#but despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary they don’t shoot you in the head if you try to log on to this website after the age of 23

[aliosne]

We all know this is the celibacy website but even amongst the tumblrites who HAVE fucked/dated, it boggles my mind how many assume you’ve only ever been with one person like my brother in christ I am almost 37

[sweetestlamb]

Leave the Door Open

Summary: He doesn’t hate having someone in his house. Having her in his house but he knows he should.

Author Notes: Vincenzo was a roller coaster this weekend and I LOVED it every adrenaline filled, angst inducing moment of it all. They are pining in 4K and I had to write this. I am salivating waiting for their first kiss. I hope it’s crazy and impulsive and filled with ineedyouithoughtilostyou energy, it might be cliché but I am a simple woman. Until then I present more domestic(sometimes horny) Chayenzo moments this was very freeform I went in with nothing and just let my brain go crazy. There’s some angst again LOL oops

It’s unnervingly easy to get used to, having another person in his space despite his years of solitude and purposely pushing others away. Women had tried to sleep over before, sweat clinging to their naked skin as they coyly brushed a finger under the sheet trying to entice him to let them stay. It never worked. Not once. Sex was one thing- he loved being in control and hearing his name breathless on their lips as they writhed and screamed on his silk sheets- but sleeping over was a completely different animal and he was never stupid enough to give them that much leeway. It was dangerous for them to think this was something more than it was, he had an itch and they could scratch it. There were no feelings involved, at least from his end. 

So when she showed up on his doorsteps and the urge to drag her into his arms overwhelmed him that should have been his first warning, danger danger do not proceed. 

But she pushed past him before he could close the door in her face and unfortunately at the same moment he had a spasm in his hand and hesitated for just one second allowing her enough time to bulldoze her way into his apartment. He had contemplated kicking her still out but the look on her face stopped him in his tracks, she looked scared- ridiculously so. Even as she stuttered out nonsense about the suspicious hoteliers who wanted to harm her and made a show of swinging her bag as she told the story of the man breaking the lock on her hotel room, he could see the slight tremble in her fingers. 

She was always a lightning rod of energy but that night it had been different. Her movements had been panicked and the urge to protect her overrode his self preservation. 

It was a clear erroneous mistake on his part. 

She’s comfortable around him, that much becomes clear all too fast when he wakes up to her swaying in the kitchen over a boiling pot on the stove- some kind of soup, he can smell the aroma of miso wafting across the room- but what catches his attention is her clothes, or lack of. 

There is miles and miles of bare skin from his angle on the ground, her loose sleep shorts barely covering her legs and he raises an eyebrow as he takes in the top half of her body. Her wet hair drips onto the flowing pristine white shirt that is peeking out from beneath a cardigan. She’s taken a shower. Just moments ago, she had been naked in his shower, water cascading down her slim body curving over her breasts and sliding down her flat stomach in long slow streams until it reached her wet....

“Oh you’re awake! I made soup, let’s eat before work.” She brightly calls out to him, using his ragged oven mittens to transfer the steaming pot over to the low rising table in the center of his tiny living room. 

His eyes savor her every move as she flounces over to him in that annoying way that he is starting to find cute. She carefully folds her legs beneath her bottom as she joins him on the ground, her smooth makeup free face coming into his line of vision. He’d always assumed that it was her lip tint making her mouth so red and plush and so goddamn alluring, but even bare the twin petals are too much for his sleep laden brain to handle. He sits up curling his blanket in his lap, balling up the material to better hide his little morning problem. He almost hopes this is a dream, it wouldn’t be the first time she visited him in one. They usually ended in sinuous screams and naked limbs twisting but sometimes they were like this, just simple moments that made him wake up with an ache in his chest. Those dreams terrified him the most. 

“Yah! Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Her voice cuts through the arousal thick fog in his brain, light pats on his cheek rousing him from his untoward thoughts. “What are you thinking about anyway? Why are you so distracted?” Her eyes narrow as she glances at him, slowly descending down his body almost reaching his groin and he flushes red coughing loudly before quickly moving closer to the table, hiding his lap entirely from her wandering eyes. 

Their eyes meet in a tense lock and she looks curious and something darker that he has been seeing in her eyes the more they work together. He watches swallowing a groan as she leisurely licks her lips chasing the drops of soup that have escaped. 

They don’t have time for this. There is so much to do and a part of him fears that she is using him as a distraction because she’s scared about her break-in, despite his constant warnings it had been her first real experience with how far Babel was willing to go to silence them, the first time she was in the line of fire. He had been her “hero” and that was evidently confusing her, making her think he was something better than he was. Contrary to the lie he had cowardly told her, he was nothing but a murderer. Once she saw him for what he truly was, she would want nothing to do with him- she was still a good person after all underneath her armor and brazen attitude. 

He wants her and that is exactly why he can’t have her. 

Those thoughts knock any desire promptly out of his body, he couldn’t forget that he wasn’t worthy of love. 

Problem finally resolved he stands up, “Sorry I’m not a morning person. I need to use the bathroom, thank you for the breakfast. I’ll be back.” He can feel her eyes on him the entire way to the bathroom, those huge doe-like eyes that make him want to be a better man, but surely it’s too late for someone like him. 

Right? 

They had separated after work, him meeting up with Mr. Cho secretly to discuss the fate of the gold, it was another long conversation that left them with more complications rather than solutions and he can see the frustration on the other man’s face. He will have to keep an eye on that in case it becomes something problematic. 

Something he has to handle, regrettably. 

He yanks at the stiff ball of his necktie loosening it as he pushes his key into the lock and presses the door open, he hears her laughter before he sees her almost tripping on her black high heels carelessly discarded at the door. He pauses with a rumble, “First she breaks into my house and now she almost kills me at my own front door,” with a sigh he straightens the shoes, slipping off his own and stepping into his house slippers. 

His heart lurches at the first sight of her, she’s wrapped up in the blanket he had placed around her quivering shoulders the night of the break in, only her head visible from the swaddle. She’s watching some variety show he has never watched but knows is popular here, a can of beer thankfully on a coaster on the table and too many empty bottles of soju. She turns to look at him when she senses his presence, that also disarms him because he is a man who can go undetected if he pleases and he had not made a sound upon his entry, yet she still knew he was here. 

Then she makes him weak in the knees when she shoots a soft smile his way, her rosy lips slightly upturned but its the glow in her eyes that captivates him, those dark orbs come to life when they land on him as if they were waiting for him to flush with life and vibrancy. 

“You’re home!” She calls out, still beaming at him and he stands frozen in the line of fire. She casually pats the cushion next to her, motioning him over as high pitched loud voices patter out from his TV. 

Home. He has hardly ever used that word himself, long given up on the idea of having a place to call home. But seeing her like this, a fire that had been snuffed out a long time ago starts to rekindle, a desire he had long suppressed starts to bubble back to the surface. 

I should leave. 

He thinks foolishly, but he finds himself walking over to her, skin pebbling when a warm small hand reaches out and drags him the rest of the way from his suspended form.  

“What took you so long? Why didn’t you answer my calls? I wanted you to get us some soju.” She snuggles into his arm as if this is normal for them, and with an urgent awakening he realizes that it is. Constant and casual touches flash in his memory, his hand on her shoulder as he escorts her way, her hands on his back as she carries his intoxicated body, arms wrapped around each other as they walk away from the scum that is Babel. His hands always find her body as if it’s a heat seeking missile and not once has she pushed him away, on contrary she moves into his touches and returns them just as frequently. As if they belong to each other, as if they are each other’s to touch. 

What game exactly are they playing? 

He has never lost before but suddenly it feels like his defeat is imminent. 

“You already drank all the soju in the fridge? Are you an alcoholic? Should I have you admitted?” He grumbles trying to diffuse the situation but she chuckles at his words, resting her head on his shoulder now as she peers up at him with glossy eyes. His control wavers, fluttering like a flag in the wind. 

“After everything I’ve done that’s the thing you want to get me admitted for?” She teases giggling into his collarbone and her breath ignites a flame on his skin that spreads like wildfire. “Oh. Why are you so red?” 

He jolts up, only feeling marginally guilty when she falls head first onto the couch with his sudden disappearance. When she glares up at him he has to smother a smile at the cute affronted look on her face, he is a mafia member he shouldn’t use words like “cute” but he’s constantly breaking his rules because of her. 

He escapes to his bedroom, surprisingly pigeon feather free the window securely closed for once and he looks back towards the living room with a smile, she was full of surprises. With a groan he pops his shoulder, letting the day’s tension melt away as he takes off his suit piece by piece, breathing easier when he unknots the tie and tosses it to his bed. When he is down to his boxers, he ambles over to his dresser taking out his silk pajamas- she loved to tease him about them but after running a sneaky hand over his arm, she has admitted that they felt nice on your skin- he had desperately wanted her to keep going. Dragging the bottoms on first he slides on the top, fingers on the top button when his bedroom door bursts open making him still his movement. 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that I ordered fried chicken that’s why I needed soj...nnngghh” her words trail off into nonsense as she sputters at him, eyes immediately locked on the lower half of his body and he almost laughs at her wide eyed stare before she walks closer, a hand outreached as she penetrates his skin with her unblinking stare. He can see the red blush spread across her bridge of her nose and he wonders if it’s from the alcohol she has consumed or if it’s something else? 

She answers his questions with another step toward him, unflinching beneath his hard stare and he instinctively recoils, stepping back out of her reach but she double steps until they are inches apart, her fingertips hovering above his abs and then she closes the distance, stroking the ridges on his stomach making him groan, unable to contain the deep sound and he grabs her hand. 

He can’t let his go any further. 

“What are you doing? Haven’t you heard of knocking? What if I was naked?” 

The blush covers her face completely at his words and he watches fascinated as her pupils dilate and a hungry look flashes across her pretty face. 

She doesn’t look scandalized at the idea. He has seen that look many times. From her, more times than he wants to confront. 

“Cha-young.” He states her name firmly, making her eyes snap away from his body at least this time she looks ashamed of herself for ogling him, but not tremendously so. It’s not lost on him that she hasn’t tried to leave the room once. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”  

It’s a warning. For both of them really. 

It can tell by the twitch in her eyebrow she sees it as a challenge, without a word she grabs him by his shoulder tugging him closer until they are flush, her soft breasts pressing into his firm stomach and he groans when he realizes he can feel the flesh too vividly, she’s not wearing bra. Fuck. 

“Who said I couldn’t finish it?” She retorts peering up at him with those gleaming eyes, too many emotions swirling around for him to pinpoint what is the driving force behind her actions.

His arms wrap around her waist, bringing her closer despite there being no room felt to do so. She moans prettily at his tight grip swaying unevenly into him. 

She’s drunk. 

He suddenly recalls all the empty bottles of soju on the table and he loosens his hold, he refuses to take advantage of her no matter how willing she seems right now, it’s the alcohol distorting her thoughts. He releases her waist and puts his hands between them. 

“You aren’t in your right mind right now, we should stop.” 

She shakes her head disagreeing, “I got drunk because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. The alcohol didn’t make me want you, it made me do something about it.” 

He blinks at the comment feeling like her words are intoxicating him. His thoughts are incoherent. 

“I know you want me too. Don’t push me away.” She pleads and he feels his resolve crumbling as he watches her bite at her lower lip, wringing her hands between them. She seems...nervous. Scared of his rejection. 

It’s not fitting on the Cha-young he has grown to know and l...like. 

With a sigh he steps forward much to her apparent shock, wrapping his arms around her in an awkward hug, complete with too rough pats on her back and he wonders if he did the right thing when she stands frozen in his arms but then she laughs brokenly before sniffling and burrowing her head into his chest. He can feel the wetness pooling on his skin, he hugs her tighter ignoring the voice in his head warning him that he’s letting her get too close.

it’s already much too late anyway. 

He lets her cry on him until he hears admittedly gross sniffles and he starts to fear for his skin, tears are one thing but mucus is another. He might like her but there is still a line, snot is his line. 

Thankfully, when he drags her away from him her nose isn’t running, just large tears streaming down her face. Looking at that face, he would probably allow her to drip snot on him; she looks so pitiful- it’s probably the first time she has allowed herself to feel her emotions and not put on a brave front for him. 

He longs to tell her that it isn’t necessary, ever. He doesn’t need her to put on a show, he will accept her no matter what there is no version of her that isn’t perfectly imperfect in his eyes. 

But he can never say those words to her. 

“Let me put my shirt on and I’ll meet you in the living room.” He pushes her lightly, playfully glaring and shooing her away when she doesn’t immediately leave taking one final moment to ogle his body. He tries not to preen and fails horribly, it’s hard not to when the woman he wants so badly clearly wants him too- at least physically. 

She whispers something that sounds like, “You don't have to,” and he raises an eyebrow watching her leave finally, with a long suffering sigh he stares down at his overly interested friend willing it away before dragging on his shirt. 

it’s going to be a long night. 

He can smell the delicious aroma of fried chicken when he finally exits the bedroom, she offers a leg to him as soon as he’s close enough and he easily accepts the food with a bite, letting her feed him until all that remains is the bone. 

“You eat so well.” She praises and he flushes in embarrassment at her words, or more accurately at the feeling that swells up in his stomach at her deceptively maternal words. Unaware of his thoughts she continues feeding him until the food is all gone and she is looking at him with a satisfied grin. 

He tries not to become too excited when she licks the grease from her fingers, before putting the bones on a plate. 

“Here, have some wine. The storekeeper said it was popular in Italy.” 

She places the rounded curve of the wine glass at his lip and he inhales the intoxicating scent, Barolo, he can already smell the sweetness of the Nebbiolo grapes that have been long fermenting, it’s not a cheap bottle of wine or easy to acquire, not even for him while living in their country of origin. She must have looked all over to find that particular brand here in Korea. 

He stares at her with a softness he has never felt for another, not even her late father. This is bigger and more consuming, the respect he felt for the man seems to pale in comparison to the bundle of emotions he feels for his daughter. 

“Thank you.” 

She simply stares, before returning his gaze and he accepts the wine glass by the stem tipping the deep colored liquid into his mouth, flavors dancing on his taste buds and he moans freely at the delicious taste. 

They are already sitting closely, too much so for just coworkers but she moves nearer at his subconscious response, their knees knock into each other. 

“Is it that good?” She whispers breathless, staring at his mouth. Again. 

He nods dumbly, freezing when he feels her hand on his thigh. 

“Let me see.” 

He watches in a daze as she leans closer to him, his eyes following her face as she draws nearer and then he closes his eyes, tired of fighting this magnetic connection between them, he’s only a man and a bad one at that, he’s not good enough to keep pushing her away. He waits impatiently to feel the swell of her lips on his and blinks his eyes open when he feels a sudden weight on the wine glass instead, her lips curl around the ridge where his lips had just been. Taking his hand in hers, she lifts the glass and tilts it back into her mouth swallowing the liquid in a deep gulp before she pushes it back towards him, with a loud smack of her lips before moving back to her spot on the cushion. 

“Mmmmm, you’re right that’s really good.” 

His tongue is heavy in his mouth and his brain isn’t functioning well enough to give a response beyond staring at her with his mouth gaped. 

“What’s wrong were you expecting something else? Did I get your hopes up? It’s not nice is it? ” She teases obnoxiously tsking at him body loose on the arm rest opposite of him and he knows exactly what she’s alluding to, recalls her face as he had leaned across the small space of the car. She hadn’t looked scandalized in that moment either. 

No, she looked ready to risk it all. He was the coward who couldn’t risk anything. 

He leans back with a huff, folding his arms. 

“I guess it’s true, revenge is a dish best served cold. Do you feel good about yourself?” He pushes his lips out, not pouting whatsoever. 

Mafia men don’t pout. 

She snickers from the left of him, poking at this cheek gleefully. 

“Oh my god, are you pouting? You big baby! You did it to me first!” 

He has no argument to that so he doesn’t refute the claim, he just silently glares at the tv not hearing anything despite the volume being quite loud. 

“Next time let’s both be brave enough to finish what we started.” 

He turns to look at her, blinded by the hopeful smile on her face. 

Maybe he’s wrong and it’s more than physical for her too. 

If that’s true, then he needs to sever this bond sooner rather than later. 

He doesn’t reply to her, drinking more wine to occupy his mouth and she doesn’t push him, humming before turning her attention back to the tv. 

He collects all her different laughs while they watch the mindless show, the soft giggles and the full body guffaws that make her slap his knee and spill over into his space, her long hair thrown across his lap. He gives up on stopping her and finds himself smiling at her joy, offering her water when she starts to choke from laughing too hard. He pats her back and rubs her until she can speak easily again, she’s seriously a hazard to herself and he tells her as much. 

She cheekily replies, “That’s why I need you then, you’re my Italian hero.” 

He refutes that claim but he knows that she’s right, he would destroy anyone who tried to harm one hair on her head. 

Moments later when he hears her light snores, he turns the tv off and makes to stand up and put some much needed distance between them but she halts him with a gentle plea, “Don’t leave me alone please.” 

He stills at her words, staring at her closed eyes praying that she’s dreaming about someone else. That those words aren’t for him, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to ignore her appeal. 

When her head falls heavily on his shoulder again, her body distractingly warm pressed against his own he knows he should push her away it’s the only way they can both get out of this unscathed. 

But his decision making is all but obliterated, so he stupidly leans his head onto hers, deeply inhaling the sweet vanilla of her shampoo instead, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer, dragging the blanket over both their bodies, silencing his heart when it jumps at her easily molding into him and softly murmuring his name from deep slumber, “Vincenzo.” 

Just for tonight, he will let himself have this. 

One night only. 

It’s all he can afford. 

[holy-hyuck]

Hocus Pocus, Please Focus!

Trying to make a sleeping potion for your parents so you and your best friend can sneak out to a senior party is only ever good in theory; especially since Lee Felix really sucks at being a wizard.

Pairing: Wizard!Lee Felix x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Genre: Comedy, Platonic relationship

Warnings: A dead rat?

happy halloween y’all!!!

“Is that a dead rat?” Felix questions just as you enter his parents’ office. He picks up the rodent by its tail, inspecting the bloody ball of fur, and you nearly gag as he dangles it in front of your face.

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s that bloody book of yours that called for it,” you tell him as he puts it back in the box you brought it to him in. “Why do we need it anyway?”

The freckled boy wipes his hands on a rag. “Because-” he picks up the small book, bound in scarlet-red leather, “-it’s in the recipe for a sleeping potion. For our parents. Well, more specifically mine, but you get the point.”

He drops the book back on the table and returns to mixing the liquid inside a small, store-bought cauldron. He said a pot would do but Felix’s just extra like that.

“Have you ever considered, I don’t know...asking them to let us go to this Halloween party?”

Felix shrieks in laughter as an answer, causing you to roll your eyes. “Yeah, and then I’ll ask them for a million dollars.”

“Don’t be silly.” You plop down on a chair. “They’re more likely to give you the money.”

Your eyes lock and you smile at each other. You roll on the office chair towards the table, grabbing the leather book and opening it. A faint smell of roses hits your nostrils, and you trace the pressed flowers with the pads of your fingers. They’re imprinted onto the pages and the covers, and you feel delighted every time Felix lets you even touch that book. He doesn’t trust you any more than he trusts himself, and he’s a shit wizard, so that’s saying enough.

Hearing a plop, you look up to the grimace on Felix’s face.

“The rat?”

“The rat indeed.” He takes the book out of your hands despite the frown it causes on your face. “Eighteen drops of coffee, locust twigs and weeping leaves, lemon juice, hydrochloric acid, and a dead rat.” He sighs. “Well, if they don’t fall asleep after this, they’ll probably drop dead.”

“And we’ll get to go to Brooke’s party! Yay!” you exclaim, urging your best friend to finish the sleeping potion. Only two more hours until the party starts, and you still needed to iron your outfit.

You watch Felix chant, eyes flicking back and forth between the bubbling liquid and the book in his trembling hand. A large bubble pops, creating a vile sound and smell, and despite Felix’s chanting, the bubbling stops.

“Great, it’ll fart them to death at this point.” You turn and grab a newspaper, sending it flying at your friend’s hand. You miss, and it falls into the cauldron.

“Look what you’ve done,” Felix cries and fishes it out but there’s only half of the paper there; the ridges are burnt off, black liquid dripping off of them. “On the contrary...”

“Hocus pocus, Felix, focus!”

Felix groans at your words as you shoot him a stupid grin, ushering him to continue. As much fun as you're having - and, let's be honest, it's not every day you get to witness Felix's failed attempts at magic - the clock is ticking, and the last time your friend's parents found him doing magic without supervision, his voice sounded like Mickey Mouse for a week straight. Yes, you do have evidence. And yes, you are planning on using it as blackmail.

"Okay, done," Felix alerts you after about five more minutes, closing the book and setting it down, then adding, "I think."

You sigh. "So much thinking from you today, Felix, I'm proud."

He smacks you on the head with the half-burnt newspaper as both of you gather around the table, inspecting the liquid swimming inside the cauldron. Felix takes a long wooden spoon - the one you used last night to stir mac and cheese - and moves the liquid around. It comes out thick in consistency, like syrup, except it's dark green and when you look at it in the artificial light, you see specks of glitter.

The boy brings it up to his lips and you look at him, incredulous.

"What if it works and you fall asleep?"

���What do you mean 'what if'? You really have that little faith in me?" The look you give Felix answers his question. "Besides, they need a bigger dose for it to work on them, don't worry."

He offers you some and you reluctantly lick some liquid off the spoon. It tastes tangy, like when you add too much salt to your tomato salad and the taste is so overwhelming it leaves you swimming and drowning in sodium. Well, at least it doesn't taste like a dead rat...not that you know what that tastes like.

"Okay, you get this ready and I will get myself ready. Expect me here in an hour. Don't screw things up." And with your words of encouragement, you leave Felix to do his thing.

The good thing about the large glass embedded into Felix’s front doors is that you can check yourself out whilst waiting for the boy to haul his ass downstairs, admiring the black-and-gold short robe reaching your mid-thighs, with a giant hood and some old, lace-up boots with the crispy remains of mud still atop.

The bad thing about the large glass embedded into Felix’s front doors is that when you lean forward to check you have nothing between your teeth and start using your fingers as a toothpick when you notice doughnut remains wedged between the two top incisors, is the exact time Felix decides to open the door to his house, leaving you looking like a freak of nature by choice.

“Gross,” he comments but locks the doors behind him promptly and changes the subject. “They’re out cold. These potions work for up to six hours but-”

“-with your magic?” you interrupt.

“-I wouldn’t count on it,” he finishes up, giving you a death glare.

Just before you enter your car, you clock the blue, black, and white tunic over the thinnest leggings you’ve ever seen draped over Felix’s body and you shiver at the thinness of the material. Isn’t he cold?

“Is that your actual hat?” you question after you start your car and make your way to Brooke’s summer house, and Felix adjusts the pointy hat on his head.

“Yep, and look at this-”

“I can’t look, I’m in a- Is that your ring? Your actual magic ring? Lix, your parents are gonna cut off your fingers and feed them to squirrels if they find out you’ve taken it outside without their supervision. I mean, you’ve already been doing magic without them knowing, and used a sleeping potion on them, and- and-”

You hear Felix snort.

“Relax. They’re sleeping, and we get to sneak out. That’s all that matters. Besides, I got you something too.”

Finally parking your car in front of a medium-sized house, you get out and rush to your friend’s side. “What’s that?”

“It’s a magic mirror. It’s connected to every mirror in my house, so we’ll see if my parents wake up, so then we can change our names and flee the country. I want you to keep hold of it.” He pushes the small mirror into your hand and you pocket it inside the rather humongous pockets of your robe.

You thought it’d be ironic if you dressed up as a witch because...well...you know. Felix is a wizard? No? But then Felix decided to do the same and you already know you’re never gonna hear the end of the comments from your classmates.

Well, here comes what you’ve been waiting for.

About an hour into the party you’re already tipsy but you expected nothing less going into this. Felix is nowhere to be found, although to be fair, it’s not like you bothered looking for him. He’s probably with Seungmin, Jisung and Hyunjin - his other friends from a book club he promises isn’t as nerdy as it sounds - and up to no good, as always. The last time you left them unsupervised because you couldn’t stand being around Jisung for any longer than necessary, Seungmin’s hair was neon green, and Hyunjin had a bald patch at the back of his head. It was fun being a witness of their stupidity instead of a victim for once.

You walk outside to enjoy the fresh air, into a grand garden decorated with white fairy lights. It’s so beautiful you actually let out a gasp as you admire the work put into it until the sight of the pool makes you sober up on the spot. The pool is small and at first, you think the water’s just unfiltered, giving it its green hue.

But then you feel it; the sticky substance beneath your feet as it makes the most obnoxious sound you’ve ever heard when you lift up your foot. The dark goo travels across the tiles and the grass only to end up in the pool, staining the water green.

It looks...stupidly like what you and your best friend have given your parents - and at that realisation, your eyes widen and you scurry back inside to find Felix.

“Lix, there you are,” you say after good ten minutes of searching, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

He turns to you with the smuggest grin plastered on his face as he hands you a drink.

“I’ve heard this new energy drink kicks ass. Try it.” He ushers you to take a sip and you do, alongside him. It does taste nice, almost like pink lemonade, and you find yourself drinking the whole cup before you know it.

“Where did you get it from?”

“Oh, someone gave it to me.” You slap his arms, causing him to yelp. “What on earth was that for?!”

“Felix! What idiot accepts drinks from a stranger?”

“The one that wants to have-” he stops himself, getting dangerously close to your face, so much you can clearly see his freckles, “-fun. Ever heard of that?”

You push him away with a shove to his stomach, eliciting a laugh. “Whenever you have fun, someone ends up paying the price, Felix.”

You look over to him and brush away some orange hairs from his cheek, only to find them stuck to his skin. You shrug it off.

“Oh, I remember now!”

Without another word, you drag him into the garden, and he spills a bit of his drink in the process.

“What am I looking at exactly?” he questions when you finally stop, motioning to the pool, which brandishes clear water much to your surprise.

"What the..."

You both jump up at the loud thud behind you and whip around to see a body dumped on the ground. You feel like throwing up, clutching Felix's hand, which is...hairy?

Looking down, you notice more of those ginger hairs growing on the back of his hand and you jerk your own hand away.

"How does that feel?"

You hear a female voice alongside a deep laugh and slow clapping. From the shadows of the trees surrounding the garden, Felix's parents emerge, and suddenly you feel yourself sinking into the ground, knowing it won't be long before you join your friend on the floor behind you.

"Mum!" Felix yelps. "Dad! What are you doing here?"

"Well you see, your dad and I were planning to have a movie night but it seems like we took a little nap. Must be something to do with that wretched slime you slipped in our drinks."

"There was a bit of a branch in there, have you noticed, love?" his father interjects, pulling out a familiar book from behind his back. "Eighteen drops of coffee, locust wings and weeping leaves, lemon juice, hydro-"

"W-wings?" Felix stutters out and you observe him for a second before the realisation seeps in.

"Fucking wings," you mutter under your breath so his parents don't hear.

"Yes, I do believe the spell calls for locust wings, but you always were bad at grammar son." His dad smiles. "So anyway, after we woke up, we saw the house number through that magic mirror I believe you gave your friend."

"Um, (y/n)." Felix traces his finger down your cheek with wide eyes, and you do the same, the feeling of roughness underneath your fingertips.

Taking out your phone, you look at the dark reflection on the screen and gasp in horror. The green and yellow scales reach all the way up to your eye, which begins turning a fiery orange colour. You blink your slit pupils and drop your phone in shock.

"I hope you enjoyed your drinks tonight, by the way. We added something special. You'll find out in the next hour anyway. Or, well, sort of."

The adults laugh, and you look to Felix's arm, now covered with thick orange fur.

"That should serve both of you a reminder not to perform magic unsupervised. Because you, Lee Felix, aren't very good at it." His mother comes up to him and pats his hairy cheek. "At least you'll make a cute weasel."

[ieattaperecorders]

Something's Different About You Lately - Chapter 13: A Source of Ignition

Irrevocable actions are taken. CWs this chapter for eye trauma and mild violence.

Read on Ao3

---

"How about now?" Sasha asked, from her seat by the computer. "I've deleted our files entirely, surely that's got to be worth something?"

"Still no," Tim said. "Can't write a damn word."

Jon pulled away from where he'd been standing by the wall, watching Tim's face grow more frustrated as he bent over Elias's desk, trying to put pen to paper.

"Told you it wouldn't work," he said, taking a deep breath. ". . . On to plan B, then."

"You sure about doing this?" Tim asked.

"I'm not sure about any of it. But this is the only other out I know of."

He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small folding knife, hoping it wasn't too obvious why he'd had it on him in the first place. It ought to serve the purpose he'd need it for now.

"If this doesn't work," he cautioned, "you're all going to have to do the same thing. And I doubt I'm going to be very much help after this, at the very least I'll need assistance getting out . . . ."

"So we'll help you," Martin said, coming up beside him. His voice was quiet, and despite his best efforts had a tremor of unease in it, but his gaze didn't falter. "We'll get you out, set things off, then get you to a hospital."

"Right . . ." Jon breathed. "All right"

"Do you want help?" Melanie's voice was careful, unusually soft, and Jon couldn't help thinking about asking her the same question. A lifetime ago.

"No. I suspect it's important that I do it myself . . . by my own hand. A-and at this point I'm really just stalling, s-so . . . ."

He pulled just a little bit away from Martin, bracing himself against the desk. Bent forward.

And then.

A quick movement, and pain bloomed through him. The second jab was harder, and his hand faltered twice before reaching its mark. Then, darkness, and the knife fell from his hand. He felt something falter in him – a light going out, a breath released, a tooth forcefully pulled. Then he was on the floor, and someone was whimpering, and he realized it was him. He covered his mouth.

"It's worked!" Tim's voice. "Go, everyone – let's get this done."

From his place on the floor he was only vaguely aware of the others moving around him. A hand came down on his arm, and Tim said something near his ear that sounded like a question. Before he could even process the words there were hands around his waist, and he was grabbed and hoisted over Tim's shoulder. He collected his senses just in time to grip back as they started moving, making for the exit.

"Did you – did you all –" Jon muttered.

"We all left the letters, yeah," Tim assured him. "Don't worry about it. Just hang in there."

Jon's focus slid in and out, trying to stabilize himself against the pain and lightheadedness. He remembered a different late night in this place when he'd sat outside the room that Melanie had shut herself in -- back against the door because she didn't want him to come in but he couldn't bring himself to leave, phone that he'd called the ambulance with still gripped in his hand. When they took her away, the Eye filled his mind with images of transorbital injuries, lacerations, horrible accidents. How easy it was to pierce the brain, the agonies of infection, all the vivid, gory realities.

Maybe it had been trying to scare him off following her, or maybe it was just more horror to feed through him. Still, it was strangely comforting to have that knowledge now - to have medical realities and upper limits he could place on something so overwhelming, and he found himself going over them mentally as the others ran.

He was still contemplating aqueous and vitreous humors when he heard somebody shout shit. Tim stopped, and then Jon was slipping, then he was on the ground. One of his hands was on the stiff, carpeted floor, the other landed in a puddle of fluid which clung to his hand and sleeve. The smell hit his nose a moment later and told him it was petrol. He coughed once, and caught his breath.

"Wh- what's going on?" he asked. "Is there . . . ?"

He heard a familiar voice, and his entire body went cold.

"You'll want to stay exactly where you are," Elias said. "Rest assured I can keep an eye on all of you. And Jon, since you can't see you ought to know that the gun I'm holding is pointed at Martin."

Jon's breath caught in him, and the silence that followed was encompassing enough to hear the quiet, amused hm that Elias made before continuing.

"Well. It seems you've all been busy," he said. "You especially, Jon . . . sending knowledge across time isn't honestly something I thought was possible. But then, I suppose when time doesn't exist properly it makes getting around little things like causality a great deal easier."

"You knew. All along, you knew, didn't you?" Jon said softly, defeated. They'd been so close, and still they hadn't been fast enough. "You were just playing dumb this whole time."

"I'm flattered you'd think so, but no. It seems that whatever force has been keeping your secrets from me, its protection ended with your, ah, resignation. Regardless, at this point you can assume I'm caught up."

Jon heard a click, and a sharp inhale of breath.

"I said, stay where you are," Elias said. "I'd rather not finish it all this way, but I'm quite prepared to do so if necessary."

"Can't shoot all of us," Melanie's voice, low and serious. "Not before we reach you."

"You're absolutely right about that. However, I am certainly capable of killing at least one of you, probably a second as well before any of you reach me. Now, you, Melanie, you're probably not bothered by the thought of sacrificing two innocent people if it means getting your hands on me," his voice remained calm, detached and judgmental. "But I'm not so sure the others feel the same."

"As if you're planning to let us go–" that was Martin. His voice had gone high and tight, the way it did when he was frightened. "You're just going to kill us all anyway, if you've got the chance."

"On the contrary. As I see it, you all have what you wanted – you've solved your little mysteries and freed yourself from the Institute. I'd say our business with one another is more or less over. I'm perfectly content to let you all walk out of here unharmed."

"And we're just supposed to take it on faith that you won't -- I dunno, send some supernatural goon squad after us?"

"Of course, if you come after me again I will have to kill you, self defense, etcetera. But Jon down there can confirm I'm really not motivated by revenge," he said lightly. "You might be surprised how much of my professional circle has tried to kill me at one point or another."

"Pretty sure I wouldn't be," Martin muttered.

"So long as we end things here without any further firebug tendencies, you're all perfectly welcome to move on as far as I'm concerned."

". . . Until the world ends," Jon said darkly. "Until you end it."

"Well, obviously, yes. But you don't need to worry about that for a good, long while. It's evident I'll need to tinker with my initial plan considerably, going through an Archivist was clearly a misstep," he sighed. "I'll have to get back to square one, find some way of making myself the center of the ritual, ideally with a bit less discomfort than the route you took. It could take years, even decades. You might all live out your natural lifespans before things really get going."

The pounding pain in his head, the sound of Elias's voice, and the smell of petrol were all making him woozy, but his mind came back to what was still his pocket. He found his clean hand sliding into his coat, closing around the tiny store-bought thing he'd lit his last cigarette with. Slowly, he slipped it out and flicked it open, striking until he felt the heat of the flame beside his thumb.

"I see what you're doing, Jon," Elias sighed, in the tone someone might use with a teenager that they felt was ‘acting out.' "Planning to go out in a blaze of glory?"

"Hard to say," he grinned spitefully. "To be honest, I'm feeling very unpredictable right now."

"I suppose that would be climactic enough for you. But are you ready to take the others down as well? To die listening to their agonized screams as they burn?"

"Jon . . . ." Martin's voice. He sounded scared.

"It would be kinder than what will happen to them if you're allowed to go through with your plans," Jon said, but he felt himself waver. "A-and if I hear a gunshot, I'm not going to stop and find out if it hit. I'm just going to do it. So you should probably put the gun away."

"I think I'll keep it for now, thank you. Unless you're going to set us all ablaze if I don't?"

Jon was silent.

"That's what I thought. Now I'm sure you're enjoying all this attention, but let's be reasonable. You want to leave with your friends all alive, I'm willing to give that to you. Unless there's something else I can do to convince you to stifle your newfound pyromania?"

"I don't know, really . . ." Jon said honestly. "The only thing I want you to do for me is die. And I doubt you can be negotiated into that."

". . . Well. Since we appear to be at a stalemate, perhaps we should get to know each other a bit more." Jon felt the air grow heavy, felt the hair on his neck stand up as a vast and mindless power was channeled through the room. "Tim. You've always wondered what happened to your brother, haven't you? You know the generalities, of course, but the exact details . . . "

"Don't!" Jon straightened up, flicking the lighter closed. "There, all right? Just don't . . . ."

His stomach sank, and deep down he knew that they had lost the moment he'd hesitated to light the petrol. His head was pounding, and he felt himself sway. He was so, so tired.

"A wise decision. Now if you'd just place it carefully on the floor and slide it to your left . . . ."

He didn't, instead sticking the lighter back in his pocket. He stood slowly, being sure not to make any sudden movements. Elias likely wasn't pleased, but he said nothing.

"Martin?" Jon called. "Say something so that I know where you are . . . ."

". . . I'm here, Jon. Over here."

Holding a hand a few inches in front of him, Jon carefully followed the direction of the voice until his fingers brushed the edge of Martin's jumper. Martin's hand came to take his, helping to guide him. Without thinking much about it, Jon moved himself in front of Martin, folded their hands between them, and leaned into him.

"J-Jon? What are- " Martin stuttered, confused. He sounded scared . . . Jon felt sorry for him. He could still see the gun. "What are you doing?"

"If you're trying to shield him with your body, it wouldn't work," Elias sighed, sounding exasperated. "The bullet would just go through you."

"I know," Jon said softly.

"Then I'm not sure what you're trying to accomplish."

"I'm not trying to accomplish anything. Not anymore," he said. "This is me giving up."

There was a thought that was cresting in his mind, just on the verge of being born. He tried not to contemplate it, not to let it fully form where it might be seen. Instead he focused on the pain, the roaring in his ears, the rough knit of Martin's clothing. The feeling of giving up, of surrender. Of letting whatever would happen next happen.

He heard rushing feet, a scuffle, and a crash, and he smiled against Martin's body. Heard Elias cry out and knew the others had moved, that they'd been brave and foolish and rushed him.

He heard the gun go off before he felt anything.

What he felt was an impact, as if someone had struck him in the back, then a tightness in his chest and warmth pooling in front of him. He heard a ragged sound come from Martin, and it was only then that he understood what had happened. The strength seemed to go out of his legs, and as he fell forward Martin crumpled under him. As his consciousness faded, he realized that Martin was bleeding too. Then his mind went out like a light.

[baekchelor]

ａｓｈｏｒｅ[x]

pairing: bodevan cash x reader genre: Doctor! AU, Romance, Angst summary: After a fall out with your fianceé, and an opportunity to chase your dreams, you embark into a medical mission trip to Namibia where you run into self-taught doctor Bodevan Cash. Love ensues. word count: 1.7k a/n: Hello, hello! Let’s pretend we’re all hugging while I thank you all fro reading this story. I’m so sorry it took me so long to finally end it, but i really struggled with the outcome. Yes, she staying with Ethan was considered.🤭🤭 I hope you like the outcome. All the love, boos. ❤️❤️

❝I  am  longing  to  be  with  you,  and  by  the  sea,  where  we  can  talk  together  freely  and  build  our  castles  in  the  air.❞                                                                                               ― bram stoker

EPILOGUE

ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅ ｅｎｄｌｅｓｓ ｄａｙｓ ◄ ｐｒｅｖ Bodevan wrote, "If you know I'm dying, and I know you still love me. Come back to me..." He wasn't dying; obviously, the only person inhabiting Bo's teepee whose days were numbered —unless a medical miracle occurred, was Danny. Although nobody was exempt on an accident or to suddenly drown in the sea, pushed by the strong winds at the Skeleton Coast, Danny's health was Bodevan's biggest concern. It grew worse each passing day, he barely had the strength to keep his lids open, and a despaired Peera held onto his fingertips with blood-shooted eyes. With careful words, and in response to your frantic call at 4am, Rellian explained the intended purpose between the lines in Bodevan's email. He was a professional, no doubt, he valued saving lives more than anything in the world, and that included you. Danny was his priority at the moment. Nevertheless, your absence had stolen further the already restless nights, it had triggered a loss of appetite in his rare lunch breaks. Bo's hunger for life started to fade away, he felt like dying each passing day you woke up across the world instead of wrapped around his limbs. It broke your heart because you knew —he confided in you—, it was a nightmare that haunted him at nights. To experience the same pain his father dealt with when Bo's mother left and later committed suicide, frightening him, and you've induced it to him. He feared the undying love you shared in Namibia was purely circumstantial, and the more days you spent in New York, the more the odds were against him and on Ethan's favour.  Bodevan was wrong.

Because all the time you spent with him, left a thread knitted inside your soul. Bo's face never failed to taunt you in dreamland or drifted you into memories about África and its morning skies. You haven't stopped thinking about him either, not for a second, despite the lies you told yourself. Bendel's and Butter lost their attraction. The sole deeds you appeared to enjoy were Maoism books, Yo-Yo Ma and Glen Gloud's music —anything related to the boy with long hair and a mustard jacket. But Bodevan was right to an extent. When you saw Ethan's face amongst the crowd at JFK, your first instinct was to deny it all, settled to forget Namibia and the eccentric doctor that spent his nights restlessly sleeping in a sofá of a combi-turned-reception. So you found yourself in Manhattan, wanting to convert the shores in the city, mixing the sky with the Atlantic sea, letting Bo escape as you agreed to lose him. Problem was, despite your efforts, Ethan's caresses couldn't erase the trace of Bodevan. Inside Ethan's bed, wrapped underneath Ethan's sheets and Ethan's arms, your heart still belong to Bodevan. You started drowning in photos, dreams, songs, memories that connected you to him, and even though you couldn't understand it, you began to feel insane. How could you deceive your soul? It was evident, Bodevan Cash held it under his possession. No matter how many times, how many people said you were drowning in an empty glass because there was no comparison between Ethan Gandy and some unknown, weird-named joke of a Doctor [in their exact words], you couldn't forget the night he kissed you and laid you down on the sand. Both them and Ethan, and your family, and even your own subconscious —you wanted to shut them all up, arguing you've forgotten him, that Bodevan was meaningless to your life and to your heart. The thing is, he wasn't... He taught you to stole the seconds away from time, to admire the sky, to say little white lies if it meant to spend more time with him, and to replace words with stares. You learnt more than a thousand ways to kiss, thanks to Bo, and it was because of him that you discovered what is to truly love. He forgot one final instruction though because you still didn't know how to live without him. Your mouth dreamed it kissed him, coffee tasted like sorrow and you couldn't gulp a single sip without recalling the mornings in your cabin, writing words into Bodevan's skin. Yet, it took you, eight more Sundays to finally break things off with Ethan. He didn't yell, you didn't cry, neither even mentioned Bodevan. Deep in your soul, though, you knew you've finally managed to let go of his hand due to an email you got from Namibia, where Bodevan stated that if you still thought about him, be assured that he still waited for you. Bo's words didn't push you out of Ethan to come running back to África, but they hit you the strong enough to make you realize, you were hurting people you loved and cared about. To finally be able to be with any of them, first, you needed to be with yourself, and let go of Namibia's rendezvouses and Ethan's divorce. You kissed Ethan one last time, you made love to him till the early hours of the morning, and after he said, "I'll love you forever, even when we're not together." And you responded, "Me too." You left. 

Today, almost six months later, you're about to start a new chapter in your life. You left New York, only this time you weren't running away from a lie, or trying to figure yourself out. You are where you stand, to follow the dreams you've finally discovered. There's no ring around your finger, there is no remorse of what you left behind at your studio in Dumbo, neither on the apartment at the Upper East Side, where you seemed to spend more nights than in your own. The sky complains above you, roaring and ready to let free all the tears condensed inside black clouds. You're facing what —hopefully— will be the rest of your life, the future you are sure to desire. Instead of feeling nervous, you're overwhelmed by happiness. This time you are confident. It took you a long time, but now you can firmly express what you want, what you need, what you believe. You don't believe the sea will ever lose the taste of salt. You don't believe in luck, or in miracles. You don't believe in Karl Marx's ideas. You don't believe in the principles of Maoism. You don't believe in God.And certainly, you don't believe in coincidences. Everything happens for a reason. So be it. With a deep breath, you walk into your future. You pass by the Australian boy who just had a heart transplant and the happy nurse feeding him breakfast. A smile curves your lips when a blue-eyed doctor nods in the direction of the beach, encouraging you to follow the path of shells and seaweed. You take off your sandals and allow your toes to relish in the sensation of the wet sand beneath. But the joy turns mundane when your eyes spot your very own belief. Yes, you believe in medicine. Moreover, you believe in his shy smile, in the kisses he gifts you, in everything he says. And in his morning-sky gaze. Bodevan hasn't seen you yet, he is standing at the shore, eyes closed and slowly breathing in and out. You try not to make noise, but you hurry because he's waiting there and you genuinely hope he's waiting for you. Once you're close enough to touch him, you hesitate, fearful that he will vanish at your touch because you've ached for him so long that it just hit you this might be a dream. And you're not in Namibia, and he's not here, and you're still laying down in Ethan's bed. But he is breathing, and he smells like vanilla and pinecones, and when your trembling fingertips write a greeting over the skin of his back, he turns around immediately. You're not dreaming anymore, he is real, but who's thinking the contrary seems to be him. Bodevan's ocean eyes are decorated with purple bags under it, and around his irises, sadness traces can be tracked easily. It takes one look at this boy to realize wherever he is, you'll go. He is your home. Your happy place. He is spring, a stairway straight to heaven, and you want to walk with him forever. He has given you so much, and you wanna give him so many more in return. You wanna be his ray of sunshine, the chords on his guitar, the cub of sugar in his coffee. The reason for his smile, not his heartache. "Please, I beg you, tell me you're real," Bo whispers in a very careful thread of words. "I haven't slept in days." A timorous hand reaches out to rest over his face, tenderly, "I am. I am here, Bo." "I believed you weren't coming back. That what we were, time left it behind." "I was an idiot," you answer. "I wrote to you emails that I never sent." Bodevan shakes his head, incredulous and almost giggling, "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, really. If you're here to stay."He is afraid of your answer, you know it, and you want to ease it all away with pampering kisses all over his face. But you know he needs the reassurance od promises and words. "Are you? Truthfully?" "I am. Truthfully." "One last thing," he says, his usual shy eyes facing you in bravery. "You love me. Truth or Untruth?" "Truth," you whisper, no hesitation in your voice. You could live without Ethan, you could live without New York, hell, you could even live without medicine. As long as you have Bodevan, and the haven that is his arms around your waist, and his kisses... Yes, you depend on him. And if you still have him left, then you have life. "More than anything and anyone. Above everything." Water starts to pour, and you bless the rains down in Africa, for always being a witness, as Bodevan cups your face to bring your lips together, and never let you go.

[tanikawrites]

Right Little Ray of Sunshine

‘The Promised Neverland’ Episode 4 Review

The fourth episode of The Promised Neverland sees the sands of time seem to grow ever thinner as Emma, Norman and Ray not only have to grapple with the ever more frenzied Sister krone on their tails, but additionally with having to handle the crippling reality that there must be traitor amongst them - a spy that would squander their chances of escaping a fate of being reduced to Demon-feed.

One of the most interesting aspects that is brought to our attention is not just the issue of the traitor, but rather a question concerning Sister Krone - that being, could she have been a child of the farm? The hierarchal relationship between her and Isabella was after all established in the previous episode, however, the latter's reminder to sister Krone as to who exactly is the 'Mom' of the house becomes further significant given their interaction in this episode. 'You're a smart girl,' Isabella reassures a flustered Sister Krone, 'so don't make any mistakes from now on.' This in addition to Isabella then telling Krone to 'behave' is clearly condescending language, and her role as 'Mom' suddenly seems to literally apply just as much to her in the same sense as with the children rather than it being merely the title assigned to her boss. Indeed, we even see Isabella carefully place her hand on Krone's cheek when talking to her just as she did with Emma back when suddenly confronting her in Episode Two. This caress then can be interpreted as symbolising her tenderness and care as a critical component of her manipulation and betrayal, the fact that this seems to have had a lasting impact on a now grown woman whose behaviour is like an insidious parody of a child's causing Isabella to become both more despicable and forbidding.

This then links back to the prevalence of the role of the traitor within the episode, a particular moment being when Norman asks Ray why someone would want to betray someone else whilst casually doing the laundry. One answer Ray offers is that the traitorous party may be granted a pass card to adulthood in exchange for information, and so this may indeed may be the case for Sister Krone. We almost even come to sympathise with her after her confrontation with Isabella, as she slowly walks into her room, lifts up her ragged doll, lets out a small sob … and then proceeds to rip off the head of the baby and pummel it's cotton carcass to a swindle, all the while accompanied by her familiar musical motif of what sounds like a broken merry-go-round. The contrast between her aggressive actions and contorted face with the score then serves to immediately re-establish the fact that the women is a raving lunatic, for despite her admittable intelligence and skill, she still is no match for her superior rival in Isabella.

 Indeed, the contrast is rather like the Laocoon to Sinon, the Wife of Bath to the Prioress; emotionality overshadowed by calculation and cunning. Furthermore, this essentially implies that trying to empathise with Sister Krone would be a waste of our time, we come to wonder whether this is an indication of how our attitude should be towards the other traitor - the sense of dread gravitating towards the idea that a child could already be as destructive and power-hungry as she. After all, Norman even seeks out Emma's opinion as to whether or not she would leave the traitor behind in their escape, her unsurprising insistence to the contrary being significant as it makes the traitor seem all the worse in the face of Emma's overwhelming compassion.

Gilda continues to be built up as the primary suspect for traitordom, the top trio's choice to confide in both she and Don about the reality of their situation  (except that the fact that their brains are being processed as Demon-fodder being watered down as human trafficking) causing her characterisation to titillate between whether or not she's acting or was just trying to look out for her friend in Emma. She is made to seem all the worse when shown later sneaking out of the bedroom at night and shooting a dark, blank glance over her shoulder to where Emma slept, yet her character is impressively reimbursed in her overall decision to stand off against Sister Krone. Indeed, her resolve is especially endearing considering Sister Krone's behaviour, for when you think the latter couldn't get any creepier, the animators continuously prove us wrong - to the battering of our nervous system. Gilda even bodily pushes Sister Krone away despite the implied offer of extending her life expectancy, so that we not only feel gratification towards this loaded act of valour, but this actually is somewhat comically satisfying given how Sister Krone tries to replicate Isabella's key manoeuvre: the artful hand on the cheek. Evidently, the move failed, and so we not only find pleasure in Sister Krone's mounting fury, but also in the renewed trust between Emma and Gilda as well.

The eventuality is that the traitor is called out by Norman is Ray - and in a perfectly sinister way. Norman stepping into the shadow as the music cuts off is such a subtle yet chilling action, as it creates a claustrophobic sense of unease; his accusatory gaze and closing the space being as if he were surpassing Ray altogether to accuse the viewer. However, considering how Ray has been established as being a key component of the man three characters, it seems unlikely that this accusation will bear much fruit - for even if this does end up being true, it will be interesting to hear the excuse that gets him off the hook. The accusation does make sense in light of Ray's behaviour in this episode as he was evidently frustrated by Norman's plan to move the escape plan two weeks forward, as well as his chastisement pf Norman for not telling Gilda and Don the complete truth about the escape. In retrospect of this however, this actually evokes some empathy for Ray, as his excuse to Norman as to whether an informant would be guaranteed their lives may be interpretable as Ray subconsciously trying to gain validation from Norman.

The dynamic between them becomes more complex as Ray's dry nature actually seems comparably immature to Norman's calm determination. In fact, you could actually say that Norman comes out as the more interesting character from this interaction, the sense of malevolence surrounding Norman building since even Sister Krone was outsmarted by he and Ray in the chase in Episode 2. There was clearly more emphasis on Norman through the use of levels and the accusatory beam of sunlight outlining his stature, towering out of the reach of Sister Krone and seeming more like the legitimate threat. The irony then is that the episode ends with the accuser actually being more disquieting than the accused, as we are caused to question the reality behind Norman's motives and whether he really has the other children's best interests at heart as much as he may claim them to be.

Tanika Lane

Image Credit: sshibuya, squirrelstothenuts, sansan9, escenario

[nevergonnasimpyoumikey]

TW: mentions of rape and sexual abuse

Addressing some points here, but before that I just wanna say something because there’s been some discussion about this post. I do not find this arguing and I’m not trying to shame anyone who might have different views about the characters than me. And I hope I don’t come off as aggressive, because that’s not my goal here. Just wanna analyze these characters I love a lot :’3 So I hope no one takes my comments personally, because they are not meant as such, just my general observations about the game and the fandom.

“He planned on leaving Michael behind and pulling scores solely with Brad anyway so I’m sure if Michael had just talked to him he would have let him go.”

Except that in that one friend hangout where Trevor apologizes, he says that he knew Michael was pushing him away but he just kept pushing harder. I don’t see Trevor leaving Michael alone and I think “I was thinking of dumping him anyway” was just a defense mechanism. To Trevor the life is not a game you can leave, it’s a lifestyle, and he couldn’t understand Michael wanting to stop. Especially when I think Trevor obviously knew Michael couldn’t be the family man he wanted to be.

Of course Trevor has a rational and gentle side, but he is still unpredictable. Mostly because the writers decided to make him the paragon of unpredictability... I’d say “I saw a woman getting yelled at so I cut off her husband’s ear” is pretty unpredictable, for example. :’D

“He even went as far as planning a successful heist completely on his own.”

This is kinda offtopic but... which one of his missions was successful? :’D If you’re referring to Merryweather heist, that ended with Trevor making me cry banging his head against a wall. Derailed was successful, maybe, but Trevor’s forte is murder and mayhem, not planning. 

“Trevor really isn’t that bad - -.”

This sentence represents my biggest concern with this fandom. We’re so inclined to make Trevor soft and attractive in order to ship him with Michael or anyone else that we forget all the fucked up shit he does. Me included! But Trevor kills animals and people, eats people, rapes men, is a sexual abuser, enjoys torture, kills without remorse... Just to name a few things that come to me first. Of course he has his good traits but he’s fucked up. But not because he’s just evil or queer coded (like the game writers want us to think, fuck them) but because with his childhood he really had no way to become a mentally stable adult. 

So is Michael, by the way. He’s fucked up too, even though it’s nowhere near Trevor’s level. They both made mistakes.  Trevor hurt Michael, too. But if we can excuse Trevor for his fucked up traits and forgive him, why can’t we do the same with Michael? 

“I think there’s a lot of cognitive dissonance in his character; he legitimately thinks he’s a ‘good guy’ despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.”

Yes, absolutely Michael!

“It seems he just went on for nine years not suffering from much guilt (that we are aware of) until, perhaps, he reunites with Trevor and T just wont let him get away with ignoring the fact that what he did was hurtful.” 

But it’s literally so easy to convince yourself that you’ve done the right thing. I personally have acted really shitty to some people, and then told myself “Well, they did that one shitty thing so they deserved that”. And the shitty things those people did are nothing compared to Trevor, obviously. Michael also obviously suffered. He is not happy, at all, by any means, when we meet him. Some of that must be guilt about what he did to Trevor, but Michael is also great at convincing himself that he did the right thing. 

“I think he has never considered Trevor’s humanity or friendship, only ever seeing his recklessness and drug use and murderous tendencies and fearing for his life, as most sane people probably would. - - The first thing he ever saw Trevor do was shoot a guy in the eye with a flare gun. Why Michael waited until 2004 to make a move, I dunno. Waiting until he’d saved up enough money maybe?”

I wouldn’t say never, because he wouldn’t have hung out with Trevor as long as he did if he never saw anything good in him. Nine years of denial and a few years of fearing for his life before that (not because of Trevor but because of the life itself) did that to him. But I genuinely believe they were friends before that. Michael saw a man doing everything to safe him. With Michael’s childhood, that must have felt incomprehensible. But if Michael had only been rational about it, he wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with Trevor after that first meeting. A guy like that doesn’t scream “Way to make money”. A decision to be with someone like that... It must be emotional. 

In conclusion: I think they are both faulty and fucked up but at least they’re fucked up together... Even Trevor after all that heartbreak can understand Michael in the end, and I just wish the fandom would, too. 

When normal ppl don’t want to hang out with someone anymore they just leave or tell that person to fxxk off but when Michael is done pulling heist with Trevor he ratted out to feds and made an elaborated plan just to kill Trevor, seems like an extreme measure to end friendships. And apparently Trevor is supposed to be the psychotic one, alright.

[nocololom]

The First

The tree stands in the centre of the village. We believe it to be the source of life and a symbol of our immortality, with its roots buried deep into the ground, bark as tough as metal and the never-ending blossoming of flowers. The garden of Ellow has been my home since I was a little girl. The familiar walls of white, tile-roofed houses spot the areas around the tree, and a constant stream of crystal clear water cuts through the back of the houses and down the hill. The grass moves about with the wind, dancing alongside the children. It’s a perfect picture, the perfect example of what earth should be like. I’m washing clothes along the river, watching the fish sway their tails as they move from one point to another. The water stays clear as the cloths lose its dirt and grime. This goes on for a while more, before I notice something. The water becomes murky, and gets darker and darker till it’s the shade of dark red, so dark that it looks almost black. I lose sight of the fishes, and I draw my hands out of the river. The liquid between my fingers is thick and sticky. A metallic scent fills the air, and I don’t need anyone to tell me what it is. I spring to my feet, and frantically wipe the liquid on my dress, a smear of red against the blinding white of the dress.

I run and my feet dig into the small rocks and pebbles hidden amongst the grass, causing pinpricks of pain. However, my mind is too busy to even comprehend it.. One thought fills up my entire headspace, and that is that something is very, very wrong. The sky darkens, and lightning is the only thing lighting my path as I run towards the congregation surrounding the tree. I shove and push my way through the crowd, hearing the murmurs and whispers even though nothing is registering in my head. Everything’s a blur, their faces, their voices, my thoughts. I manage to get to the front, and my heart stops. It is as if the wind had been sucked out of my lungs, leaving my heart still and lifeless. The tree. The tree is barren, leaves fallen onto the ground, surrounding the trunk in a circle as if it were a halo. The fruit, once bright and juicy, is rotten and grey, with flies nibbling on it, seemingly glad for the feast that has been provided to them. The flowers that once bloomed in vibrant colours have wilted, petals drooping towards the ground. The tree, the ones that provides us with everlasting life, is dying. That’s not the worst part. Amidst the dried leaves and grey-toned grass, a sole apple, still ripe and red, is thrown carelessly onto the ground. The shiny red skin of the apple seems intact, until I move to the right, and see the interior of the apple, yellow and succulent. Someone has eaten from the tree of immortality.

I remember my mother’s voice, the first lesson that she ever taught me before she died. I remember the white walls and the gentle rays of the sun falling through the window, kissing our tanned skin. I remember her soothing, melodious voice. Every word rolling off the tip of her tongue as if she was singing a hymn. The meaning behind the words, though, were anything but lovely and pure. That day, I laid on her lap, eyes closed but still awake and attentive.

“Let this be your first lesson. The tree has been given to us by God. We need to respect its holy and sacred presence. My child, it is the only thing keeping us alive here. You can look all you want, but remember, never eat from the tree of immortality.” She said.

“Why is the tree called the tree of immortality then? Does it never die?”

“On the contrary, if one eats from the tree of immortality, the person is granted immortality and god-like powers. However, the tree dies, taking everyone and everything in the Garden with it. We will all die.” She replied, solemn.

Everyone understands this rule. It is as serious as the rule not to kill and not to harm a neighbour. In fact, it is the most important rule of all. The fact that someone, one of our own, has betrayed us and sacrificed us all for the sake of their individual power, is incomprehensible. I look around, turning my head left and right, expecting to find a sole figure with a grim smile plastered onto his face. Or eyes that cannot help but to gleam despite the foreboding future that is in store for all of us in the Garden. Or hands that cannot stop fidgeting, from the sheer excitement of being granted immortality.

“Silence.” This one word holds much severity. A woman, despite her small stature, commands overwhelming authority and power that everyone halts and listens at the sound of her voice. “We do not know who did this. We are completely powerless in the battle against the one who has turned his back on us. However, what we can control is what we do next. The Gods have spoken. Each night, there will be a killing. One person must be sacrificed in order to delay the wrath of the Gods for cheating death. The council has decided on how the sacrifice will be chosen. Each night, a special gift from the heavens will be dropped onto the ground. The first person who finds it, and subsequently brings it to the village, will be saved. The last person, who was not quick or intelligent enough, will be killed.”

I hear gasps all around. The feeling of terror and fright is tangible in the air, and I can almost feel it wrapping around me, strangling me. I never would have imagined that it would come to this. What was once a peaceful, loving village has morphed into an individualistic society, where one cares only for themselves and their survival, unsurprisingly brought forth by the selfishness and cruelty of the one who ate the fruit of the tree.

“Today is the first night,” She continues. “Go out of the village, into the woods, and find the gift. One must die today. Let that not be you.” With that, she turns around, cape bellowing behind, and strides towards the forest. Her hounds follow her obediently, without even a trace of fear in their round eyes.

The woods have been a place that I’ve proactively avoided since I was a child. It also seems like a scene from a fairytale story – perhaps the forest where Little Red Riding Hood meets the wolf, or maybe where the witch imprisoned Rapunzel. It almost seems that way; thick bushes of green line the barely noticeable path, trees so tall that you can’t see where the top is, grass so wild that it pokes at your ankles and calves as you walk. I can barely see two feet in front of me. I continue walking, even though I don’t exactly know where I’m going and in what direction. I just keep propelling my legs forward, despite the stings of cuts that I’ve gotten from walking in the sharp, tall grass.

Suddenly, just as I thought I was alone, a rustling sound comes from my right. I spin, drawing my knife out from its sheath - the only thing I bothered to grab from the house before making my way out. By the time I got home, my aunt had already left. No one wants to be the one who will be killed. I don’t blame her, I would’ve done the same thing. “Hello? Who’s there?” I ask, voice quivering despite my efforts to not let my panic at being caught alone and vulnerable show.

“Julia? Is that you?” A familiar voice replies. My heart beats again, no longer paralysed by the fear of a stranger finding me alone in the darkness.

“Lizzy! I’m so glad to see you. I’ve been walking for ages, I don’t even know what I’m looking for, honestly.” I sigh, the feeling of exasperation and dread yet again settling in my chest.

“It’s okay, at least we’re together now, right? Let’s help each other out.” She says, and despite the darkness, I can feel her smiling. Her words illuminating the dark and seemingly impossible task.

Finding something that you don’t know is like finding a needle in a haystack. Finding a friend in a desperate time is like finding a fish in the middle of a desert. Both practically impossible. Yet this friend came to me. Elizabeth is by no means my best friend. She’s more of an acquaintance - a quick hello and smile is enough to suffice. However, I really needed someone to depend on. I need someone to assure me that this isn’t a nightmare and that everything will be alright soon.

We continue searching, looking through the bushes, trying to find– whatever it is that we have to find. The sky is dark, without stars, and only the moon is (barely) lighting our path. Strangely, the sky starts to light up, and the path in front of us seems clear. I can see the trees around me, and the bright flowers spotting the bushes. Slowly, the light fades again, converging to my right. Elizabeth turns to me, and slowly says, “I think we’ve found what we’re looking for.”

We race towards the point where the light beam is. It’s already fading, slowly. We continue running, even though my legs are burning, and with every step, I can hear increasing sounds of rustling and voices. I’m assuming we’re near, or at least I hope so. And although at this point, there is light lighting the path, we’re running so fast that my foot slips on a wet spot and I fall. My body twists, and I get hit in the stomach multiple times by the hard rocks on the ground as I roll downhill.

I groan, my body in pain as if it’s been set on fire. My skin burns, blood gushing out of the numerous cuts across my skin. Elizabeth runs towards me, shouting.

“Julia, are you okay? We have to go, come on!” She says quickly, helping me up by grabbing my arm.

I sling my arm around her neck, limping on one foot. My ankle has gotten so swollen that I can barely set any weight on it without a sharp pain shooting up my left leg. We move slowly, too slowly. We won’t get back in time.

At last, we get back to the village. The Chief is waiting for us, beyond the gates that mark the beginning of the village and the ending of the forest.

“You two are the last people to return. Only one can enter.” She says, sadness evident in her eyes. She chokes out the words, almost like she doesn’t want to say it. This is the most emotion I’ve seen from her.

I look at Elizabeth. She has wide, brown eyes. She has a family waiting behind the gates. She has a younger brother, two parents and her grandmother waiting for her. Her mother has begun to cry, leaning into her father’s chest. Her father looks like he is on the verge of breaking down too. He bites his lips, holding back what seems to be a fountain of tears. Her brother, a child of only four; who has seen too much for his age, clutches to his grandmother. Elizabeth has so much life left for her. She helped me and held onto me at the expense of her own life. She is selfless beyond words. She is something I can never be.

I think, what have I done in my life, that was truly selfless? What can I do with my little time left to make my life something worthwhile?

So, I push her.

A life for a life. She could have left me to die in the woods, but she didn’t. She could have pretended to not see me, but she didn’t. In a sense, I’m being selfish in this action of selflessness. I’m doing this for myself, to make my life worth something if it’s going to end soon anyway. However, I’d like to think that it was the right choice; the selfless choice. One that can make all the difference to her.

So, I become the first one to die.