/

Since we're on the topic (and Ace's section is gonna be long enough as is), I'll talk about the other side of the Hu-Nico and Levi-Ace parallels, the way the "protected" act in respects to the "protectors." The main point of contrast is that, originally, Ace specifically sought out Levi for protection, while Nico never asked Hu for it.

Teruko [1-2]: Since when were you two so friendly? I distinctly recall yesterday a certain someone being terrified whenever Levi came near him. Ace: Whaaaat? Me, scared? Are you just making things up? Teruko: ... Ace: Okay, fine. Yeah, Levi's scary as hell! But I realized that MonoTV is even scarier than Levi! At least Levi is sorta safe to be around. And I like to be safe, you know?

Nico [to Hu, 2-14]: I never asked you to defend me--

Then comes the aspect of "betrayal" in both these relationships, where the roles are flipped. It's Levi who originally "betrays" Ace by threatening him, while it's Nico who "betrays" Hu by trying to frame her with the wire. However, Ace takes this betrayal much more personally than Hu, getting mad at Levi while Hu continues to defend Nico. As a result, Ace gets a bit of a victim complex, while Nico fully acknowledges blame for the murder attempt. Etc.

Okay time to continue with 2-13 because no we're not done with it.

Levi [continued]: After listening to David, I concluded that a good person would also be honest, even if the truth makes them look bad. Ace: You're taking advice from David of all people? Look at this asshole! David: Try looking in a mirror before you talk, Ace. Levi: I thought David was a prime example of a good person. Is he not? David: Wow, you really don't understand people at all, do you. Levi: I don't want to distract you all from this case any further. So, I apologize for this tangent.

Another really cool bit of characterization here. Levi struggles so much with understanding most people's sense of morality that he still thinks David "I actively tried to kill everyone here by pretending to be the blackened" Chiem is a good person. There's also the quick implication that David doesn't see himself as a good person, but I feel we're well past the point where that's news.

We also get the reason why Levi even said all this; he thinks being honest will help him be a good person, and presumably only brought it up after the whole David thing got resolved because "good person" David was (eventually) honest with both his motive secret and the reason he tried to get voted out. Or, rather, Levi thinks David was honest on the latter. Fair ig.

Levi has a few other lines in this part, but the next most striking thing to talk about is, fittingly, not a set of words, but an image.

Levi's protective streak has always been a big part of his character, and now he's literally taken a bullet (or 5) for Teruko. Just for the record, I imagine he'll survive, because there'd be no real point to most of the end of 2-16 if he didn't.

The big question around this is, naturally, why did Levi jump in? Obviously, it's not that he particularly cares if Teruko lives or dies, not from an emotional standpoint anyways. It could also just be Teruko's luck somehow manipulating him the way it seems to have influenced Min somewhat, but I can't see that as the only reason this happened. So, like most people, I believe he feels he owes Teruko.

Teruko [1-2]: No... I should be the one apologizing. It's my fault you got hurt. Levi: What do you mean? Without your warning, I could have gotten fatally injured. I should thank you that my wound is not more severe.

Teruko warning him in the prologue is the most obvious case where Teruko saved Levi, especially since it parallels this scene. Teruko saves Levi from execution, so he returns the favor. However, we also need to keep in mind that, without Teruko carrying, these people would not have made it through the trials, so Levi might feel he owes her for that too. And "good people" repay their debts, don't they?

Very interested in seeing where Levi's character goes from here!

Teruko Tawaki

You know a series is doing something right when the protag has so much shit going on in a trial where she didn't even have strong relationships with either the victim or the killer. Now, a big chunk of her screen time was devoted to crime solving, so her section might end up smaller than Levi's even though I consider her more important, but the order of this analysis is kinda all over the place anyways :v

I'll go in the order of Teruko moments as they appeared, though I'll skip the whole "fix my mistake" thing since I already mentioned it in the Min section.

David [2-12]: Xander is a good person. He's the only good person I've ever known. I swear, I'll follow in his footsteps and-- Teruko: And get everyone killed in the class trial? Xander is a good person? Are you hearing yourself right now? What virtuous reason could he possibly have for trying to kill me and everyone else here? David: I'm sure he had a good reason. I believe that he did. Xander is not the kind of person to do anything for frivolous purposes. Teruko: You *believe* that he had a good reason!? Hah! Based on what? The 3 days you spent with a fan who was too infatuated with the ideal of you to treat you like an actual human-- David: SHUT UP!

She says all this like she wasn't play-acting her Xanruko fix-it AU with cacti, like, two days ago lol.

Teruko Cactus [2-3]: That's right. Give up now, and surrender. Then I'll consider letting you live. Xander Plant: Teruko... I've changed my mind. I promise, I will turn my back on whoever made me do this and stay by your side from now on. Do you forgive me?

I don't actually have much to say about this. Teruko's complicated feelings about Xander aren't exactly news; genuinely angry at him for attempting to murder her, also genuinely upset that things didn't go better. No wonder David's uncritical view of the guy ticked her off.

2-13 had a lot of murder solving from Teruko, which is cool but not crucial for character analysis. Meanwhile, 2-14 had quite a bit more going on.

Rose [2-14]: I... I'm sorry for being useless. Maybe if I tried harder, if I just got over myself-- Teruko: Rose. Don't blame yourself anymore. You are helpful. It's because of you that I can solve this murder. Besides... I'm as much to blame as you. Maybe more, even. If only I listened to you when you said the tape was missing, then maybe I would have realized the truth of this case much earlier. Once again, I've made a stupid mistake. I simply wanted to believe that I could make it through this killing game without relying on anyone else. That I could be dismissive of everyone around me without consequences. So I refused to listen to anyone other than myself. I thought that if I did that, then I could avoid a repeat of the last trial, where I had made the mistake of trusting people too much. But now I'm making different mistakes instead. Again and again, I keep messing up this class trial with hasty assumptions and overlooked evidence. So... Rose: ... Teruko: ... Thank you, Rose.

Yuri stays winning.

Again, it's hard for me to add any commentary when Teruko's just... explaining all the themes out loud. We go back to the idea of Teruko fixing mistakes that she seems to have taken to heart from Min's CH1 breakdown (YURI STAYS WINNING), which ties into the idea of self-betterment that Arei's scene conveyed; and we basically have Teruko stating a reworded version of her secret quote, "It is an equal failing to trust everybody, and to trust no one at all." It makes me wonder how Teruko will behave moving forward. Will she trust a few select people? Will she continue to keep other's at arm's length, but being slightly more open? Well, based on what she does with Eden, it seems Teruko is willing to trust select people until the situation merits distrust, which is a pretty solid way of looking at things.

Speaking of that.

Eden [2-14]: I just wanted to help Arei... I didn't kill her... Teruko: You know I can't just take your words at face value, Eden. Eden: Please, Teruko... You're my friend, aren't you? Friends help each other... So please, help me... [...] Teruko: Eden. Eden: *sniffing* Teruko: Eden. Pick up your head. Look at me. At this point in the trial, since I've narrowed Arei's killer down to just two suspects, I'm going to pursue each suspect individually under the assumption that they're the killer. That way, I can see if any evidence matches up to them only. [...] So for now, I'm going to assume you're innocent. Eden: W-What? Really? Thank you so much, Teruko... Teruko: Don't... get me wrong. This isn't out of kindness or pity or anything else. This is only because you helped me in the last trial. I'm repaying your favor, and nothing else. That's why I'll trust you, just this once. Eden: Teruko... T... Thank you, Teruko... Teruko: ... Let go of me.

YURI STAYS WINNING!!!

That's what I was talking about. Choosing to trust Eden over Ace, but being willing to turn suspicion on the Clockmaker if Ace turns out innocent. A very reasonable approach! We love character development in this house.

That said, Teruko is still being a bit of a tsundere, with the whole "repaying a favor" thing. Levi parallels anyone? Well, not exactly, since Teruko does feel empathy towards Eden, but close enough. What's more interesting is that Teruko is using the exact transactional logic that Eden warned her against, which is intriguing setup for the future when it becomes more undeniable that Teruko is definitely not doing this just to repay a favor.

Also, the Trauma remains. Teruko telling Eden to let go fully completes the parallel to the Min scene, where she says the same thing (among others). I imagine our girl won't be too receptive of hugs for a while.

Before we get to the next big moment, real quick, we gotta fulfill our "Teruko's life is miserable" quota.

Teruko [to Ace, 2-15]: And three. You took the tape for first aid. Arturo: That's ridiculous. Who uses non-medical tape for first aid? That's sickening. Teruko: It's not that weird. I do it all the time.

Alright quota fulfilled. Let's move on. In this case, I'll skip to when Teruko gives up on the "show me your injuries Ace" line of reasoning.

Teruko [2-15]: No. It's fine. That's not a very fair line of logic, so forget it. You were almost murdered, after all. I should have understood that.

I don't know why Teruko really thought this line of logic was even worth following in the first place, but it makes sense for her character to ignore Ace's possible emotions in favor of the trial. But it's also cool to see her backing down when she realizes the harm she may be causing, especially as someone who has very notably hid how much her own murder attempt affected her, and in particular the wound that came from it.

Teruko [2-15]: The point of this trial is to determine who the killer is, not to determine every single little detail of what happened. It doesn't matter that you're not convinced. It's not going to help you, nor change your fate. No matter how you feel or what you think, nothing will change. [...] I've been fighting this entire trial to find the truth using real evidence. And when I make mistakes, I own up to them. What have you contributed? Show me some concrete proof of your innocence. Otherwise, shut up and stop wasting everyone's time. Ace: ... Teruko: Are you silent now? What happened to all those things you were shouting earlier? Don't you have anything to say for yourself? Ace: ... Teruko: Any evidence, any deductions to show that you're innocent? Come on, Ace! Don't you want to live?! Defend yourself!

So, a few things. First, regarding that second paragraph. "It's not going to change your fate"? "Nothing will change"? We'll circle back to it, but it seems Teruko is projecting how she feels about her own fate (before the Levi incident at least) on Ace. You could even say-

Literature Girl Insane: Even if we cry make noise shout go mad - this world won't change!

The foils ever.

Anyways, I assume that's why Teruko gets so worked up over Ace remaining silent. She sees a bit of her situation in trial 1 (almost murdered, suspected as the killer) in Ace, so her emotions run high with both the frustration of a long trial and the bad memories this is probably bringing up. At least, that's how I interpret it.

Also another mention of correcting mistakes, which shows up one more time before the episode ends, which I already mentioned as being tied back to Min and Arei; alongside with another "fate" drop. "Fate" is becoming the new "good person" isn't it :p

Teruko [2-15]: Confront the mistakes you've made. Then accept death. That's the fate of everyone who choose [sic] to participate in this killing game.

Also I find it endlessly funny that Teruko's reasoning for the Closing Argument being necessary reads a lot like "this is a DR trial we gotta do this, it's in the contract." Consider me amused.

But I've beaten around the fate bush enough. Let's get all of that over with in one fell swoop.

Teruko [2-16]: It's just... misfortune. That's why Ace killed. That's all.

Teruko [regarding her execution, 2-16]: What's the point [of running]? I should have known this would happen. [...] Even if I shield myself behind others, even if I search for an escape, it always comes down to this. I have to face the consequences of my actions. There's no escaping that. [...] Arturo: What are you talking about?? You're going to be killed!! Teruko: Killed? I doubt it. As if something so kind could happen to me. [...] I won't die, even if MonoTV puts a hundred bullets in my body. I'll only be badly injured. Possibly lose a body part. Maybe I'll even end up in a coma for months. [...] But I won't die. I never will. There's nothing I can do but accept my fate. It's what I deserve, after all. [...] I was perfectly willing to get shot. I thought I didn't have to care about what happened to other people, and especially not about what happened to me. I thought that if I lived alone and died alone, nothing would stain my conscience. Even if that was a selfish way to live. But even so...

Teruko [to MonoTV, 2-16]: Can you really say it's fate's fault for everything you've done, and pretend that you hold no blame in the matter? I have always said that my misfortune, my personality, the choices I make, everything was all a product of a bad luck that I can't control. That I grew up in such terrible circumstances, so I was destined to grow up to be a terrible person. That everyone else abandoned me, so it's not my fault that I'm alone. I want to say it's fate's fault, and that I had no choice in the matter. But, even so... Even so... Everyone. Xander, Min, Arei, Ace. Maybe even Levi. Is it my fault that they died? [...] MonoTV: You have to decide the answer for yourself. Teruko: Whether it was the fault of fate, or my fault... I already knew the answer. I had known what the answer was since a long, long time ago.

Alright I made myself sad, so something's been achieved, I guess. Poor Teruko :(

Just to start somewhere, we get confirmation of Teruko's suicidal tendencies in the present, which was already implied strongly enough, but now she straight up says she considers death something "kind to her." Just sad in general, but I wonder if there will be some discussions of it with the fellow suicidal characters like Hu. In fact, I wonder if that's the reason that Hu was the one to see the scar on Teruko's back during 2-2; so she'd have a vague idea of Teruko's backstory for some interaction in the future.

But the main point of these scenes is Teruko's relationship with the concept of fate. She basically goes through an entire character arc from the moment she says Ace's murder was just misfortune to right after Levi jumps in to save her. Basically, she used to blame fate (or "bad luck") for everything she did and what happened to her, thinking that just accepting this fate would allow her to live more easily. Especially noticeable because part of her "bad luck" is being betrayed, which gives way to her trust issues.

Teruko [2-2]: If I get in a car, it'll crash. If I stand in a construction site, it'll crumble to dust. If I trust others, they'll turn their back on me.

Hence her internal monologue about "living so nothing stains my conscience." If everything that happens to her is fate's fault, then she doesn't have to change, she doesn't have to confront her faults. Even when she talked about accepting the consequences for her actions, it was always in the context of accepting her fate. If she just accepts whatever consequences her actions bring, then she can excuse herself from fighting back against that, which is an easier way to live, but as she says, could be considered selfish. What's easier for Teruko is not always best for others, exemplified perfectly by Levi protecting her; Teruko chose not to fight her fate, and it got Levi hurt. Funnily enough, this somewhat parallels Hu feeling selfish for not sharing her secret, which is fun contrast. Hu is more justified in not sharing her secret, so it shows that feeling selfish for doing things that are good for you can be pretty bad. Meanwhile, Teruko shows that not taking others into account can also end up hurting people.

Of course, the whole "not fighting fate" thing also obviously parallels Mr Literature Boy Insane's feelings on the whole thing, to the point where they have practically the same character flaw. Believing themselves and others unable to change as a result of fate is the way they try living with themselves, because of the whole self-loathing thing, but that means they're resistant to changing their flaws. MonoTV says similar things, but it's a machine so it's not so much a flaw as just the nature of its character. It was a flaw Arei had, though, but she grew out of it through Character Development, similarly to the way it's implied Teruko is growing out of the "all fate's fault" mindset in the last inner monologue. You might also notice that tying fate into self-betterment allows you to draw a connection to the theme of admitting mistakes and fixing them, tying to Min who is also connected to the concept of fate through her entire backstory of being "destined" to be the Ultimate Student from the moment her family accepted XF-Ture's Tech contract, and obviously Min contrasts Xander who is all about fighting fate as the Ultimate Rebel, and that's without mentioning all the other "fate" bullshit going on and-

Yeah you get the idea. Too much peak for me to write it all out.

Very excited to see where Teruko's character goes now that she's not going to blame her bad luck for everything now. I worry she'll swing too hard the other way and end up blaming herself for things she shouldn't, but oh well, that's just more character development to be had.

That was the biggest Teruko thing, but there's still more to cover.

Teruko [to Ace, 2-16]: If you can't [attack MonoTV]... If you can't do that, then tell me, why did Arei have to die?! Ace: ... Teruko: It's because unlike Arei, *you* couldn't make amends with the people you made enemies out of. *You* were too scared to confront the people you hurt, say you're sorry, and promise to be a better person. So instead you took out your own personal problems on other people by murdering someone who had nothing to do with you! Arei died because you're a coward, Ace!

Uh... someone's projecting~

Teruko [already linked, 2-2]: But if you start talking about me and saying that I could be a good person if only I make an attempt to change, then I'm going to stop you right there. Don't say that I could be a good person, because all it'll do is make me feel bad that I'm not.

Damn it's almost like she hates herself because she already knows deep down that her mindset is flawed and so when she sees someone else behaving like she does/did she gets upset at them that's crazy :O

(I mean it's not 1:1 because Teruko never did anything as bad as Ace, but the point stands :v)

Final note, as always, voice acting was peak, just that there's too many good examples to point them all out one by one. Same with Levi btw, I think I forgot to mention it in his section.

Teruko continues to be probably my favorite protag of any DR or DR inspired story, though as always I'm working on a small sample size. Really excited to see her development in the future!

Ace Markey

Well if it isn't the man of the hour! It's only natural the blackened gets to close things out. Let's do the same thing as we did with Teruko and go by (mostly) chronological order.

That includes the quick, retrospective observation that a lot of Ace's behavior in the trial and investigation now needs to be re-analyzed with the understanding he's the blackened. It mostly just adds an extra layer to Ace's constant accusations towards Nico, though, since Ace didn't really do much most of the trial. The only other notable thing he did was revealing David's secret, and even then, nothing too big. I know it's a bit silly to go so hard on Nico when David is almost easier to frame, but this is Ace we're talking about. He's emotional and not quite the most strategic, so nothing weird there.

Although, speaking of Ace knowing about David's secret, why did he not hear the end of the Arei-David conversation? I doubt he's hiding it, because he doesn't really have a reason to, so apparently he just, like, left. I guess he just didn't care enough :p

Finally getting to PT 2 itself, we have a 2-13 speech we skipped earlier, don't we?

Levi [2-13]: I don't personally care what happens to Ace. Whether he lives or dies is none of my concern in the end. Ace: ...?! Levi: But it is a "good" thing to make sure someone else doesn't die, even if I personally do not care about the outcome. I truly believe that. But I adhere to that principle out of duty, not sentimentality. Does that make any sense? Ace: You... Hah. Hahaha. You-- You fucking piece of shit. Levi: ... Ace: I was right all along. That you felt bad for me... That you actually wanted to help me... That even if everyone here treated me like shit, there was at least one person who still cared about me... That shit's too good to be true, isn't it? Yeah, good thing I didn't fall for that in the slightest. Not one bit. I was totally right all along to burn our friendship-- No, I can't even call it "friendship." There's only one person in my whole life who I've ever been able to call my friend. That I ever thought, even for just a short time, that you and I were "friends" is an insult to his memory. I probably sound real pathetic admitting that. But I'm not nearly as pathetic as you. After all, you're a piece of trash who probably has never had a single friend in your life. Levi: ... Ace: Got nothing to say to me now? That's fine. Hey, Levi. I really hope you fucking die.

Okay there is... so much to unpack there. Let's... start by the smaller thing, which is the Taylor Riley drop in "there's only one person in my whole life who I've ever been able to call my friend." This guy's name was revealed in a now deleted CH2 PT1 QnA answer, alongside with the name of a friend of Veronika's who gave her her green triangle earring, Alyssa Belyaeva. We got main series confirmation of the name in one of the graves of Thanatophobia, alongside the names of Elliot Cuevas and Felicity Giles.

We know... zero about Taylor, apart from the fact that he was Ace's friend and is now very evidently dead. Thankfully, we get a bit more context on his death by one of Ace's comments:

Ace [2-16]: Execute me right now, you hear me, MonoTV? MonoTV: ... Ace: Because... Because Levi is gonna fucking die, and I'm going to have a third goddamn death on my hands!

Third, huh? Arei, the hypothetical Levi death, and presumably Taylor. Sure, the third could be Ace himself, but I feel the line makes a bit more sense with Taylor.

So, Ace blames himself for the death of Taylor. Given he liked the guy, probably not intentional murder, but who knows what the hell he did. At this point, we really have no way to deduce the way Taylor died or how Ace could have caused it somehow, though. Maybe we'll get some answers in the Bonus Episode? Hopefully :p

But that's the easy part. The hard part is Ace's feelings towards Levi. Immediately, we can tell the whole "I never thought you cared about me, not one bit" thing is a complete lie, not just because the line itself is extremely unconvincing, but because of something Ace says later in this episode.

Ace [to Levi, 2-13]: You piece of shit. I can't believe there used to be a time I actually liked you.

So, yeah. Similarly, based on the fact that Ace wanted MonoTV to speed up the execution to try and save Levi's life despite his fear of death, we can infer that Ace is also lying when he tells Levi "I really hope you fucking die."

No, Ace really does care about Levi. For the reason stated at... some point in this analysis; Ace feels safer around Levi. And that creates a bit of a problem for him, because if he wants to escape the killing game, he's gonna have to kill Levi to do it. It's unclear if that's the reason he originally pushed Levi away, "burning their friendship to the ground" in his words, or if he just didn't want to trust him after the death threat in trial 1. However, guilt over trying to get Levi killed is definitely part of why he says this:

Ace [2-16]: I knew... I knew that I wasn't allowed to call [Levi] a murderer. I had no right to act betrayed, because I was the one who betrayed everyone. But still, I...! Levi: Why-- Ace: But still, I--! I don't care what it was! I don't care if it made me a hypocrite! Even if I was completely in the wrong, and even if it made my life worse! I just needed a reason to stay mad at you, any reason at all, goddamnit! Levi: Why? Why do you have to force yourself to be angry at me? You just said you know that you're in the wrong, so why do you still do it?! I don't understand. I can't understand you, no matter how hard I try. Ace: Good! Stay that way! I hope you never understand me, even after I'm buried a billion miles deep in the ground and you're weeping at my grave, you piece of shit!

Ace tries very hard to find reasons to hate Levi because he's afraid of growing close to anyone in the killing game, mostly because he thinks he'll be betrayed, but by the point he starts plotting murder, also because he's trying to kill them all. Being close to them is a good way to feel more horrible about himself than he already does.

To be clear, the reason I say the first reason is more important is because I think I can more or less pinpoint the moment Ace starts thinking about murder, and by that point he's already trying to cut Levi off.

Ace [2-2]: In this killing game, everyone is out to get me. Especially people who love picking fights with me, people like you [Teruko] and Levi. I can't believe I wasted my time with all that dumb shit like arm wrestling and running around screaming at meaningless stuff. I was fucking stupid to not take this killing game seriously from the start. I'm done with being everyone's kickable scaredy cat. The only thing I should do is look out for myself and myself alone.

Well he sure did take the killing game seriously after this point now didn't he?

Obviously, this is a pretty direct parallel to the way Teruko tried pushing everyone away in this chapter, and the way David pretends not to care about Arei after the magical girl transformation. More on this whole thing in a bit.

The relationship between Levi and Ace is one of contrast. Levi, who doesn't actually care about Ace the "usual way", chooses to try to get closer to him. Meanwhile, Ace cares about Levi maybe too much, and his fear of this attachment drives him to push Levi away. The yaoi truly is doomed with this one. Moving on.

Ace [to Nico and Hu, 2-14]: You two are a real fucking joke. It would have been one thing if Nico gets away scot-free with trying to kill me, but now they apparently also have a fucking defense brigade to shield them from even having to think about the fact that they're a murderer. Who's gonna stick up for me, huh? No one. Because I have a spine and I don't need other people to lie to me constantly to keep me happy.

Ace [to Nico, 2-14]: You tried to murder me. You fucking tried to murder me! And after all's said and done, you can't even say something as simple as "sorry"?!

Ace [to Teruko, 2-15]: Were you convinced by Eden because she had a little sob story ready? Should I start crying and wailing too to change your mind? Teruko-- No, everyone here. You're always attacking me for stupid reasons. Everyone always has it out for me. That pisses me off. All of you piss me off.

Ace [2-15]: You all actually think I'm too goddamn stupid to accomplish anything? Do you really think I'm 2 seconds away from choking on my own spit and passing out?

This is where we start to see Ace's persecution complex on this part, which was already alluded to in the previously linked 2-2 Ace quote. He thinks everyone is out to get him, and to an extent, he's not horribly wrong. Very few people in the cast have favorable opinions on Ace, and he knows that if he gets revealed as a murderer, that "few people" will likely turn to "no one." I mean, not even Levi wants to defend him.

Ace [2-15]: Hah... I expected everyone else to get on my ass, but for you of all people to think I'm the murderer... What happened to ever wanting to make things up, huh? Besides, between you and me, we both know who's really a murderer.

And hell, Nico's already tried to kill him! Ace is the victim in that situation, even if he did "start it."

Which gets us to one of the most interesting moral quandaries this trial presents us with, Milgram style. Because the thing is, Ace has given the cast reasons to dislike him. Ever since the start, he's been confrontational, insulting, and just generally not the most delightful person to be around. Especially to Nico, who he specifically targeted to bully. Obviously it doesn't justify being horrible to him back, including things like Hu's slap and Levi's death threat, and especially Nico's murder attempt, but... well, if people don't feel about Ace the same way they feel about some of the calmer cast members, there's a reason for it.

How justified is the cast in the things they say about Ace? How much of it is Ace's responsibility, and how much is it the cast's? How much responsibility do they hold for creating the hostile environment that pushed Ace into murder? How does the mastermind and the killing game itself factor into this valuation? These are all interesting questions the series asks us to ponder on, and by their nature don't have any one right answer. Especially because "blame for a thing that happened" isn't a number that can be evenly divided by percentage, it's a very complicated and subjective thing. J puts it pretty well in her speech to Ace in 2-15, giving her perspective as well.

J [2-15]: Maybe I was too harsh on you. Me and everyone else here, I don't think a single one of us stopped to think where the breaking point is. ...But. Murder is unacceptable, no matter what. Your problems might be awful, and they might be the worst in the world, but they're still not so bad that killing 13 people is acceptable. You can't be forgiven as a murderer just because your life sucks.

My personal opinions on this are probably best saved for when we get the full picture in just a moment.

And speaking of the full picture, since Ace's persecution complex feeds into his fear of death, why don't we skip right into the big speech?

Ace [already linked in the Hu section, 2-15]: ...... God damn it. I'm such a piece of shit. [...] You're right. I'm screwed. There's no way I'm making it out of this trial alive. I just... wanted to stall for time. I'm scared of dying, I really am. [...] I killed Arei. That's exactly right. Shit, it sounds really bad when I say it out loud. [...] Hu: Did you kill Arei because of MonoTV's motive? Because you wanted to keep your 'secret' hidden-- Ace: Hell no! I don't give a damn about that motive, or my dumb little secret, you idiot fuckwad! Who do you think I am, you?! *sigh* That wasn't why I killed her. I was scared of dying, that's all. [...]

Quick thing, but I think it's cool that the motive really had jack shit to do with the murder. Hate to bring the guy up so much, but it helps make David's "plan" of revealing all the secrets unequivocally wrong, which I feel is important for some of the themes of the chapter. In particular, the idea that gets pushed that everyone should be allowed to reveal their secrets at their own time, aka privacy is important. Nico's public secret reveal happened before they were ready to share, and that was a bad thing, after all. And a lot of the conflict in this chapter came from MonoTV giving the motives in general.

Ace [continued]: I'm definitely going to die in this killing game if I don't escape. Everyone hates me, right? Because I'm a volatile asshole who can't help but pick fights and make people mad at me. Veronika was right. If pushed to kill, everyone would feel the least guilt if they killed me. They might even have some sort of grudge. I wouldn't be surprised. When Nico tried to kill me, that just confirmed it. There's a part of me that's a little pissed that Nico didn't succeed back then, because that would have saved me the trouble of having to go through this stupid-ass farce. Although I'd be real fuckin' pissed if they *did* successfully kill me. I'm kind of pissed at Nico for trying to kill me, either way. Nico: ...

Interesting to hear part of Ace wanted Nico to succeed. It certainly speaks to a great level of defeatism, where everything is horrible and death would be preferable, which parallels Teruko nicely. That defeatism for Ace comes partly from the persecution complex discussed earlier, and some other stuff we'll talk about in a moment.

Ace [continued]: But still! If I didn't kill someone and escape... then I was going to die. I'm fucking terrified of dying! I can't sleep at night because I keep thinking about how I'm going to die young in this goddamn killing game! I didn't want to die! I want to live. Just like everyone else. Live, and escape this killing game, and go back to my shitty life where I can't do anything on my own because I can't control myself. Back to that life where I can't do anything but a sport that I hate because I suck shit at everything else. I was forced into that fate, to kill someone because I'm scared. It was either that, or I would be killed first. There were no other options for me, because I'm a coward who can't fight my own fate. [...]

I think an underrated part of Ace's character is just how much damn symbolism is hidden in his talent.

The first connection is the more or less obvious "if I didn't kill someone, I would be killed first" mentality, where Ace literally views the killing game as a race to be the first blackened to get away with it. But that's almost an extension of the other connection.

You hear it from him here; he feels he completely lacks control of his life, that it's all decided by a fate he can't control, the same way that a jockey doesn't walk on their own, but rather is carried by a horse to their destination. And it's no wonder that this feeling of lacking control is referenced in his secret quote, "I don’t know what to do with myself anymore." After all, it's this feeling of lacking control of himself and his situation that causes him to seek control of anything he can, be it bullying Nico because he sees them as an easy target, distancing himself from others because it's easier to control his feelings that way, killing someone because it's the only way he can control his place in the killing game, or anything else I might be forgetting.

And this fear of lacking control is probably part of his fear of death, isn't it? Because no one can control what happens after death. Maybe yes, maybe not, but regardless, Ace's thanatophobia is pretty evident. I mean, it's the name of his execution, and it's a fitting one. Ultimately, Ace's fear of death is what gets him killed, both metaphorically because it's the reason he became a blackened, and literally because he dies of a fear-induced cardiac arrest. That, alongside with the incredible art and banger music, is why I consider Thanatophobia one of, if not the single best DR style execution I've ever seen. Simply peak.

Ace [continued]: Do you think I give a crap about you all? Why would that matter to me? No one gives a crap about me either! None of you even respect me enough to think I was capable of killing Arei! In fact, that made me feel way less guilty about killing-- [J makes her anti-murder speech] Ace: ... I know that [I can't be forgiven]. I'm the one who murdered Arei, so of course I know that. Arei... She was a piece of shit too. Just like me. Even if she said all that nice bullshit to Eden, there was no guarantee that she really was going to change and become a good person. Maybe if she lived, then by tomorrow she'd be right back to her annoying bitchy self. ... But at least she was trying. And I can't even change one thing about myself. Not my shitty job, not my shitty personality, nor my shitty life. I really am a piece of shit, huh?

At the end of the day, Ace is his own worst enemy. What really gets Ace killed (apart from the already mentioned fear of death) is the inability to change, to see the flaws in the way he behaves himself and try to better himself. Or, rather, he does see the flaws, he knows he's a target of the killing game because of his aggressiveness and that he drove himself into a corner out of fear, but he considers himself incapable of changing that. Changing is difficult, and Ace is scared to even try. Like he says, maybe Arei couldn't have managed it either, but she was trying. And that's what ultimately separates the two.

In case it isn't obvious, my take on who's to blame for everything that happened is pretty much squarely on Ace. Sure, there were things the others did to Ace which aren't justified, but you can't blame people for disliking someone that knows he's unlikable and cannot find it in himself to try to change that. Arei tried to change; she died a good person. Levi tried to make amends for trial 1; he's a good person too. The tragedy of the situation is that Ace himself could have been a good person too, because everyone can be, but it's a decision that must be made, as Eden put it earlier in the chapter. And it's a difficult one, too difficult for Ace.

Teruko, David, all these people... they can also be "good people," in the sense of always trying to be "less shitty together" in Arei's words. Ace is a cautionary tale of how not doing so can end up really, really badly.

Which is the setup for Teruko and David's continued foiling, isn't it? Teruko will presumably look at all of Ace's flaws (lack of trust, unwillingness to change, accepting fate without fighting it) as pitfalls to avoid, because of how similar the two of them acted in CH2. Meanwhile, David, since he heard Arei's speech and knows just how hard she tried to change, will see those same flaws as strengths. In his eyes, Arei died because she trusted the note, because she tried to change, because she tried to defy her nature. At least, that's my prediction. Where all of that will go is anyone's guess.

But, how do we know that Ace could have been a good person? How do we know that it isn't David who is right, that neither Ace nor Arei could have ever gotten better, had they simply tried? Well, simply put, because in the end, Ace does start changing. As a final, tragic note, Ace's ability to confront fate and try to correct his flaws only surfaces when it's far too late. And not only when he punches MonoTV, though that also is a good example of it, but also when he chooses to face execution quicker in an attempt to save Levi.

Ace [already linked, 2-16]: Execute me right now, you hear me, MonoTV? MonoTV: ... Ace: Because... Because Levi is gonna fucking die, and I'm going to have a third goddamn death on my hands! Arturo: E-Even then, there's no guarantee that he'll live--- Ace: Shut up! What the hell are you talking about? Aren't you a surgeon? Can't you fix him? Arturo: I--! I'm not that kind of surgeon! I've told you, over and over, I have no experience with saving lives! Something like this! There's no way I can do it-- Ah! Ace: SHUT UP! Shut up, Arturo! You *can* save his life! Shut the fuck up! Stop saying you can't do it, because you can! Don't you understand? I'm going to die right now, and you're going to live! So decide whether you want to at least *try* and put in some fucking effort for once, or keep making excuses for yourself like a sniveling coward for the rest of your life. I don't even get to make that decision anymore! Stop complaining, you whiny little shit! Grow some fucking balls and save someone's goddamn life, asshole! Because you can!

There's layers to Ace's shouting barrage at Arturo. Obviously part of it is just Ace trying to convince himself that Arturo can save Levi so he can die with a relatively clearer conscience, but there's also a sort of self-awareness of Ace's faults in the things he says. Try swapping "save Levi's life" for "be a better person," and pretend it's being said to Ace by someone else who is about to die.

You *can* [be a good person]! Shut the fuck up! Stop saying you can't do it, because you can! Don't you understand? I'm going to die right now, and you're going to live! So decide whether you want to at least *try* and put in some fucking effort for once, or keep making excuses for yourself like a sniveling coward for the rest of your life. I don't even get to make that decision anymore! Stop complaining, you whiny little shit! Grow some fucking balls and [be a better person], asshole! Because you can!

Because moments ago, it was Ace who was making excuses like a coward for why he felt he would never be a good person, and why he had no control over his shitty personality that made everyone hate him and made him a target of the killing game, etc. He never put in the effort to change because he thought it was pointless, that he was unable to, and didn't realize the falseness of that preconception until he was faced with death. Seems I was on the right track when I connected his thanatophobia to his issues with control; death robs him of the decision to try and be a good person ("I don't even get to make that decision anymore!"), which he hadn't even realized he had until that moment.

It's no wonder Ace was a popular survivor guess; he could have changed, could have been a good person. And despite the harm he's caused, the way he robbed Arei of the opportunity to do what he couldn't and attempt to change, the intention he had of killing everyone in the trial, his death remains a tragedy for the hypothetical of what could have been. Maybe if Levi had managed to properly reach him the way Eden reached Arei, this could have all been avoided. But alas, Ace didn't accept the hand strectched out to him, and now it's too late to fix things.

I said during my reactions that I felt just as emotional during Ace's execution as I did with Min's, which was certainly true and very impressive given my massive bias towards the Ultimate Student. And while I can't say that I'll miss Ace as much as I miss Min (because come on), I'll certainly hold him close to my heart for as long as I live regardless.

As a final note, holy shit the voice acting. If I pointed out every line where the acting for Ace was spectacular, I would be here all day. I doubt I need to elaborate on this; the sheer perfection of the performance should be obvious to anyone who can hear it. Godspeed Seth Raffield, you truly were incredible. Can't wait to hear what you do in the Bonus Episode, provided there is one.

---

I am free! Holy shit that took way too fucking long. I need to figure out a better way to do this shit for later chapters, because geez. You have no idea how much Tumblr's drafts lagged because of this shit, I had to write the final sections in different drafts and copy paste them over because it was unbearable. Not to mention hitting the goddamn link limit which is just clinically insane from me. Anyways, if you somehow managed to read all of that, I feel genuinely sorry for you. You know you can be a good person if you try, right? There's no need to punish yourself like this.

I'm being silly, of course. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!

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goldfades · 7 months ago

Note

Can you do a pt.2 of UConn wbb manager headcannon pleasee

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ─ UCONN WBB MANAGER

─ warnings | mentions of injuries, fluffy, nothing else?

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal @uraesthete @hello-nah817 @wanderlusturous and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

there are soooo many videos of manager getting upset over dumb calls that they make on the court

and people like read her lips and it's so funny because she'll just cuss them out not knowing there's a camera on her

like she gets pissed but since she can't get involved, she'll just talk to herself as she takes pictures

they become reaction pictures

the caption would be like "when my mom pisses me off but i can't let her hear" or something like that

there are a lot of videos of manager being really sassy but there are PLENTY of her being a sweetheart

especially to fans!!!!!!

not necessarily like clips or anything but anyone who's met her LOVES HER

she will gladly take pics of you and the player she's with, and not only that but baby girl will get ALL the angles

it's adorable

i feel everyone is very protective of manager but ESPECIALLY kk and paige because they're like her guard dogs

this may be like a really niche example but kinda like kiyoko in haikyuu??? yeah...

also NIKA

paige/kk get really protective over literally anything so it's just them tryna make you laugh when they're protective, but you/nika have a different dynamic where it's like

if anyone tries to disrespect you, not only will they have to deal with paige/kk but NIKA

and she's sm scarier than them no offense...

you know you've made into manager's heart when she starts to tease you because she's like... not being too professional with you anymore

especially like the freshman, ooo she loves teasing them

in this ask, where nonnie talks about how the team brings out manager's soft side is sooo true

like she may seem like a cold-stone bitch but in reality, she's NOT !! not even a tiny bit, poor girl just has the worst case of rbf EVER

her soft side comes out when any of the girls get injures, oh my gosh

she's the first to come to their aid and help them

and she's always there for them after the fact cus she knows how hard injuries can be when you play a support

she's there emotionally and talks them through it, makes sure that they know they're still part of the team injury or not, and of course that she loves them!!

AND she's very soft with the girls when they're going through stuff outside of basketball

relationship issues, family issues, drama within your friendgroup, baby girl is there to help them through it!!!!!

but she's not just like "therapist" friend, trust the team in return knows when theres something up w her and will do everything in their power to help her

and jump whoever hurt you

when manager gets her nails done, the team gets SOOO hurt bc they can't get theirs done bc of basketball so they get super mad at her (jokingly ofc)

so she just rubs it in their faces to get them angry LMAOOO, its very funny to witness

every once in a blue mood, manager will post a thrist trap and OH MY GOD

the entire team is in her comments hyping flirting with her up!!

and especially after uconn kinda blows up on tiktok, you bet those old thirst traps will make themselves into the damn edits

you and paige will hang out during that time and just look at edits while laughing your asses off (but paige is lowkey into yours cus she favorites them)

OOOO AND SHE FORGETS THAT THE EDITORS CAN SEE WHEN SHE SAVES THEM SO SHE JUST GETS EXPOSED AND EVERYONE'S JUST LIKE PAIGEEEE PLS 😭😭

i feel like there's def an edit with the audio "milkshake instrumental" bc everyone thinks u give off like... mean girl vibes

BUT EVERYONE FALLS IN LOVE WITH U BC OF IT, IF THAT MAKES IT???

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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thesensteawitch · 3 months ago

Text

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~This Is What They Would Tell You!

Pick A Pile Reading

(Left To Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)

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***

Pile 1

You have so many sides to you, and yet you hold space for more. I am directionless. Where should I lead this poem about you? Or where are you leading me? There’s so much to you that I want to express, but I fear I’ll end up looking like a fool. You’re like the universe—mesmerizing, intriguing, and frightening, with layers and layers of mysteries. You are divine to me. Being a poet feels like a boon when I look at you. Only fated souls get to write about someone so infinitely charming. I sense the never-ending wisdom you hold. I’d forever be your devotee if you’d let me drink just one drop of what keeps you glowing like you do. You’re sharp, kind, wild, and a dream that only slips away. Where are you looking? What inspiration do you need? Come on! You walk to your own rhythm, your shadows delightfully dancing to your beat. The sound of your steps tells me stories of places you’ve been and people you’ve met. You hold no regret, no grudge—only lessons. You think, reflect, and cry for being mistreated. But when it’s your turn, you choose to destroy the weapons that bruised you so deeply, instead of hurting others with them. The venom couldn’t kill you but made you wise. Following your footprints, I find the earth swallowing the shed skin of your old self. How can I define you when you’re constantly transforming? Every time I think I have finally known you, I find something new revealed. My hands fall short of holding your grace, my mind loses the words to portray it. As I said, you’re sharp—you’ll never let me read you. You take me to the end only to throw me into a new beginning. It’s not your fault; I understand that’s who you truly are. Sometimes, while falling asleep, I wonder who would be so lucky to fall in love with you? Or who would you fall in love with? But then again, I don’t feel you’re deprived of love, because YOU ARE love. I look at you the way others look at stars. Everyone attempts to count them at least once in their lifetime but eventually gives up, knowing it’s an attempt they will fail. But I am not tired; I am taking a break. I would like to admire you for now, knowing that maybe I too will never fully know you, but I’ll keep exploring who you are, just like scientists cannot give up on SPACE! Ah! See, I cracked something! Your lover must be someone like you—infinitely charming and holding mysteries as vast.

***

Pile 2

You know what? I am mad at you! Because either you attack or you run away. See? You just revolted back. Or perhaps hid in your closet, knowing that someone knows your little secret. You’re that 22° in astrology. Kill or be killed? You’re neither a prey nor do you need to triumph over someone or something else to keep yourself safe. All I am trying to say is that you’re not meant to just survive; you’re meant to thrive. But hey, I do see your heart. The life around it has withered, and you’re surviving on memories. For how long, may I ask? You’re not a coward; you’re afraid. I heard someone say, “The one who is capable of love is capable of being saved.” At this point, all the love is leaking from the corners of your heart. Make the best use of it, or it’ll go to waste. Life isn’t at the extremes; it’s in the middle. That’s where you find your balance. That’s where you will shine bright. I see you singing to yourself, making stories in your heart but never writing them down for the world to taste. You don’t need to say ‘NO’ to something you want. Openly say what you want and to the person who can give it to you. Don’t keep whispering your wishes into the ears of God. He’s even giving you a side-eye now, haha. You’re the leader! If you don’t take the lead, you’ll never have your pack. Do you get it? Why am I even writing about you? It seems to me that you’re an artist too. You know the depths of your pain better than I do. Gosh, you need a hug! Whoever you’ve lost in this physical world doesn’t like to see those tears rolling down your cheeks. Every time you try to make sense of your emotions, you only make your heart heavier. Love keeps dripping and draining into the river of unexpressed emotions. You’re about to be granted a new life, a restart. But this won’t be handed to you until you decide and do what you’re supposed to do. The pain demands to be felt and yada yada yada! We’ve all watched *The Fault in Our Stars*. But come on, there’s an expiry date to feeling it too. I told you, you’re an extreme case. Pain won’t leave you until you leave it. YOU DESERVE THE WORLD. And I know you don’t believe it, but from where I am seeing, all your wishes are about to come true. You’re just ONE decision away. And I am here watching and waiting for you to make that move. Go where your heart is; that’s where you’re supposed to be. Don’t run away from your destiny. Remember, you’re not the same kid who froze at the point of a horrifying sight and couldn’t do anything about it. You’re grown up now. You can HEAL yourself. You’re not hopeless or helpless. You don’t even need to find your potential; it’s just there, waiting for you to see it and accept it.

***

Pile 3

Excuse me, miss/mister? Do you even have time to read what I have to say? You’re too busy figuring things out. Huff! The amount of mental and physical work you do is commendable. Are you waiting for something or someone? I am not surprised to see your spiritual side. What side, huh? You’re SPIRITUAL—IN & OUT! You’re wise, extremely intuitive, and resourceful but haven’t learned how to avoid burnouts. Can something ever be hidden from you? From where I see, it seems you’re new here but not naive. You’ve completed a tough journey filled with passion, rage, excitement, and burnouts (again!). Life has been preparing you for something bigger than your destiny! You’re heavily protected from the forces that don’t want you to be where God is taking you. But we all know who’s more powerful, don’t we? I see you bumping into your past sometimes, but you quickly realize that’s not where you’re supposed to be. The price you would have to pay to return to the same place or people is quite heavy. You don’t feel comfortable in the old stories anymore. You’re grateful but not greedy to go back. I laugh at those who think they can lure you with temptations! Lol! You are ten steps ahead of them. Stay where you are. All this silence around you is a blessing. You’re about to win. You’re meant to win in this lifetime. This is not your first time around. I have seen you somewhere—not here, but in a different lifetime. You’ve lived all those lives to WIN in this one! The smoke of your burned karmas surrounds you. You’ve cleansed! You’re not in the dark; you’re rising from the ashes. I see the wings of a phoenix on your back. YOU’RE THE CREATOR OF YOUR OWN DESTINY. Evidence of your faith and intuition follows you in the forms of birds, butterflies, feathers, and angel numbers. One day, you may share your story, but you know that day is not today. God, you’re mysterious, and all those stories are tattooed on your skin in a language no one can decipher. Your presence is enough for people to turn around, pause, and reflect. You raise the temperature of the room and melt the ice away. People open up to you naturally. Everyone just wants to experience a drop of you. But you’re not easily accessible. Your magic is sacred and can’t be put on sale. You’re magic. The path you’ve walked on shines so bright. That’s how I trace your past life because you leave glitters behind.

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mecachrome · 4 months ago

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silverstone 2024 landoscar post-race stage > full transcript + gifs

watching recordings of this stage genuinely makes my ears hurt because of the crowd noise and i also find the 132843 videos and photos so hard to keep track of so i was like... fuckit, let me transcribe it once and for all so i can have access to a written recap for reference! figured i'd post here in case it's of any use to anyone else... i compiled different fan-posted material to provide visuals from multiple angles whenever possible since i wanted to piece together a somewhat comprehensive summary; sources are linked but if any ops run across this post lmk if you'd like something removed 🙏

(tbh i mostly made this because i wanted the Three (3) instances of them touching in one post. sorry)

Host: Lando and Oscar. What can I say? Wow! Lando: Hello! Beautiful, huh? It's beautiful to see so many people here. H: This is the most people we've had all weekend. They've all come back for you guys, who've come and seen us after the race. How are you both doing? Oscar: (pauses) A lot better now! L: Yeah, better now. We're—we're both... (strokes Oscar's shoulder) we're both a little bit unhappy with how the race ended, but uhhh. You made our day.

"We're both… we're both a little unhappy..." (x)

O: Yes. You really have, so thank you! H: As you said, you were a little bit unhappy, but I have a feeling that every single one of you [fans] is absolutely ecstatic to have these guys up here. I mean, this is... potentially like one of the best crowds you guys have ever had, right? L: Oh no, this is, uh. I think this is even better than last year, so. O: Yeah. (crowd cheering) H: Oscar, what is it like getting all this love from the Brits? We love you! O: (slight pause) Weird, but I love it. So thank you everyone. I know there's a few Aussies here as well, so thanks everyone that's traveled far and wide, thanks everyone for putting up with the weather… Ummm. And yeah. Thanks for supporting us. H: We've got several Oscar signs. I just saw an Oscar sign here— (O: Thank you.) We've got "Let's go Oscar" here… (Crowd starts chanting Ohhh, Oscar Piastri) Lando. I've seen so many signs here saying that next year is your year, mate. "Champion next year." World champion next year for Lando Norris! (crowd cheering) O: (looks over and gently elbows Lando's arm)

(x) / (x)

H: These guys are all behind you! L: Aww... shit. Nah, I'm uh… I'm good. I'm just—you know, there's one race every year where you want to do better than anywhere else, and that's here. This is the one race, and things were going so beautifully, I was leading the majority of the race, and… yeah. It hurts! It hurts coming away from it knowing I almost could've won in my home race, and that's been my dream since I was a kid. So. I'm sorry! But… I'll save it for next year. H: Hold on a minute. I don't think you need to apologize for anything. I think these guys are still absolutely over-the-moon. I think I can speak on behalf of every single person here to say that they're immensely proud of you and your performance this year. And that goes for you too, Oscar! The team as a whole. This is your team's home race... L: (stares at Oscar intensely and quickly pats his arm) O: (giggles)

(x) / (x)

H: And look at all the papaya! That's all I can say, look at it. O: Yeah. We have the best fans, so thank you very much. To steal that line from Lewis, we have the best fans. H: What is it actually like being up here, though? Soaking this up. I mean, we never do this any other race; this is the only race we come back to after the race is done and see all of the fans. How special is it? L: It's, uh… it's quite easily the best race of the whole year. It's genuinely the most incredible feeling standing here, having so much support. It was a hard act to follow after Lewis was here, but we want to come back and we want to do better every single time. (gestures at teleprompter) You've only got two minutes left, but I could stay here all night. H: Okay! I just want to say, you do this to me often on stage. You always read my [teleprompter] and tell me when I need to wrap up. L: (shrugs) H: (sarcastic) I've got it, thank you. Thank you very much. (notices crowd chanting for a shoey) Oh, they want a shoey! L: (softly, shaking head) No. O: Not happening. H: I think that's a you thing, that's definitely an Aussie thing. O: Last year I got peer pressured. I'm not going to have it again. H: Can we peer pressure you again? O: (shakes head)

(x)

H: Lando, can we peer pressure him again, d'you reckon? L & O: (exchange knowing glances) O: I did one last year, though. L: (teasing) You're going to let down sooo many people! O: …Well, since you put it that way.

"You're going to let down sooo many people!" "...Well, since you put it that way." (x) / (x)

H: We've got the beer here! It's happening! (crowd cheering) L: (shakes can) H: Right. Get the shoe off, get the shoe off. (Oscar toes off his right shoe) Oh, the shoe is off! L: (chugs from can, then bends down to fill up Oscar's shoe) O: (pointing between them while Lando shakes his head) You're doing it too!!! O: (drinks) H: Lando, I think you've got to! O: (insistently hands Lando his shoe)

(x) / (x) / (x)

H: Everyone, make some noise for Lando. Top it up, Lando. Don't hold back. L: Cheers. (drinks, dumps out the rest, shakes Oscar's shoe out and then tosses it into crowd) O: (bends over and giggles helplessly) [x2]

(x)

H: Guys, absolutely sensational effort from you both. Fantastic. (to Oscar) I hope you've got a spare pair of shoes. O: (lilting) I don't even think that was the worst part of our day!

"I don't even think that was the worst part of our day!" (x)

H: Of course that wasn't the worst part of your day. You're up here with the best fans in the world. I'm being told that I've got to wrap up. L: Wrap it up. (takes out phone) O: (shuffles behind Lando to snap a crowd selfie)

(x)

H: We have to let Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri go. (crowd booing; L: Boo!) But before we do, please make noise for the incredible, incredible McLaren drivers, and for their fantastic [inaudible] shoey! One last word before you go, for the fans. L: One last word? Uhh, I love you all, thanks so much for all the support. I can't wait for next year already. I'm excited, I want to come back. Um. (waves) O: (smiling) Yep. Thank you everyone. We've had a 2-4 and a 3-4 at Silverstone, I think next year is the year to make it a 1-2. L: Next year [inaudible]. O: Thanks for all your support. Thanks for putting up with the weather, uhhm. I know most of you choose to live in this country, but. Um. Anyway. Thank you very much, and we will see you next year, better! L & O: Thanks everyone. Thank you. (take official crowd photo) H: Fantastic. L: (hypes the crowd by waving his arms up and down) O: (takes signed cap to give to a fan before noticing and giggling at Lando's antics) O: (crawls to the edge of the stage and puts the cap on a young fan's head, signs her poster with Lando)

L: (goes around collecting things thrown onto the stage; first picks up 2 friendship bracelets that say ♥OSCAR♥ and ♥LANDO♥ (can be seen on the underside of his wrist in this video), then picks up a fanmade Oscar doll that he shows Oscar, then picks up one last friendship bracelet and holds it in his left hand as he leaves the stage) O: (takes a few steps away before turning back and chucking his remaining left shoe)

+ bonus: lando keeping the bracelets on

😵‍💫 end scene.....

#text #oscar piastri #lando norris #landoscar #*m #who remembers when i spent like an hour tracking down post-race austria intvw footage in hopes of getting the correct 814 bg angle 😔#(needed canal+/playsports max but former was too zoomed in and i couldn't find full uploads either </3 freaking belgium)#(also max lichr moved over to lando's left for f1tv not even a SECOND after oscar passed by 💔)#anyway i'm very normal and sane.#814 meta

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dnfao3tags · 1 year ago

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Finding Deleted Fics: A Multi-Method Guide

i feel like we are the fandom who needs this post the most any fandom has needed it ever.

all of these methods require you to know the title, author and/or link of the fic.

[disclaimer: the fic i am using as an example is not deleted, i just can't think of any other fics to use as an example right now.]

Method #1: Wayback Machine

this is my go to method that i always try first.

steps:

every fic on ao3 has a url of archiveofourown.org/[specific-numbers]. you're gonna need that url, doesn't matter if it doesn't work anymore.

eg.

2. now you're gonna go to archive.org and enter your url in the search bar.

3. something like this will come up. it probably won't be saved as many times though, just once or twice.

just click any of the links now, either the dates marked blue on the calendar or the earliest/latest date. that's it.

drawbacks:

often, a problem arises when searching for fics rated mature or explicit.

the site will have archived this page but not the actual fic. though, maybe lady luck is on your side and clicking proceed will lead you to a saved version of the actual fic. but usually not. and not all fics are saved here. in those cases, i have some more methods.

Method #2: Search Engine Cache

search engines like google and yandex often save a cached version of sites, though yandex is much more reliable than google. i'll give you a tutorial for both.

steps (yandex):

the link isn't completely necessary, just the title and author of the fic will suffice.

go to yandex.com and search for your fic by either entering the url or entering the title and author as such.

3. this will probably immediately come up.

just enter the captcha and it should let you in on the first go but there's a glitch i've encountered where you could be entering the captcha completely correct but for some reason the site still won't let you in. for that, you just have to keep trying again and again until eventually the site lets you in. might take more than 10 tries.

4. once you're in, search results will pop up. directly clicking them will only lead you to the not found page. what you're gonna do is hover over the box of the search result and you'll see 3 dots pop up on the right.

click those and a dropdown menu will appear. click the first option 'saved copy'.

and thats it! this is a much more efficient method especially for explicit or mature fics.

drawbacks:

for some reason, when i open yandex in google chrome, i can't see the 3 dots. i can in firefox though. don't really know what thats all about.

i'll show you how to do it with google too just in case yandex doesn't work.

steps (google):

in the url bar, type cache:[link of fic]. that's pretty much it. google doesn't have a lot of fics saved though so you'll probably get a 404 page.

Method #3: Reddit

there's a subreddit called r/DeletedFanfiction that can probably help you out. either search for the fic as it may have already been posted or req it and someone will probably get you a google drive link soon enough. u/throwthisaway11112 is my lord and savior.

afaik it's still up and running fine despite the reddit protest thing (which i recommend taking a minute to look into).

Method #4: Archive.org Database

okay, now you're gonna need a lot of memory on computer for this one. i'm not gonna even bother and try to explain it, i'll just link you to the original post. thank you once again to the anon who sent me this method!

Method #5: Fandom

if absolutely none of those methods work, you can still just send me an ask and maybe my followers or i will have a saved copy. same for any other fandom, i recommend asking around in popular fandom spaces, someone is bound to have it.

#deleted fics #kay talks #save #ao3 #internet archive #excuse my poor graphic designing #i wanted to add my photo thing #but this isnt a #fic rec #so i just slapped ao3 hacks on #decent imo #hope this helps someone out #ao3 hacks #how to ao3

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chronically-ghosted · 9 months ago

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go west, to the southern plains, go west to breathe (lover, share your road - part i) series masterlist | AO3 Link | prologue | part ii

chapter rating: T

word count: ~21K

chapter summary: at the end of the line, you make a business proposition to Joel Miller. He brings you and Ellie home to the last sanctuary left in this world in exchange for your skills. What you find there and what you find out about Joel Miller is not what you expect.

chapter warnings/tags: depictions of going hungry and poverty, sexual harassment, period accurate sexism, depictions of a sick child, reader depicted as skinny but due to lack of food not her natural body type (and this will change), allusions to domestic abuse, hurt/comfort, pining, the beginnings of a praise kink, let the idiots in love begin

a/n: shout out to the ever incredible @jennaispun for beta-ing the prologue and this first part!

“After a long walk in hell, I found you. You made hell feel like home, you made the flames feel warm. It’s true, you haven’t saved me but you were the closest thing to heaven.” — Maram Rimawi

part i:

Beneath the soot-gray fingertips of your gloves, the dust of the high plains sits coarse and heavy on the tattered, yellowing strip of paper. You hold it down flat as a brutish wind snakes up the empty dirt road through the center of Dalhart, grabbing hold of the brown dust that clings to everything — and tugs. Underneath your pale blue dress, with the hemline torn and the collar in need of stitching, your heart pounds as you read the small, almost guilty, advert:

Help wanted. Can pay.

Contact Joel Miller.

The promise of actual money should have had every able-bodied American scrambling to answer the advert, but by its place near the bottom of the announcement board outside of the country store, buried beneath slashed prices for milk and eggs and headlines out of Washington – it seems certain to be relegated into obscurity.

For all you know, this could be months, even years, old. Miller, whoever he was, could be long dead, or gone with the rest of the exodus to California. Or he could have gone the way of your “Uncle” Robert – a huckster, discovered too late; one of many who prey upon the desperation that sticks to the country like the acrid smell of smoke. Your hand shakes as you pluck the yellow card from the wooden plank. There is no contact number, no address. Another trick? Dust stings the corners of your eyes when you pinch them close, your breathing quickening, your pulse sharp in the sleeve of your ratty glove.

Oh, God, what are you going to do? What if this is nothing, just like Robert’s promise? What if there’s nothing here for you? What if –

A small hand on your forearm centers your spiraling thoughts. From beneath a faded blue baseball cap, two brown eyes peer up at you, firm and reassuring.

“You okay?” She keeps her voice low, just like you asked.

“Yeah, El–Ellie, I’m fine.” You squeeze her too-thin hand, your stomach toiling with guilt and its own emptiness. “Just figuring out what to do next.”

“Is finding and murdering this asshole Robert still off the table?”

You frown, your niece’s quick temper more from your dead sister than you. “It is. Now, I’m going inside to ask about this advert. Maybe this Miller still has a job or two open.”

Ellie’s eyes fall to the slip of paper in your hand, her aggressive scowl tightening into something that too closely resembles fear. She knows what’s at stake just as much as you do and you hate that that knowledge ages her youthful face.

“You stay close and don’t let anyone get a good look at you, okay?”

Ellie nods, already familiar with the routine, and scoops up your luggage case, her tattered satchel hanging off her other shoulder. She had been wearing pants long before reaching Dalhart, but it soothed you to think the eyes of cruel men passed right over her, their interest rarely in young boys.

A bell above the door tinkles when you open it, but by the dull, muted sound, it most likely has a few dents. Behind you, the afternoon heat follows you in, the sunlight illuminating the floating dust mites in the air. The door whines as it closes, brightening the inside of the store, where the mites settle back into the silver layer that sits over cans of tomatoes and peaches, linens, boxes of gum and cigarettes. Nearly everything sits untouched and unmoved, old dust settling between cracks and grooves, patrons not having enough money to buy something and the owner not having enough to change out stock. Struck still, frozen in a single, long exhale. The slow, creaking death of the economic system has reached Dalhart too. You shudder, suddenly cold as if in a mausoleum.

The further away from Boston the train took you, the further back in time you felt. Here, you are reminded of the old general stores of cowboys and pioneers. But maybe, that is exactly where you are: out of time.

A man in long white sleeves, coiffed hair, and perfectly round glasses, looks up from the wilted newspaper spread out over the counter.

“Can I help you?” His accent hails from the east, North Carolina most likely. However, his manners are not reflective of that famous southern hospitality. He looks at you like you’re a bad dream and it unsteadies you.

“Y-yes. I, uh, I’m hoping that you know a-a Miller. Joel Miller? I have his advert and I’m, um, I’m looking for work.”

The man’s thin eyebrow jumps mockingly. Aren’t we all, sister? But eventually, he shakes his head.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re doing all the way out here, but this ain’t no place for a young lady out on her own, job or no job. Where’s your husband?”

“Dead.” Your voice doesn’t waver, but then again, why would it?

The clerk’s eyes soften, if only slightly. “I see. But I’m sorry to say, there is no job here for you.”

Your mouth instantly dries out. “What do you mean? Where’s Mr. Miller?”

“He’s a mean ol’ sunuvbitch, livin' God knows where. Comes in twice a month for supplies and he’s back out into the prairie.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t see why that’s a problem –,”

“He ain’t fit for civilized life, ma’am.” The clerk drops his nose, eying you seriously over the rim of his black glasses. “Whatever he’s offering, you don’t want no part of it.”

“I think we’ll be the judges of that.” Beside you, Ellie drops your suitcase and it loudly clatters to the ground. “Thanks for the tip though.”

The clerk’s eyes widen – this is terrible behavior even for a boy – his mouth unfurling to give a nasty tongue-lashing, when you interject, your voice thick with pleading.

“I would just like to meet the man. Please, sir.” The clerk, like most men without scruples, can barely resist the sound of a woman begging. Those uncanny blue eyes find you again. “Has he come in recently?”

You can feel Ellie’s wicked sneer behind you, the clerk’s gaze switching between the unlikely pair in his shop. Finally, he shrugs. Who gives a fuck if one more woman goes missing?

“He’s due for a resupply.”

“How soon?” Your palm sweats under your gloves.

He narrows his eyes, evidently annoyed that a woman would reject his warnings. “Soon. We have a parlor in the back if you’d like to wait for him. But you have to buy something,” he adds vehemently.

You nod, unsteady on shaking knees as you walk towards the door in the back of the store.

“Thank you, sir. You have been so kind. We very much appreciate it.”

Any chance that the clerk finds you sincere is lost when Ellie wraps her knuckles on the counter as she passes.

“Buh-bye, dude.”

The parlor is small, dark, damp, and smells faintly of kerosene and leather. A woman, most likely the wife of the clerk you just annoyed, glares from behind a counter as you and Ellie walk in.

“Lunch.” Not a question.

Ellie looks up at you, eyes wide, fearful. You hadn’t let her see what is left in your purse, but she knows it’s low.

With your stomach in knots, you wouldn’t be able to eat anyway. You pluck out a dollar, bringing your total down to three dollars, and giving it to your niece.

“Order whatever you want.”

The beating heart of the blazing Texas sun edges downward across the open sky, falling, until it drops completely behind the harrowingly flat horizon. Purple erupts in its wake, the last pump of blood of a dying muscle, and nearly instantly, the temperature drops. You watch the explosive coronary of the sky from a table at the back of the parlor, your own pulse doubling the later it gets. You squeeze your hand between your thighs to keep your fingers from drumming uneasily on the table. But for once, Ellie doesn’t pick up on your nerves.

A dollar went farther out here and, as a result, Ellie is allowed her first big meal in months. Twice now, she’s nearly forgone the silverware to shove food directly into her mouth with her fingers, had it not been for your glares to remind her to slow down.

“This is slow,” she grumbles as she licks her bowl of mashed potatoes clean. Of course, half of what she ordered sits waiting for you, but you know she needs this meal more than you do – even if your rumbling stomach disagrees. You’d already had lunch at the train station; one more missed meal won’t kill you and less for you means more for Ellie.

Suddenly becoming a parent to a very opinionated fourteen-year-old girl was not something you had anticipated, and most times you figured you were doing it all wrong. The least you could do is give her everything you could.

“You think he’ll show?”

You tear your eyes away from the parlor door, blinking back into your body out of your cloud of thoughts. Ellie’s little hands grip the bowl, a white smear sitting on her bottom lip, her eyes dark as they watch you.

You grin as her pink tongue swipes up to lick her mouth clean. How easy you forget she’s only fourteen, with her loud mouth and provoking eyes. “Eat your food, Ellie.”

The words have barely left your mouth when the door to the parlor bursts open. Two men, clearly drunk and smelling of it, stumble in. This is the part where you wish you too could believably dress up like a man. Your pulse thrums in your neck like a heightened prey animal.

One pushes the other’s shoulder, smirking, and grunting something. His friend, also in a cowboy hat but half his size, nods and makes an unsteady line for one of the tables, while the other does his best to get to the bar.

The man at the table has light green eyes, overly thick eyebrows, and a flat mouth, loose with drink. He flops into a wooden chair and you watch as the Texas Rangers badge on his chest flashes in the firelight behind him. Your stomach tightens.

He stretches out, feet crossed over his ankles, limp hands crossed over his denim jacket, hollering at his friend and the woman working, who looks equally displeased to see them as she did you and Ellie.

Smirking, his eyes slide from the wooden bar top, over the back wall, and right onto you.

You watch as his gaze blurs for a moment, a film of beastial hunger smothering the color of his eyes. You can feel your pulse in your ankles now.

“Well, now, what do we have here?” The lilt in his voice calls out two unspoken words: fresh meat. Distressingly steady, he climbs to his feet, his hat tilted obnoxiously on his forehead. “Where did you come from, you pretty little thing?”

He saunters over, his thumbs stuck in his belt, the gun at his side snug in its holster. The grin on his face is hideous. You’d smack it off if you weren’t suddenly overcome by a debilitating fear. A look like that on a man is never, ever a good thing.

“Whatcha got there, Lee?” his buddy calls out from the bar, beard drenched in beer foam.

“I dunno quite yet, Knapp,” he says over his shoulder, his livid green eyes never leaving your face. He nearly folds in half to press his spider-like hands on the surface of your table, coming inches from your face. His breath smells like corn whiskey and cheap tobacco. “Guess I’ll have to find out. What’s your name, pretty thing?”

“Or she could not tell you her name and instead, you could fuck off.” Ellie’s scowl wrenches her mouth open, her knuckles white around her spoon. There’s a part of you that fully acknowledges and accepts that if given the signal, she’d scoop the fucker’s eyes out with the silverware right here. “We’re eating here, or are you too busy smelling like a fucking whiskey barrel to notice?”

As with most adults when Ellie decides to show her teeth, Lee stares stunned before the self-righteous anger sets in. Your heart stops for a moment when you think he’s going for his holster, but instead, he uses the flat of his hand to swat her hat off her head.

“Shut up, you little fucker, where’d you learn your fucking ma–,”

Ellie’s long hair tumbles down her shoulders, the baseball cap on the floor behind her.

Lee is stunned into silence once again. The parlor goes deathly silent.

It’s Knapp who sets off the explosive spark again. “Holy fuck, you’re a little girl.”

Ellie snatches up her hat, cheeks flaming red, but Lee’s hand grabs her wrist.

“A kinda cute one at that,” Lee sneers. He twists her arm and she yelps. Knapp at the bar laughs, his paunch shaking as beer sloshes over the side of his glass. The woman is cleaning something with a rag, turned away from the scene, her shoulders hunched to her ears. You’re on your feet, your hand on her purse. “What are you thinking, hm? Dressing this sweet little girl up like a boy?”

The trigger clicks and Lee and everyone else in the parlor freezes. The edge of your lash line is wet, fear rolling through you like fog on the bay. Your hand is steady, miraculously, but your voice isn’t.

“L-l-let–,” your voice cracks and you try again. You only have one gun drawn on Lee and you pray to whatever god is listening that Knapp doesn’t remember his. “Let her go.”

This small pistol is your last line of defense against those who would take everything from you. You couldn’t keep your sister safe, your husband didn’t want to be saved, but you’d die before you’d let anyone come within an inch of Ellie. You pawned off your wedding ring long before you ever considered selling this weight in your hand. You couldn’t physically win a fight but you’d be damned if you weren’t going to take someone out with you.

There’s more than one reason you never let Ellie look into your purse. You won’t make eye contact with her now.

Lee’s eyes harden into black flints in his head. “Yeah? You’re shaking like a leaf. You ain’t gonna do shit about it.”

He twists harder, forcing Ellie to her knees, his mouth smearing into a sickening sneer, Ellie’s cries loud – “get off me, you fucker!”

All you have to do is miss. Once.

Your arm shifts right and you fire. You meant to hit the floor, but instead the leg of a chair at a nearby table shatters, wood and smoke sparking into the air. Lee and Ellie jump, their struggle broken, but Ellie’s quicker, smarter. Hunched to avoid debris, they are nearly eye to eye and Ellie doesn’t hesitate; she jerks her head back and then launches her forehead forward – square into his flat nose.

The crunch is sickening and it turns your already empty stomach. Lee shrieks, releasing Ellie, his hands flying to his misshapen nose to staunch the river of blood pouring from his nostrils.

“You bitch!” he whines, voice wet and gummy as blood trickles down his throat, eyes watering. You hear a roar of anger as Knapp stands, no longer finding any of this funny.

“Get behind me, Ellie.” You snap, eyes on Knapp as he lumbers forward. She hesitates, looking like she’d like nothing more than to kick Lee up the balls, but obeys the closer Knapp comes. She slots behind you, eyes sharp on the squealing man on the floor.

“She broke my fucking nose, man,” he cries, face already purpling.

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it, you fucker!” She snarls over your shoulder. One hand holds your elbow, and the other brandishes her mother’s knife that had been at the bottom of her satchel seconds ago. Fuck.

Ellie Williams is not, and never has been, nor will be, one to deescalate a situation. Knapp responds in kind. His drunk fingers fumble with his holster, his face contorted with rage.

“Shootin’ at an officer of the law – you’re gonna hang for this, you thieving little c–,”

“Knapp.”

A fifth voice – low, deep, a mammalian bark that grinds the chaos of the room to a halt. The large man stalls, his engine snagged by the rough grain of that voice. On the floor, Lee lets out one quiet whimper as he cracks open a pulsating black eye.

In the glow of the firelight, you watch as beads of sweat swell on Knapp’s big forehead beneath his wide-brimmed hat. His wide eyes flash between you and the man who just walked in.

“M-Miller, the fuck you want?”

Your heart seizes in your chest. Miller.

Joel Miller.

You never thought your saving grace would come in the shape of a hulking, dark-eyed man.

A well-worn handkerchief around his neck, crusted over with dust, his broad shoulders stretch a denim work shirt, the unbuttoned collar loose and just as dirty. Worked-over hands, dry and brown as the earth, curl into fists at his side. Tight jaw, flared nose, eyes black, his presence expands in the cramped room, a leviathan cresting dark waves to command the roaring void.

“Back off, both of you.”

Knapp sneers, desperately tugging at some misguided sense of bravery, with sweat running hot and fast and smelly down the sides of his rubbery face. “Y-yeah, or what?”

“You fuckin’ know what.”

Knapp visibly swallows and lowers his pistol, hands trembling. Lee whines from the floor, his eyes open as wide as the swelling will allow, abject terror on his face as he stares up at Miller. Neither of them move.

A guard dog satisfied by the corralled sheep, Joel’s heavy gaze roves from the two men, across the room, to you.

His expression doesn’t change.

The weight shifts across the stiff planes of his shoulders, and he turns, leaving as quickly as he appeared. Beneath his thick boots, the wooden floor creaks and it rouses you. Your mouth is so dry you can feel the skin of your lips split apart.

“Mr. Miller, w-wait.”

He doesn’t.

With a single glance to the men still frozen in terror, you follow him through the now-dark and empty store. The cold desert air cracks hard against your overheated cheeks when you burst through the door, into the black night. The moonlight illuminates the threads of silver hair in his beard that the dark parlor hid. His fingers work slowly, unhurriedly, as he tightens the leather buckle beneath the wide girth of his off-white horse. It lifts its head as you stumble out onto the dusty road, its round eyes watching you with more interest than its rider. White ears twitch forward, a snort from the long snout, and Joel rubs the soft place between two giant nostrils without looking up.

“J-Joel – Mr. Miller, please, I need your help.”

“Already got it.” His shoulders flex and roll as he loads up another loose sack onto the rump of the horse, then tightens the securing belt. It snorts again and shifts on its hooves, its long tail flicking back and forth.

You shake your head, swallowing the hot rush of embarrassment. The wind licks at your ankles and you fight back a shiver, bringing a hand to your shoulder to warm the goosebumps. “No, sorry, I mean – I’m here to help you. I saw your advertisement and I was wondering if the position was still open.”

The buckle quiets. The dirt at his feet crunches as he faces you.

There are no trees in Dalhart, Texas. There are barely any clouds, no coverage. Overhead, the few buildings not yet folded up in the wake of the financial collapse throw shadows over his angular face, but you can still feel the trace of his gaze over you. A curious search, the investigation of scent.

Then he shakes his head.

“No.”

Your entire chest tightens. “Has the position been filled?”

“No.”

“Then why–,”

“I don’t need you.” He lifts up the third and final sack and you feel your hope being carried away with it. “Need a farm hand. You’re not the type.”

“N-n-no, I’ve worked on a farm. I-I’ve only planted seeds but I’m a quick learner and I–,”

“No.”

“Sir – please, I’ll do anything–,”

“Then go home.” He unties the reins from the wooden post and clicks to the horse. Its big eyes watch you as he turns them for the road. “There’s nothing here for you.”

You absolutely will not cry in front of this gruff stranger. Panic icing down your spine, you follow him on weak knees. In the wake leftover from the wheat boom, Dalhart is quiet as soon as the sun goes down. Empty of people, of light, of any sort of guiding hand, you try to appeal to the last human you’ve found at the end of the world.

“Mr. Miller, there must be something you need. I’m a hard worker, smart, you won’t have to train me at all. Please. I’ve been a housekeeper, a seamstress – a nurse. I —,”

The horse huffs when Joel pulls tight on the reins.

In the moonlight, all of his hair looks gray. Your heart plunges in your throat. You can feel your stomach trying to digest your spine.

“Done any work with kids?” He asks, after a moment.

His brisk question is not what you expected. You can barely hear him over the pounding in your heart.

“Y-yes. I’ve treated children before. A-and I was a teacher, briefly. I’m very good with children, actually.”

The scarred hand at his side tightens, flexes open and closed, the tips of his thumb and forefinger twitching over the other. Over his shoulder, you think his head tilts a centimeter towards you.

“You know what? Fuck this.”

Out of the shadows of the county store, Ellie tears down the steps, her face pink and her hair stuffed back up her ball cap. She loops her small hands around your forearm and tugs, her eyes like chips of bark, glaring hatefully at the man in the middle of the street. Faint dust churns beneath her faded sneakers.

“She’s fucking begging you and you don’t give a fuck, you old shithead!” She tugs again. In the flash of the moonlight, a glassy film has settled over her eyes. “C’mon, we don’t need him. We – don’t need – him.”

“Ellie, please!” You grab her by the shoulders, a soft hand in a swirling tempest, and she settles, her mouth twisted up in anger and embarrassment. She hates that you have to beg anyone. “Please.” Shielding her from him, you squeeze her shoulders. “I know, Ellie. I know. But I have to keep you safe.”

Ellie finally turns that hot glare at you, eyes damp. Petulant when terrified, your sister was the exact same way.

Fuck, Anna, it should have been me.

“She yours?”

Joel rests his weight on his left knee, fingers loose around the reins. He’s lowered the mask around his mouth. You snap your head up, your voice thankfully steady. “She’s my niece. She . . . I’m responsible for her.”

Below your palms, Ellie stiffens.

Fifteen feet from you, Joel nods, the muscle in his jaw tight. The horse huffs and he glares at it like it just yelled at him too.

“I’m not in the habit of pickin’ up strays,” he says as if that means a lot.

Hope springs in your chest and it snags the air in your lungs. “We’re not. I-I mean, we’ll work hard. Please, give us just one chance.”

“And you expect me to take on the both of you.” It isn’t a question, but his eyebrow arcs all the same. “That’s two mouths I gotta feed, ‘steada one.”

“She can have mine.” In the silence, you think you can hear the faint choir of crickets. You remember the tarantulas and centipedes that lived inside the walls of your husband’s prairie dugout, and your stomach twists. “Ellie can have whatever you give us.”

She makes a brief cry of protest, but you squeeze her shoulders. The sharp flair of his nostrils smooths and the corners of his eyes pinches, tilting his eyebrows up. He’s still glowering, but somehow, his expression has suddenly opened, just a crack.

And then he nods.

“Stay here a night. I’ll be back in the morning with the wagon.”

And that’s it. You have a job.

You’re so elated it takes a minute for his words to sink in. He turns back down the road, the horse's hooves clipping on the dry ground. You follow after him, hand outstretched.

“Oh, no, w-we can walk, it’s no trouble. Let me just get our things and–,”

“Too far to walk. And there’s things out in the dark more dangerous than those fuckin’ rangers.” He nods to the country store, eerily quiet. It sits, ugly, like a brown old frog. “There’s a hotel just up the road. It’s not much, but it’ll do for one night.”

“But, sir, we really can’t stay. I don’t – there’s no –,”

You stumble to a stop when those merciless dark eyes root you to the ground. The leather reins squeak when he tightens his fist around them. Again, you are under the impression of a dog sniffing out your scent for any deception, any treason. He takes you in, all of you in – your ratty gloves, your torn hemline, your tattered collar – and by some miracle, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, the groove above his nose softens.

Wordlessly, he reaches into his back pocket and takes out five dollars from a brown leather wallet. He offers it to you between two fingers.

Take it, his eyes command.

You do, with a shaking hand. You hate charity, you hate that you’re at his mercy –

But Ellie has a bed for the night. Inside, warm. Where, hours ago, she didn’t. You smother your pride and nod, gaze at the scar on his cheek that you only now notice at an arm’s length away.

“One night,” he says. “For you and the kid.”

You nod again because that’s all you really can do, his pity clutched in your fist and held against your heart.

Ellie scowls as he swings up onto the horse and readjusts his mask.

“What a guy,” she murmurs to you, her eyes still narrowed. Joel clicks his teeth, and the horse trots off into the dark, a lone man riding out into the featureless night.

Evidently still feeling slighted, Ellie sticks her tongue out at the denim back.

“Better keep that tongue in your mouth, kid,” he hollers before digging his heels into the horse’s flanks. “Liable to be chopped off like a copperhead.”

Ellie’s mouth snaps shut.

The money Joel gave you is more than enough to cover a room and another plate of food. You even spurge your own money on some small candy for Ellie, determined to give Joel back every cent left over and then some, once you’ve proven you can earn your keep.

For you and the kid.

You shake your head, lost in your own thoughts, the gnawing hunger in your belly satiated, as you pull back the covers to the twin bed. The metal frame squeaks as you climb in, your night dress thin and ragged as the rest of your clothes.

“C’mon, Ellie, time for bed.” When she doesn’t move, you stop rearranging the pillows and look at her. In her own white nightie (because she’d outgrown all her other pajamas), she sits in front of the roaring fire, her chin on her knees, and her arms wrapped around her shins.

She’s quiet - either a good sign, or a terrible one.

“Ellie, sweetie, we’ve gotta get some sleep. It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow.”

You watch as her narrow back expands and falls in one slow breath, her skin bright in the firelight.

She nods mutely and climbs into the space beside you. She rolls onto her side, away from you, her hands tucked up under her head, her knees curled up beneath her.

This is where Anna would know what to say. How to soothe this girl with so much awareness in a world that is raw to even those willfully ignorant. You can’t bullshit Ellie the way you can some kids. She knows too much. Seen too much.

You settle down next to her in the shadow of her shoulder. Your fingers hover, locked between the yawning gap of touching her and not touching her, when she finally speaks.

“Is this really going to work?” Her voice is quiet, soft, dust-covered and buried. “Is Joel really gonna . . . are we safe?”

You cannot bullshit Ellie Williams.

“I don’t know. I’d like to think so. I know you don’t like him, but I think we can trust him.”

She’s quiet again, only this time because there’s something she doesn’t want to say.

“Not like Uncle Robert – or Robert, if that’s even his real name. I’d never met the man in person, but I wanted – so badly – to believe . . .” You swallow, your own shame boiling your skin. “I think we’re safe with Joel Miller.”

The god’s honest truth.

She hears it in your voice.

Ellie tips back to look you in the eyes. She’s lost so much weight recently. “Yeah?”

You tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, the ghost of your thumb across her cheek. She allows the show of affection. “Yeah, El. I do.”

You want to say: you can trust me. I’ll always take care of you.

But you know it would only come out hollow.

Neither of you would think it was honest.

She pulls away from your grasp, her eyes almost golden in the firelight. She nods and stares at the burning wood.

“Okay.”

“So . . . is your car, like, broken or something?”

You elbow Ellie and she sits up from hanging over the edge of the wagon. She frowns at you – what? – and you both glance at Joel at the front of the wagon. If the question annoys him any more than he perpetually already is, he doesn’t show it.

“Don’t have one.” He says to the back of the horse. The wagon rocks and sways over the clods of dust and stone in the road. “Never did.”

“Uh, why?”

“Cars break down in the dust storms. Short out. They end up being more trouble than they’re worth.”

Again, that half-centimeter turn, his tone implying what his eyes can’t, faced away from you. Ellie narrows her eyes at the back of his head. She wrenches her mouth open, fire in her eyes, but she catches you glaring, and her mouth snaps shut. Pouting, she chucks a lone pebble off the back of the wagon.

The sky is strikingly blue, bright as a livewire, the air warm and crackling with the early summer heat. Away from Dalhart, away from the collection of dust on every surface, dripping through every crack, you find the clarity and distance of the southern plains to be . . . unexpected. So careless and abrasive one minute, but then, in moments like these, it became hard to believe that nature could ever be so cruel as to make the earth rise up and swallow it all whole.

You swing your legs off the wooden edge, the sunshine warm on your knees. It’s no use trying to hide how badly your socks need darning, so you lean back and stretch your legs as far as you can, your face tilted towards the sky, the still air peaceful. This morning, you’d put on your yellow plaid dress, torn cotton lace around the sleeves that stop at your elbows. You tucked your hair up and pinned your straw hat to your head. It was a reflex, to present your most beautiful self to a man, even one you barely knew. By the way Ellie had rolled her eyes, she felt no such compulsion.

Demure, your mother always told you, you’re not very pretty, you’re not very bright, the least you can be is demure.

The wagon shudders, clicks, over the empty road and you open your eyes. Ellie is turned away from you, eyes out to the fields on either side of you. You don’t understand what she’s looking at, until you realize that’s exactly it: there is nothing to look at. On the other side of those loopy barbed-wire fences through cock-eyed posts, there are miles and miles of nothing but churned-over dirt. A lazy wind spins over a patch of emptiness, tossing clods and sand into the air, an aimless sadness as tangible as the dust itself. Phone lines stand, corroded and chipped, along the side of the road like tangible manifestations of a deadly infection.

“There’s no crops here either.” Ellie says, voicing loudly what you only thought. You can’t see her face but she sounds as stunned as you are. “What happened?”

You watch over her shoulder, eyes level with the earth bleached of all material, all life. With the drought, your husband’s field shriveled up in months, the cracked ground peeling away from the sodhouse in some places. You still have nightmares about waking up with grit between your teeth, choking and coughing up bloody chunks of mud.

This is desolation on an epidemic scale.

“Ask different people ‘n they’ll tell you different things.” Joel says in his slow drawl, the crackle of the earth soft beneath the wooden wheels. “No one really knows. But nothing like this happened when the buffalo grass was here, ‘steada wheat.”

“Wait, you were here before Dalhart?” Ellie twists on the wagon, leaning over the lip where Joel sits and drives the horse.

“My family was. Here before anything. My grandpa befriended the Comanche Indians and –,”

“You got to hang out with Indians?” Ellie nearly hurls herself over the edge of the wagon to try and look him in the eye. “What are they like – did they teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow – can they really ride horses like that –,”

“Ellie!” You want to grab her by her collar and yank her back into the wagon. “Not so many questions.”

The noise Joel makes is somewhere between a grunt and the word no.

“It’s fine –, “ he looks down at Ellie, still curled around the back of the seat, her eyes wide with a giant smile on her face. His ever present scowl doesn’t seem any deeper, nor does it deter her. Joel turns away again and in the sunlight, his hair is gooey, caramel brown. You stare at the dirt road while listening, the back of your neck hot. “They’re good people. Didn’t deserve what happened to them – to any of ‘em. But they taught my grandpa and grandma how to take just what they need, nothing more. But then everybody needed grain, offered money for cheap, easy labor. They poured in here, into the prairie, and in years, it became this. Folks blame the drought, but it’s more’n that.”

Ellie’s inordinately quiet. She knows exactly what your husband did to you, to your family, and now, maybe to the entire land.

“‘Next year’ people, they claim,” Joel continues, his voice deepening with anger, “‘next year’, things’ll be better. ‘Next year’ the rains’ll come. ‘Next year’ the wheat’ll return.” He shakes his head, boots creaking against the toeboard. “Anyone who thinks that is lyin’ to themselves. Anyone’s who’s been here, seen what’s here, for us it’s been –,”

“The end of the world.”

The silence that follows your words stretches long, an anchor dropped off the end of the wagon and rattling around the wheels. You swing your legs, fingers curling around a tear in your hemline. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words to describe the state of things. That’s what your husband called it and you believed him.

Evidently, Joel agrees. His wide shoulders taught, the denim blue faded beneath the boundless sky, he nods.

“Griiim,” Ellie mutters as she curls up and drops her chin on her knees.

You’ve been watching a single cloud chase the sun from the floor of the wagon when Ellie, silent for all of about fifteen minutes, lifts her head from her hands draped over the edge. Her eyes go wide, her ears pink from the sun, and says:

“Whoa.”

The horse huffs as you sit up, a soft wind snagging the loose hairs on the back of your neck, and your mouth drops.

Grass.

Fields of it.

The air is fresh, warm, and filled with the scent of living, breathing earth. Tipped with lush purple seeds shaped like paintbrushes, a sea of stalks bend and ripple in the cooling breeze, undulating like waves on solid ground. The wind is soft here, teasing, rolling through the tall grass, carrying the scent of growth and green in the air. You’re suddenly aware of how dry your mouth is, cracked and padded with dust.

“We left it be.” Joel offers simply, voice too gruff to surely be filled with pride. “It’s endured and survived, and so have we.”

Further back, you can see where the line of his property ends – a harsh division of paradise and purgatory – and marked to the north by a dip in the ground and even over the crunch of the wheels over the ground, you hear it: water.

A river. An oasis in a wasteland.

Ahead of the white tufts of hair on the horse, the road curves, disappearing into the sea of grass, but letting your graze drift up, you see an a-frame home, white like a lighthouse at the edge of a storm. The instant the home comes into view, Joel clicks his tongue, urging the horse faster – eager.

He leads the horse up through the road, through the grass, and on the other side, by the river, two cows chew up the green, oblivious. Beyond them, tucked behind the house is a barn. Low to the ground but wide, hunched like a fighter with a heavy center of gravity, it looks ready to endure and survive. As this entire secret world had.

Joel tugs the horse to a stop, the wagon rattles as it slows, by the wide porch of the a-frame. It sits also low to the ground, wider with a dark roof, held together with something black and smeared. You’re so distracted by the unique qualities of this house in the middle of paradise that you miss it when the door creaks open until you’re staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

“Who are you?” The voice behind the gun is deep, even if the barrels shake slightly. In the dark of the doorframe, you can’t quite see their face, only their short stature.

You see Ellie’s hand twitch towards her knife, which she now carries in her sock since the night of the county store.

However, Joel is less concerned. In fact, the boulders of his shoulders loosen, ease to simple muscle and blood. He makes a noise that on anyone else, it might be considered a laugh, a chuckle, but he isn’t even capable of smiling –

He slings down from the seat and pats the horse.

“Easy there, Annie Oakley, it’s just me.”

The shadow in the doorway stiffens.

“Dad?”

The shotgun lowered, the shadow staggers into the light. Brown eyes, just like his, scrunched against the blinding sunlight, a girl with the most beautiful head of curls blinks at Joel, her thin hand held up to shield her face.

“Hey there, baby girl.”

In a single leap, she jumps down from the porch but all too quickly, the smile slips from Joel’s face.

“Hang on, not too fast–,”

She stumbles towards him as best as the metal braces around her knees, down to her ankles, will allow, defiant and smiling, despite the beads of sweat that have swelled over her forehead. Joel surges forward, faster than you thought possible, and reaches for her, nearly on one knee.

“Slow down, please, Sarah.”

“Dad, I’m fine,” she huffs before tossing her arms around his neck. “I’m fine. Just – missed you, is all.”

You can’t see his face, but he straightens up still holding her. With one hand he flattens those curls to her cheek, and kisses the other.

“Enough to forget all the things I taught you about gun safety? You just tossed that thing aside,” he scolds fondly. She rolls her eyes as he sets her down.

“Okay, but if you didn’t know it was me, you would’a been totally scared, right?”

She watches as he chuckles, a deep, warm sound, but her own smile flatlines when she spies Ellie climbing down from the wagon. You ease off the edge, your lower half sore from the ride.

The girl, Sarah, narrows her eyes.

“Who are you?” She positions her body slightly in front of Joel’s. “And why are you dressed like a boy?”

Joel’s soft scolding – “Sarah” – is lost beneath Ellie’s scoff. She adjusts her satchel.

“Why are you dressed like Raggedy Ann?”

Her father’s massive hands clench down on her shoulders, Sarah’s scowl evident that she’s about half a second away from launching herself at Ellie, leg braces be damned.

“Now, let’s slow down here.” Joel’s deep baritone is light, but just as firm as his grip. If you knew him better, you’d think he is about to laugh, the lines around his eyes thick, while his mouth stays flat. “We got off on the wrong foot. Sarah, this is Ellie and her aunt. They’re going to be staying with us for a while to help out with your schooling.”

Those curls go flying, her frown now pinched in worry. Another girl caught between a child and adult – for the sake of their single parent, you notice, your chest tight.

“I thought you needed a farm hand. You were going to teach me.”

“You know you already read better than I do.”

“Dad–,”

“Miss here is also a nurse.”

“Oh. Oh.” She glances down at the metal braces as if she’d forgotten they were there. The skin on her knees is chaffed, rubbed pink. “She can . . . help me?”

Twin pairs of brown eyes settle on you, one hesitantly curious, the other aggressively determined.

You can, right?

Ellie’s staring at the braces, her gaze distant, heavy. She’d seen this before, but everything back then moved too fast. Back then, there was no time for braces.

Braces only help a small percentage of polio patients. The lucky ones.

You nod, your heart hammering under your chest bone. “Yes – yes, sir. I think with Ms. Kenny’s therapy, we might be able to alleviate some pain.”

Those eyes, exactly like and so unlike her father’s, widen.

“Really?”

You introduce yourself with your first name, pressing the crease in your glove between your nail and your thumb with your other hand.

“I’d like to try, Sarah.”

You suddenly understand that Sarah is Joel Miller’s most guarded secret, out here in paradise, paradise as the most beautiful prison in the world. He continues to stare at you from under thick eyebrows after Sarah moves away from him. Ellie, caught off-guard by her forward movement, takes a significant step back.

“I, um, got some marbles out back,” Sarah starts, thumbing over her shoulder, and every other word sounding like an apology. “If you wanna play.”

Ellie jerks forward, her eyes round with excitement, but stops. She looks at you.

“Can I?”

Soft when eager, just like her mother. So unlike you. You nod.

“Stay close, okay?”

You and Joel watch as Ellie and Sarah toddle around to the back of the house, Ellie quietly narrating every thought she has as she keeps pace with Sarah.

Those look actually really cool, you know?

Yeah?

Totally. Have you read Amazing Stories? You look like you could be part of the Space Family Robinson.

Who are they?

Oh, you’ve never read those!? Okay, so they’re a family who live in space and they go on these awesome adventures together to different planets and . . .

The farther they go, the faster Joel turns back to stone. His gaze lingers just a hint longer before those dark eyes pin you to the ground.

“You said you can clean? Cook?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, sir.” Guard dog Joel. Stocky pitbull, teeth long and wet Joel.

He tilts his chin towards the house.

“Kitchen’s in the back. I gotta clean up the wagon and the horse, then gonna tend the field. I’ll be back in a few hours, but Sarah knows where to find me if y’need somethin'.”

You nod again, but he misses it, turning away to unbuckle the horse. You slide your trunk and Ellie’s satchel off the end of the wagon and head into the shadow of the house.

The white clapdoor snaps shut behind you, followed by the softer snik of the screen clicking into its frame. Slipping the bobby pins out of your hair to release your hat, you take in the Miller home.

The air is cool. Dust motes float in the sunlight streaming in from the second floor over a staircase with wooden wainscoting leading away from the open front room. With a brief glance up, you can see the faded white walls of the upper hallway, some not-yet-seen window drawing in bolts of morning light that pierce the air in bullet holes. It’s quiet and it smells warm, like lace kept in the back of a drawer near a wall that faces the heat outside.

A blue two-seater couch faces a squat fireplace, with a Queen Anne table sandwiched between the two. Behind you, a large grandfather clock ticks and waits, a server waiting in the shadows with a watchful eye to report back to its master on the going-ons of the house. With only a cedar hutch, a few daguerreotypes, a smattering of books, the room is sparsely decorated, but kept clean and organized. You could see Sarah, a focused look in her eyes, sitting on the steps of the stairs and making Joel move and rearrange furniture over and over again until the room felt right.

Through a white arched doorway, you find yourself in the kitchen. The light sparks more brightly here, the sky a stark blue through the four square window over the kitchen table and above the sink, reflective of the sun. You realize then the house runs north to south at an angle, where there are limited windows in the walls on the east and west sides, thereby limiting direct sun exposure and, more importantly, heat. Both the kitchen and the front rooms had been built out of the line of the sun, making cooking and cleaning and living bearable without a painful glare.

A thoughtful and patient consideration.

Someone had attempted to add some levity with brown and blue plaid wallpaper around the cove of the dinner table, all the way to the other side of the room around the kitchen counters and stove. But unfortunately for everyone else, the wallpaper is hideous, only tampered by the off-white counters and cupboards.

The cupboards have glass doors, blurring ceramic cups and plates on the tops of the shelves.

It reminds you of the small apartment Anna and you lived in back in Boston, when it was just the two of you. It wasn’t much, but it felt sturdy, secure. Safe.

A door to the right of the stove has a latch, and you lift it and poke your head inside. A chilly darkness greets you, along with the scent of wet, deep earth. A basement? No. Not this close to the kitchen. Curiosity pulling you forward, you descend the sturdy wooden stairs, into the sunken darkness. You count ten until a draft licks your ankles. You keep going, one squeak of wood after another until - you touch soil. The heady scents of pine bark and peat moss soothe the air from where your feet press into the ground, fertility thick like mushrooms in the gut of a lichen-drenched tree. But it’s dark, too dark to make out much, barely your own hand in front of your face. With your fingers outstretched, as if you’ll bump into a gas lamp conveniently on the ground, you shuffle forward and almost immediately a cold chain tickles your face. You grab out of instinct and pull.

Nearly blinded by the light that erupts from an exposed bulb directly in front of your left eye, you stagger back, wincing, your footsteps muffled by the earthen floor. You blink through the tears as the secret at the end of the stairs finally reveals itself.

A pantry. A cellar.

At least twenty feet deep and ten feet high, with rows and rows, stacks and stacks, wood shelves cover nearly the entire length of the underground room. In between the rows, large barrels sit, quiet and sturdy, with bottles of vinegar and olive oil sitting on their rims.

You realize two things within seconds of each other.

This house has electricity. It stands above the ground, proud, independent, full of heat and light. So unlike your husband’s dark hole in the ground.

and

there is so much food.

Pickling jars. Seed pouches. Culled wheat. Cans of fruit and vegetables and eggs. Olives with squash and pumpkins. Crates of potatoes and half bottles of wine and syrup. Onions and carrots and spices and garlic.

A feast. Meals for days and days and days. The bounties of earth stored, safe beneath the ground, like a secret.

It’s more food than you’ve seen in years.

A hunger like you can’t remember having roars in your stomach out of nowhere and everything pitches to the right. The edges of your vision blurs, your shoulder knocking into stone wall, and breathing becomes a nearly impossible task. You turn, nearly stumbling up the dozen steps that have turned into a thousand.

The tacky memories that stick to the crevices of your dreams yawn awake, bringing with them dry mud in your mouth and thick salt to your eyes. Mud, dirt, dust – everywhere. In that stinking hut in the ground, the dust replaced your molecules, your atoms, until you too might blow away, until you are cracked and empty and dry. The static from the dust storm memories shoots down both of your arms and you sway on your feet. Your heart suddenly pounding so achingly fast, you have to drop your forehead against the flat surface of the closed door to keep the room from spinning.

You had forgotten what safety looked like.

You had forgotten what living could be.

You know the ringing sound of that gunshot is just in your head, it’s not real, but you shudder all the same, your hands curling into claws under your chin, your nails tearing up the white paint.

You’re here, not there. You are safe. Ellie is safe. That house and him have been entombed together under piles of dirt, with the bugs and the rot and the stench from the weak stove. Rivers of sweat rolling down the back of your neck, you beg yourself to stop shaking. You feel like cheap terracotta pottery – made from dirt, left too long to bake in the sun and made brittle; one good tap and you’ll shatter.

You breathe in and taste wet salt. Breathe out and cry – cry from the fear and the dread and the relief and the hope. God, that hope tastes worse than all the dirt in the Panhandle of Texas.

You cry and cry and cry until you don’t feel so brittle anymore.

Sunlight has struck copper, heavy, tangy in the mouth, when the back door opens and the house is instantly filled with the sound of girls’ rabid conversation. You step back from the stove, cheeks warm and arm sore from continuously stirring the rice and vegetable soup. It’s not as thick as your mother once made, but without milk, it would be nearly impossible to improve. You smile at the girls as they tumble in, more dust mite than human, whispering about some secret.

“Having fun?” You ask with a grin on your face as Ellie helps Sarah take off her shoes, already attentive to what a girl with her health concerns might need.

There’s an overlap of chatter as Ellie and Sarah both answer you and then, answer each other.

“Well, good,” you say, turning back to the stove, making sure the bottom of the soup doesn’t burn, “but whatever you got up to, it’s all over your faces so please wash up before dinner.”

“It smells real good, miss,” Sarah says as she hobbles over to the sink and starts rinsing off her arms and cheeks, while Ellie takes off her own shoes. “What is it?”

“Something my mom used to make when the cupboards were bare.”

Sarah stills, the water rushing over her soft skin. Those inquisitive eyes are just as captivating, just as forceful as her father’s, but for entirely different reasons. She tugs the words out of you by the sheer, needling strength of her gaze.

“I mean – I found the cellar, the house is incredibly well stocked, but I didn’t see any preserved meat or dairy and I didn’t – I didn’t think your dad would want me poking around out back.”

Immediately Sarah softens and rolls her eyes. “Dad’s all bark and no bite,” she huffs. “We’ve got stored beef and cheese in an ice chest downstairs. I’ll show you around tomorrow.”

You smile and those brown eyes go warm in the coppery light. “Thanks, Sarah.”

“Bunch up, I gotta wash my hands too.” Ellie none-to-gently bumps Sarah with her shoulder to get to the sink but before you can scold her, Sarah swings back, using her precarious momentum, and pushes Ellie back. They both giggle. Something that’s been cramped far too long in your chest loosens.

“So, Sarah, tell me where you are with your schooling. Do you have books, diagrams?”

She thinks for a minute as she opens a drawer that leaves her back to you and takes out two, then four thin cloth placemats. She hobbles back to the table to carefully spread them out.

“I was up to seventh grade before the school shut down. That was about two years ago, so Dad’s been trying to make sure I don’t forget anything. He got me a Midsummer Night’s Dream by Shakespeare a while ago and made me read it out loud to him. He has me work on my letters every day – including cursive.” She adds, with a bright spot of joy cranking her mouth open. You imagine someone like Sarah would have beautiful penmanship. “He shows me around the yard, asking me to identify plants and animals, especially anything that might be poisonous. I don’t think he really understands it but he explains what happens when you add water to a seed and keep it in damp earth. Oh, and he has me help balance the books for the farm – what we made, what we sold, how much we have left, stuff like that.”

You smile at her over your shoulder as Ellie hands her bowls. “Accounting.”

“Huh?”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “It’s so boring, don’t worry about it,” she whispers conspiratorially.

“What your dad is teaching you is called accounting,” you say a bit firmly, eyes tracking your niece as she shows no shame. “It’s a very special skill to have, especially if you work on a farm or in a business. Do you like it?”

She nods rapidly, those cork-screw curls bouncing around her thin face. “Yeah! I do! I’m much faster than Dad when it comes to figuring out the sums and dollar value.”

In the front hall, the clap door creaks open then slams shut, heavy footfalls proceeding the man that makes them.

“Does that happen a lot?” you ask softly as Sarah sidles up next to you to peer into the pot.

“Where I know more than my dad?” Sarah smirks up at you, all devious youth. “More often than you think.”

A mini sun bursts from the ceiling as Joel flicks on the light switch and is almost immediately tackled by Sarah. The copper sun on the horizon finally, in the distracted moment, slips down and drags the night behind it. It’s purple twilight outside when Joel lifts his head from the embrace around Sarah’s shoulders to stare at the two strangers in his kitchen.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you say brightly and you can almost picture your mother in the same exact position in front of the stove, stirring soup until her cheeks were pink, her hand resting low on her back, her tummy round and full in her second attempt to keep her husband’s rage diverted from her. It’s a boy, she promised.

The memory makes you so violently ill out of nowhere, you lose your appetite. But you persevere; you carry on and load up the bowls Sarah stacked for you. Ellie saves you from having to dislodge the prickly knot in your throat when she snags a bowl and eagerly yells, “get it while it’s hot!”

The arrangements from the stove to the table are a bit of a blur, the slick anxious weight from earlier today curling around your lungs again as you remember shadows in chairs like these, but so different from the flesh-and-blood bodies that occupy them now.

You’re dazed, a little light-headed, but not so much to miss the glance between Joel and Ellie. A junkyard puppy skirting the territory of an older watchdog, a bone in each of their mouths and dragged to opposite corners of the battlefield. Satisfied with the lines of demarcated territory that had been drawn, they call a temporary truce by eating in complete silence, until Sarah groans.

“Oh my god, this is better than it smells!” she hums, her mouth full of potatoes.

“Just wait till she adds chicken,” Ellie grumbles, mouth cupped open to keep from spilling. You watch her, a faint smile on your face, and the slippery feeling fades. When cleaning up, she missed a spot on her left nostril and you fight the urge to clean it with your thumb.

“There’s more.”

Your gaze snaps to Joel hunched over his bowl. The spoon that Ellie and Sarah have to both clutch in their fists to eat barely swings between his massive fingers.

Joel’s dark eyes trace down your nose, your chin, your neck, to where your hands lay flat on the table in front of you. Your own bowl and spoon sit on the counter behind you. You worry you might have upset him, with the way he’s frowning.

“There’s more,” he repeats, same tone.

“I'm sorry?”

He puts his spoon down and clears his throat, then nods to the pot on the stove. Ellie watches him out of the corner of her eye.

“I saw how much you made. If you’re hungry, you should eat.”

As though speaking a language only you could hear, he looks at Ellie the same time you do.

She frowns. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Sarah begins to giggle, nodding, when Joel starts again.

“You should eat. There’s enough.”

It’s like his eyes can see through your blue veins and clammy skin, to your yellow bones and clawing stomach. You choke on the mudball that’s been hovering in your throat for months and nod.

“Alright.”

You don’t know if you’re actually hungry – you can’t really remember the taste of warm food – or if you’re doing it just to appease him, but something about the heat of the bowl and solid spoon in your hand, it rouses you from this sinking you find yourself in. Your bones feel like jelly.

“How’re the fields, Dad?” Sarah asks with her big eyes, seemingly unaware of the layered exchange between you and her father, or kind enough not to address it.

He responds to her, his voice deep in the cavern of his chest. It’s an easy way he speaks to her, heavy with the seriousness she’s earned to be talked to like an adult, but gentle enough that for all his low grumbling, it comes out as a thick murmur. You find yourself listening to their conversation, their interactions, as soothing as music turned low from a well-tuned radio. Ellie is even roped in when Sarah tells Joel all about the Space Family Robinson and Ellie’s knife. “It’s really cool, Dad,” she says preemptively. “She knows how to use it and she’s really safe.”

“Well, if it’s really cool . . .” he fills his mouth with potatoes, tamping down the ghost of a grin on his lips around the spoon.

Ellie shuffles in her seat, her own hesitant smile glittering in her eyes, and with only minor prompting, she holds no prisoners when gleefully telling Sarah that she’s got the story of finding a mess of wriggling worms out by the back of the barn all wrong.

“Just keep ‘em outta my side of the bed, alright?” You grin at her, spooning another dribble of soup into your mouth. You’ve realized too much, too fast can just as easily twist your stomach so you focus on cradling a digestible amount of food – broth, potato, carrots – in the well of your spoon.

But the landscape beyond the silver lip has stilled. Both girls are happily slurping up the last bits of their meals, throwing quips back and forth, but Joel’s shoulders have locked up again, the bones of his wrists flat, a static alertness that you’re sure would travel all the way down to his ankles if he was standing up right. You aren’t sure if Sarah has picked up on the subtle change in his breathing – from the deep well of his lungs to shortened and shallow – but somehow you have.

You’re staring at him far too long.

Those thick eyebrows pitch down again. Beneath the loose button that pins your dress closed over your chest, you feel a swell of heat and you wish you were like Ellie, capable of making an easy joke – what, is there something on my face? The heat bubbles almost uncomfortably under his weighted gaze.

“I hate bugs,” you blurt out, desperate to give him what he wants, if only you knew. The girls glance at your sudden outburst. “I don’t like worms especially. I don’t mind straw beds, as long as they’re clean – I mean, I–I hope they are, the straw beds, not the worms.”

Another eternal second of being pinned down by Joel’s frown, this one decidedly less hostile, before understanding breaks open the harsh lines of his mouth and around his eyes. His eyes go wide for less than breath, then he drops his gaze to the bowl. His shoulders shift, muscle redistributing weight as he settles his thick forearm closer to the edge of the table.

Oh, that relief of muscle says.

“You’re not sleeping in the barn.” Joel says, head tucked down. At that, Ellie slows her ravenous eating and frowns at him.

“Then where are we sleeping?”

Joel lifts his head, a new, special emotion just for her tugging on his mouth: exasperation. “My room. You two in there and I’m takin’ the couch.”

Shame and embarrassment drip down over your skull, between your ears, like a cold, runny egg.

“No, we couldn’t possibly–,”

He shakes his head, eyes still on the split potato chunk at the bottom of the bowl. His hand flexes briefly and you think of it around the bridle of the horse.

“It’s not up for discussion.”

Beside him, Sarah frowns at him and you’d wonder how many times in her life he’s ever said that to her – if you could think properly over the roaring of blood in your ears.

“Joel,” you say, something syrupy under your tongue molding the words Mr. Miller into a tone you’d use for an old friend. “I can’t ask you to–,”

Hand flexes. The seat of the chair squeaks.

“You’re not askin’, I’m tellin’.” You’re still vastly underprepared for when those eyes - those deep, dark eyes - suddenly snap on you, as if your very presence commands his entire attention. You notice the dirt underneath his nails and around the knot of his wrist on the table. He’s filthy.

Quietly, with the surety of a dog slipping its snout between its paws, he cuts the last chunk of potato in half with the curve of his spoon. “The new mattresses’ll be here next week. We’ll make do ‘till then.”

The slurp of soup between his lips seems to signal the end of the conversation, but you can’t quite mash together your kaleidoscope-spinning impressions of the man across the table from you.

“Thank you . . . Joel.”

He nods, back teeth breaking apart the soft mush of the potato. He swallows and glances back up at you.

“It’s good,” he says, briefly holding his spoon aloft. “You did good.”

His words burst the choking bubble in your chest and warmth drips down your spine, splashing in the cradle of your hips. Hunger rises, but it’s a different kind of hunger. A growl of neglect. One you sometimes wondered if it was even possible for you to ever even feel.

Even while you were married to your husband.

You put your spoon down to keep your hand from shaking. The soup won’t feed this new churning hunger and, frankly, you don’t know what will.

You did good, he praised, parsed out like torn bread tossed across a black lake.

It makes you warm in places food never could.

The immediate next morning, you meet the sun early, eagerly. Eager to wake and rise and become so useful, you are intricately tied to this house; if you are removed, a vital piece of the land, the prairie is torn up along with you. Ellie sleeps softly next to you, curled up in the same position she was in the hotel bed, tucked in so tightly as if to take up the least amount of space possible. She sleeps, unbothered, blissful, and again you fight the urge to brush the hair that covers her sleeping eyes. You settle for tugging the beautiful quilt, with its stunning blue and red and green patches, up to her shoulders.

As you tie your dress up, your suitcase partially open and on the ground, movement from outside in the dawning pink catches your eye. A brisk shadow, those thick shoulders proceeding a taught waist are unmistakable as they move towards the barn. You stand, transfixed for a moment as broad hands slide open the barn doors, you hear a faint creak, and he disappears inside. The capability of those hands; the surety, where every action is deliberate and intentional – it makes something arc up your throat. A warm piercing that bursts through bone and muscle alike. Trembling fingers tug at the wilting lace around the cuffs of your dress, imagination stretching out into the dark morning, inspired by curious and impossible ideas of those hands.

Something – most likely Sarah next door – squeaks the floorboard and those tendrils of thought snap back as if someone had slammed a lid shut. You glance at the clock and make a mental note to wake up earlier tomorrow, to beat him to the kitchen.

You are also desperately eager to get out of the room where you can practically smell Joel on the walls. It’s simple, just like the rest of the house, but amongst the hand-drawn sketches of himself and birds (likely gifts from Sarah), the half-spent candles and well-read books, you find him in everything. You wonder, briefly, if the indentations made on the cotton mattress are from him or you – the scent of his hair in the pillow from sweat or soap.

The encroaching feeling that you don’t belong here in this house nearly swallows you whole as you dress in a room you definitely don’t belong in.

Joel remains a distant figure, a familiar shadow across the lightning horizon, long after you finish the eggs and toast. You consider perusing the pantry for blueberries or something similar, when Sarah comes down. Fresh-faced, dressed with the care most people reserve for church, she stumbles in, her braces clacking as she finds a seat at the table.

You notice a brief flash of pain across her face when you bring over a plate of food. She unconsciously rubs a circle with her thumb on her left knee as she picks up her fork.

“Pain today?” You ask, eyes on her knee, even though it’s obvious.

She nods, strained. “Just a little bit. But it’s nothing. I’m sure it’ll go away when it warms up outside.”

You doubt that is remotely true, but you let her hold the comforting lie. She doesn’t seem like the type to swallow pity with ease, and neither was Anna. You put on that detached but focused "nurse's" mask, your lips a straight line and brow furrowed, your voice slipping on something more commanding too.

“Let me see.”

Sarah blinks at you briefly, evidently surprised by your shift in demeanor but eventually, she obeys. She drops her fork and slides the chair back, the chair legs squeaking against the rough wooden floor.

You crouch in front of her, gathering up her ankle first and testing its mobility.

“When were you diagnosed?” you ask, as soft as you are firm.

“Never, technically.” She watches you and occasionally winces. You wonder how long she’s grown stiff like this. “The doc had left over braces that Dad bought before the guy skipped town.”

“So then how did you know it was polio?”

By her sudden stillness, you know this is the first time that word has been uttered under this roof in a long time. You lower her ankle, rising gaze meeting hers. Her mouth is pulled tight. You can practically read the familiar headlines as they scroll across her mind.

New Polio Cases by the Thousands

Polio Claims Life of Infant

Polio Outbreak: Thirteen Dead

“Not every case is serious,” you say, gently, using the word serious in place of fatal. You don’t want to scare her unnecessarily. But by her wide eyes, you know the word sits in her chest all the same.

“I know. And I know it can be made worse by moving too much. That’s why Dad’s always on me about resting and going slow.”

You return to your examination. Her skin is rubbed raw in some places by the braces. You remind yourself to ask Joel for some old sheets to make better padding.

“That’s not always true,” you say, shifting to her other leg. “Even though she was sore after, Anna often said she felt the stiffness go away after walking around the neighborhood block.”

Curious, Sarah tilts her head, those lovely curls swaying like leaves in a breeze. “Who’s Anna?”

Your skin around your eyes tightens – how could you be so careless with such a secret – when you hear feet thundering down the stairs and a second later, Ellie swings around the lip of the doorway.

“Is that toast?” She asks, eyes wide and hopeful. “If you got bacon, I’m gonna start kissing faces.”

You and Sarah exchange a small grin before you stand up right and Sarah returns to her own meal.

“No bacon today, but who knows what else is stored in the pantry?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Ellie exclaims as she slides into a chair, her own plate pilled far too for a girl her size. “Treasure hunt.”

You see the tips of Sarah’s ears go briefly pink at Ellie’s language but the muffled smile on her face hints at awe, impressed – so you let that one slide. A stream of light through the half-shut curtain tugs your thoughts outside, to the man literally toiling in the fields.

“Does your dad want me to bring him some food?” You ask, standing from the chair and glancing out the window. You can’t see him any more and for some reason that makes your chest go tight.

Sarah shook her bouncy curls. “No. He’ll come in and get it when he’s hungry.”

You didn’t like the idea that you weren’t going to be directly feeding the man who employed you literally to cook for him and his daughter.

“Does he like coffee?”

Sarah arches an eyebrow at you. “Yeah, he loves it. But I’ve tried for years to make it the way he likes and he always drinks it, but I think a little piece of him dies inside every time he does.”

“Then you must be a great cook too,” Ellie smirks up at her. In response, Sarah smiles impishly around a mouthful of eggs.

You hold that little bit of information about Joel - something you knew that he didn’t know you knew - close, like a dollar bill in your pocket. You drum your fingers, searching for memories of how Anna used to shoe-string coffee when you couldn’t afford a maker in Boston.

“Did you eat?”

Ellie’s voice tears your gaze from the window. Her plate is only halfway empty. Her fingers uneasily move the fork around.

“Yeah,” you answer truthfully. In fact, you are rather ashamed by how much you took, sitting at the table in the purple dark, before you remembered that you had to feed three other people. “I’m good, Ellie. Thanks.”

She nods, returning to her plate and shoveling two bites into her mouth without slowing down.

“What’s first today?” Sarah asks, her eyes bright. “I can show you my sums. We have a chalkboard in the barn.”

You smile at her eagerness to show off while Ellie dejectedly pokes at her remaining floppy eggs. She had never been one for school, another thing you found hard to relate to about her. Fortunately for her, Anna nor you ever had the time to be as diligent about her education as Joel had been for Sarah. And unfortunately for her, you intend to fix that as quickly as possible.

“I’d love to see them, Sarah, but would you mind showing me around the cellar first? Maybe there is bacon hiding down there somewhere.”

You don’t miss the small smile that creeps across Ellie’s face.

“Junk or keep?”

Sarah looks up from the tip of her stick dragging nonsense through the barn’s dirt floor, her chin flat in her palm, elbow on her knee. She frowns at Ellie holding up . . . something that might have been a tractor part at one time.

“I don’t even know what that is, so – junk?”

Ellie shrugs, tosses the piece back and forth in her hands, and then chucks it like a ball to the opposite end of the barn. It collides loudly with the wall and Flora, the white and black cow, lifts her head at the noise from her stable and lets out a low groan.

The entire barn smells of hay and animal but in a way that is warm, almost comforting. The two cows lazily munch from their troughs in their stalls, occasionally eyeing you as you carry items back and forth. It’s fortifying in a way only working outside and with your hands can offer.

You turn to her disapprovingly but she’s already back, elbow-deep, in the pile you had designated hers to sort. Sarah, to whom you suggested rest this morning, goes back to boredly drawing circles in the dirt. Even though she clearly hates the idea of being idle, you are surprised she takes your medical advice without any fight.

If you had successfully completed your duties as cook, now it was time to take on your other task as teacher. Sarah had a few textbooks, but mostly outdated and only one copy. You know trying to find a full library in times like these is laughably impossible, but there is nothing wrong with hoping for a blackboard. You’d made one before when the school district you tempted at didn’t approve new funding, and you feel confident you could do it again. Trouble is, you have nowhere to put it, much less set up a laughably impossible classroom for two students.

Until Sarah casually mentioned the unfortunate pile of junk in the back of her father’s barn, “taking up at least half the space in there.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“Yuck – is your dad a hoarder?” Ellie asks with slight disgust as she pulls up a stack of newspapers held together by twine. “Why does he even have this stuff?”

Sarah grins, delighted by Ellie’s prickly teasing. “This place actually used to be pretty organized. This was his space for a long time – where he went to think, or figured out what crops we needed for the next year.”

Her smile crumbles. “But, uh, then I got sick and now he doesn’t come out here unless it's for work.”

Ellie pinches the soft of her cheek with her teeth, nodding, her eyes downcast.

“So . . . junk?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The stack of newspapers comes up to her knees and Ellie struggles, off-balanced, to carry it across the hay-covered floor.

You reach for it and she gives it to you gratefully. You take it with a smile; you never know what she’s going to appreciate or just see it regretfully as charity or pity.

“I think your dad is losing it,” Ellie says as she wipes sweat from her brow, shaking her head far too seriously. “Losin’ it, big time.”

Sarah giggles.

You drop the stack of papers in the corner, but when you let go, the string snaps and the papers spill everywhere. With a sigh, you kneel down and gather them back together, but not before a few headlines catch your eye.

Your heart twists.

Paralysis Takes Three Children

Join the Mothers’ March on Polio

QUARANTINE: POLIOMYELITIS

Why would Joel keep these? Everyone knew how devastating polio could be to children, even infants. Why would he –

Roughly dispersed throughout the article, sentences and phrases were underlined in blue pen. Sentences containing, “iron lung”, “bedrest”, “antibiotic” –

No cure.

Warmth spread out across your chest. Joel was looking for a way to treat his daughter, the only way he could in a town without a doctor: outside information. Something about this makes the space beneath your chest bone hurt so badly, you get a little nauseous.

Now you consider conserving these papers as if they are important historical documents. Behind you, where Ellie and Sarah are lobbying jokes back and forth, you see more stacks of neatly contained newspapers. He looked everywhere and found nothing.

You reshuffle the stack that fell, when you spot something else that hardens the warm feeling in your chest and makes it brittle.

Mob Over Breadline Kills FIVE

Experts Say There is No Way Out of This Depression

Mother of Drowned Children Claims She Did “What Was Best”

The rough floor hurts your knees. Eyes closed, you try to ignore the flood of images of what you witnessed in Boston, how desperate and cruel people became in Oklahoma. With each memory, your heartbeat pounds harder.

Red. Blood. Pink. Skin. White. Bone.

The riots got to be so terrible, but people were just hungry.

Ellie calling your name jerks you out of the sinking muck of memories.

“What? What is it?”

She eyes you with distant concern then glances at Sarah. “She wanted to know where you learned all this stuff.”

“About cooking, and teaching, and nursing,” Sarah clarifies. “I think I’ve read every book in our house probably four times and I still feel like I don’t know anything.”

“You probably know more than you think,” you offer as you scoop up the uncomfortable newspapers, easily switching tracks of thought to mute the swell of horrors from the rotting box in your mind. You leave them in the corner for Joel to do what he wishes with them and stand, dusting your dress off. “What do you call the process by which plants get energy from the sun?”

Sarah’s eyes brighten immediately. Where her body fails her, her mind is as sharp as a tack.

“Photosynthesis!”

“Good,” you nod, smiling. “And what’s the primary source of energy in animal cells?”

“The mitochondria!”

“Very good.”

Ellie sighs angrily from her pile and puts her hands on her hips. “I think I’m gonna make like mitosis and split, if we keep talking about all this boring stuff.”

Scorned for her love of learning a second time and already in a bad mood from the pain this morning, Sarah frowns.

“What’s your problem? Why do you act like school sucks? You had your mom teaching you –,”

“She’s not my mom!” Ellie snaps back, her knuckles white around a rusted bucket. “She’s just my aunt!”

“Yeah, well, I have an uncle I never even get to see!” Sarah stands up as smoothly as she can, but her knees and ankles are pink again. Her calves shake. “You’re lucky!”

Ellie’s teeth clench in the back of her jaw, lip curling.

You remember distinctly more than once having to pick Ellie up from school early because she’d been caught fighting and you take a step in her direction, even if Sarah could no doubt land a few solid ones in.

“And you’re–,”

“Ellie.” You know how rough Ellie can be. You remember the tone to take with unruly students, even if you don’t mean an ounce of it. “Don’t. Just let it g–,”

“Why do you always take her side?” That ire whips around to you. Loyalty, that was another trait her mother favored. Ellie’s shoulders roll forward, her fists clenched. “Why do you let her talk like she knows anything about us? About Mom?”

“I’m not taking a side, Ellie,” you say firmly, your chin tilted down to her. One day she’s going to be taller than you, you know it. “Both of you, this is enough.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Ellie tosses the broken bucket in her hand to the ground and storms towards the barn doors.

“You just like her because she’s a fucking dork like you,” she growls under her breath before shoving open the large square door.

It swings shut, the metal clattering against the wood. The brief stream of light filtering in is shortly swallowed up into the shadows again.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah says almost immediately, her brown eyes swiveling on you. Her skin is tinged a little lighter and there’s sweat along her hairline. With a fleeting flash of worry, you wonder if she’s in more pain than she lets on. “I didn’t mean it . . . I mean, I think she is lucky to have – but . . . I shouldn’t have said that.”

She drops your gaze and you think those dark eyes might be softer, wetter than usual. She plucks at the hem of her dress, her mouth twisted to the side.

Where Ellie explodes outwards, Sarah implodes inwards. You never could understand Ellie’s inclination to destroy everything around her.

You hand her a broom, with a smile on your face.

“Do you want to tell me about your uncle?”

She takes it slowly from you, eyebrows furrowed down. This is a look you are familiar with, even when it comes to Ellie. She is stuck between answering like a kid, getting it all off her chest to be free of the emotional burden, and swallowing it all to please the adults in her life.

You’ve also found Ellie tends to open up when she doesn’t have to look you in the eye. Sarah’s own gaze is stuck to the floor as she vaguely sweeps at the hay.

“We don’t talk about Uncle Tommy a lot,” she mumbles.

You focus on untangling an old bridle. “Oh? Why?”

“Dad’s still pissed at him for moving out to California. Said he left what’s really important for a bullshit dream.” Her eyes pop up, wide and shocked. “Sorry, that’s what he said.”

Despite your limited time with him, you can easily see how Joel Miller might take something like that personally, but you just store that away too, another breadcrumb leading the way.

“Why California?”

“It’s–,”

The barn door opens again and Joel’s shadow breaks through the almost painful white light. Behind him, Everett (the horse) snorts and huffs, pulling along the giant creaking plow, the air suddenly pungent with the smell of warm dirt, leather, and animal sweat. Joel murmurs something to the frothing snout and wipes his own forehead with the back of his arm, smearing sweat and dirt across his browline. He stops when he sees you two staring.

By Sarah’s wide eyes, it’s clear Uncle Tommy is a subject that is not often brought up in this house either. Joel frowns, but just as he opens his mouth, you interject – you know how to deflate a potentially angry man.

“We were just cleaning up the back of the barn,” you say, careful not to use words like junk or scrap heap. “I’m hoping to use the space as a school, for Sarah and Ellie.”

His gaze settles on you, like the dust at his feet.

“Mhmm.” His tone scrapes something low in your stomach.

“I’m sorry – I should have asked – I didn’t think –,”

“No, it’s –,” he shakes his head. His eyes catch Everett’s foamy nose and he pats it, noting the long sweaty forelock. “Smart. Next spring, we’ll come up with something better, but there’s no time now, with the harvest comin’.”

You nod, peeling off what you were going to say from the back of your teeth with your tongue. Joel casually drags his fingers through Everett’s forelock before stepping back to unhook the plow’s leather buckles. It’s when he shifts towards Sarah, looking to her, that he grimaces.

He put his weight on his right knee and it immediately caused him pain.

“We could help,” you offer, eyes on his knee, his thick fingers rubbing into the muscle just above his knee cap. "Ellie loves being out in the sun and I can teach her how to plant–,”

“‘M fine,” he mutters gruffly, straightening up and wiping his hands on the cloth around his neck. “Sarah, go inside for a bit. There’s something she n’ I gotta discuss.”

His tone indicates this is not the time for eye rolling but she does it anyway.

“I’ve said for years that you need help, Dad. She’s just offering to–,”

“Sarah, inside. Please.”

Sarah scowls and drops the broom against one of the stalls. She hobbles out of the barn, first scrunching her nose up at Joel’s obvious smell, then muttering something about having to go look for the hell spawn. You finger the scrap metal in your hands, a fluttery nervousness growing in your stomach the closer Sarah gets to the door. With one more disapproving shake of her thick curls, she shuts the door behind her.

Everett nickers and paws the ground, eager to be returned to bed after a long morning of work. Light streams in gold from the slanted windows above the loft, separating the front stalls from the back of the barn where you stand, fidgeting. There’s no escaping the hot animal smell now, and it’s your turn to be intercepted by Joel.

Another apology is nearly out of your mouth when he speaks first.

“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” He asks, his mouth set into a firm line. In the half-darkness of the barn, you can’t quite make out his eyes.

You swallow against the encroaching dryness in your throat. “I-I have a gun. Keep it in my purse, o-only for emergencies and I–,”

“That’s not what I asked.” He shakes his head, tone soft, almost gentle. He glances past you to the stacks of newspapers you had moved into the corner, the ones about violence and pestilence. He rubs his fingers between the bridle and Everett’s thick hair. “Found a hole in the barbed wire fence today.”

You frown, the tension of his voice indicating a severity you are utterly unprepared for. “What does that mean?”

“Someone tried to cut through.”

A white hot panic lurches up your spine out of nowhere. Fueled by fear, you see the outline of your husband shambling across the propertyline and you go cold.

“W-why would someone do that? What are they after?”

His hand stills as every muscle in his body briefly tenses. Eyes dark beneath a tight brow, the tightness in his jaw is an answer and a threat all at once. He looks almost offended by your question.

You know exactly what they would take.

All you can do is nod.

Everett nudges Joel’s shoulder, impatient to get out of the harness, for that bath he so very much deserves. As though you had disappeared, Joel unbuckles the restraints, taking a brush to the gray coat as he goes. Maybe you’d misread that last signal and he thought he told you to fuck off.

You move towards the back door when his voice, timbre deep and low, stops you again.

“I’m gonna to teach you to shoot.” He announces to the lathered withers of the horse. “But you keep that gun on you, at all times, especially when you’re out with the girls. You got that?”

He pauses just as he slides the hitch off the horse's back, his arms covered in dirt as dark as the leather. It’s minute, the shift in his weight, but you suddenly realize he wants verbal confirmation.

“Y-yes. Yes. I’ll take it with me.”

The minutia shifts again, a lessening of tension across his broad shoulder, his thick back. He nods.

“Good.”

The aching need for him to say more, for that good to turn into you did good or good job – or good girl – it sparks so fast and hot inside of you, you think you’ll choke. Instead, you leave through the door on unsteady legs, jaw locked tightly shut.

You find comfort in the monotony of sewing.

Anna always scolded you for it, that you were “giving into women’s work.”

How are they ever going to take us seriously when you actually like doing this dainty shit?

But where Anna seemingly delighted in her mile-a-minute thoughts, you need an outlet – some way to settle, to ground yourself in the here and now. Furthermore, you could sew anywhere – on the train, on the bus, in a foreign house in the middle of nowhere where you were, again, dependent on the kindness of a complete stranger –

It isn’t sewing specifically that you enjoy. If there was another activity where your mind could detach itself from your body, you would have liked it too. Here, in this space of blank concentration, you separate further from yourself with every stitch you pull together. Here, you are not a sister, a housewife, or an aunt. Not a nurse or a teacher or a failed fieldhand.

Not scared of living or scared of your husband or scared that you’ll fail your sister over and over and over again –

For a handful of minutes, you are not scared and you are the closest thing to yourself you can possibly be. You think, as a child that might have been the closest you’d actually been to understanding your own wants and dreams and desires, but now it is through this act of repetition, of delicate guiding, do you find yourself remembering what it was like to exist unafraid, as thoughtless as a child.

You sit on the edge of Joel’s bed, eased into something vaguely like relaxation by the needle and thread in your hand. You’d found some old pillows in the barn earlier today and surprisingly the stuffing was still intact. After watching Sarah struggle today, you knew you couldn’t spend another second watching the poor girl hobble around on painful braces.

It’s twilight, the sun gone beneath a blanket of scarlet and indigo, everyone fed and full – the girls almost instantly forgetting their first fight in favor of a discussion about their most effective marble-flicking techniques – and you already have at least one leather-bound pad that is twice as thick as her old one. You grin, excited to share your creation to her. You wonder what Joel will say.

Through the wall over your shoulder, in Sarah’s room, you can hear the low murmur of their voices, as quick and fast as two co-conspirators. You can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but the words don’t matter. It is the high joy in Sarah’s voice, or the creaky laughter from Joel. They could be speaking in a completely incomprehensible language but the sentiment is unmistakable: you make me happy and I love you.

I love you.

The needle and thread stills in your lap.

You glance out the window, to a much smaller shadow in front of the barn as it cuts and darts in the blurry half-light. The silver tip of Anna’s knife winks in the glint of the light from the windows as Ellie slashes and digs in the open air. Alone.

In the late hours, in the hours when the veil between life and death felt so especially fragile, Anna made you promise that you'd look out for Ellie, to raise her as your own. To finally give her a childhood like the two of you never had.

You had done that. You raised her. She’s alive and healthy and fierce.

But would she find your sentiment about her unmistakable? Do you know hers as intimately as you knew your sister’s?

Do you make her happy when both of you are constantly reminded of the ghost between you?

Sarah’s chatter echoes throughout the dark house, disembodied and entirely untethered.

It’s one week into this new, adjusted life in a house you haven’t yet found a home in when the unthinkable happens.

A loud, wet cry startles you awake and immediately your hand flies towards Ellie, panic like ice in your jaw. Your palm touches her shoulder, but she’s already sitting up, eyes towards the door. She glances at you and from your stumble out of a dreamless sleep, you realize it wasn’t Ellie who made that noise.

It comes again, as sharp as a bone crack, and you both scramble out of bed.

Sarah.

Up against the far wall, in the corner where her bed tucks up into the corner, Joel holds her like a lion clutches to prey.

Giant, fat teardrops pour down the sides of her ashen cheeks, those bright eyes clamped shut, her mouth twisted in agony and she claws at her father’s forearm across her shoulders. His other hand is going white from her fingers crushing his in a bone-cracking grip. His voice is soft, firm, and fast in her ear, comforting and scared as hell, as she whimpers.

Every muscle from her thighs down is stretched taut. Every muscle unwillingly tightened, flexed, the chemicals in her brain battling the commands of the bacteria. The pain, as described in medical journals, is crippling.

Ellie glances at you out of the corner of your eye. Muscle spasms.

“Sarah, darling, how long has this been going on?” She’s trembling from the pain and exhaustion. You wrap your robe around you before kneeling down to inspect her — and you feel Joel’s glare nearly singe the skin from your face.

“Don’t touch her,” he snarls and pulls her closer. Sarah whines and buries her face in his shoulder, trying to stifle her sobbing to keep from shaking and causing more spasms. “She’s–,”

“I can help her, Joel.” Your training became a bulwark – strong, immobile – in moments like these. Maybe it was all an act but that first rush of hope that you could ease pain, soothe what hurts, made you feel like you were made of gold. You let that unbreakable shine pierce Joel’s gaze. “But you need to listen to me.”

Sarah squeaks and you watch his resolve instantly break. Shakely, he nods.

“Ellie,” you instruct over your shoulder. “Go start boiling water. There’s a pail out on the porch.”

She is out the door before you finish your sentence. She knows exactly what you need.

Help on the way, you turn back to Sarah, her feet twisted in grotesque contortions.

“How long has this been going on?”

“About ten minutes,” Joel grumbles. She squeezes his hand so hard you hear his knuckle pop. She sobs, open mouth, and he presses his cheek to her. He murmurs softly, “I’m sorry, I know, I’m sorry.”

“Is this the longest fit she’s had?”

Joel reluctantly nods.

“Sarah,” you say and gently touch her knee. She peels her eyes open, cheeks stained with tears, eyes wet with fear. “We need to loosen your muscles, okay? That’s what’s causing you pain right now. So, we’re going to use heat and pressure to do that.”

She nods, gaze solidifying with your every word, every word a new step out of the path of pain. Joel smooths her curls off her sweaty forehead, his own wide-eyed stare never leaving your face. You roll up your sleeves and curl up your hair off the back of your neck just as Ellie stumbles back into the room. She’s got at least five towels around her neck, and she’s red-faced and straining from keeping the pail of boiling water from spilling or burning her. She eases it down next to you and hands you a towel. Both of you each take a side and immediately tear the one in half.

Before you wore gloves, some sort of protection, but now there is no time. You hear Ellie inhale sharply, recognizing what you’re about to do a second before you do it.

You dip the towel into the steaming water, let it soak, and pull it out. You grit your teeth against the immediate burn on your palms, the trail of fire over your knuckles and wrists, as you squeeze out the dripping water, Sarah’s soft cries in your ears enough to push past your own pain.

Half-way between an inhale and an exhale, you think you hear your name.

Ellie already has another dry towel loose around one of Sarah’s legs. She glances at you, her brows knitted together.

Ready? She asks without words.

You drape the hot towel around her leg and Sarah yelps. She thrashes in her father’s arms as you wrap the towel tighter and tighter. Expecting Joel’s inevitable bark, a hard shove against your shoulder, get away from my daughter – but it never comes.

As soon as you tighten the towel as firmly as it can safely go, Ellie slides in next to you and begins to massage the muscles in her calves, her feet, her toes.

Sarah whimpers again, but the sound isn’t as sharp, pain-choked. Joel holds her tighter, as if her torso is also knotted and could be relieved with warmth.

On an inhale, you pick up the other half of the towel, drench it in boiling water, and wring it out with your bare hands. A silent prayer for lotion is fleeting as it drifts through the dense focus of your mind. You squeeze out the dripping water and wrap Sarah’s other leg, prepped again by Ellie. She watches you as you tug and tuck the steaming towel, her own focus as sharp as a tack, mirroring your motions as you knead and massage the muscles.

After a few minutes of faint whining, a couple of sobs, the room slips into an exhausted silence. Her breathing slow on his chest, Joel draws back her damp curls and finds her face relaxed, asleep. His mouth parts and the skin around his eyes goes slack.

Relief.

With a shudder, Joel knocks his forehead against hers, his thumb on her chin as if to feel her breathing. You look away, the moment so tender it shouldn’t be witnessed.

You realize then how badly your palms ache.

The towels have lost their immediate heat, so you unwind them. Ellie’s small hands overlap yours as she helps. For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to look her in the eyes. The both of you fall back into roles most comfortable to you.

The wet towels gone, you wrap her legs more tightly this time, slightly past the edge of comfort. You ease her back, flat into the bed, and some small part of you is aware Joel is letting you guide her. He slips out from behind her when you tuck her in, tight with another blanket around her legs. She could be exhausted for days after this.

“We’ll need to keep heat on her legs every thirty minutes, fifteen if we can manage,” you say as you fold up the damp towels. Joel hasn’t moved. Stares down at Sarah’s small body. “I’d like to keep a warming pan here, to have hot water on hand if she wakes up in pain again. When she comes out of it, she needs water and food. Have her eat it slowly, small bites at first.”

You remember a doctor at the hospital where you trained as a nurse give advice to a newer doctor: medical mysteries and illnesses are one thing. Nervous parents are something else.

You call his name and he doesn’t move.

You step forward, touch his forearm, and he blinks at you. He feels so remarkably solid.

“Joel. She’s safe.”

“Do you want me to go get more towels?” Ellie’s gathered the damp towels off the floor, her chest wet. She stares at Sarah’s bed frame.

“Get breakfast first. Then I might need your help later.” She nods, turns to go, but hesitates. Her mouth is pinched tight, eyes wide, looking for something to ground her, to calm the vortex that the adrenaline in her veins widens with each beat of her heart. She looks so . . . childlike.

She looks so much like Anna.

The momentary fortified strength shatters and you're afraid again. What do you say to comfort her? What would Anna say? Good job, I'm proud of you, thank you -

But then she turns away, carrying the dripping towels, and you lose your chance to parent.

Joel has curled himself into the rocking chair by her bed, so close his knee touches her mattress. He holds her thin hand in the cup of his two massive palms. His heel taps loosely, quietly against her rug, every possible outcome of this morning striking him in the chest with each drop of his foot. His face is a blurred, dark shadow, hanging between his shoulders.

To describe Joel in this moment, nervous seems quaint.

In silence, you gather up the tepid pale of water and exit the room, closing the door after you.

The rest of the day passes in haze, tendrils of sleep still between the cracks in your brain left there by the harsh break into consciousness.

You have Ellie feed the animals, and you start a load of laundry. The ratio of dry towels to wet is rapidly becoming unbalanced and you know after the initial attack is over, pressure is more important than heat. Sarah has barely moved all day but she is responsive and drinks water when she comes out of her deep sleep. You’ve made soup again – a heavy meal that doesn’t require much managing and can be easily re-served – and it gives you time to think. Sarah mentioned the doctor skipping town, that he had all but dropped everything and ran. You wondered what else might be in the doctor’s old shop. Morphine seemed too valuable to have been ignored in any ransacking, but often doctors kept a secret supply, unbeknownst to even most nurses for special cases or when supply was low. You think about that and stir the pot as the sun crawls across the sky.

With your head bent over the pot, something moves in the field outside and you watch with surprise as Ellie leads one of the cows, Fauna, out of the barn. Through the rippled glass, you watch her talking to the cow, her face scrunched up in concentration, and shockingly, Fauna appears interested, her big ears flicking back and forth. But Ellie leads her only a little bit from the barn, in the grass but visible from the house. She drops to her knees and takes out a wooden stake and a hammer — nevermind where she found those – and then ties Fauna’s lead rope to top of the stake sticking out of the ground.

Ellie wags her finger, her back to the window, her stance very serious. You smile to yourself and to Anna as she marches back inside and shortly returns with Flora, the other cow, to do the same. She gives them both a stern talking to, as evident by her hands on her hips, before turning back to the house. You glance down, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate it if you saw her babysitting the cows. It was what Joel did every morning – let the cows out to graze – but she did it in her own Ellie way: on a smaller scale and perhaps with a little more gentleness.

See, Anna, she’s all grown up.

By nightfall, both of you are exhausted. You don’t know how Joel manages to run this place by himself, especially with a sick child, but after one day, you’re ready to curl up into bed and never leave. Ellie looks like she’s about to face-plant into her soup, her eyes half-shut. You smile, stretching, before gently shaking her shoulder.

“Go to bed, Ellie. You’re exhausted.”

She blinks harshly, indignant and scowly, as you take both your bowls to the sink. “‘M fine. Just a lil’ –,” she yawns deeply, “sleepy.”

“You’re right. My mistake.”

“Besides, we got coffee coming, don’t we?”

On the counter, your make-shift coffee press gurgles, the cap steaming from the bubbling water over the grounds you found in the cellar. You eye her over your shoulder.

“You don’t even like coffee.”

“Yeah but you’re staying up, right? You and Joel?”

Neither of you had seen Joel leave Sarah’s room all day. Ellie eyes the ceiling as if she can see right through it.

“I’m taking him some food and a cup of coffee,” you say as you finish drying the plates. There’s a rigidness to your hands as you delicately lay the plates flat, unconsciously careful to keep them from making a sound as they touch. “But at St. Joseph’s, some of the nurses would offer to keep vigil, to give the parents a chance to rest.”

You know in your heart he won’t take it. You just hope he finds your coffee inoffensive.

But Ellie doesn’t respond. She sits still, staring at the ceiling.

“Ellie, she’s going to be okay.”

Those bright eyes fall on you. “You can’t know that.”

In your hands, you wind the damp towel between your fingers. They’re pink and still ache but the rough linen is a welcome distraction from the churning acid in your stomach.

“This isn’t going to be like last time,” you say, your hips against the counter. “Sarah’s infection is nowhere near her lungs. And she’s been responding to treatment.”

Ellie drops her gaze, her bottom lip curled between her teeth.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it. Unless you can swear to me.”

One of life’s simple truths: parents lie.

You recognize there is a part of her that wants you to look her in the eyes and lie. She’d be angry, eventually, if your lies were exposed, but in that moment, as she sits in an unfamiliar house, at an unfamiliar table, with you and this wretched ailment the only things she knows to be constant – she wants a comfort you can’t give her. You are not capable of parental truth.

“I can’t promise anything.”

She inhales, breathes shaky, and exhales, the spoon in her hand trembling. “I know.”

Hands full of a white, chipped food tray, you knock twice carefully with one hand like you had been trained to before opening the door. The lamplight has been turned on, but the room, blanketed in darkness and shadows, looks the same. Sarah sleeps deeply, if not well, her hand curled by her face against the pillow, her heavy storm of curls cradling her head gently. Joel watches her, as still and silent as the moon. His foot has settled, but now he breathes so slow he might not be breathing at all.

Of all the terrible things you had seen during your time as a nurse, witnessing someone like this is always the hardest. Feeling helpless is a sentiment you are all too familiar with and the thought of someone just sitting there and watching you with your grief makes your skin itch.

“Joel.” A formality, because those trapped in a cyclone of worry require a slow approach, easing a startled animal. “I brought you something to eat.”

Speaking, it lets him acclimate to your voice.

You set the white tray on Sarah’s dresser, a piece of furniture meticulously crafted. Like Joel’s room, there are books everywhere, but more animal drawings, some directly on the walls. Sarah’s brilliant personality expanded here, in the blues and pinks, not capable of being contained in a single body.

A body that seems so small and fragile in that little brass bed, while her father looms impossibly large.

“Joel.” Again, soft, but this time you put a hand on his bicep. Never near the neck, an older nurse warned you, that area is sensitive. His denim shirt is soft beneath your fingers, nearly bleached white from the sun and worn smooth from dust and dirt and wind. You think you smell churned earth and hot leather in the instant it takes you to kneel down beside him, your grip sliding from his shoulder to his forearm. With the other hand, you tip a steaming cup into his open palm.

“Sarah told me you liked coffee.”

Slowly, as though he had blinked and reality disintegrated and reformed around him, Joel’s gaze slides from Sarah’s waxy face, to yours, and then the hand on his forearm. The back of your scalp prickles, the bulwark of courtesy shaking, before you remember you’d done this hundreds of times, to people of all ages, men and women. He seems to understand this – a professional gesture – and he takes the mug from you. With an almost perplexed expression, he stares into the nearly black liquid, his jaw tight.

And then he drinks, without saying a word.

You think you might have heard a low rumble from him, a pleased groan as heavy as the plow in the barn outside, but the floorboards creak when you stand up, so you might have been imagining things.

“This tastes good,” he says bluntly, voice weather-beaten. You smile into the bowl of soup as you wave a hand over the steam to cool it down to something bearable. “How?”

Despite his monosyllabic responses, you take this as a good sign. Something tells you that you’ve made exceptional progress by getting him to talk at all.

“I got pretty good at making cowboy coffee, as my sister used to call it, before we moved to Oklahoma. You already had the beans in the cellar,” you say, shrugging as you bring the soup over to him. He eyes it warily, as if this is not the appropriate time to eat, as if his own suffering would make Sarah’s lessen.

You’d only ever seen that instinct in a handful of parents while in the hospital and it made something wide and warm press up against your chest bone.

So you don’t give him a choice. You push the soup into his hands with enough speed that he has to take the bowl or drop it entirely. He, like most people with common sense, takes the bowl. He has a second to frown at you before you turn away to Sarah.

“And I suspect they were hidden down there on purpose?” You ask as you take out another blanket from the basket beside her bed and flutter it over her legs. You remember stories about the women working with Elizabeth Kenny filling quilts with rocks or beans, anything with weight, and putting them over the affected limbs of polio patients. The compress soothed the ache.

Sarah snores gently in her sleep as her father behind you laughs, a soft rush of air from his nose, his mouth preoccupied with a half-grin.

“I try not to hurt her feelings,” he admits quietly. You hear the clatter of metal on porcelain as you fold and refold the blankets to carry more weight. “That girl is a lot of things, but good at making coffee isn’t one of ‘em.” He slurs around the soup in his mouth.

It’s hard to believe she’s only a year older than Ellie. They have both lost things, indescribable things at too-young an age. But where Ellie carries it in the grip of her hand around her knife, Sarah takes it on the chin.

Polio, a disease of freezing agony.

You wonder how much of Sarah’s inner world she keeps to herself.

Like with Ellie, you fight the urge to brush a lovely curl away from her cheek.

“You have a special girl here, Joel.”

You feel his gaze on the back of your neck and you drop your gaze from her pristine face, remembering it’s not your place to look at her like that. Not like how you want to look at her.

Not like how you might want to look at him.

Joel shifts on his feet, leaning forward to put the now empty bowl on the ground.

“I know.” By the strength of his tone, he admits to knowing that you see the bright light about Sarah like he does and so he lets you look. Your heart stutters at this silent transference and you grab blindly for that mask of noble duty.

“How has her breathing been?” You sit down next to her and pick up her wrist, feeling for that steady pulse. You relax slightly when it’s easy to find. The beat of it is a little faster than you would like, but it hasn’t woken her up.

“Good.” A disgruntled groan from the chair as he adjusts behind you. His voice is rich like molasses, dripping warmth down the knots in your spine. “Woke up here n’ there, like you said. Gave her food. Got her water. But she just went right back to sleep.”

“But she ate and drank?”

He nods out of the corner of your eye. You check the mobility of her joints and they seem to be back to their natural looseness. Whether she’ll feel strong enough to walk is another matter entirely, but it’s not good to worry him unnecessarily.

“That’s good, Joel. That’s really good.”

You smile at him and finally, finally, the corners of his eyes soften, his brows pluck up, and he breathes deep. The tension leaves his body the way steam leaves a lake in the hours before dawn, the cup of coffee resting on his thigh. His gaze falls from your face to hers, shrouded in shadow.

“She’s never slept this long after an attack,” he says quietly. “Always restless, pain flaring up. We once stayed up a whole day and night when it got bad.”

He shakes his head, clears his throat a bit as if the words in his mouth leave behind a mucky, sour taste.

“Thank you. For treating her properly.”

For doing what I couldn’t.

It’s true. But no amount of reassuring – I’ve just had training, you did the best you could – would dissipate that repugnant scent of guilt lingering in the air. You are forced to let it linger, unable to say a single damn thing that would mean anything to him.

As he finishes the last dregs of coffee, Joel unwinds his long legs from beneath the seat and his knees crack. Stiff joints after a long day of stillness, but immediately his fingers fly to that same spot he touched in the barn in that afternoon, his mouth tight from the unexpected flash of pain.

Immediately you kneel down, worried at the slight hiss he made, fingers inches from his thigh when he straightens.

“You don’t have to–,” he shifts as if he can pull away from your touch and stay seated. “It’s not that bad –,”

You frown at him. “Can the person here who has had actual medical training determine that?”

Something light flickers over his eyes, so fast it might not have been real, smoothing the lines around his mouth. Joel nods, glancing to the floor.

“Yes, ma’am.”

That single word almost splits your skull in half like lightning.

You are immediately grateful for the heavy shadows in the room. Your palms, smarting all day, are now blistering with heat. Mouth shut tight, you don’t trust whatever sits behind your lips, so you begin your inspection of his muscles. Thumbs down, you feel along the lines that lead down to his knee.

Hard, firm, you notice. Made solid by work and toil. A few of the bricklayers and farmers you’d attended to had muscles like these. Despite the rough denim and how unsettling it is to be this close to him, it’s easy to lose yourself in the methodology of the human body. You’ve learned to read sinew and bone and scar tissue like a map and you come to find that the topography of Joel Miller is mountainous.

“So, mhm, where’d you learn to make coffee?”

You thought the stiffness in his thigh was due to lingering pain, but when you look at him and his guarded expression, chin tilted into his chest, fingers tight around the bottom of the seat, you realize he is uncomfortable. He is made uncomfortable . . . by you. Something sharp pokes through a slot between your ribs and you sit up straighter, trying to make your touch even more clinical if possible. But what he says next, you aren’t sure if it’s genuine or genuinely meant to hurt.

“Your husband?”

You shake your head. “My sister, actually. Ellie’s mom. We’d trade night shifts when she was a baby. One of us would come home from our second job, and the other would leave for their first. Anna said she’d never have survived those first years without coffee.”

You can hear the question he wants to ask buzzing in his head, your thumb rubbing therapeutic circles around the inflamed area. But instead he asks:

“And you . . . you like coffee?”

You shrug. “I don’t think I ever slowed down enough to ever taste it in the first place.”

With Joel Miller, silence means a thousand things. It’s not the way he looks at you, but the way he looks into you.

“Anna always said we’d be fine, that two unmarried women with a baby could make it in the city. But I wasn’t so convinced. There wasn’t much time for something like enjoying the taste of coffee because I was always busy taking every job I could get.”

“Like treating sick kids.” He says it like he just found a piece of you off the ground and added it to a sprawling puzzle. He politely stares over your shoulder.

You swallow, throat tight. “Actually, um, Anna had it - polio - too. I took the job as a nurse to learn how to treat her from home.”

Those heavy eyes swing into you full force and you can feel your stomach roll and collapse against your spine.

“Every case is different, Joel. What I did for Sarah, it wouldn’t have helped someone like Anna.”

“But she died?” A third unwelcome presence.

“Yes. She went fast. There was nothing anyone could do to save her.”

There was nothing you could do to save her.

Your thumbs are starting to ache, but you don’t want to leave just yet. You want to sit and listen to his voice, even if it’s pitched in anger towards you.

But it’s not. His next words come out soft, if not a little bit disbelieving.

“Where did you come from?” Joel asks. “You said the city, Oklahoma. How’d you end up in fuckin’ Dalhart, Texas?”

You use your elbow on the thicker muscle up his thigh and he tries very hard not to wince.

“We grew up in Boston. City girls all our lives. We had big plans of catching the bus line and going all over the country, just the two of us, but then Anna got pregnant and overnight, everything changed.”

He nods, knowingly. You add that to your own Joel Miller mosaic.

“I met the man I’d marry while I worked as a maid in a motel. He was a banker, or so he told me, and he wanted to whisk me away. We were three months behind on our rent, so I told him yes, I'd marry him after knowing him for a week — as long as I got to bring Anna and Ellie with me. All he talked about was money, so I thought he had it. What he did have was enough to get us to Oklahoma, buy some farm equipment for the wheat boom, and then lose it all in a handful of years.”

“And then we lost Anna. We lost my husband. I went back to trying to find a job in town with no jobs.” You pull your hands back, the deep tissue of his thigh flushed with blood from your therapy, and having nothing more to do, little more to say, you drop them into your lap. “Just after we missed the payment for the equipment for the second month, I got a letter from a man claiming to be my long lost Uncle Robert. I hadn’t eaten in three days and Ellie just got tagged by the police for shoplifting. I sent him a letter back and he said if I sent him our last twenty dollars he’d get us set up in Dalhart where he had a successful car dealership. I did and he didn’t and if you hadn’t picked us up, I don’t know what we would have done.”

You sit with the hot truth of it and he sits with the both of you. It’s silent in a way that only a house in the middle of nowhere can be. Sarah stirs in her sleep, her legs rustling the sheets, but doesn’t wake up.

“You don’t have to do that here, you know.” He straightens his legs, just as quietly as the rest of the house. He crosses his arms over his chest and you think about the muscle just under his forearm, thick and immobile as sea-drenched rope. “Not eat . . . for Ellie’s sake. There’s enough for you and her. Always.”

You think of the cellar with its soft dirt, cool air, the endless rows of stored fruits and vegetables and meat, buried like a still-beating heart beneath the dust-whipped house in a paradise on the prairie.

“But I understand the inclination.” With you on the ground before him and Joel leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his broad back arching under the stripe of white moonlight, he looks at you.

Really looks at you.

Like recognizing like.

A passing in a distorted mirror that might be me but it’s not but I think I know you all the same there is a thing just like me out in the world and it sees me.

Slowly, hesitantly, as if he’s afraid you’ll bite, he reaches forward and takes your wrist from your lap. The calluses on his thumb brush roughly against the knot of bone as he twists your palm upward. Pink, too pink, a stinging color, even in the low lamplight. Joel works his jaw back and forth, staring at your palm with weary concern, as if it told him things he didn’t want to know.

His gaze lifts and your fingers curl instinctively in. He’s trying to make you look and you don’t want to. He sees your sacrifice and you don’t want it called that, there’s certain nobility in sacrifice, in a sort of suffering for other people, but it’s not sacrifice if you go willingly and despite you not wanting to look, not wanting to put a name to it, not wanting to take up any space at all, he looks at you like he, a man as broad and wide and powerful as he, is grateful.

For you.

Every bulwark inside of you, every foundation that you had built yourself because you never had the chance to grow hearty roots somewhere permanent, rumbles. Shakes, beneath a single solitary, rolling earthquake. A landslide of earth behind the strength in his eyes.

“For her, for Sarah, I’d do the same,” he says.

For her. For the children in your lives.

Do you even like coffee? All you know is how to make it. What would you do with it if you did? If you liked coffee? If you loved it.

If there was someone outside yourself and Ellie to make you coffee simply because you wanted it. Because you were in a circle of people for whom people would do things for. For her. For you.

The heart of Joel is like coffee: dark but warm.

Your wrist slips between his fingers, finding refuge again in your lap.

“I know.”

You wonder what it would be like to be within Joel’s circle of people for whom he does things. To be given coffee, just because you want it.

You bet it’s warm.

You stand up, collect the empty, used things, and wish him a good night.

A noise and sunlight startles you awake. Your eyes tear open, hand flat on an open pool of sunlight in the center of the mattress, head twisted and knees bent up by your chest. In your sleep, your body twisted itself into a Gordian knot, unable to escape the dreams about the cellar ground turning into coffee beans, and the cramped bloodflow leaves you disoriented until you can roll onto your back and remember where you are. The smells that surround you.

You hear the noise again and you think of Ellie and in that instance where complete consciousness returns to you, the weight of her is gone. Literally.

Ellie is not in the bed beside you.

The room’s brightness is suddenly too bright, the clear, electric blue sky too blue – it’s too beautiful and it lulled you into a sense of comfort. Stupid, so stupid. You ignore the warm floorboards against your bare feet, the faint birdsong from outside, as you rush towards the source of the sound, towards Sarah’s bedroom – oh god, I was wrong it’s too late it took her in the night and I –

The sound you do not recognize, the sound you could not comprehend while buried in dreams and memories, is the sound of laughter. Loud, full laughter.

The brass bed creaks as Ellie uses the mattress to fling herself into the air. On the other end, just as determined to reach the ceiling, is Sarah. Hands outstretched and reaching, her legs bend and flex and propel her up and up. Every time she gets within a handful’s reach of the ceiling, Ellie’s laughing, cheering her on, and then it’s her turn, Sarah giggling as Ellie’s face scrunches up as she reaches out towards the blue sky on the other side of the roof.

“Oh, hey!” Ellie says, pink-faced and causal, half-way out of breath. Sarah spins, mid-way through a jump, her eyes bright, sweat peaking on her brow line. “Sarah bet – I couldn’t touch – the ceiling — so we’re taking turns – loser has to shovel – the barn!”

You watch, dumb-struck, as the bet continues, the girls laughing and criticizing each other and offering techniques as they work in tandem to fling the other one higher. Sarah is flush with vitality, with life, with a dewy glow reserved for spring mornings when the earth stretches awake after the death of winter.

And Ellie . . . she looks her age.

The earth has shifted beneath your feet, while you were sleeping, and a seedling has been planted, the dawn of something new, something fresh and utterly unexpected. You can feel it in your bones. Hear it in their laughter.

“Not a bad thing to wake up to.”

Joel, arms crossed, eyes soft, leans up against the door frame, blue striped pajamas low on his hips, a thread-bare white undershirt cupping his biceps. He eyes you from toe to head and stops when he meets your eyes. You wonder how long he’d been standing there – if he too woke to noises he couldn’t explain, rushed in here, and found something miraculous.

The smile crinkles his eyes as it unfurls across his face.

“I haven’t heard her laugh like that in a while,” he says quietly, head tilted towards the bed, as if there could be any other meaning. “I owe you one.”

You could say the same thing about Ellie.

There’s the line, the boundary of the circle to the place of being warm. He’s not cleared the way for you, not invited you across, but he’s shown it to you. You can see it, feel it, and know what it takes to get there.

Your smile blooms. The girls’ laughter rings throughout the house and into the sunlight.

But, outside of paradise, away from the river and the white a-frame house, from the horse and the cattle and the long strands of prairie grass, where there is not enough to eat and the earth is in its death rattle, the wind blows. It swallows up dust, and dirt, and fine sand, gluttonous. It swirls and pulses, agitated and restless and seeking violence. Spinning with the power to blind with a single whip of dust, it spins up over the earth in its death rattle, where there is not enough to eat, towards the prairie grass. Towards the horse and the cattle. Towards the river and the a-frame.

Towards paradise with the promise of total ruin.

END OF PART I

series masterlist | AO3 Link | prologue | part ii

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