#this part actually contains foreshadowing for

[girlsworldillusion]

Scream for me little lamb (FINAL PART)

PART ONE HERE

Ghostface!Aemond x Fem!Reader

Summary: You don't know him, you haven't even seen him before. Yet this cruel killer is in your mind, entangled like a parasite. For just one night you want to get rid of this feeling - to get rid of him. What could possibly go wrong after all?

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Word count: 15k (fuck, that's it, I'm physically incapable of writing something succinct)

Author's Note: This story contains themes that may be disturbing or triggering for some, such as: DETAILED DESCRIPTIONS OF PANIC ATTACKS, BLOOD, MURDER, OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, THREATS, AND ROUGH SEX. Your health (mental and physical) should always be your priority, if any of these themes are too heavy for you to handle I beg that you ignore this post.

Please do not mistake this for a love story. The reader clearly suffers from a serious level of emotional instability and the abuser takes advantage of this fragility to threaten and use her. This is NOT healthy and NOT romantic in any way and I obviously do NOT agree with this attitude in real life. This is just a FICTIONAL HISTORY and it is only in this context that something like this can be tolerated. The tags are all there however and if you do not feel comfortable reading something like this, there is no need to leave any derogatory comments. JUST DON'T READ IT.

To those who stay, enjoy reading!

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

In the previous chapter:

And then the masked figure takes a casual step into the bathroom, the easy confidence in this simple act foreshadowing his ease in overpowering his victims. You swallow hard, backing away slowly as you lock eyes with the killer’s empty holes. The knowledge that there is no way out of the room is painfully obvious to you. The man takes up the entire space of the exit; the width of his shoulders stretching almost from one side of the doorframe to the other, his long legs slightly apart to fill any gaps.

The only way out of here was if you stepped over him; and that wasn’t going to happen.

----

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as your head tilts down discreetly. Submission. It’s instinctive, really. Your body knows what this man is capable of, remembers the brutal, bloody state his victims were found in. You don’t want that fate for yourself.

He hums at that, pleased with your pliant reaction - and you blush at the raw humiliation of feeling so inferior to someone else.

“So good, sweetie.”

He sighs ecstatically, pushing the two of you deep into the bathroom just enough to close the door, the click of the key locking it sounding purposefully loud. You feel the shape of an invisible hand holding your beating heart between its fingers, your breath coming in shallow huffs through your lips. He’s locked you in here, with him.

How did this happen? How did you, probably the only person who was actually taking this whole police alert about a serial killer on the loose seriously, end up here? How the hell is this possible, God?

Your phone vibrates from where it's on the floor and you jump in fright, the screen facing down doesn't allow you to see who's calling when you look at it. But it doesn't matter. You immediately look up at the man, see how he understands what you're going to do before it even happens; his ghostly face tilts toward the ceiling, an almost disappointed sigh sounding from beneath the mask.

"I praised you too soon, right?"

It turns out that if showing their fragile parts to a predator seeking mercy and lowering the head in submission is a natural primal instinct when there's seemingly no escape, then it's also a natural instinct to act immediately when a glimmer of hope and survival appears.

And your phone ringing is a glimmer of hope.

You dive to where it lies with your heart racing, desperate for the opportunity to warn someone of your situation and get help. But your fingers barely graze the object before a large hand grabs a fistful of hair at the back of your head, holding you in place before you can reach it.

On your knees on the bathroom tile, you’re thrashing hysterically in his iron grip, ugly sobs of pain escaping your lips with each rough tug at the roots of your hair.

“No! Let me go, please! HELP!” You scream as loud as you can, hoping it’s enough to alert someone outside, even though the obnoxiously loud music downstairs limits your chances to almost zero. You barely register the heavy thud of the knife hitting the floor as you open your mouth to scream louder, your voice muffled by another heavy hand slamming into your mouth, the leather of his glove squeezing your lips and cheeks until they hurt.

He lifts you to your feet with just his grip on your hair, your scream of agony once again muffled by his gloved fingers. The man doesn't let you go even when he reaches the bathroom sink, where he practically throws you against the counter, your hip bones jarring sharply with the impact. You slip a little in pain, shaking hands gripping his wrist as you claw desperately to make him release your mouth, staring in horror at the shadowy figure behind your body.

Your heartbeat is roaring loudly in your ears as you cease the attack and stare at the dark, empty eyes of the mask in the mirror, his body against yours.

The indigo lighting makes his presence even more sinister, shadowing a tall, frightening silhouette looming over you like a mythological god of death, dressed all in black. Except, of course, for his bizarre mask with sunken, innocuous eyes, like black holes etched in an agonized expression, the mouth dark and open in an eternal silent scream. The material of the mask is so white that it contrasts exaggeratedly against the black background covering his body, even in the violet light of the bathroom. Over his head he wears a wide hood that frames his mask and gathers around the long line of his strong shoulders like an ominous shawl, followed below by a kind of ragged-looking tunic, long sleeves on each arm, a subtle tightening around his waist, deliberately highlighting the defined plane of his abdomen. Below his waist, the tunic continues flowing to his ankles, with an opening running the length of each leg clad in trousers - to allow ease of movement, you presume. He needs agility to stalk students and kill them mercilessly, after all. To finish off the somber look, he wears military boots on his feet, intricate lines of laces running the length of them.

"How about you and I play a little game?" He asks close to your ear, white mask poking the side of your face, empty eyes staring at your reflection in the mirror. You struggle to breathe between the gaps of his fingers on your face, your eyes growing moist as the desperate situation truly sinks in.

"A really fun little game called 'don't scream when I let go of your mouth and in return I won't decorate the floor with your entrails'. How does that sound?" The way he says it, casual and easy, rivals the cruel grip on your hair, or the way his fingers press into the flesh of your cheeks until you squeal in pain.

The smell of blood surrounds you again, the same metallic, damp smell you felt when you were near the dripping knife he had between his fingers, and your senses seem to be heightened by the adrenaline flooding your veins. It takes a few seconds for you to realize that the smell is coming from him this time. From his clothes, you notice, as if the slimy stuff had been splattered across much of the shadowy fabric covering his body. And it was. You know it was.

Who was the victim tonight? Who was stabbed so brutally that their blood splattered like ketchup all over this monster’s clothes?

Would you suffer the same fate?

“I asked you a question, princess. Do you want to play with me or not?” He presses, a hint of impatience in his voice, the already crushing grip on your scalp tightening even more.

You nod as best you can at the restraint of his fingers in your hair and mouth, pretending you actually have some say in this, salty tears sliding down your waterline with the shaky movement.

“Good girl.”

He laughs close to your ear, a low, dark — but happy — tremor. He’s enjoying himself, basking in the satisfaction of your scared, teary expression. He’s insane.

“That’s it, love, isn’t it so much easier this way?” He purrs as he loosens his grip on your mouth, the back of his index finger massaging your cheek as you practically choke on the breath that vibrates too raggedly through your newly freed lips. He towers over you, watches you in the mirror with predatory focus - sees you struggle to keep yourself together, fresh tears dripping from your lower lashes, wetting the leather of the glove on his finger. “Mmm, you look so good like this, it makes me so fucking hard to see your tears fall for me.”

“Oh my God…” you choke, absolutely terrified at the man’s sickening sincerity, your eyes wide and wet, face to face with the singular reason for your nightmares. 

“Shh,” he takes a step closer to you, pinning you even tighter against the sink counter and his body, letting you feel the undeniable truth in his earlier statement — the thick tent in his pants digging into your lower back until you whimper out a sharp sound, “calm down, baby. Don’t do anything stupid now.”

You find yourself subtly wilting at the dangerous warning, though more out of sheer horror than subservience.

“A-are you going to kill me?” Your voice cracks at the end, scared and shrill; the sound of someone truly cornered — a little mouse caught in a cruel glue trap, just awaiting its inevitable end.

“Now, that wouldn't be fun, would it?” he pretends to ponder, his gloved fingertip drumming over your jaw now, down to your cheek, and you’re shaking so hard you think you might be shaking his body along with yours. “Oh no, I could never kill you. Hurt you? Yeah, maybe. But killing my little girl? That's a big nope to me.”

If he thought that would bring you any comfort, then he was sorely mistaken.

He grabs your face before you can properly react to his frightening words, his large, strong hand barely needing to exert much effort to do so, eclipsing your delicate features with his long fingers, the endless darkness of the glove contrasting with your skin. He squeezes your cheeks together until your lips purse into a fishy pout, forces your jaw up so you meet the blank stare of his mask in the mirror - and all you can do is cringe under his dangerous aura.

“Look at that, aren’t you the cutest little thing?”

You definitely don’t like the tone he uses, the easygoing, smug way he holds himself above you; as if he knows there’s absolutely nothing you can do to free yourself from his grasp, completely at his mercy. Chest thrusting into you, muscular thighs encasing your hips, hips pressed against your ass; keeping you in place. You try to claw at his wrist again, just to confirm the horrifying fact that no, he’s not going anywhere.

The grip on your cheeks loosens as he slides his hand to your throat, gloved fingers curling to rest over the hysterically pulsing vessels on either side, completely encircling the slender column of your neck with elongated digits like spider legs. He doesn’t apply any real pressure, but he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t need to. As he holds your gaze in the reflection with those cold, dark circles of his ghostly mask, the threat of his vast capacity for violence hangs as heavily as he does over your body.

He could rip you apart, right here and now. He could sink his sharp teeth into your neck like a dog would a chew toy, shaking your stuffed body between his jaws until only foam and patches remain.

The paralyzing fear is an increasingly real sensation in your chest, the cold curtain of numbness lifting on your skin and you swallow hard, your throat working under his fingers. Your heart pounds violently, so hard you can feel it in your ears, in your skull. Your eyes flutter in the mirror and your breath is just a broken whistle between your lips. He's pushing you straight into what will be a second episode in the same night, an unprecedented feat in your life - as fucked up as it has been so far.

"W-wait, please I-" You gasp, pulling at his grip messily, already feeling the spiral of panic wrapping around your thoughts like a vise, the claustrophobic noose that is the feeling of total inability to control yourself tightening around your throat.

"Cut that shit, little girl." Your tormentor breathes close to your ear, firm and authoritative, almost sullen as he stares into your terrified eyes in the mirror, his fingers on your throat squeezing slightly - just enough to make you feel it. "You're staying here with me, understand? It was cute the first time, but I don't want to hear about that shit now. I have much more interesting things to do with you than watch that pretty little head go somewhere I can't reach it. Yeah, I'm a selfish guy like that."

He finishes with a dry laugh and you don't know what's worse; his complete disrespect in describing your very real and very traumatic panic attack as something 'cute' or his incorrect assumption that you had a choice in this - that you could simply stop it from happening.

The grip on your throat is tighter now, your breathing becoming severely labored. His hand wraps around your throat and presses hard enough to make you struggle to breathe. You buck and push, running on pure instinct even though your efforts are restrained by his strength, the blood on his black robes spreading across your body like an artist’s brushstrokes in movement.

The notion that this man killed someone before coming to you is there once more, even more prominent now, pounding in your head like blows from a hammer.

“Relax, damn it, or I’ll make you.” He continues his unreasonable demand, squeezing his grip to press you against his chest until you feel every heated inch of him against your body, especially the disturbing way the thick line of his cock inevitably pushes and presses into your lower back with each sharp breath.

You want to scream at him and tell him that what he’s doing is the complete opposite of encouraging you to relax. But anxiety courses through your veins and your eyes close, spilling salty tears. You see grotesque shadows and demons you never thought you would see behind the darkness of your eyelids. It suffocates you, terrifies you, makes you tremble. You can’t move, you can’t escape, you can’t even open your eyes; you can only feel. Your heart is about to explode. You can’t hear anything. Your head hurts and your mind starts to shut down. That’s it, you’re falling again.

And then you feel your body shaking uncontrollably, something crawling under your skin like a lazy parasite. It’s not bad and that’s the first warning sign. Your temporarily inert mind, shut down for God knows how long, restarts with a slow trickle, your breathing becoming a little less hyperventilating and more...warm? However, you can’t force yourself to open your eyes yet, you can’t hear anything around you, you can’t even deduce what’s happening beyond the dark barrier of your closed eyelids. You feel strangely calmer, but filled to the brim with confused apprehension.

You shiver as the strange sensation comes on stronger, sticky molasses coursing through your veins, warming your belly to bring your mind back to reality.

Brought back....

When your eyes open, lethargic and sleepy, tears still blur your hazy vision until you can stare once more at the killer's ghostly mask.

“Welcome back, princess…” The tall man speaks and even hidden under the mask you know he’s smiling. His upper body is hunched over, wrapping your body in a sort of unwanted intimate cocoon. One of his arms is around your torso, keeping both of your arms firmly attached to your sides as if you were a Barbie doll, his other arm stretched down, beyond the visible limits of the mirror. You try to cast your eyes down to see where his hand is, a bad feeling in your chest, but your vision is fuzzy, swimming in dizziness and inconstancy. The threat of a second episode has drained the little strength that was left in your body.

You might even feel compelled to show gratitude for having escaped the oppressive spiral of a new crisis before it reached critical levels. Except something doesn’t feel right.

“W-what?” You ask in a thin voice, your head spinning with tiredness, your body kept upright only by the sink counter and the pressure the man exerts on your back. Feels wrong. You feel like you’re going to throw up at any moment. Your body is begging you to lie down and take a nap for an entire year. It’s a different kind of hysteria, you realize, like you’ve escaped one panic attack only to fall into another completely different one.

Heavy breaths rush from your mouth and your tongue feels sticky and dry as you try to swallow, squinting back into the mirror, trying to piece together the fragmented pieces of information in front of you to make sense of what’s happening.

He’s looking at you too. Even hidden beneath that mask, you feel his gaze burning into your reflection, drinking in the drunken confusion etched on your face, the fear — the shiver of unwanted pleasure that rips through your body like an invisible knife.

What’s happening?

You want to scream.

As you gaze up at him from beneath damp lashes, the burning sensation in your body seems to creep upon itself, gradually merging with the nerves in your belly as something warm and syrupy — needy — pulses deep in your core.

“That’s it, baby. See how much relaxed you are now?” He purrs with lazy irony, savoring each syllable on his tongue like an addictive candy. “Of course you did, the baby just needed something different to focus that little head of her on.”

There’s a gentle but rhythmic swaying of the muscles along his arm, you notice with your eyes locked on the mirror, a disturbingly familiar movement — and a shiver of wet pleasure licks up your spine as you squint, a very instinctive, primal part of your brain finally breaking through the hazy fog to scream that it knows exactly where his hand is.

Your awareness of the world around you returns like a punch to the gut, painful and suffocating, as you feel the leather of his glove between your legs.

"N-no! No, please, I don't want to-" You stammer, tired and scared beyond belief, struggling to escape the man, but his grip around you is like a heavy chain, his arm still keeping yours locked tightly at your sides.

This man has somehow managed to rescue you from a traumatic encounter with your own demons, only to plunge you into a different kind of terror - one even more agonizing.

Your sobbed protests mean nothing in the face of the killer's sick desires, as he languidly slides two of his fingers in a V around your clit, up and down. A shiver runs through you, your thighs instinctively clenching around his hand, a reaction that in turn elicits an amused chuckle from the man.

You shake and beg louder as he continues to rub your pussy, his hand writhing inside the tiny shorts you wear under your costume skirt, ignoring your breathy sobs and whimpers as if you were just a cute, whiny puppy. You shiver, your inner walls clenching around nothing with each lick of his fingers around your clit, reacting against your will to his teasing touches.

A haze of fear and pleasure takes over your mind as you shake your head, struggling to breathe through your nose to keep from passing out. It all feels too much and yet not enough, your hands twitching nonstop where they’re held, your body shaking from head to toe. Your blood runs thick as you stare at him in the mirror, begging in a way. Trying to say anything, since your voice doesn’t even seem to work with the overwhelming wave of feelings coursing through you. Your lips just part, nothing but a wordless plea.

“Oh, poor girl, don’t struggle so much…just relax, I’ll take such good care of you. Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything but staying there and being soft and pretty for me. Let me think of everything else.” He sings condescendingly, the elongated tip of the ghostly mask’s chin appearing in your line of vision as he rests his jaw on your shoulder, the material of the hood brushing against the side of your flushed face.

His scent is enveloping you like a chokehold now; rich, clotted blood, running red and still warm on his clothing — which is now permanently stained on your costume as well, to your horror. But beneath all that disturbing scent of wet iron, there are also notes of crackling, mossy sandalwood and something fresh, citrusy like lemons or bergamots.

If it weren’t for the blood trying so hard to overwhelm everything else, his scent would be pleasant, your clouded mind realizes, seductive even.

The sight before you is breathtaking, to say the least - and not in a pleasant way.

A pathetic, broken little girl is crying, her cheeks red and streaked with tears, her eyes drunk and her brows furrowed in anguish. On her body she wears a foolish Sailor Mars costume that barely covers her body, a stupid thing she didn't even want to wear in the first place, the fabric of the red skirt draped in front of her thighs swaying suggestively, right where the hand of the man behind her remains hidden. The man in question, a vicious killer highly wanted by the police, covers her almost completely with his tall frame and black robes - a stark contrast to the girl's almost childish outfit. The white mask on his face rests on her shoulder, his long arm caging her small body close to his, touching every part he can reach as he squeezes and caresses her as if he would die without it. It's almost romantic, in theory, but horrifying and frightening when you know what's really happening.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut, refusing to look down and confirm what your nerves and body already know all too well is happening. Fear grips your throat so tightly that you shake like a leaf, tears streaming from your eyes as you feel his first finger delve inside you.

It should hurt. The rough material of the glove in direct contact with such an entirely sensitive part of your body should be uncomfortable, at the very least. But it isn’t. There’s something aiding your endeavor, your hindbrain adds as his finger sinks in all the way to the first knuckle with just a little pressure from his wrist. There’s something sticky and thick there along with his finger, messing with your folds with humiliating sounds — spit, probably.

“Please…stop—” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut so tightly you swear constellations explode in the darkness of your eyelids.

“You know,” he begins, ignoring your foolish plea, impatient as he pushes his finger the rest of the way into your trembling, clenching walls until you squeak out a sob, body tensing like a bow beneath his. “There’s a look on people’s faces that I meet. A hysterical, helpless look when they realize that this is the end for them. No matter how much they’ve resisted and fought, they all get that look when the time comes. It’s not exactly a look of begging for mercy. No, they’re usually past that point at this moment.” His chuckle is nothing short of disturbing near your ear, the arm around your waist rising so that he can grab a thick fistful of your hair between his fingers and squeeze until you cry out loudly at the sharp pain and open your eyes, obeying his silent demand to face him once more through the mirror.

“No, it’s not a plea for mercy, sweetie. It’s just a anguished conformity, you know? A part of them even wants to hold out longer, out of instinct I guess, but deep down they know it’s useless. They just know it’s over for them. And that’s when that look appears.”

Your breath hitches visibly as he slides a second finger alongside the first.

“It’s the same look you have now. That look of pure agony and submission on your face, all because you just know you can’t escape me...mmm,” He’s closer than ever, rubbing the mask on the side of your face, and all you can think is that he’s right. As much as your body tells you to run, you know there’s no way you can outrun him, he’s unfortunately more capable than you in every way that matters right now.

He presses himself even closer to your body, his voice slurred in your ear.

“You make me so fucking horny, baby.”

He’s not slow, much less gentle when he moves his fingers inside you. He fucks you with them seriously from the first few seconds, curling them each time he sinks back into your heat, your walls clenching around him, warring to adjust to the unexpected assault. Your cries of pain are interrupted by small involuntary moans and gasps every time he presses too deep inside you, finding a spot that makes you dizzy, held only by his painful grip on your hair. You bite your lip, struggling to keep the noises inside.

He makes a grunting sound, tongue clicking disapprovingly beneath his mask.

“None of that, princess. Let me hear those beautiful sounds. They’re there because of me, I cultivated them...they’re all mine.” Your head falls back on his shoulder as he suddenly moves his hand down your clavicle, long fingers pushing aside the fluffy purple lace of your costume to grip one of your breasts tightly. “You’re all mine.” Even over the fabric of your clothes, his grip on your breast is possessive, and you wish your arms would fight back when he starts dragging his palm across your nipple, prickling it until it becomes a sensitive little peak. But all you can do is lift your hands to rest them on the counter, your head still thrown back against his chest.

“Fuck,” he groans, his thumb now rubbing against the nub of your nipple with small flicks that send a jolt of pleasure straight between your legs. “I knew you’d be perfect. So pathetic to me, baby. You feel so good…”

You squeeze your eyes shut, a muffled sob escaping your lips as he pushes your body forward, making you arch into the counter, his larger body pressed against your back, his hands still glued to their respective places. He curls his fingers into your pussy, a small moan leaving you, and begins to pound against your back. He keeps you bent over as he thrusts his clothed cock between your ass cheeks, each rough thrust pushing another inch of your skirt up your hips.

“Spread your legs for me,” he pants next to your ear. When you tense and don’t comply immediately, the hand on your breast squeezes so hard it actually hurts. “Are you going to make me repeat myself, princess? Every second you make me wait, I get more impatient. Are you sure you want to see me impatient?”

You quickly part your legs, the action causing his fingers to dig deeper between your swollen walls with each hard thrust, wet sounds sounding too loud in the cramped bathroom. His hips move against your back in rough motions, grinding up and down, causing heat to spread throughout your body until your head is spinning, broken sounds leaving your lips. The gummy walls of your pussy contract around his fingers and he growls as he ravages your body like it belongs to him.

You feel good and horrible.

Blood on fire, nerves on fire, you breathe as a way to steady yourself in this moment of maddening agony. You are uncomfortable in every way possible in the given situation, and oh how it fills the void in your soul with something...alive.

Here, at the mercy of this killer's cruel hands, you feel alive for the first time in what feels like forever. It's horrible and unwelcome and scary as hell, but it's also absolutely electrifying.

How fucked up is your mind anyway?

The man continues to grind into your ass with every heated inch of his cock, the movement of his fingers in your pussy quickening, the heel of his gloved hand rubbing relentlessly against your clit in this position. The hand on your breast doesn't stop teasing your nipple, poking and pinching. With every noise he pulls from you, his movement becomes faster, hips matching the rhythm of his fingers in your intimacy. As if you were egging him on. You whimper, squeezing him so hard you could tell you were trying to keep him out, but the action only serves to heighten the sickening pleasure coiling in your stomach.

“Shit,” he hisses, thrusting his fingers in and out, in and out, watching in the mirror as your face contorts with pleasure. “So good. Feeling so good to me. You squeeze my fingers so hard, princess. Fuck. That’s my good fucking girl, yeah?”

Admittedly someone with a blatant emotional inability to accept any kind of compliment — especially one from a fucking serial killer who’s currently keeping you impaled on his fingers while grinding his cock into your ass and making you cry like he’s getting paid to — you slump your shoulders and pant, staring wide-eyed at the man, your rapid breathing fogging the glass of the mirror. His words sink into your bones, stoking the rising heat in your abdomen, and your pussy clenches around his fingers again. He lets out a short laugh, rubbing his masked face against your burning cheek.

“Do you like that, you filthy slut? Do you like when I tell you how good you feel? Hell, you’re fucking squeezing me. Your pretty little pussy wants me so bad.”

Your eyelashes flutter and your breathing becomes more ragged; fear, pleasure, and pain combine into one intense experience, and you realize with horror that you’re approaching orgasm. It’s humiliating, but it doesn’t stop you from tentatively moving your own hips against his palm, seeking more friction on your little clit as heated tears roll down your cheeks.

‘No, no, no, please.’ You whimper to yourself, eyes nearly rolling into the back of the head as you arch your ass into his hips in involuntary response to the inescapable, frenzied sensation coursing through your body.

“The poor baby’s gonna cum.” He chuckles, though his own voice is breathy, wild. “Yeah, gonna make a fucking mess of that pussy and get it all nice and wet for my cock, right?” He growls wickedly between his chuckles, pushing your body forward with each hard drag of his cock into your ass, grinding the leather of his glove into your clit as he repeatedly hits the same sensitive spot in your cunt.

You can’t take it anymore, your clenched jaw slackening as you begin to give in to the pleasure. The overwhelming wave of your coming orgasm is visible on the horizon and you can’t do anything but stare at it head on, waiting helplessly to be absolutely swept away by it.

"Ah ah, fuck!" You cry out between parted lips, viciously squeezing the edge of the counter between your fingers, losing control over your body, unable to stop yourself from moaning lewdly in time with the forced climax.

With one last flick of his fingers and a pinch to your nipple, you have no choice but to stare blankly into the mirror as you shatter into a thousand pathetic pieces with a strangled scream. The trembling of your inner thighs is quickly followed by your toes curling inside the red boots of the costume as you cum hard around the masked killer's fingers.

Your pussy quivers violently as he shakes with laughter against your body, with a dose of sincere joy that you would find almost childish if it weren't for the obscene way he is still thrusting his cock into your back. He continues to finger fuck you throughout your orgasm, leaving you gasping and writhing in shocks of pleasure, your eyes wide and wet in the mirror.

“Please stop, that’s enough-” You gasp, your legs locking from the overstimulation as he continues to work your clit mercilessly. “P-please, I’ll do anything, please just stop! Stop now -"

You're interrupted as a whirlwind of dizzying events ensues; one moment he's fingering your pussy to overstimulation with no intention of stopping - the next he's pulling his fingers from your quivering walls with such force that it elicits a shocked gasp from you. Your body is suddenly spun around and your back slams painfully into the mirror with an impact strong enough to crack the glass into several sharp ridges on your back, small shards getting stuck in the back of your costume. You have half a second to scream at the dangerous sensation before he's straightening you up on the counter, his body wedging between your parted legs before you can even react and close them.

You're still trying to figure out what happened; how he managed to just lift you into the air and slam you into the counter like you weighed nothing. How he was so quick to do it and, most importantly, what motivated him to do it. But all is forgotten when he grabs your neck between his fingers, roughly pulling your face closer to his until you're face to face with that ghostly mask.

But there's no fake face in the world that can hide the anger bubbling through the man's pores. A feeling so obvious, intense and abrupt that it makes you shiver and try to pull away reflexively, but his grip won't let you go anywhere. His already undeniably imposing figure straightens to its full height, intimidating and dangerous, a ominous and dark aura that encircles your body like a spool of doom.

"Stop? Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me when to stop? Do you know who decides when we stop, you bitch? Me! That fucking cunt belongs to me. It's mine as fuck and you're not going to tell me when I should or shouldn't touch it. Because your whole body, your mind, your fucking soul, is mine. Mine."

He curses and bites acidly right in front of your face and fear hits you all at once, absolutely terrifying: the way he’s panting under his mask and hissing with barely contained rage, the way your name leaves his lips in a heated growl. A direct threat from a mindless animal. It’s all clear — so, so clear.

He’s dangerous and unstable and horrible and you can’t escape him.

Your hands start to tug at his wrist, pushing him away, already sensing what’s coming - and it really comes. Ignoring your futile attempt to push him away, the hand on your throat tightens. His fingers press, cutting off the air, squeezing and hurting your flesh. Your windpipe is tightly caged between his palm and thumb and he shows no hesitation as he presses hard, suffocating you with a cruel grip.

Now, unlike his outburst of anger a few seconds ago, with your life literally being measured in his hands, he becomes the cold and indifferent embodiment of his alias, watching your fight as if it were nothing new.

It isn't.

The world around you begins to spin as you feel dizzy, your head swimming and spinning as your heart beats uselessly against the finger over your carotid artery, numb lips and throat working ever more slowly beneath his hand. Your struggle is over, as meaningless as it was to begin with.

You surrender to this ghost, dropping his hands from his wrist and letting your body go limp beneath him.

The monster senses your surrender, humming contently at your soft submission, even though you are barely conscious enough to notice. The grip on your throat loosens and you instinctively tilt your head away from his grasp, gasping for breath in desperate noises, coughing and spitting as tears spill over in response to the throbbing sting in the circumference of your throat. You feel a large hand stroke your hair as you struggle to catch your breath; and the almost patronizing touch, as horrible and unwelcome as it is, grounds you for a moment, helping you gradually transform your rapid, labored breathing into deep sighs.

"Don't forget what I'm going to say now and maybe we won't have to go through this again, princess:" He whisper at you with serious voice. "You're mine. For better or worse. You're mine."

The hand in your hair moves forward, tangling in the strands, massaging your skull, and it's probably just the hazy haze of suffocation that keeps you from noticing his next move, but it's the feel of a gentle, wet kiss on the bruised line his fingers have left on your skin that makes you conscious once more. He holds your head firmly by the hair, preventing you from moving to get a better look, but it's immediately clear that he's pushed the mask up enough to expose his lips, which continue to slide along the curve of your neck and jaw.

Your ears are throbbing with the pounding of your heart as you stare over the killer’s shoulder at the wall across the bathroom with wide eyes – the man blowing puffs of pure wet heat across your skin to leave goosebumps in his wake. His mouth is undesirably soft and delicate on your bruised skin (pleasant really, you’d say, if you weren’t, well…in the situation you’re in), his other hand coming up so he can rub his thumb across your lips, slowly parting them until he pokes your teeth with the tip of his glove.

“Open that pretty mouth and show me you know it, sweet little slut.” He whispers the degradation with a noticeably lessened dose of hatred than before – low and breathy, his mouth on your cheek, his thumb pulling away to run his index and middle fingers across your parted lips.

His breath bathes your skin in wet heat, the refreshing scent of some mint gum he chewed recently still there. (He was chewing a damn piece of gum while he murdered someone, your mind completes in full hysterics. Brutally piercing some poor student's insides with the sharp blade of that knife while he carelessly rolls the soft gum between his teeth. He's sick, sick, sick.)

"Suck them clean." He orders, cutting through the murky waters of your wandering mind as pushes two fingers onto the flat of your tongue, forcing you to accept the invasion.

It's on autopilot that you register the strong, smoky taste of leather mixed with the familiar taste of your arousal, which still glistens with the fresh wetness of your orgasm on the surface of his glove. You squeeze your eyes shut, gagging more at the sheer depravity of the act than the intrusion itself.

"That's it, princess. So beautiful like this, taking my fingers like a good girl..." he pulls his face away to look at yours, smiling at your fearful gaze; you close the lips around his fingers, sucking and licking slowly at the soft leather of the glove as you clean your own taste from the material as if you meant it - even as the tears keep falling. All you can see in the purple lighting of the bathroom is the lower half of his face and even that is partial, the white mask resting on his nose shadowing what little skin is visible. Despite that, it is evident how his smile stretches, wide and mischievous - pearly teeth slightly crooked at the front, canines sharp and shiny, like those of a cunning predator that has caught up with its prey.

His grip on your hair tightens to keep you still, his fingers coming to life as he thrusts slowly, out and in and out and in, into the cozy warmth of your mouth. You choke around him, saliva pooling between teeth and flesh as he pushes your tongue down, fucking your mouth like it’s a pussy — each slow stroke pushing deeper, until you feel the tips of both his fingers sliding down your throat.

“God, I want to feel so bad that pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock,” he sighs, his gaze locked on yours, fascinated by your gasps and sobs, his smile slowly dying so he can bite his lip as he hums dreamily, “you’re going to be so good to me, I just know it.”

Your wet gaze is half-lidded, mouth slack and full, only giving in to the forced intrusion when you feel him gather the strands of your hair into a messy ponytail in his other hand to pull and push your head along his now-still fingers - the explicit and purposeful parallel of the depraved act with another very unique one does not go unnoticed.

He's guiding the rhythm of your head as if he is dictating how you suck his cock.

It is humiliating; a byproduct of male dominance that is offensive and filthy in its most brutal form. You hate every damn second of this silent abuse. But your pussy seems to have a mind of its own, because with each forced thrust against the saliva-soaked leather of the glove, it clenches a little tighter around nothing, demanding attention.

You whimper at the betrayal of your own body, mouth stuffed and saliva beginning to drip down your lips and chin.

When he withdraws his fingers from between your lips, it is with calculated slowness, prolonging the elasticity of a thick thread of saliva that remains joining the digits in the glove to your loose tongue. He grunts a satisfied sound at the debauched sight, lowering his face to stretch out his own tongue and break the sticky bond after a few seconds of contemplation, licking the saliva accumulated on your chin upwards with a greedy drag of the wet and hot muscle, lighting flames of embarrassment on your cheeks.

You shudder at the grip on your hair as he pulls your head back at the same time as roughly sinks his teeth into the soft plush of your lower lip. Your little hands immediately spread themselves on his chest to try to push him away, but this and your cry of pain only serve to draw an amused laugh from him. It is obviously of his own free will that he mercifully gives in to your plea after a few seconds of torture. He sucks the sensitive flesh into his lips, licking and soothing the bite with a gentle, wet suction.

Mistakenly, your body decides to relax against his hands, welcoming the gentle but cunning care that is his tongue caressing the small, bloody cut he left on your lip. He eases your pain, even if it is because of him that you feel it in the first place.

It is natural for the contact to evolve, after all, his tongue is right there; sliding across your lower lip, his lips brushing yours provocatively. It is really predictable what would happen next, but it still pulls a dazed gasp from your throat.

His fingers hold your head firmly by the ponytail and his mouth covers yours completely, like a wet, warm cocoon that you cannot escape. The groan that sounds from his throat at the feel of your lips on his is one of deep satisfaction, a breathy appreciation that rumbled as he curls his body over yours, locks your legs around his waist, and moves his mouth over yours.

It’s nothing like any kiss you’ve ever experienced in the past. You’re not even sure if it could even be called a kiss.

There are perhaps no words for it other than hunger and need as he barely touches his mouth to yours before his lips are forcing yours apart so the wet muscle of his tongue can slide between your teeth. He’s rough and intense, kissing you like he’s kicking your soul out of your body. It’s all a clash of teeth and tongue that leaves you with your hands trembling in the collar of his robe, your eyes half-lidded and your cheeks flushed as you struggle not to choke on the wild rhythm of the pseudo-kiss. Every inch of the contact feels equally forced and premeditated, an unaltered conclusion that has you subtly pushing your hips forward against him as the sheer surprise and discomfort of the act subsides into something deeper. Darker. You can barely breathe in the tiny, moist inches that open between your lips, making small choking sounds in his mouth - stunned, outraged, humiliated, bursting into flames-

The pointed chin of the mask is digging painfully into your skin at this angle and all you can do is try to tilt your head to the side to avoid hurting yourself, since the man doesn't seem to have the slightest interest in your comfort. But not even this is enough to contain the chilling flame that grows between your legs with each hot breath that leaves the killer's nostrils on your cheek, his greedy tongue licking your teeth and his lips drinking your saliva as if it were the most delicious wine.

When he breaks the kiss it's like breathing after a long time underwater, your other senses dulled and directed only at him like a funnel.

"What in the bloody hell was that? Getting a guy all heated and bothered with a kiss," He grins between a breathy laugh, barely separating his lips from yours, rubbing the tips of your noses together in a comical imitation of affection as you both breathe heavily, "you really are something special, aren't you little girl?"

As you gasp for air, feeling your cheeks darken several shades at the unwanted compliment, the man caresses your face in a disturbingly affectionate manner, as if he's rewarding you for letting him kiss your mouth like that, even though it's clear he's not done yet. Pulling away from you just a few inches, you twitch and yelp as he roughly grabs you by the hips to pull you to the edge of the counter, making you subconsciously lean your back. A second later, he rips the tiny shorts you're wearing down, skimming over the curve of your ass and thighs, grabbing the flesh there greedily as he simply rips the thing off your body.

It takes a few seconds for the realization that there are no more barriers in place to keep the killer at bay to sink in — not that it ever did stop him before anyway. But knowing that beneath your red pleated skirt there’s no covering to offer even a modicum of safety (even if misguided) is nerve-racking in a way that makes your blood roar through your veins, and, illogically, not in a bad way.

“Do you feel that?” he murmurs, wet, breathless lips brushing the hollow of your throat as he bends down slightly to unbuckle his belt. The clink of metal is nearly drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the loud music downstairs. “That’s what you do to me. Every time I see you, every time you look up with those big, shy eyes — I want you to look at me, I need that look to be mine. And you don’t understand, do you? You drive me so fucking crazy, girl.” You barely put up a fight when he takes a thigh in each hand and wraps them around his waist before taking his cock in his palm and stroking it a little. It takes everything in you not to look down, teeth sinking into the soft, swollen surface of your lower lip as you hear the wet squelch that the contact between his gloved fingers and his cock makes with each lewd tug.

There should be more resistance in you, but all that’s left at this point is exhaustion and the painful slap of reality that comes with accepting the fact that you’re not rejecting this as much as you used to. There’s a war going on between your body and your mind. Where, of course, you know how sick this man is and how dangerous it would be to give in, there’s also the certainty that he brings out something undesirable in you — that intoxicating, dark sensation of feeling good about being so violently desired by someone. It’s not something you’re proud of, of course. But there’s no denying the way your body wants to succumb to it, to give itself completely to this cruel man you don’t even know but who is obviously obsessed with you. It’s something you can’t begin to comprehend, much less accept, but it comes rushing back to you anyway.

Your poor therapist might have a thing or two to say about such urges.

He rubs the bulbous crown of his cock against your sensitive, shamefully touch-starved clit and you shiver as the heat and dew of his pre-cum spreads through you at the contact. A warm, newborn droplet trickles over your bud of nerves, bathing it in tingling as he steadily nudges the tip along your wet folds. His thumb joins in the teasing, swirling with a few hard rubs followed by a softer touch, too deliberate to be anything but expert, pushing against the hood and pulling it back, exposing your nub to him even more. From his expose lips he makes a deep sound as he feels you getting wetter, more slippery. He circles your clit relentlessly and it’s him who moans louder between the two of you, even though it’s you who’s eyes are rolling back in pleasure.

He recovers quickly, though. Hearing and seeing how loud the sounds of your wetness ring out in the small bathroom, he breathes a laugh so mocking and icy that you feel yourself immediately wither against the mirror behind you, your face burning with the blush of a new wave of humiliation. The killer ignores you, of course, using one hand to lift your thigh up and to the side, doing the same with the other, adjusting both of your legs so that your feet rest almost flat along the edge of the counter - exposing you as if your modesty and dignity mattered nothing at all.

And it doesn't. Not to him.

"So wet." He teases, annoyingly making a point of giving voice to what you've both already realized. His hand slides over the curve of your thigh possessively, pushing the draped fabric of your red skirt with it so that it bunches at your hips. He groans as watches his length freely slide through the slickness between your legs, giving a shallow pump forward. The gloved thumb presses with just the right amount of force, rubbing in a circular motion that makes your toes curl inside the boots and your throat tighten at the noise you suppress. That is, until the soft, wet tip catches against your opening and he pushes inside without further ado.

You gasp loudly at the sharp pressure, reflexively slapping the hands against his chest to push him away, but soon both his arms are around your body, preventing you from going any further, pinning you against him with his strong hands and his cock.

“Aaaah!” You cry out, and he immediately brushes his lips against your ear, leaving a sharp bite on the sensitive flesh, enjoying the struggle evident on your face. Your pussy hasn’t been used properly in a long time, and this man certainly doesn’t lack in the size department.

“Shhhh,” he hums, sounding too pleased for it to even remotely be interpreted as an attempt at comfort. “You can handle it, baby,” he whispers in your ear, one hand relaxing its iron grip on your body to cup your cheek, “I know you can.”

It’s not like he’s giving you any options other than to handle it. And yet, over the sting of the stretch and the ache of being taken without denying it, your insides burn with dark desire. It’s like being fully satisfied with something you didn’t even know you needed.

“That’s it?” he asks as you throw your head back in the mirror, eyes closed and teeth digging into your bottom lip. “Does it feel good to you like this? Baby likes a little pain, yeah?”

You blush, unable to think about it too much without feeling like you could go straight to the hospice.

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you for an answer. Instead, firmly breaching your tremble hole, he thrusts and thrusts and gasps heated and wetly into your ear, pressing deeper until he’s halfway in. And then he stops. The fingers of one hand close loosely on the bruised skin of your throat and you freeze, fearing for a moment that he’s going to choke you once more — this time while impaling you on his thick cock. But as the seconds stretch by without such a thing happening, you begin to notice something else. Those fingers; cruel, bloody fingers, responsible for the deaths of many people, are unsteady on your flesh.

He’s trembling.

The elongated digits are gripping your flesh with no real pressure, just a nice, soft collar around your throat, but the way they’re trembling is noticeable even through the barrier of the glove.

You open your eyes to a slit, knowing you can’t see him properly with the way his mouth remains pressed against your ear, breathing heavily and heatedly. And there’s no logical explanation as to why such an action catches you so off guard. But feeling this killer, this horrible, terrifying man who is obviously incapable of a basic level of respect for human life, gasp and tremble at being inside you, makes you gasp in response. Your insides clench involuntarily and more moisture coats the heavy shaft in your pussy, making it easier for him to pass through.

Then, slowly, he moves his other palm up to squeeze your breast over the fabric of your costume before he begins to pump the rest of his length inside you.

“Mmm…that’s it,” he murmurs, “f-fuck, you feel so good, so good.”

Again, you say nothing, burying your embarrassing moans and your tears as best you can — both from pleasure and humiliation. The man is so disturbingly warm curled up against you, his body broad and tall and so firm, dark clothing heavy but soft over his defined stomach that flexes against you with each thrust - the mask poking your flesh every now and then as his breath hitches in your ear. You want to cry out in fear as much as you want to scream in pleasure.

It’s a bitter kind of betrayal the way your body seems to want to decide the game for you; your quivering pussy giving in, against all logic and reason, to accept the forced intrusion, allowing the rest of his cock to pass inside your silky walls. You lose the battle almost immediately after that, gasping at the feel of every inch of his thick member firmly seated inside you, breathless at what he’s daring to do to you. Worse than if he had broken into the bathroom to murder you, you’d say. Because here, he’s not just violently attacking you and taking your right to life, without you being able to fight back. Here he’s making you submit to him; making you want to surrender to the overwhelming sensations that he brutally rips from your body - like a priest exorcising a poor possessed soul. He humiliated you in the worst possible way and he knows it.

And you find yourself less and less concerned about it.

You tilt your head to the side - and now there is no more internal restraint to prevent your moans.

“Please…aaah…”

“That’s it, princess,” he chuckles, as if he senses you’re giving in.

The time he stays still inside you doesn’t last long, just the few seconds long enough for you to feel the heat and enlargement of his cock, the thick veins pulsing as he bounces between your walls. It’s as if the pain has pierced you beyond anything else, pierced you like a sharp bolt of lightning that has fried your nerves until it’s left behind nothing but a sense of…overwhelming fullness. You’re completely boneless, trapped between his strong body and the mirror, your hands clenched loosely in the dark fabric of his robe. It’s a sensory experience that quickly becomes too much, but not enough.

When he pulls his hips back you experience a confused moment of panic, frustrated as you feel him pull away from you to leave your pussy achingly empty. There’s no time to question the insanity of your thoughts though.

His fingers are still shaking as he pulls away from you, releasing your throat to tangle them deep into the roots of your hair as a scream is forced like a punch from your lungs when, in a single strong thrust, he is fully sheathed within your quivering insides once more.

Between the iron grip on your hair and his hand gripping your breast like a vise, all you can do is grip his robe tighter as he ravages you. His teeth are where your neck meets your shoulder with a sharp bite, pulling away to thrust inside you in another violent thrust, your hole stretched and more vulnerable than ever. Your frantic brain is making you all too aware of every little sensation racking your body. The way his thick cock opens you, how each thrust makes your smaller body tremble, leaving you breathless as you dig your nails into the soft fabric of his robe to try and hold on through the punishing rhythm of his hips. When this night is over, and assuming you’re still alive, you know you’ll be bruised and sore everywhere, from your hips and ass to your breasts and throat. In your mind and in your soul. Right now, you don’t know if you’ll ever recover from this. If you’d ever want to.

"S-stop..." You don't know why the words are coming out of your mouth; not only would they be useless to the man, but they also carry no real force behind them. You don't even know if you really want him to stop. It feels more like an instinctive reaction than what your brain deems to be the right thing to do. "I - I'm going to scream."

He laughs, recognizing your empty threat for what it is, but your stomach still twists when he grips your hair to pull your face towards his.

"Oh, you promise? Please do it, little girl."

Out of spite, you close your mouth, but that only seems to incite him. With an amused chuckle and one last pinch to your nipple, he releases your breast to grab both of your thighs. His hands are large on your flesh while his fingers bruise the soft skin even more.

"Such a stubborn little thing. We can't have any of that, can we, sweetie?"

His hands curl under your ass and, after a greedy squeeze, he’s lifting you up, not letting his cock slip out of your pussy for even half a moment before he slams you against the wall. Your spine arches and your bones rattle from the nothing short of violent impact, but he doesn’t care, writhing and pulsing inside you, undeniably stimulated by your pain - and oh god, this definitely shouldn’t feel as fucking good as it does.

It barely takes a second before he’s holding you steady and still by your thighs before he starts ramming his wet cock in and out of you again, like a machine, so hard that each thrust of his hips makes your back hit the wall.

In this position you’re forced to wrap your arms behind his neck for safety, feeling his hands close on the inner curve below your knee to spread your legs even wider, his body so intimately pressed against yours that it’s almost unsettling. Especially after so long without any human contact like this. You feel, to say the least, overwhelmed by such a sudden onslaught of intimacy.

You tense when he thrusts in a particularly dirty way, grinning like hell when you hiccup with a moan. He repeats the movement out of pure tease, his mask askew but turned toward you, the mocking line of his lips right next to yours.

“Mine,” he whispers, “My princess, my little pet, my cute little toy.”

His thrusts become not only hard but fast as well, and you can hear each time his body hits yours with a wet slap, each withdrawal slick and sticky.

“Please, w-why are you doing this? Why me?” It’s all you can manage to ask, your head growing increasingly confused, your pussy growing wetter.

He slows his movements to a blessedly slower grind, humming dramatically as he pretends to ponder your question.

“Why you?”

In an abrupt movement that you wouldn't have expected in a million years, he lets go of one of your thighs and abruptly rips the mask off his face, with such ease that you initially don't understand what it means. But then, with finality and violence, the weight of reality falls upon you.

He took off the mask.

He let you see his face.

The face of a murderer wanted by the police.

You were already dead. Yes, if such a fate was uncertain before, it certainly isn't anymore.

The shock of the revelation is so absolute that it takes a few seconds for you to actually focus on his face. But slowly, each individual feature seems to stick to your mush brain.

First you are greeted with that shock of long platinum blonde hair, tied in a loose bun, a few strands stuck to the sweaty skin of his forehead and the sides of his face.

The hair alone would be enough for you to easily recognize him.

But then your gaze falls to those eyes.

Eye, actually. A single, functional one, a stormy blue — enigmatic and dark as the turbulent waters of the farthest reaches of the ocean. The other, or where the other should be, is occupied by some kind of ocular prosthesis of a blue hue that could not be less like his good eye — a vivid, electric blue, like a rare, brilliant sapphire stone.

It is the first time you have seen him like this, so exposed. Always hidden by a pair of sunglasses or, failing that, a surgical eye patch. The pale skin of the man’s face would be flawless, were it not for the long, jagged scar that cuts across his cheekbone to above the line of his damaged eye.

The purple hues of the bathroom highlight all his sharp angles and an elegant appearance that is characteristic of the aristocratic genes of someone so well born.

Yes, you know this man.

Aemond Targaryen.

A college guy. Normal, as far as you can tell. Or as normal as someone privileged and born with a silver spoon in their mouth could be. Yes, he was introverted, arrogant even with his silent and mysterious attitude, as if everyone was beneath him. The few times he was pushed to enter a conversation or any other social interaction (most often by his own brother) his comments were imbued with a polite acidity that is totally unique to someone with class, or with discreet but effective jabs that carried a humor considered, at least, questionable.

Aemond constantly balanced on the fine line between cool elegance and petulant irreverence, which generated controversial opinions about him among the students. To you, he was intriguing. Someone you quietly admired, offering polite greetings and a sincere smile when your paths crossed.

Yes, you knew him - as did the entire student body knows him. The Targaryens were obscenely wealthy, widely recognized for carrying an exorbitant legacy not only of family polemics, but also of successful generations, all in the field of technology and communication.

And yes, Aemond Targaryen was someone seriously conflicted, with his taciturn and enigmatic aura.

But a serial killer? That would be impossible.

And yet he was here, smelling of leather and sandalwood - as well as blood and death, wet crimson stains on his dark robes, forcing you to the most terrifying and controversial act of your entire life.

The dawning horror of the notion that the killer on the loose could be someone you know, someone who was present in your daily life, who attended the same classes as you and yet, who you never even dreamed of suspecting, seems to want to suffocate you momentarily.

“I see you around campus. You know, some wise ones tend to avoid me whenever possible, and then there are those pathetic rats who try to get close out of some specific interest in what my clown family can offer. But you? You’re always kind. Even with your mysterious and solitary attitude, you’re still so stupidly kind to me. It’s ridiculous, princess, but also so cute.” He’s pleased by the utter shock on your face, grinning evilly as he shoots his hand out and wraps both forearms around the inside of your knees, his cock thrusting deeper into your pussy, leaning in menacingly until his teeth are grazing your ear.

“You’re all I can think about, baby. You’ve invaded my mind, my body, my life. You’ve fucking ruined me.” He speaks directly into your ear, a harsh whisper that makes you gasp and shiver despite the crushing weight of the discovery still fresh in your mind.

“It’s only fair that I ruin you too, right?”

You glow at the intimacy of his words, incandescent with the blush spreading across your cheeks, your throat, your collarbone.

“You...oh, fuck...” Your accusatory words to him die on your tongue as one particular thrust hits a spot inside you that has you curling the toes in response. Little gasps escape your lips as he hits the same spot over and over, your eyes filled with revulsion and desire beginning to soften with an inevitable flutter of the lashes. 

 “That’s right, just take it, baby.” He sighs with a smile, kissing your jaw as you tilt your head back. His voice is like molasses; soft but rough around the edges — sweet but dark with the huskiness of his lust. It’s getting harder for you to control this feeling now. You feel your legs tighten, instinctively trying to wrap yourself around his waist tighter. A hand rising from his broad shoulder to tangle in the platinum strands of hair at the nape of his neck, eliciting an approving grunt from the man. He watches you with awe and a hooded gaze as you give in to that feeling of helplessness once again.

“You feel so warm and wet, dripping all over that pretty pussy, drooling on my cock like that…you’ve been just as desperate as I have, umm? So lonely…you’ll never be lonely again, princess,” he promises hotly, groping his way up your thighs until he grabs your ass, thrusting slowly, deeply, brushing against your cervix each time.

“I’m going to fuck your ass like that someday.” He says casually with a sly smile as his fingertips slide along the crack of your ass, thrusting his cock into your pussy harder to show you what he means, making your breath shallow and your eyes widen. “I think I’ll do that next time indeed. Fill every tight little hole in your body. Mark every inch of your skin as mine.” 

“Oh, God -” You feel tears forming in your eyes and streaming down your cheeks as you squeeze them shut, shaking as he teases you with wicked words, his hands coming up to grip either side of your waist. “Stop, please.”

“Oh no, baby, I’m not stopping. Not now and not ever. I’m going to claim that body in every damn way I can. With my cock, my fingers, my tongue.” You moan and pull away from him, your cheeks red and wet, shaking your head in a mumbled protest that’s too weak to be taken seriously. There’s more pleasure on your face than fear. He chuckles. “Do you like that? Do you like the idea of ​​my tongue in that sweet pussy?”

Before you can think to deny it, his mouth crashes down on yours, rough and brutal, hungry. There’s blood on your tongue, you notice, the cut reopened in his greed, the taste ferrous and acrid in your mouth as his tongue slides inside — his, maybe, or yours, or both, you don’t know.

As quickly as it begins, it ends. Aemond pulls back enough to brush his lips against yours, sharing quick, wet breaths.

“Oh yes, you do. You love knowing that I want to lick that pussy until you come, once, twice, three times — until you squeal and beg me to stop. But I won’t. I’ll make you come as many times as I want, as many times as your body can take. And even then, even if you pass out from exhaustion, I’ll fuck you. Like a beautiful little sex doll.”

Amidst the sensual humiliation of his wanton words, you feel your back scraping against the wall; up and down, over and over. The grip of your fingers in his hair tightens and he growls in his throat, palming your ass to move it with more fervor. He holds his own body still, using only the strength of his arms hooked in the crook of your knees and his hands on your waist to move you up and down his cock.

His face, though it still manages to hold that cold, wicked smirk, is smudged with a soft blush across his cheeks and the bridge of the nose, the rest of his pale skin glistens slightly with sweat, and his good eye is dark with desire — the pupil so wide it almost completely overpowers the blue of his iris. And he’s beautiful like that; even with the prosthetic eye and the frightening scar. Beautiful and ethereal, completely belying his sick personality and unforgivable sins.

Through parted lips he gasps with effort and it takes a moment, but when he pushes you up again, your face completely implodes into flames as you realize he’s using you to masturbate. He’s doing exactly what he said he would, using you like a sex doll, a flashlight clenched around his cock.

His thrusting becomes faster and rougher as he grips your waist tighter between his broad palms, dragging your pussy down his cock with short strokes. Your own breaths shorten, becoming ragged sobs each time the fabric of his robe rubs against your sensitive clit. When he’s basically grinding your pussy against him, undulating your hips in a hurried back and forth, he leans down to press the forehead to yours. His heavy, cold gaze stays locked on yours through each drag. 

“That’s it. That’s it. Look at me. You’re so tight, so good. Keep looking at me. Good girl.” He punctuates each word with breathless slowness. Each guided movement of your hips is intentionally placed — rubbing your walls against his thick cock while simultaneously stimulating your clit against the mound of fabric of his tunic in a way he knows will send you over the edge.

Despite the order, your eyes grow heavy and fluttery, beginning to roll back as the muscles in your thighs and abdomen tense in preparation for the inevitable climax. That scary and wonderful cliff that taunts you in a messy way, approaching faster than you can understand.

A hard slap on your cheek brings you back.

“What did I just say, princess?” he growls, his voice rough with the effort of holding back his own desires. And your cheek stings where he’s hit you, glowing an even deeper shade of red, but you barely give it half a second’s attention — not when he’s looking at you like this; all breathless, sweaty lines and smoldering gaze.

“Keep your fucking eyes on me.” He releases your jaw with a warning jerk, sliding his hand down through your wet mess to find your swollen clit and circle the bud with his thumb, his other hand still tight around your waist. His body grinds into yours, flattening you against his lean muscles and the wall, slamming his hips into yours without pause.

You take a deep, shaky breath.

Your boots cross behind his back, skirt swinging at his waist with each thrust. And yet you do your best to hold Aemond’s obsessive gaze – unable to even name the intensity of the emotion swirling within you. The muscles in your thighs now tremble visibly, clenching tightly around his body in your impending release.

“Aemond – I need, oh, I can't…” You whisper, barely realizing what comes out of your mouth, a broken moan escaping along with the jumbled words, your entire body twitching under the expert assault of his thumb on your clit and his quick, relentless thrusts. You were close. So close. Balancing precariously right on the edge. And he knew it too. 

“That’s it, say my fucking name as you cum for me. Come on, do it now little girl.”

It happens quickly after that, relentlessly, your eyes trying to close without your permission, but you are obedient and keep them half-lidded as you stare at Aemond, a choked cry finally escaping your throat. 

“Aemond!”

With a determined growl, sweat dripping down his temples, he thrusts into you harder and harder until the tight coil snaps. Shockwaves of electric pleasure overwhelm you, forcing all the air from your lungs in a messy gasp. You shake as you come, clenching the fist against your attacker’s chest, nails digging into the roots of his silver hair, trying to ignore the stinging taste of shame as you find purchase in his body. 

“Look at me. Look at me, baby.” He pushes his forehead against yours, sending you a sly, proud smile as your eyes flutter and water with the effort of keeping them open through the climax. His pace quickens with the excitement of seeing your drunken gaze and flushed face.

His own release washes over him like the purest rush of insanity; brows furrowed as if he’s in pain, lips parted in a hoarse groan that raises every little hair on your body. His warm cum fills you, bubbling at the tight rims of the ring of muscle where his cock stretches you. He stays buried inside as his balls empty, his head finally tilting back and breaking intense eye contact as his lips release another long, satisfied groan.

When it’s all over, he slowly leans down to touch your foreheads once more, and you feel an overwhelming, incoherent wave of satisfaction when notice the muscles in his arms and fingers trembling where they touch your skin. 

“You’re mine,” he murmurs between labored breaths. “All mine.”

He babbles possessively, rolling his hips into you to prolong the intimacy, even as you feel him softening discreetly within your walls.

“I’ll burn the world for you, I’ll do anything to keep your eyes on me like this. I’ll kill as many as it takes to have you by my side.” His voice, husky and haunting, makes you shiver with horror — with heat.

You don’t think he needs your involvement in the story to fulfill the last part of his dark promise. Not with the previous list of confirmed murders or the blood that stains his clothes tonight. That stains your costume now too. But his words still send a swarm of butterflies dancing in your stomach and, not for the first time, you find yourself questioning the integrity of your mental health.

He’s smiling at your flushed, uncomfortable features, swollen lips brushing against yours playfully as he catches the breath to say something else that will surely upset you deeply. Before he can, however, his broad body freezes against yours, whatever he was about to say abruptly dying on his tongue.

Like a tense and intriguing suspense, the two of you are slowly bathed in the garish red and blue lights that filter through the small bathroom window, overshadowing the soft purple lighting from before.

The police.

Just as the realization sets in, the sound of sirens is heard; loud and distinctive. And it is then, and only then, that you notice that there are no more sounds of music coming from downstairs.

When had it stopped?

Relief is the first thing you feel. Hope and security flicker in your chest until a new wave of tears blurs your vision. But the feeling quickly withers before another realization. The police, along with your college friends, were minutes away from finding out where and who you had been all this time. They would find Aemond, it was true. They would finally arrest the killer known as Ghostface. But they would also find you. You, abused, raped and humiliated.

God, could they deduce just by looking at you that, at some point during this violation, you had started to want this?

Your jaw is gripped by his firm fingers, making your wide, wet eyes focus on the man in front of you. He looks at you with such intensity, serious and analytical, and in that moment you are sure that he knows exactly what you are thinking.

“I know where every single one of your friends lives, what every single one of them does during the day — every damn minute of their activities is recorded for me,” he whispers slowly, sinking each word into your overworked brain to make sure you understand. “The same goes for your family members. I know where they live, who they are, and what they do. Dare to open your pretty little mouth to anyone about me and you’ll get one of their heads every time you open your dorm room door in the morning. I’ll even do the favor of gift wrapping it for you, baby.”

Your stomach lurches with sudden nausea, all the color draining from your face at the threat you know he wouldn’t hesitate to carry out if need be.

“I truly hope you won’t betray my trust, love. Like I said before, I don’t want to kill you.” He smooths his knuckles down your tear-stained cheek, softening his tone to something softer and gentler — yet equally terrifying. “But I’ll do it to someone you care about without a second thought. So don’t test me.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he seals his lips on yours. Just a light, wet touch, more an intimate exchange of heated breaths than a kiss. With an approving grunt when you sigh and surrender to his touch, he pulls away.

Your shaky, weak legs give way as he leaves your body, and you slide down the wall in a confused, weeping heap until you’re sitting on the tiled bathroom floor.

Hovering above you, Aemond tucks his penis into the pants and fastens his belt, straightening the robes with a perfectly neutral expression and calm manner, as if at this very moment the cops aren’t searching the frat house for him. Long fingers casually grip the mask lying on the counter, giving you one last intense, appraising look, licking his lips slyly before covering his face.

That ghost mask is back then, cold and frightening, pulling the hood up over his head before bending down and holding the bloody kitchen knife in the palm of his hand. Black boots click on the tile floor as he turns back to you and heads for the door, casting a glance over his shoulder as he places hand on the doorknob.

“This won’t be the last time, princess. I’ll come back for you.” His voice is dark and muffled by the mask, sounding more like a threat to your life than a lover’s promise, especially now that he’s back in his ghostly, cruel persona. “Until then, try not to miss me too much, and of course, be on your best behavior.”

He leaves as disturbingly as he came, with a dark swish of his cloak and an amused chuckle, closing the door with a teasing gentleness — as if he’s trying not to scare you. You might even buy his act, if it weren't for all the psychological terror he's inflicted on you so far.

And then you find yourself alone in the bathroom once again, with nothing but your own shame and accusatory thoughts.

And that's exactly how the cops find you a few minutes later. Sitting on the tile floor, pale as death, your Sailor Mars costume stained with blood and throat marked from the cruel grip of your attacker's fingers. Your cheek still stings from the slap he gave you.

You think you can hide the finger marks on your thighs by deliberately tucking the legs in, taking the opportunity to keep the messy puddle of cum out of sight of the lawmen. But one of them still wraps his jacket around you in a gesture of solidarity as he leads you out, reciting kind words that, despite their intention, do nothing to actually calm you.

“Oh, thank God!”

You stagger back at the sudden hug Mako gives you as you exit the house, crossing the area marked off by yellow police tape. The officer next to you clucks his tongue in disapproval, but steps aside to offer the two of you some privacy.

“Someone called the police when they found the bodies on the next street. It all happened so fast. The party was going on and then everything turned into absolute chaos and I couldn’t find you anywhere!” She babbles quickly as pulls away from the hug, looking you up and down with her puffy, red eyes, her hands shaking where they are — clenched tightly on the arms of the police jacket you’re wearing, as if she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go. “W-when they said that you could be upstairs with him…I-I thought…fuck…I really thought—”

“I know. But I’m here now. And I’m fine.” You cut her off, wiping away your own tears as you try to give her a very unconvincing smile. Predictably, she doesn’t buy your lie, but doesn’t press it either.

“They couldn’t catch him, pumpkin…” she says slowly after a moment of silence, her face contorted in pain for you. “By the time they got upstairs, he’d already escaped. I'm sorry."

You want to tell her that you know that, you were there when he fled before could be caught. Before you can, however, the officer from before is back - this time accompanied by another, a tall, tired-looking man with a gray beard. The sheriff, you assume.

"If you don't mind, we'd like to ask you a few questions, miss." The older man grunts, looking like he wants to be literally anywhere else but here.

"She does, actually. Can't you see how she looks?!" Mako is quick to respond, leaning forward to position herself in front of you like a protective barrier. The officers look at her like she's a little girl throwing a tantrum, nothing but tired indifference on their faces.

"It's okay, Mako. I got it." You try to calm the situation, placing a hand on her shoulder to gently guide her to the side. "I'd rather do it now, actually. I just want to put this all behind me as soon as possible."

It's impossible to put this behind, but you don't say that part.

Mako holds your gaze for a few seconds, keeping such a watchful, worried glint in every expression on your face that, for a minute, you fear she might know exactly everything that happened just by that look. When she sighs and steps aside in reluctant surrender, you almost sigh along with her.

"Okay. But I won't go far, I'll be waiting for you right there."

You mumble an 'mkay' and she reluctantly walks away, not before casting a sharp glance at the two officers standing in the same position near you - who promptly ignore her silent attempt at a threat. When she finally walks away, you sigh, staring at the badge on the older man's chest for a few seconds as you prepare to craft a narrative of the facts that doesn't reveal anything about the killer's identity.

"Alright. What would you like to know, Sheriff Myers?"

Fortunately, the police in your town have never been the most diligent or perceptive, and while they may ask a few important questions here and there, they generally remain naturally ignorant to some confusing gaps in your version of events. You are careful to avoid saying anything about the sexual assault you suffered, opting to tell them only about the physical violence that they have inevitably noticed by now; the marks on your neck, wrists and the red slap on your cheek.

They accept your half-truths so easily that you would be offended if that wasn't exactly the goal. In the end, all that matters to them is the answer to one question:

"Did you get a look at his face? Skin color, hair, eyes... anything that might help us identify this fucker once and for all?"

And in that moment you think of Mako, her cheerful smile and irreverent attitude. You think of your parents, so safe and oblivious in your hometown. You think of the faces of every your family member, friend and colleague who could suffer an agonizing death at the hands of the killer if you dared to answer the wrong way.

"N-no, sir. I'm sorry, but no, I didn't see anything. He was completely covered the whole time, with gloves and a mask." You huddle deeper into the thick jacket over your shoulders, your arms wrapped around yourself.

The sheriff takes a deep breath, clearly disappointed at once again running in circles, but he doesn't press you on it. And after a few other less important questions, they both say goodbye with a standard guarantee of protection that you don't trust for a second.

They've barely moved away from you when your phone vibrates in the pocket with the warning of a new notification. After glancing over your shoulder in alarm to see if anyone was watching, you feel the heart race before you even reach for it, fingers already shaking with nervous anticipation, knowing exactly who the notification is from. With a shaky click of your thumb on the now mostly cracked and destroyed screen, the thing lights up for you:

--

Notification Center

2:23am - Unknown number

"Well done, little girl. You made me proud (and a little horny, I must admit) with all those pathetic little lies to the authorities. Keep being a good girl and everyone you care about will be safe. Scout's word.

We'll meet again sooner than you think.

A.T."

--

[hearts4chriss]

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝.

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

Brothers bestfriend! Chris + needy! Nate’s lil sis

prompt: Nate ( ur older brother ) wants to go out for a bit with some of his other friends and he doesn’t trust you enough to stay home by urself without mom and dad since they won’t be there either. So he asks one of his best friend Chris to stay over and watch you, Matt and nick know ur crush on Chris so they pretend they can’t come.

Part 01

contains: masturbation ( no actual sex ), use of y/n ( sorry I have to ) dirty fantasies ( pet names, rough! Chris, dirty talk, degrading, forced head etc just beyond FILTHLY imagination ), use of vibrator on reader, caught by Chris, FORESHADOWING, fantasy will be like this

Nate are you serious I’m not 12! I whine when said he was gonna find a baby sitter for me knowing how much it pisses me off

I’m Nate doe’s little sister I’m 18, we’ve Been close to his bestfriends the sturniolo triplets. So obviously him being my brother naturally I got to know them.

Nick

I clicked with him superrr fast, I love his energy and when I found out he was gay that just made it all the better because I’ve always wanted a gay bestfriend, and we always have sleepovers :)

Matt

Matt’s absolutely adorable I love him he always helps me calm down whenever I’m about to or am having a panic attack, I remember one time during a test I forgot everything and almost had one and he slid me the answers. Love that kid

now there’s a reason I saved Chris for last,

Chris

chris and I know each other just as well if not even more then I do his other two brothers, we haven’t done anything unfortunately. I’ve had a crush on him since middle school.

First I just wanted to kiss him and hold his hand.

Then go to his house and do some more.

Then now, as an 18 year old I wanted him to fuck my Brains out.

I’m around him all the time since we all live in LA and always hanging out, I always see him shirtless and fucking hell it turns me on, I always get lucky since nick and matt found of my attraction to his brother they always snap me or text me pictures of him.

What sucks is I cant have him. It would take my life 1000 times over for me to be able to fuck chris sturniolo, and it sucks because my brother nate does not play that shit.

He strictly said "your not allowed to date any of them" obviously referring to matt and Chris.

Which also doesn't help because my wants and desires a hormonal teenage-adult girl only grow more whenever he comes around, chris is always there.

Now today, nate had to run some errands and nick matt and chris used to watch me when I was younger if my parents couldn't

Buttt, nick and matt "could not come due to personal issues" so. Your guess is right, im gonna be alone with chris for hours.

That thought alone made me soak in my p-

“Y/n! are you listening to me kid?” My older brother chuckles leaning against my doorway of my room as im on my bed watching "The Vampire Diaries".

“Huh? oh yeah im listening matt and nick cant come so chris is because im fucking 11.” I roll my eyes hiding my excitement from him watching me.

“Don't think of any weird shit alright? He's just watching you so don't-“

“Ugh is he here yet? You're annoying me already.” I groan shifting in my sheets and taking a sip from my celsius hearin our door open, they have a key.

“Welp thats chris.” Nate says tilting his head for me to get up.

I get up from the sheets wearing some pink sleep shorts and a white t-shirt and he raises an eyebrow.

“Your wearing THAT? around chris?” Nate chuckles and I flip him off.

“Hey! I heard that!.” Chris yells coming up the stairs sounding offended.

He's now at the top of the steps. oh my fuck he looks so good.

Its around 6ish in LA right now and hes wearing a black tank top and grey fresh love sweats, slight stubble and his hair was a bit messy which I always liked and my eyes immediately drifted to his natural bulge in his pants as him and Nate were talking.

“Just make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.” Nate puts his arm around me giving me a hug and Chris chuckles.

“Don’t worry bro she’s safe with me.” He says before dapping him up as Nate leaves the house. yeah safer if you were balls deep inside

Oh god Chris sh-shit so-d-deep inside me

Yeah? You feel me deep inside you baby?

bro she’s like zoning out today. Nate chuckled and I snap out of it

Whatever no I wasn’t! Just go!

Soon after it was just me and Chris so we made our way down to the living room

“Where are ur other two clones?” I chuckle getting situated on the couch before turning on a movie saltburn

“they have “personal issues”.” He said rolling his eyes causing a small laugh to fall from my lips.

“So it’s just you and me little one.” A smirk curving on his lips, just enough for my panties to be soaked.

Shut up Chris I’m 18.I mutter trying to watch the movie in peace and he chuckles

the movie went on and it was now, the bathtub scene where jacob elordi ( Felix ) is jerking off.

I peer over to Chris whose eyes are clearly fixated on the screen as my squeeze my thighs together under the blanket feeling all my hormonal thoughts leaking through my panties.

This had nothing to do with the movie, it’s the thought for Chris doing that to himself that had turned me on most. The tension so thick a knife couldn’t even cut through.

“Uhm I-i gotta go to the bathroom”. I nearly choke and I fix my shorts placing the blanket down where I was sitting.

“Don’t take to long I’ll miss you.” He chuckles and that didn’t help.

I go to my room and close the door squeezing my eyes shut.

I had maybe 5 minutes to relieve myself.

I quickly reach into my drawer grabbing my vibrating dildo and the remote for it.

I pull down my shorts and panties and spread my legs letting the tip of the toy get coated in my wetness and I bite my lip slightly feeling the thickness of it.

I turned it on letting out a soft moan slowly inserting it, wishing this was Chris’s dick instead.

I began thrusting the toy in and out of my pussy letting the squelching sounds of arousal grow letting it drip down curling my toes throwing my head on the pillows allowing my mind to drift

I was in Chris’s/my room my head smushed in the pillows as his cock rammed inside me whilst I was on my stomach. His hips slamming against my ass and his hand wrapped around my lower stomach as I cried out his name

Fuck fuckk so d-deep- I whimper into the pillows as he was bringing me to my 4th orgasm, we had switched numerous positions and my legs were quivering in front of him as he laid a hard snack to my ass chucking behind me.

such a fucking slut letting me fuck you like this, imagine if ur brother found out his little sister was getting her pussy pounded by his bestfriend. He laid another harsh smack to my ass and I jolted forward.

stretched this pussy out so good- he groans rubbing my clit to chase both our orgasms.

ngh- o-oh shit- fuck- I gripped the sheets tightly curses of Chris’s name flew out my mouth feeling my eyes water from the angle of his hips thrusting allowing his thick cock to hit every single spot inside me

come on sweetheart cum for me, you have another one in you yeah? He grunted lowly in my ear kissing me sloppily as a string of Saliva parts from our lips each time we kiss moaning into each others mouths.

“Oh fuck Chris I-“ I curl my toes and yell loudly as I’m about to release on the toy before I look up and see Chris. Was. Watching me.

“Were you playing with yourself?” Chris leans on the doorway of my room his eyes darting to between ny legs as I was thrusting the toy in and out of me and I quickly covered up my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Uhm…maybe. Sorry I-I’ll be down in a second-“

Maybe I can help. Chris says closing the door to my room approaching my bed

@mattsleftnipple03 @bernardsleftbootycheek @sturniolopowers @gdsvhtwa @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @worldlxvlys @chrisslut25 @princessbetsy123-blog @mattslolita @guccifrog @blahbel668 @mattsneezing @trickywritters @hearts4chris

@nonamegirlxsturniolo @luvmxtt @theyluv-meee @mattsnymphette @hoesformatt @luv4kozume @kikisturnioloo @pepsiimaxx @babyddolly @iiheartstef @junnniiieee07 @ast3ro1dzz @sturniolowhore @st7rnioioss @emma4eva @braindead4l @ihearttsyouu @blondiesjailer @kqyslyho3 @sturnsfav @sunsetsturniolos @sturniololoverr @stqrnstars @dlyansworld @soimightlikeoldmen69 @abbie13sworld @lacysturniolo @sturniol0s @chrissgirlsstuff @leah-loves-lilies @luhsexcbihh @nicksmainbitch

[ohwormwood]

breaking down over in stars and time's use of tarot cards

[woe, spoilers be upon ye!]

[no seriously, this contains spoilers for the entire game. proceed with caution]

BECAUSE IF I HAVE TO BE TORMENTED BY THIS KNOWLEDGE, THEN SO DO YOU.

Act 2

Six of Swords

Transition, change, rite of passage, releasing baggage

Siffrin is, in the start of Act 2, beginning a new journey. This card is pretty self explanatory, but also is a form of major foreshadowing. Six of Swords has a heavy implication towards evolving and bettering yourself as a person, going on a journey that is absolutely essential to growth. Whether or not this journey is at all pleasant is entirely left up in the air, but given the rest of the game, it’s more of an indication of hard-won lessons.

Siffrin asks “How does the boat not sink?”, which is kind of hilarious, given that they end up almost sinking into complete despair by the end of the game, only saved by getting help and changing, completing their journey and starting a new one.

The Star (Reversed)

Lack of faith, despair, self-trust, disconnection

Stars play a huge part in this game (it’s literally in the name), so this card felt kind of inevitable. The most important part of this card is that it serves as a sort of omen for what is to come. In Act 2, Siffrin is blissfully unaware of the overall impact this will have on his psyche, of the turmoil it will bring him. But the most important part of this card for me is the idea of loss of faith. The very first line in the reference site’s description is this; “The Star Reversed can mean that you’ve lost faith and hope in the Universe”. This is likely indicative of the gradual crumbling of Siffrin’s hope over the course of the game. The site also notes that “You may be desperately calling out to the Universe to give you some reprieve but struggling to see how the Divine is on your side”. Siffrin pretty much does this in the latter half of Act 3, as things become more and more hopeless. This is, for lack of a better term, a test of faith. Given how the Change God mocks Siffrin for the Universe never talking to them directly, this is nailed home pretty hard. But, in Act 2, a lot of the concept of The Universe and Wishcraft isn’t introduced, so this serves more as a premonition than anything else.

Another note: Loop. Loop is a star. Or ate a star. Either way, they have a deep connection with stars (and The Universe as a result). I bring this up because of the general meaning behind the UPRIGHT version of this card, which is a sign of hope, faith, and guidance. Loop serves this purpose throughout the game as Siffrin’s “helpful companion~”, so the connection here there is nice. But the entry states this; “When confronted with a challenging situation, you can either crumble like The Tower or stand firm in your conviction that the Divine is everywhere”. Because of the 2 Hats situation, we know that where Siffrin eventually overcame the challenges of The Star/The Universe, Loop did not. Instead, they made one last plea to the Universe for help, and The Universe listened. But we know the obvious twist of fate here is that Loop is literally helping themself by helping Siffrin. They gave in, crumbled, and lost their faith in the end, only to be the thing that helped Siffrin keep theirs and eventually free themselves. 

Ace of Wands 

Inspiration, new opportunities, growth, potential

Most of Act 2 Siffrin is spent with this idea in mind. At this point, Siffrin is pretty lax about the true meaning of the loops, believing them to be an opportunity to beat the king, each loop full of potential to achieve their goal. But the twist here is that for the Ace of Wands, there is always potential but never a guarantee of success. Siffrin experiences this first hand at the end of Act 2. 

Eight of Pentacles

Apprenticeship, repetitive tasks, mastery, skill development

Another nod to Siffrin’s frame of mind in Act 2. The slow mastery gained through the overall leveling system in the game actually accomplishes this card’s meaning pretty well- you repeat everything, over and over, and it is only when you master it that you are able to defeat the king. Siffrin notes a lot that in a couple of loops, he will likely be able to remember interactions by heart, and some he actually does recall completely, like when the very first interaction with Mirabelle in Dormont at the start of each loop. He’s essentially memorized the script, mastered the actions, the choreography, and now is faced with the fact that he has to do it over and over again. It will turn into monotony by proxy of being so familiar and easy. 

Siffrin also notes that “they seem happy to be working”, which is another nod to how he sees the loops towards the start of the game, less of a curse and more of a boon that requires effort to properly utilize.

Act 3

Two of Swords

Difficult decisions, weighing up options, an impasse, avoidance

There are a lot of hard choices to be made in Act 3, so this likely isn’t referring to any one instance. This is where the Eight of Pentacles card comes back into play, in a sense- there is still more to learn here, more to master, but a lot of that requires decisions that have greater weight than those in Act 2. People’s lives are at stake. However, it is only by doing this and making hard choices that Siffrin eventually learns more about Wishcraft and the way things work in the loops. 

Interestingly, when Siffrin describes this card, they describe someone holding scissors. An intersection of 2 blades, but the thing here is that no matter which side you’re on, they can still cut you. Alternatively, this could just be a representation that Siffrin, who is the main Scissors Craft user of the party, is the one stuck with these decisions. 

Six of Pentacles (Reversed)

Self-care, unpaid debts, one-sided charity

Siffrin is the king of never giving themself proper self care. They are also the king of tearing themselves apart to give everything they have to the party. They are willing to sacrifice everything they have for a “perfect ending” where everyone is happy… everyone but themselves, that is, because they do not receive the same fulfillment in return. They give and they give and they give, but the party does not give in return, not in the way they need. Not soon enough to prevent them from falling apart at the seams over it. 

The note here mentions that it shows “someone walking on the sky and offering flowers to sky people”, but then when flipped shows “the man is touching the ground, and giving flowers to normal people”. This kind of struck me as strange, as no matter what orientation the card takes, they will always have their feet on the ground. This also isn’t the last mention of sky people, but I haven’t really delved deep enough into theories about that to understand what that really means in the context of this card.

The Hermit

Soul-searching, introspection, being alone, inner guidance

Hilariously, this is something Siffrin completely lacks for most of the game. They avoid thinking about themselves and their own sense of self for a vast majority of their character arc, and it isolates them. While this card means well in its message of introspection, it’s also key to note that this withdrawal from the outside also can lead to being alone with your own thoughts, something that Siffrin experiences more as the game continues. And their refusal to acknowledge what they want almost breaks them. 

The loneliness aspect of this card is further hammered home by the fact that Siffrin says “they look sad and alone”.

Five of Wands

Conflict, disagreements, competition, tension, diversity

Misunderstandings and miscommunication is at the heart of this card. And oh boy, does Siffrin deal with a LOT of that in the loops. My brain immediately goes to the whole “touch therapy” arc and Siffrin’s refusal to clarify that they don’t dislike touch, which eventually leads to Memory of Touch. It’s also a bit of foreshadowing of what is to come, especially in Act 5 and the breakdown of the party’s trust in Siffrin because of their break in communication and understanding with each other. 

Siffrin asks “Why are they fighting?” when this card is drawn. The answer is that they don’t really understand themselves. This is conflict driven by a lack of communication and understanding of the other parties at hand. As the description for this card says, “No one is listening.”.

Act 4

Eight of Swords

Negative thoughts, self-imposed restriction, imprisonment, victim mentality

Act 4 starts with Siffrin experiencing quite possibly one of the worst endings to the loops he can imagine, so it’s safe to say that at this point, their deterioration is rapidly worsening. They begin to spiral, and the idea that there is no way out begins to appear. However, the main crux of this card’s significance is that there is a way out, but it lies in freeing oneself. There is a gap in the swords, and if one was to take off the blindfold they could get out. The description of this card calls this “imprisonment”, which ties in pretty nicely to one of the screens you can get when you loop back; “You are in a prison of your own making”. The description for the card also reads “You surrendered your power to an external entity, allowing yourself to become trapped and limited in some way. You may feel that it isn’t your fault – you have been placed here against your will”. This is heavy foreshadowing for the idea that Siffrin’s own wish to The Universe that got them trapped in the loops, not the wishes of The House or The King. 

Siffrin asks “Why is he alone?” when drawing this card, which kind of projects onto themselves. They feel alone, they feel trapped, and they believe that there is no one who can help them, but that isn’t true. They have the ability to change things, but they are afraid. 

Ten of Swords (Reversed)

Recovery, regeneration, resisting an inevitable end

There are good aspects to this card, but the main focus in this case is likely the idea of resisting the inevitable. This is pretty much what the whole deal with the Head Housemaiden is, the repeated attempts to find some way to change something that, by the nature of the wish, cannot be changed. And yet, Siffrin is unable to let go of this. It’s also noted that this card represents past trauma that is still being carried around and still hurts the bearer. Siffrin spends this Act searching into their past, tearing up painful memories (or lack thereof) in the process. They carry the burden of being without a true geographical/cultural home to go back to. They cannot let go of this, nor do they want to. But the card’s description notes that “these old pains need to be dealt with once and for all. It may be difficult to delve back in, but it's the only way to release yourself of this pain and allow it to pass from your life”. In a lot of ways, this nods to the avoidance of pain that Siffrin displays when they are unable to cope with their trauma from the past and the loops. It is only through promising to tell the party their wish and deal with the pain and fear of their trauma that they can move on and begin to heal. This card pretty much represents the whole crux of the story’s meaning. 

Five of Pentacles

Financial loss, poverty, lack mindset, isolation, worry

Loss is a major theme of Act 5. The loss of memories, the loss of a home, the loss of faith, and, perhaps most importantly, the loss of hope. The card’s description says “You no longer feel safe because it has all been stripped away from you in one blow”, and this is pretty much what happens. Siffrin is in a crisis. They are exhausted, they are alone, and they are profoundly terrified of what that means. At this point, they are searching for help desperately, but are unable to ask for it. This card explicitly deals with fear of rejection and reaching out for help- the situation is dire, but, as seen with the card’s depiction of lit church windows, there is help nearby. The issue is that one must be willing to accept it. There is fear that you may lose something important- in Siffrin’s case, his found family- but there is no telling if that will actually come to pass. 

To further nail the loneliness aspect of this card home, Siffrin says that the figures on the card “probably don't have any friends”, something he starts to believe in the latter loops as the group loses their identities to the script. The in-game card also is different from the real card, and is said to show empty glasses, a pretty on-the-nose reference to Siffrin’s “glass half empty” mentality as they lose hope later in the game.

The Hanged Man

Pause, surrender, letting go, new perspectives

The Hanged Man gets a pretty bad reputation if you don’t really understand what it means. It’s a card about acceptance, pausing, and entering a new phase in life. But this change is heavily implied to come via unfavorable circumstances, situations outside of one’s control. The description says that when a person is unable to pause when they need to, unable to stop their actions, “The Universe will probably put things on hold for you, in the form of continued obstacles, ill-health, and breakdowns”. And this is pretty much what happens in Act 5. Siffrin is ground to a screeching halt by their own body, exhausted, starving, and mentally/physically fatigued to the point of actual sickness. On the topic of “surrender” and “giving in”, things get more pointed. Siffrin gives in to Mal Du Pays (very ‘L'appel du Vide” style), almost dying as a result, but then conversely gives in to the party’s urges to tell them what they wished for, to let go of their fear and stop looping. 

Siffrin notes that the Hanged Man “Look(s) like they're about to die, but they're smiling”. This is more of a connection to the end decision of Siffrin to let go of the loops and tell the party about their fears. They are facing down something that they are terrified of, something seemingly insurmountable, but rather than continue to fight and avoid letting go like Loop did, he instead chooses to surrender and tell the party.

Act 5/6

The Fool 

Beginnings, innocence, spontaneity, a free spirit

There are two versions of The Fool, technically. In Act 5, if you take the card and inspect it immediately, Siffrin will give a manic laugh and tear it to pieces. In a lot of initial interpretations of the card, some people will assume The Fool to be what the card says they are- a fool, someone stupid and tricked and hopeless, about to send themselves to their doom. But the reality is that this card is not really about that- it’s about new beginnings and the start of a new journey, but specifically through a leap of faith- a leap of faith that Siffrin has to take at the end of Act 5. While he is going through The House during this act, however, he is unwilling to accept this advice, either because it is misinterpreted or consciously, and instead tears it apart.

When the card is examined after the game, rather than during the final loop, Siffrin seems to recognize the card for what it actually means. He says “It's a traveler. He seems to be starting a new journey”. Siffrin’s title in the Profiles is literally “The Traveler” (alongside having the Traveler’s Hat), so this is a direct statement of new beginnings for the party and Siffrin’s life, a new journey they are taking with their family rather than alone. 

-

annnnd that does it for me, i've spent no less than two hours writing and researching for this post so ima go take a nap now, gnight

[vveebee]

[ TEASER ] BOUND BY INK - p.js ( 박종성 ) ➤ 'sunny days' - wave to earth

RELEASE DATE : somewhere end of march TAGLIST : OPEN ! your age must be 18+ AND visible on your blog. blank blogs aren’t accepted either. this will result into a block. READ NOW .ᐟ masterlist | playlist | vee talks abt 'bound by ink'

in a world where you're fated to someone with correlating tattoos at the age of sixteen, it can almost be impossible to find your other half. how do you know your word fits with someone's quote? or that your sentence requires someone else's word? at fifteen years old, you and your best friend are sure that you are destined a happy ending, but when his sixteenth birthday comes around the corner, your words and phrases don't seem to match. then... just who are you fated to?

pairing .ᐟ jay x afab!reader

genre .ᐟ soulmates to lovers, soulmate trope, slow burn romance, smut

contains .ᐟ enhypen's jake + heeseung, boynextdoor's woonhak, txt's yeonjun, ive's gaeul, oc runa and yina, reader lwk has no friends, misunderstood reader kinda, mentions of bullying, highschool to university life, brother!woonhak, bsf!runa, bsf!yina

warnings .ᐟ MINORS DNI, mentions of drinking, pet name use (baby, pretty, doll), porn with plot(? idk be the judge..), making out, skin biting/sucking, mutual masturbation (never written this), oral (fem + male rec), protected sex then unprotected sex (stay safe), slow then rough(??), slight overstimulation

vee's note .ᐟ hi!! first fic (kinda since i dropped bittersweet..) this teaser's kinda disappointing and has nothing to do with the actual romance-ish parts. perhaps i'm foreshadowing? don't know, that's for you guys to find out! mdni divider belongs to its respectful owner - @/cafekitsune

teaser wc .ᐟ [ 0.9k ]　　recommend playlist songs

the following content is included in the final product.

12 years old.

YOU sit on your soft mattress, choked sobs coming from your throat as your tears stained your floral bed sheets. Those were your favourite sheets, but now they were tainted in wet, salty tears.

Due to your cries, you were unable to notice the sudden movement coming from the entrance of your bedroom. The door slowly creaked open as a figure stepped inside. They were so quiet that their footsteps didn’t alert you, but the feeling of your bed dipping right next to you did.

“What’s wrong, Y/n?” The person speaks, and you feel a warm hand come in contact with your back, rubbing circles clockwise gently. You try your best to wipe your tears away, sniffing so much that you could be mistaken as a nosy dog. You don’t want to look all disgusting in front of this person. Brushing the hair that stuck to your forehead, you turn your head to said person and see your mother sitting before you.

Your gaze adverts to your lap. “Has something happened? Did those girls bully you again? You know we really have to tell the school about thi–”.

“No! We can’t,” you interrupted, you could see your mother’s lips form into a line. You know you shouldn’t speak to her like that. “Sorry. That was rude,” you sighed, “It’s nothing bad, they went through my bag and took some things.”

The subtle motion on your back draws to a stop. You look back at your mother to see her eyebrows furrowed. “Did they take anything valuable?” She asked, making you shake your head and explain that it was only a few markers and stickers.

There was a short silence between the two of you, before she spoke again. “You have camp next week, you should be excited for that instead of crying over a few markers.” That was her attempt to cheer you up, but you weren’t crying over markers with little to no ink or stickers with unappealing colours.

You were crying about camp.

Right, it’s your first camp, away from your family. You’d always been around them and have never spent a night away, but now have to from Wednesday morning to Friday afternoon. “I don’t want to go,” you muttered, sounding quite sulky, “I don’t have a single friend in my group, how unlucky is that?”

A sigh.

“It’s not unlucky, maybe fate is just.. telling you that you should make more friends. What will you do next year? Minju’s moving away, so she won’t be going to the same school, nor will Eunchae.”

“I’m not talking about fate, mum, I’m talking about luck. There’s a difference.”

Your mother pats your head, smoothing out your hair in the process, “There is a difference, bun.” Bun was supposed to be short for ‘honey bun’, she was always just too—quote on quote—lazy to say the whole thing. “Fate is out of your control, kind of like magic. You know, that Harry Potter stuff you watch. Whereas for luck, you can somewhat control it.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, what nonsense is she talking about?

“What I’m trying to say is, you make your own luck. By doing little things you can alter it, put yourself out there!” She exclaimed, and often you’d think how this woman in front of you talking about fate and luck is the person who brought you into this world. “I got that from Loretta Lynn. Pretty neat, huh?

Loretta Lynn?

Sounded familiar. You’ve heard her before, quite a lot actually. “You mean that lady who made the old music you listen to?”

She tilted her head, “I guess you can say that.. But that doesn’t matter, I just want you to remember that, okay? You make your own luck.”

You make your own luck.

What an odd thing to say. How could you possibly make your own luck when it was purely based on chance? You never understood quotes like these. They messed with your brain and made you question the real meaning of existence.

In one motion, you stood up from your bed, all calmed down now. “Where’s Woonhak? Didn’t you pick him up from Dongmin’s birthday party?” You asked, curious of your younger brother’s whereabouts, it’s rare for you to do this.

“He should be in the living room.”

“Okay.” You respond, heading for the door. “Oh, and mum?”

“Yes?”

“Please stop blasting Lorielle Linda’s music..”

She chuckled, “It’s Loretta Lynn, bun. But, sure. I’ll refrain from listening to her around you.”

—

WOONHAK instantly notices your presence in the living room, your shadow caused by the bright sun beaming through the window looming over him as he sits on the carpet. He was glued to his stinking Ipad again.

“You might get box eyes from looking at that for too long,” you said, earning a glare from him. Did he always have to be so… irritable?

He kicks your shin lightly, “Well you have a phone, so you can’t say anything… What do you want?”

You shrug. “How was Dongmin’s party? Fun?”

“Why are you suddenly interested in a party full of ten year olds?”

“Am I not allowed to?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Just answer the question.”

“No, you.”

The both of you stared at each other, Woonhak’s Youtube video running in the background, something about a secret hack to a game or something. “Mum was talking to me about her old music again, something about luck.”

He raised an eyebrow.“Luck? The hell?”

“Hey. I’m telling her you said that.”

“It’s not even a swear! Just continue talking about your story–”

“Mum–!”

“Y/n, stop~ You’re being annoying!”

coming soon.

©𝘷𝘷𝘦𝘦𝘣𝘦𝘦, 𝘦𝘴𝘵 2025 𝘈𝘓𝘓 𝘙𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛𝘚 𝘙𝘌𝘚𝘌𝘙𝘝𝘌𝘋 | 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺, 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘦, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥

PLEASE LIKE AND REBLOG!

[melbatron5000]

The Big Damn Kiss

Buckle up, my fellow Good Omens Ineffable Mystery Puzzlers, Crackpotters, and Assorted Brainrotters, because I learned something HUGE yesterday.

This will be a bit of a long post, because I want to show you exactly how I got where I am. I want you to understand. I want to put all the naysayers to bed (ha! But I'm still gonna try), and settle this once and for all.

I know (almost) exactly what Crowley gave to Aziraphale during the kiss.

DO NOT TAKE ANY OF MY THEORIES TO NEIL! PLEASE!

Okay? Okay. Thanks. Shall we begin?

Ahem.

Firstly, whether you believe me or not, I am 100% certain that Crowley did, indeed, give something to Aziraphale in his mouth during The Kiss. I've covered that in the link previous. Okay? Okay.

I did not know what it was. I've now heard theories that it was a bullet (nope), a ball bearing (nope), hellfire (nope), and no one, NO ONE has suggested what I see. (If you have, hello! Talk to me!)

Here's our first foreshadowing Clue:

And here's our next foreshadowing Clue:

And the next:

And our last Clue:

With me so far? Well, that first GIF is a bit off, I couldn't find one of Crowley actually spitting out the flies. But he does. When Beelzebub first drags him to Hell, he actually goes "Pleaugh!" and spits out four or five flies. Edit: Found it!

Moving right along, we come to Crowley in Heaven with Muriel, looking at the trial. We learn two important things here:

One, Gabriel doesn't have a desk.

Two, Muriel does. Where they keep the records. And it's a bit lonely. Every few hundred years, someone comes and asks for something. Muriel can't access the sensitive ones, you have to be pretty high up. A throne, dominion, or higher. Like, maybe Supreme Archangel?

So if Gabriel doesn't have a desk, whose desk is he at when he's getting ready to leave Heaven? Of course I can't find a damn picture of Gabriel at the desk, but it's Muriel's. Where they keep the RECORDS.

Gabriel puts his memory into the fly, then gets on the elevator to go to Earth.

Now, when Gabriel opens the fly with his memories inside, we find out that it's a container. Bigger on the inside. You can put thing(S) in it. The bit we see of him remembering is shot in two parts, one where he's flying down a red tunnel, one where he's flying down a blue. If you slow this scene down and watch, you can see that he is NOT looking at just his own memories. There is more going on here, more that he was not present for. @embracing-the-ineffable put up a great meta about that here. Go look!

Now I figured Gabriel must have taken something else. Something important. Something useful. Something he meant to give to Aziraphale, except he forgot.

I also figured he must have left whatever it was in the fly when he took his memories out. Crowley must have realized while watching the trial footage that Gabriel also grabbed something else. I don't know when Crowley grabs the fly, but he does. And that is what he gives to Aziraphale in the kiss. Why? Well.

I had no idea what Gabriel took until I started working on the chiastic structure of season 2. I'm not done with that analysis yet, but let me show you one thing that I have found so far:

(The numbers are just to try and help me navigate the story and its events without time stamps)

My note #357 of what happens isn't quite right, but when I saw the only two times Aziraphale says "I forgive you" are towards the beginning of Season 2 and towards the end, I realized I had something.

Rephrase line 357: Crowley's kiss is forgiven IN EXCHANGE FOR RECORDS.

(Not that I think Crowley's kiss needs to be forgiven. It's just what Aziraphale says, and had to say at that moment, because the Metatron was listening in.)

What does Heaven in Good Omens remind us of most of all?

A big corporate entity. And what do powerful people do when they get fired from a big corporate entity? They download all their emails while they're cleaning out their desks. Damning emails. Emails that can be used to black mail or even destroy big corporate entities. Or, ya know, maybe they swipe some sensitive RECORDS?

Oh yes.

Records that Gabriel meant to give to Aziraphale, but he forgot. Records that Crowley realized Gabriel had put in the fly. The fly that Crowley grabbed once Gabriel had his memory out. The fly that he gave to Aziraphale when he kissed him. The fly that no longer held Gabriel's memory, but did still contain those damning records.

Here's Aziraphale reading the records:

Here's Aziraphale being horrified and outraged by what he's reading:

And here's Aziraphale realizing he has got some GOOD DIRT on Heaven. Maybe enough to bring them down:

That's it folks. I have no idea what the records actually say, and maybe we're not meant to know until season 3, but whatever it is, it's GOOD.

That's my story, and by God Herself, I'm sticking to it.

[potato-mother]

OH MY FUCKING GOD

⚠️spoilers for Apothecary Dairies EP. 33 "The Crystal Pavilion, For a Third Time"⚠️

I love this show's use of subtle foreshadowing so much. The way that things can be presented so innocuously and build to become integral building blocks for an overarching mystery is a welcomed change from other mystery animes I've seen that contain plots to a single episode. The writing is so well done and up to this point I've been able to look back easily to see the instances of this.

HOWEVER:

In this case, I genuinely did not put together these pieces until I was watching some video essay on Apothecary Dairies and picked up on ONE clip, a ten second scene from the first episode.

For context: Episode 33 reveals that Lady Lihua's head lady in waiting is her cousin, Lady Shin. Shin has secretly been plotting against her cousin in multiple small ways out of jealousy, but it has grown over time until she started making a drug to cause Lihua to miscarry. Up until this episode, Shin has been for the most part in the background not drawing attention. Occasionally, she's had screentime, but only for a few frames or to give a few lines.

Ironically, I actually thought Shin WAS Lihua in some of these scenes at first due to their striking resemblance, like with the sniffing incident. And that is precisely why this piece of story telling went over my head.

Episode one, from minute 12:00 to 12:10. A blue haired woman finds the flower Maomao left warning if the face powder, then drops it out the window and walks off. Immediately after, Lihua is laying on the floor wailing over her son's death.

I have always taken this moment as Lihua's ignorance directly causing her son's death. Ignorance is a running sin in the show, it is stated as such no less than a minute later. However, this is not an example of such.

Lady Lihua's son did not die due to her ignorance. He died because Lady Shin killed him. Lihua never received the warning of the powder, because Shin found the note first and purposefully discarded it. The prince died due to Shin's jealousy and direct efforts to take her cousin's place as consort.

This was so masterfully done, I cannot applaud the creators of both the original story/light manga as well as the anime. This simple moment of animation established Shin's desire to harm her cousin from the very first episode and then went untouched until it was needed.

GOD I love this show

[kaeyachi]

HOW WE CAN USE KAEYA'S CHARACTER VOICELINES TO PREDICT THE PLOT OF GENSHIN IMPACT:

Really long lore post! Grab a small serving of popcorn, maybe.

So, do you all remember my post about how frequent Kaeya mentions fate ? And how suspicious it is, especially with the current plotlines in Genshin?

Other than that suspicious thing he's got going, there are several voicelines from him that are incredibly interesting to go back to as well, especially with all the current facts we have.

Just to name a few, we have him talking about his grandfather fighting a hydra before we even went to Liyue, and in a short animation posted in Genshin's YT account a year before the Albedo quest, he tells Klee to be careful at night because monsters walk around looking like a knight to trick people.

But for now, I will focus on a certain group of his EN voicelines- More about Kaeya".

ALL "More about Kaeya" voicelines could have been AND can still be used to predict the plot of genshin- very fitting for someone who keeps despairing about fate. Here is how:

First, with the 2 voicelines have already been officially addressed in Archon Quests by other Khaenri'ahns:

"Khaenri'ah? You sure know a lot! The legacy of Khaenri'ah is long gone. The sinners are all that's left, and they're not worth mentioning."

Back then, before the interlude quest from update 4.7 was ever released, I actually just assumed this was just the teachings of Kaeya's father to him, because Clothar had mentioned back in update 3.5 that "salvation for a sinner can only come from a sinner". We probably assumed at the time that being a sinner included ALL Khaenri'ahns.

It turns out that Kaeya had told us who the sinners are- The Legacy of Khaenri'ah: the group of characters that put their nation under Celestia's terrifying gaze for their work. They are called the Legacy not only for their power and influence, but also because they are what made Khaenri'ah the cursed nation that it is today. This is the sinners' legacy.

Meanwhile, Clothar told us what these sinners are doing - finding out how to give their cursed nation "salvation." This is why Vedrfolnir (Dainsleif's brother and one of the said sinners) had inspired Clothar to form the Abyss Order. This could be taken as our twin agreeing with the sinners' plans.

These Alberich men and their subtle and confusing lore drops, I swear...

Technically, I guess we can say that this was a lesson from Kaeya's father, but now it was clear that his father was talking about an actual group that can be called "The Sinners of Khaenri'ah".

But that brings up a question... why did Kaeya try to divert the focus from said group? Why are they "not worth mentioning"? Especially with the fact that our twin is actively working with them? Was this meant to guide us away from that trail? Or perhaps this is a subtle foreshadowing that the plot of these sinners would fail in all their attempts/plans?

"Is the Abyss Order causing you trouble? If there's anything bothering you, you know you can talk to me."

Either way, this actually confirms that Kaeya knows of the Khaenri'ahn/Abyss Order plot in general. Like, come on now, he already spoke of half truths when questioned by Dainsleif! He didn't know what the full weight of carrying an Alberich surname is, but he did mention that what Dainsleif told him finally answered questions- questions he wouldn't have had if he was told nothing. He is really proving Diluc's assessment of him- you can really only trust half of what he says at best.

This one right here actually predicted/foretold what update 3.5 will contain. There was a reason why this is what we got for "About Kaeya". This wasn't just about him as a knight, it was because his ancestor, Clothar, involved in the Abyss Order's creation. This is part of his family history.

This, however, makes me curious as to what his personal relation to the Abyss Order actually is. Do we take this voiceline as him just being a knight that recognizes our problems with the Abyss Order after what happened with Dvalin? Or do we take this as special treatment from a descendant of its founder who is reluctantly watching over his birthright? This is not the only concern regarding this. If he really is loosely working with the Abyss Order, this means that this entire time, he may have been in cahoots with our twin! Suddenly, the intel he gave us during the prologue is less truthful than it originally was, huh? The information is real, but how he really got it is being put into question...

It seems like both of the dialogue made me think that he has been in contact with our twin in some way this entire time. Very interesting...(at the very least, it would make Kaeya get a laugh at Amber posting missing posters in the most random of places)

Also...it was actually in the surname too lmao. Alberich means "ruler of supernatural beings" after all. (technically, this would have referred to elves, but there doesn't seem to be a clear connection from the Alberich clan to the elven race yet...but one can only dream of elven Kaeya)

Now onto the voicelines that will for sure tell us about what comes next (and what might possibly happen):

" The title of Cavalry Captain is nothing to grt excited about. Now that I think about it, the Grand Master took all the cavalry from Mondstadt, so there's none for me to captain..."

It's the age old question of "Why did Varka take the cavalry, but not their captain?"

It's a funny thing to think about, but it really does raise the question as to why Varka did so, because it's really REALLY weird to not take the captain. The simplest answer is that Kaeya's intel network is far more important than taking him away on an expedition, and gathering intel is hard when the head of it isn't starionary, but we also have to consider the fact that Varka would have an idea about Khaenri'ah in the first place.

Perhaps bringing Kaeya around what seems to be a search for answers and solutions isn't the best idea? What if all this searching is connected with Khaenri'ah? Learning more about how the nation was destroyed would probably be beneficial for the Grand Master to know to protect his nation, after all...

But what if it doesn't involve Khaenri'ah at all? Well, we still have the alternative of Varka wanting Kaeya to be by Jean's side. Kaeya is efficient with his work, but he is also the first to hammer in the idea of self care.

Kaeya has shown several instances of caring for Jean in secret (just like he does for so many others, actually). The first being in Jean's story quest where he planned a party for her. Another is Jean calling him out and thanking him for doing the backlogged KoF paperwork in secret. Finally, he convinced Jean to go with him, Albedo and Klee in Simulanka.

Kaeya is also the 2nd in command if Jean is out of commission AND the one who seems to be doing negotiations. Varka knew that Jean needed support, and Kaeya is the best support anyone could ask for as an official Knight.

As for the last idea, Kaeya could have rejected the offer of joining the expedition himself and offered his entire cavalry to go in his stead. It could be for various reasons, ranging from wanting to stay for Jean and Diluc to being afraid of going against his father's orders of Kaeya needing to stay in Mondstadt. The Grand Master's expedition is taking too long compared to Kaeya's short negotiations meetings in Sumeru and quick vacations in Liyue, Veluriyam, and Simulanka.

But one thing is clear- this situation will definitely be addressed someday, and I'm sure it goes deeper than Varka simply wanting to take the cavalry away from their captain.

"There are a total of ten captains within the Knights of Favonius. But truth be told, not all of them have what it takes to be leaders."

There are 5 captains stationed in Mondstadt- Jean, Kaeya, Albedo, Eula, and Hertha. The other 5 went with Varka.

Kaeya doesn't seem to have any problems with the ones that stayed with him in Mond...so does this mean that this is a setup for upcoming conflict within the Knights of Favonius? Is there a captain or 2 that would cause concerns?

Also, I'm not sure if this is a translation error, but " not all of them have what it takes-" sounds like he doesn't count. If it isn't an error, I could also connect a theory on that.

What if Kaeya isn't the official cavalry captain? What if they are just saying that as his public role because they can't expose the real one- intel. Suddenly, Varka leaving him would make even more sense because the cavalry isn't his to captain, and this could also confuse their enemies' information. This has been a long standing theory in the fandom, but I wonder if this would actually hold up well and accurately based off of Kaeya's lines.

"My eye? My eye is fine. There's nothing unusual about hiding one's body parts from view. It's the same reason I wear pants... or any other item of clothing, for that matter."

Just gotta put it out there, but his eye is definitely not fine ✌️

Technically, this was already explained as him having a scar, but also, did we consider the idea that he could be lying again? Also, we should consider that Kaeya is really good at telling half truths, and a good actor to add.

Also, I kinda hope his hidden eye will be revealed as gold for a specific reason. From the source material, Alberich stole the gold of the Rhine river (yes, from Rhinedottirs) to create a ring. What better place than in an eye? The current model for his skin has it the same color as his visible one, but placeholders exist.

There actually isn't much to say about this one because we don't even know if there really is anything wrong in the first place. We could hypothesize that it's a spying eye, a curse-containing eye, the eye of King Irmin, or the eye that could see beyond the fake sky, but that is as far as we could go with it.

But the odd voiceline from Paimon regarding that eye sure did fuel a ton of those theories. We don't know where Paimon really came from, and all we know of her is that she is part of Teyvat that has a connection with Celestia, so her mentioning that Kaeya is hiding a "big secret" in regards to that eye is sure to send alarm bells to any theorist.

So yeah, that's about it for now. Kaeya definitely has way more voicelines to be concerned about, but the way these specific ones ended up playing out in the released lore is very interesting to me.

Also, I just found out that my dot connecting regarding the travelers were proven by the damn XBOX wings of all things... and you know what? I'll take it. A win is a win *eyes my other theories warily*

If you are still here after my long somewhat delulu theories, then congratulations! Have a Cookie:

___________________

| 🍪 🍪 🍪 🍪 🍪 |

| 🍪 🍪 🍪 🍪 |

| 🍪 🍪 🍪 🍪 🍪 |

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Fresh from the oven!

[munnmolads]

Theory - Next Raf's Limited Myth is Fragrant Dream Related

Here's my collection of proof that we might get a Fragrant Dream themed myth for Rafayel for his next limited myth. Contains spoilers for Rafayel's previous myths, story branch and other memories.

About Fragrant Dream

Fragrant Dream is one of the best 4* memories in the game and a huge fan favorite. It is one of the longest, if not the longest 4* memory in the game, and it is a wild ride. If you haven't listened to it, I highly recommend looking it up on Youtube before continuing this theory.

It's also in a certain order of memories - First comes Your Fragrance with Thomas asking MC to pick up Rafayel to a art exhibition which is made in collab with a perfume maker. Then there's Dangerously close which is about MC and Rafayel going to said exhibition. Lastly, Fragrant Dream is where MC receives a perfume from Rafayel as a thank you gift for being his plus one.

Quick recap for the memory: MC sprizes the perfume on herself when she goes to bed, hoping to see some dreams about Rafayel. In her dream, she is the fearsome Witch of the Abyssal Rift. Rafayel seeks her out to make him a potion that would turn him to human. After a while, Rafayel finds the necessary materials and accompanies MC while she brews the potion. Eventually, after it's time for him to drink it, he lets the fumes from the potion to take effect on both of them - also affecting MC. As she regains her memories about Rafayel and he reminds of her not belonging to the sea, he dissipatess into seafoam, and she wakes up from her dream, clinging on worried Rafayel who has come check on her after not being able to contact her for a day.

Why this memory would be related to a myth?

In previous myths it's stated several times that MC sees dreams relating to her other lives with Rafayel - during Sea God myth she sees herself with Abysswalker Rafayel, and in Abysswalker she sees herself with Sea God Rafayel.

It wouldn't be far fetched that the only memory that is about MC's dream about Rafayel would foreshadow the next myth. The dream takes part in Abyssal Rift, which hasn't been explored as a location - other than it is in the sea. It is seemingly completely another lifetime with Rafayel and MC where MC is a witch.

What is the Abyssal Rift?

During the Sea God myth, the sea gets angry to Rafayel for lying to it. I believe this is because Rafayel refuses to take MC's heart - instead he gives his heart to her. I don't know if it's in the literal meaning physically handing his heart to her, or if it's metaphorical. He was supposed to do his siren duties, take her heart and grow his power with the most devoted heart he can have. He wasn't supposed to fall in love. I think the Deep Sea got angry because he didn't want to take her heart. This caused Lemuria to fall into a endless darkess - abyss.

In Rafayel's official preview video, it's told that Lemuria is in the depths of a Rift, so most likely the Dream is happening in this Rift that is mentioned.

In his story branch, he also mentions about the Tome of the Sea God mentioning oblivion, not the future. This means we can assume that the Abyssal Rift happens before the game events, most likely before 2034. The current game events happen in 2048.

As for the part about "They mistook the sea's tolerance for submission and forgot about it's cruelty" - I am thinking that Rafayel is talking about himself and MC here. They both were severely punished for betraying the sea during the Sea God myth. Notice the wording "reclaim" - he had the power at some point, but he doesn't have it anymore. The sea took his power and home, and as for the MC...

Why MC is a witch?

Rafayel tells MC she never belonged to the Abyssal Rift or that she would actually be a witch. I believe she was doomed to be a witch by the Deep Sea for her next life considering the anger in the Sea God myth - to live without any love as she "stole" the Sea God's heart.

Would she be then Lemurian for a moment? I don't think so, but she isn't a human. This is why the potion works on both her and Rafayel - the potion's effect is to turn the person into a human. For Lemurians the effect is that they die, but it doesn't seem to be the case for MC, otherwise Rafayel wouldn't do this, since he wants MC to live as a human.

Why I think this will be the next myth

Papergames/Infold really loves dropping hints about upcoming content. For example, Sylus had quite a few references to taming dragons (Summer event), collecting gems and hoarding before he got his limited myth.

Rafayel's and MC's interactions and stories have plentiful of references to witches, spells and enchanting:

Omnipotent Perception:

Touring in Love, this chapter is called "Spell for Rafayel":

Abysswalker, another mention towards seeing a dream, her living in a hut:

Rafayel's new affinity 184 photo pose, where MC is top on him bewitching him:

The new "Remind me" reminder for sleeping:

If you haven't read my Theory on the Sunshower in Gem Affection, I mention in it that sunshowers are also very related to witches in folklore in different parts of the world. I mainly speculated about Rafayel's part in it as a nine-tailed fox, but the resemblance is uncanny for MC being a witch.

I can believe a couple mentions here and there are merely a coincidence or a small nod to the memory, but this feels a very intentional theme around MC and Rafayel, especially recently. I'm sure there are several others that I have forgot, but I'll add in if I remember/find more.

[cha-faile]

say more about your thoughts on siuan hero of the horn???

Certainly! I'll put full book spoilers under the cut! The show-only tl;dr is that since Sophie Okonedo is having shooting conflicts, then shooting less regularly when the Heroes are activated could be a great a way to get around some of that. The parts of her plot that require being physically present in the real world can easily be taken up by Leane.

Major Book Spoilers from here on out. Don't say I didn't warn ya! Like I mean major fucking spoilers, dear show-only fam.

Ever since they made Siuan a Dreamer in the show, and Moiraine demonstrated basic competence in what I am assuming is a construct/Dreamshard I have been reminded of how Birgitte is comfortable/competent in TAR despite having never been a Dreamer, from sheer familiarity. I think that was the first thing that made me start forming this theory.

Since the Heroes hang out in tel'aran'rhiod between their lifetimes, I think it would fit perfectly for Siuan to wake up in tel'aran'rhiod, the place that Egwene is the only younger character to have as a Talent. She could still mentor Egwene.

I think it would be terrible to see Siuan written into her book!arc from here. A black woman, made into a servant by the women she used to rule, who devalue her experience and force her to play along with being degraded and sidelined in order to help Egwene manage the politics? Terrible fucking optics. I honestly don't want to see that. It's an easy plotline to cut. We can still get so many of her triumphs without that weighing down her plotline. She could even be the impetus for Elayne and Nynaeve to discover Birgitte. They see someone they thought was dead talking to someone else in TAR and go investigate? Absolute Wondergirls behavior.

Siuan and Leane had almost the exact same plotline: deposed together, stilled together, escaped together, treated like crap together by their former colleagues, and Healed together. It's fine by me if Leane takes that on by herself. It happens THREE times in stereo if we count Logain, too. With cutting down plotlines being absolutely necessary to fit this series into a few seasons, it makes sense to curtail that to a degree.

The show has been doing a lot of shifting plotlines, then using those as foreshadowing for the OG plotlines revamped a little. Siuan and Moiraine can be the echo of Birgitte and Gaidal Cain, I don't think this idea takes away from their plot.

If they really actually kill Moiraine instead of having her live on, weakened permanently and without a place in the world, then we can have a romantic tragedy and a wholesome wrap-up of their plotline at the same time. I would love to see how their love stretches across the ages. That they weren't just saying meaningless words when they promised to find each other again in every lifetime. I would prefer that to Moiraine's being rescued by three men who have almost no connection to her, then living out a shortened lifespan with the merest fragment of the power she once wielded.

I want to see them together, at the Last Battle, fucking decimating the dreadlords and trolloc armies, flush with the power remembered from countless lives and even more deeply in love than they were when their minds only contained Siuan and Moiraine.

[dramalove247]

Favorite Things: Our Youth part 1

Instantly wanted to re-watch this series, but not emotionally ready for that. Pretty sure this is one of those stories that will cause me more pain the second time around. Even putting this post together caused a lot of feels. We fell in love with the story of these two broken and abandoned boys that make each other their home.

Apparently this will be part 1 of 2 because we had more than 10 posts we wanted to share and refuse to cut any more of them than we already had! So enjoy some of our favorite posts (spoilers ahead):

Starting with the end. It gave us so much sweet comfort, but there was also a layer of pain just under the surface. For us, it was perfect. It felt real and deep and complicated and matched the tone of the entire show. We love how Minase and Hirukawa have found what they needed in each other and it's the start of their healing.

Though the choice to stay in the closet, and the weight and emotional toll of that decision, may not have been the ideal ending people wanted, we think it was beautifully honest. We agree with @small-dark-and-delicious that the way this unfolded in the story fit the characters. We think the show did an amazing job of portraying the complexity of the situation and we are grateful for it's inclusion and the emotions and conversations occurring because of it.

The testing of the waters in their friend group felt like Hirukawa trying to open the door, no matter how small. We agree with @aceoflights that Hirukawa intentionally did it in a way that would protect Minase.

@putterphubase put together a beautiful post of 😍 GIFS containing some of the sweetest moments from episode 10

"Shit. That was some serious foreshadowing." We knew more pain was coming, so it only made this scene hit even harder. We were definitely with @pigglepiephi on this one.

This show sucked us in hard and fast. But this scene, WTH?!? We watched that SHIT BEFORE BED!!!! That was a mistake of epic proportions. It was way too late to feel these emotions, forget trying to confront the tailspin that was caused by this seriously toxic red flag desperate act of self endangerment for the sake of connection being romantic as fuck. How do you sleep after that?!? answer is you don't, you watch an episode of Fourever You Thanks for the screenshots of this scene @respectthepetty

And 😍 GIFS by @wanderlust-in-my-soul of just after the admission. Kill me again.

Editing to add this post. @nuthong captured this aching scene so well in their GIFs. Every time I see this scene, I get all the feels and I shared my love for it in this post:

Continued in part 2:

[babyaiker]

I’m writing this at 5am but when @verdemoun “kieran duffy hyperfixation page” themself encourages you to talk about your now 5 month long obsession, you know you gotta,,, 

Mini break down of Kieran’s characterization in the Paying A Social Call mission, lets go

Before I get too far please know I genuinely have no beef with people who baby Kieran. He’s a fictional character and we’re all just having fun, I just really like analyzing the text ^^

In my last post where I talked about my favorite part of Kieran’s character, I briefly mentioned how the mission Paying a Social Call (the mission in chapter 2 where Kieran is freed) contains a lot of characterization for Kieran that a chunk of the fandom misses. It was when I was watching someone's random stream did I remember how much was getting left out. While I've seen plenty of people rant about Kieran's mischaracterization in the fandom, details from this mission were often left out of the discussions I personally saw. So while I really don't care WHO you interpret Kieran as, having an excuse to rant about the mission I could probably quote start to finish is fun.

Despite the circumstances Kieran finds himself in, he’s not a coward. He knows his worth and isn’t afraid to bite back at others for messing with him. The only reason he cowers and runs off is usually because he was physically hurt, threatened to be hurt, or knows the person he's talking to would gladly hurt him. We have evidence of him acting like this in maaany different ways through the hidden dialogue scenes in camp. His goddamn catchphrase “I ain’t no O’Driscoll” is an example in of itself, showing that he isn't just cowering and crying because of how he’s treated, he's actively fighting against it.

But now let’s actually get into Paying A Social Call, as the only thing Kieran does throughout the entire mission besides show the boys where Six Point Cabin is, is defend himself. 

The beginning of that quest is well… a beginning for sure. I’d probably be a mess too if I was starving and about to get my nuts ripped off. 

His whole “I ain’t no O’Driscoll” shtick only gets louder the second he’s untied. He’s as cooperative as he needs to be, but is gonna make sure everyone knows he isn’t happy about it. While there's a lot of snarky shit he can end up saying, the dialogue where he directly compares the Van Der Lindes to the O’Driscolls is something special. Like Jesus I would not be saying that shit in the predicament you're in right now! While you can still hear the unsureness in his voice, he’s not afraid to say it as it is. (I still find it interesting that even non Kieran fans will point back to that dialogue as foreshadowing and be like "aw shit the horseboy was right fellers")

Okok skipping ahead to the end cuz arughh there's a specific line said in the last scene that completely changed Kieran’s character for me. All I’ll say about the gunfight is that right before it, when John has his gun up against Kieran, while the camera pans to a group of O’Driscolls, you can see Kieran give Arthur a thumbs up when Arthur shushes him. It’s such a tiny detail but it amused me and my partner when we discovered it.

At the end of the mission, after Arthur realizes that Colm isn't there, he confronts Kieran at gunpoint, pretty much ready to kill him. Kieran of course acts like how we’d think he would,,, he promptly begs for his life. But once Arthur spares him and gives him the decency of running away, Kieran doesn't grovel back to him, begging to be taken back, he fuckin yells at him. He understandably points out that letting him go free is as good as killing him, as the rest of the O’Driscolls would likely have his head for this (didn’t like typing that). His very blunt, angry line of “So I’m one of YOU now!” genuinely made me rethink what I’d been assuming about him. It likely dawned on me while I was staring at the streamer’s “hose goat” cam, but just demanding a spot in the gang like that isn’t something a coward would do. He is incredibly firm in his “fuck you, you’re stuck with me now”.

Even his dialogue after is just more examples of him being very aware of his vicarious situation (Arthur: “Alright, but I’m warning you”, Kieran: “Oh, I know”) and being more than eager to start proving himself useful (Kieran: “See Arthur, I ain’t so bad!” ^^)

I genuinely think the whole “whiney useless baby” assumption comes from the fact we play as Arthur. Arthur VERY adamantly views Kieran this way, literally calling him a baby as a way of antagonizing him. And because most everyone loves Arthur, they’re bound to view Kieran the same way he does. Unreliable narrator kinda thing, though I'm not saying that's a bad thing in the slightest. And with the magic of RDR2’s actually good character writing, I can sit here for 700 words summarizing why Kieran’s actually kinda cool sometimes. 

So ya, I wouldn’t say Kieran’s a coward, but I’m also not gonna say he’s some crazy cool badass murderer outlaw. He’s a dude trying to survive who’s been kicked out of or lost every home he’s known. He’s still a silly guy I wanna lovingly snap over my knee like a twig. With the life he’s lived you can’t afford to be unable to stick up for yourself, he’s just smart enough to know when it’s time to lay low.

[prettystary]

Alright, bear with me here (pun intended) as I dive into my thoughts/predictions on The Bear Season 4.

With the way Season 3 ended, plus the promos we’ve seen so far, I think we’re in for a major shift. We all know Carmy is still mentally trapped in that freezer, which has created a massive disconnect between him and everyone else. But something I haven’t seen discussed as much is how everything he’s doing is rooted in proving to *Sydney* that he’s a good enough chef to be her partner—ironically, something she never doubted in the first place.

From the start, Sydney has believed in Carmy’s talent. He made her favorite meal, which is why she wanted to work with him in Season 1. It’s also why she lied about being a regular—she didn’t want to reveal just how much she admired his cooking.

And then there’s the fact that lies were what brought them together in the first place-*her lie when they first met, and his lie about the alergy to be able to make the dish* A perfect bit of foreshadowing for their ongoing communication struggles.

Carmy, (not knowing that he’s her favorite chef), has only fueled his feelings of inadequacy after being trapped in the freezer and leaving Sydney to handle Friends & Family without him. Instead of embracing the future he was building with *The Bear* and working alongside Sydney, he got caught up in his past—what Claire represents.

So in Season 3, he goes into overdrive, trying to overcompensate by chasing a Michelin star—something he never even cared about before—just to convince Sydney to stay and sign the partnership agreement. But in trying to prove himself, he’s actually pushed her away. Completely.

She’s about to leave.

And I think she actually will. We have the alleyway leaks and the promo clips that suggest she quits after arguing with Carmy. In one of the promos, Carmy is holding her apron over his shoulder, staring toward the sidewalk, which feels like a pretty clear indicator.

Now, I’m trying to place *when* this happens in relation to Tiff’s wedding. If Sydney is Richie’s plus one, I could totally see her going before or after quitting. But a part of me really thinks she’s going to be *Carmy’s* plus one, which would place the wedding before she leaves.

At first, I assumed Richie invited her, but then I realized—why wouldn’t he take Sugar instead? If the wedding happens shortly after she gives birth, that could explain it. But then it hit me: Tiff was definitely who invited Donna, meaning she also probably invited Sugar and Carmy. If Carmy is at the wedding (which I could see them hiding in the promos), it makes perfect sense for *him* to take Sydney.

(Also, I love the idea of Richie taking Tina as his plus one. That would be so sweet. And i would love for her to be included in that)

One moment that really stands out in the promos is the hug between Richie and Sydney, where they’re in their wedding outfits. Maybe Richie is anxious, and Sydney steps outside to talk to him, which ends with her revealing that she’s leaving. That would definitely be a big enough moment to justify the hug.

And then there’s Donna and Sydney’s conversation—huge. Donna says, "Sometimes, your work family is closer to you than your family family." Sydney responds, "Sometimes I feel like your work family is like part of your family family."

That difference is subtle, but it’s important. Donna doesn't struggle with putting people above her family, seeing love as something that has to be earned. Sydney, on the other hand, loves more fully/openly, fighting for those she loves even if she makes herself sick in the process. For her it's easy to see those she loves being valuable, just like family.

I can’t wait to see how that scene plays out.

Now, I’m a little wary of Luca coming back—not in a bad way, but because I really liked his small, contained role as a mentor to Marcus. Then his presence at Ever’s funeral worked because it highlighted the contrast between his dynamic with Carmy and Sydney’s dynamic with Carm. Luca saw Carmy as a rival, someone to admire but also compete with. Sydney, though, wants to be Carmys partner—equals, side by side, pushing each other to be better.

But with him back, I’m wondering—is he Sydney’s replacement? Are there major changes happening at The Bear? Either way, I’m excited to see him and Marcus interact again.

Carmy definitely got a reality check in the finale, between his talk with Chef Terry and his boss. But is it too little, too late? After everything he put Sydney through, she’s leaving one way or another, and his reaction is probably not going to be great. He said, *"I wouldn't even wanna do it without you,"* and this is when things are really going to start falling into place for him.

His relationship with Claire was *heavily* romanticized this season, which was jarring considering how much it drained him in Season 2. Just the thought of her gave him panic attacks, but now? He’s romanticizing his past all over again, and it’s jeopardizing his future. Again.

That leaked argument between them seems to be about the whole "Carmy said he’s in love with you" thing that the Faks pulled. If that’s the case, it could finally put an end to that storyline. Also, it doesn’t seem like Claire’s actress has been involved in recent filming, so maybe she won’t have a big role this season? Fingers crossed.

I could go on forever, but I’ll stop here. I have a strong feeling *The Bear* won’t end up being full fine dining—it’ll probably land somewhere more relaxed, something reminiscent of *The Beef* but still refined. *A fusion.* And hopefully, that reflects where Carmy and the crew end up emotionally, too.

Oh, and obviously-SydCarmy canon.

[princeasimdiya12]

Bucchigiri Utena Parallel-The Greek Chorus

In many plays and stories, the Greek Chorus refers to a group of characters that either commentate on the main storyline or have their own subplot that parallels or foreshadows the main story that appears. It's rare when they actually interact with the main characters but their role is meant to emphasize the meanings and plot events that occur.

In Bucchigiri, we have Nyan Nyaight Love which is their version of the Shadow Play Girls from Revolutionary Girl Utena.

For those who aren't familiar with the Shadow Play Girls, they serve as an actual Greek Chorus in the Utena anime. Every episode, the girls put on a cryptic and bizarre play with a message that correlates to the ongoing events or conflicts that Utena, Anthy and the Student Council deal with throughout the series. Some are straight forward and easy to understand, others are straight up wackadoodle and have layers of meaning to comprehend. But each skit contains a hidden but vital message that relates to the main storyline in Utena.

While Nyan Nyaight Love may not be as complicated or bizarre as the Shadow Play Girls, they still do their part in paralleling the Bucchigiri storyline.

Episode 1: Introductions

The first episode features the customer contemplating whether he should go into NNL or if he should leave. It isn't until he sees Arajin being chased down the street by the NG Boys that he enters out of fear of being spotted.

The customer serves as a parallel to Arajin. He too is a wimpy, unappealing, jittery, hopeless, mopey, delusional everyman. And just like how the customer was unsure as to whether he should enter a shady, controversial place like NNL, Arajin also struggles with entering the dangerous and colorful world of the Ichizu Gangs. And his involvement in their lifestyle has mainly been a forced reaction, as in he jumps into the fray while fearful for his safety. The NNL Receptionist can also be seen as a parallel for the colorful banchos and bad boys that Arajin, and the audience, meet in their upcoming encounters.

In the world of Revolutionary Girl Utena, one of the ongoing themes was fairy tales and stories that are told from one person to another. The Shadow Girls fit that theme by putting on plays for the audience about their own stories. So there are clear parallels of the main storyline.

And then we "meet" Jasmine.

Just like it's the customer's first time in a place like NNL, it's also Arajin's first time in the world of Ichizu's gangs. And his meeting with Jasmine is a clear parallel to him meeting Mahoro for the first time. This is more apparent when you take in the Disney movie with Arajin (Aladdin) meeting his beloved Mahoro (Jasmine).

It's also worth noting that the customer asks if he can use the honorific "chan" which is mainly used for people/girls that someone has a close relationship with. And despite meeting her for only one day, Arajin is the one who proposes that it is "fate" that brought him and Mahoro together and how they're destined to be lovers. Clearly he's skipping multiple steps in the relationship making process expecting Mahoro to feel the same way.

Episode 2: I Couldn't Stay Away

The second time, the customer returns and is scared into entering the building after Senya drags along Arajin. Despite some hesitance, he asks the Receptionist for Jasmine again.

So it's pretty obvious, the customer is in "love" with Jasmine and is hooked onto her. Even when she starts to "cling" to him.

At this point, Arajin has fallen head over heels for Mahoro and can't get her out of her head. His new motivations begin and end with conquering Mahoro's heart so he can use her to lose his virginity. And to conquer her heart and be as close to her as possible, he's more than willing to go through a shady and morally ambiguous place like the gang life.

Though the clingy part comes off as self-delusion since Mahoro absolutely hates him and wants nothing to do with him. Even making it clear constantly from this episode onward. Yet Arajin isn't bothered and is eager to make her his.

However, this does set up as it's first example of foreshadowing for the following episode.

Even though Mahoro hates him, she decides to play along with his infatuation with her when he's recruited into Siguma Squad. She's "clinging" to him in order to sway and manipulate him so he'll be able to take over Siguma Squad as it's new leader, forcing her brother to graduate so she can have him all to himself. Or so Arajin will get beat up badly, she's down for whatever. And because Arajin is stuck in his self-delusion about Mahoro and their destined love life, he doesn't see the red flags and falls for her claws. Eager to continue hanging out with the violent happy SS regardless of the peril he may face.

Episode 3: This episode did not feature a NNL segment.

Episode 4: Please Forgive Me

The customer is once again contemplating whether he should go in or not, even saying that he should just quit. Alas, a chubby Arajin scares him inside where he once again asks for Jasmine. Only now he's in hot water for having left her for so long.

While normally this would be a stand in for Arajin and his hopeless love for Mahoro and how he's failing her, this time, the customer represents another character.

In this case, it's Matakara.

Earlier in the episode, he gets into another conversation with Arajin over the upcoming Gang War and how they should stop it. But it soon turns into another plea for him to rebuild their friendship and how he wants to become Honki people with him like before. Despite his efforts, Arajin tells him to get over it and orders him to leave him alone. Just like a cat turning her back on the customer after their absence.

And just like the customer blames himself for her anger, Matakara believes he's at fault for their friendship failing. Because he was too weak to fight the thugs who beat him up which is why Arajin abandoned him. And much like how the customer never viewed at any other "cat", Matakara has his eyes and heart only for Arajin. Even after making new friends in the Minato Kai club, his idol has always been his childhood friend who inspired him when he was just a weak boy so many years ago.

And he'll make that fact known to Arajin everytime they meet; reminding him that he's someone of great importance in his life and that he just has to believe him. No matter how many times he's turned away, Matakara still holds him dearly in his heart.

Episode 5: The Next Level

The customer returns and declares that it's a big day for him. This time he gets scared in by Kenichirou and the Minato Kai Gang making their way to the upcoming warzone.

Hoping to patch things up with Jasmine, the customer presents a gift.

The way I interpret this scene, it comes off as taking his relationship with Jasmine to the next level by giving her a choker. For pets, giving them a choker can be considered the same as giving them a collar. Usually to signify your bond as master and pet. Or in this case, it comes off as the customer treating his precious Jasmine to a gift in the hopes of raising her mood.

For this scene, I see it as a parallel to everyone's relationships and how they're moving on to the next level.

This takes place during the Gang War two parter with both gangs going at each other only for the NG Boys to stage their attack. The fighting persists until Arajin steps in to protect Mahoro from being killed by Akutaro. And while fighting, he gains a major power boost from Senya as his merge rate increases as a result.

And once he defeats the NG Emperor, everyone's mood cheers up for the better and their relationships improve as a result. The rival gangs are more friendly with each other and are able to get along in spite of their rivalry that's lasted for years. Matakara gets to have a bonding moment with Arajin which is a huge step compared to how coldly he's been treated in the past. And Senya is super excited that the merge rate between him and Arajin has increased.

Everything and everyone is in better spirits now.

To bad it won't last for very long.

Episode 6: This episode does not feature an NNL segment.

Episode 7: A New Cat???

The customer is once again worried about whether he should enter NNL and is scared into coming in when Arajin rushes by due to being late for the Group Date.

The receptionist welcomes him into the establishment and asks if he wants his usual. But to his surprise, the customer has someone else in mind.

It's hard to say why exactly the customer decided to go for a new cat instead of Jasmine. Perhaps it's because he's become used to the NNL environment and is bold enough to try someone different.

But what strikes me fancy about this part is not so much the change in cat but the receptionist's reaction. All this time, we've seen him as a silly catboy who loves to tease the customer and rolls with him coming to see his precious Jasmine. But it's the change in cat that causes him to react this way. He loses his silly front and shows actual shock and maybe concern over such a drastic change. He doesn't even revert back to his playful self as it cuts straight to the customer meeting Pu'er-chan (Fun fact: Pu'er is a type of tea that's specially grown in China. And taking Jasmine into account, the cats at NNL are all named after Chinese tea flavors).

So he goes on with meeting the new cat even though he still has feelings for Jasmine. And he's greatly surprised to see Pu'er accept him with relative ease based on his elated reaction.

So to start, this segment is ripe with foreshadowing as it features the customer deciding to take a break from his old cat of interest and goes for a new cat. The customer changes his old cat for a new one. And who do we know who's interested in choosing someone new at the end of Episode 7?

"Do you know? Do you know? Do you know who he chooses?"

And mixed with the receptionist's reaction of shock and concern, the series itself has underwent a change in tone based on everything that happened in Episode 8. The comedy and jokes are significantly toned down in order focus on the more serious and heartbreaking elements of Matakara's brother being suddenly hospitalized and Arajin confessing that he was a coward all along which all leads up to Matakara falling into the palms of Ichiya, our presumed villain of the show.

Another things I want to mention/theorize is that when the customer brings up how he couldn't get Jasmine out of his head, that was a parallel to Ichiya being unable to get Senya out of his head. The two genies have a long, hidden but deep history with each other and it's implied that Senya did something to warrant his wrath. And given that Ichiya has a grudge in his heart that he intends to resolve, his goals in using Matakara are all but stated to be part of his masterplan of taking revenge against Senya.

And the last part with Pu'er fully embracing the customer will be foreshadowing of Matakara accepting Ichiya's proposal and power with minimal hesitation. With him at the brink of despair and with no one to turn to for emotional support (sorry Minato Kai boys), he'll be desperate and eager to follow Ichiya's will no matter how questionable or corrupt it may be. It isn't clear as to what type of wish Mataraka will make or what Ichiya will offer him to go along with his revenge, but the boy is clearly at his most vulnerable and weakest. He'll accept anything and fall into Ichiya's hands just to make the pain more bearable.

Conclusion

The Nyan Nyaight Love segments are meant to serve as a Greek Chorus for the Bucchigiri series. Paralleling the dynamics and conflicts between the main characters (Arajin, Matakara and Mahoro) while also providing foreshadowing for events to come. Much like the Shadow Play Girls and how they would parallel and foreshadow the main events in Utena. And under the assumption that we'll get more NNL segments, then the scenes with the customer and the receptionist will foretell more of what will happen throughout the show and the relationships between the characters.

And those are my thoughts on this nonsensical skit. What do you guys think? If you have your own interpretations for these segments or if there was something that you agreed or disagreed with, please feel free to reblog this and share your comments. It's worth mentioning that the plays that the Shadow Girls held had various ways of being interpreted so there's really no wrong way to go about this.

[glassbirdfeather]

Complaining about the final boss in Shadow of the Erdtree, both in terms of lore and mechanics. Spoilers for the end of Shadow of the Erdtree:

Part 1: The Lore

I think the ending is really good and foreshadowed well in it's own story. I think it is fitting and well told. But it isn't living in its own bubble. It exists in context to a previous story directly connected to it. In the context of the entirety of Elden Ring, it sucks.

If we were just dropped in the Shadow Realm and the main game didn't exist, it would be really, REALLY good. The problem arises when also having the context of who Miquella was in the base game. His motivations in the DLC retcon the motivations from the lore of the base game. And the retcon is worse. The thing that made him fascinating was that he was the only compassionate character among Marika's children, the only one who didn't care about petty power plays because he was focused on helping people and helping his sister. That it is revealed he is just as shallow and self-centered as the rest, so much as to be willing to endanger his sister in exchange for a consort after all the lore surrounding how he wanted to help her, takes away the facets that made him unique.

This may also contribute to why there are two general camps of people who like or don't like how Miquella is portrayed. There have been a couple of years between the original game and now. Memories of the original game's lore--if people even read those particular bits of item descriptions in the first place--have had time to fade.

However, I acknowledge that item descriptions in Elden Ring intentionally have author biases. It could be said that every Miquella-related item description was told from the perspective of someone bewitched. That would make a lot of sense.

So in the end, this also is a personal preference. I think that Miquella turning out to be a brat who will sacrifice his sister for his consort is much less interesting than him being motivated to do bad things for his sister.

This leads into the overlap between pure lore discussion and mechanics.

Part 2: I CAN'T FUCKING SEE

The last boss fight is shit. Part of what convinced people that the leaks were fake, not considering lore implications, is that many people looked at the attacks that were happening and judged them to be bad.

As someone with a passing understanding of editing animations and moves in a game, something that can be done with little modding skill to create a new enemy is to use existing animations and add new effects to them. People were convinced the fight was fake because of how many moves looked similar to ones from previous FromSoft bosses with lightning effects glued on. I cannot speak to the alleged copied animations in this fight, since I don't have experience with every FromSoft game, but I don't actually think reusing old bosses and animations is inherently a bad thing. The real complaint was that it looked to be both reused animations and extra effects.

Stretch new textures over existing enemies, increase the speed of their attacks, and then add events to those attacks that spawn a bunch of effects like explosions, or lightning bolts. These are all things I could do with my limited knowledge. These are the things that some mods have done, and have gotten ridiculed for. The ridicule is because doing that demonstrates a shallow understanding of what makes a fight not just hard, but fun.

I'm no master of boss design myself, but I can say with confidence that spamming incredibly long attack chains containing effects that blind the player and prevent them from seeing the next move in the chain is bad game design. Something that has been established as an unspoken but understood rule in souls-genre games is that you should be able to dodge an attack while standing point blank in front of the enemy. Whether this is by rolling, jumping, or running away, you know what's happening from seeing the start of the enemy's animation, and you should be able to escape being hit by the attack. I also argue that by this metric, Waterfowl Dance is a badly designed move, but I digress.

Waterfowl Dance is one move in an otherwise stellar boss fight.

In the DLC final fight, I. can't. see.

The screen is covered in lightning for at least 1/3rd of the battle, often making dodging a game of guess and hope. I 100% acknowledge that I was not good at that fight, and that many of the attacks that hit me were dodge-able if I'd learned them more. But some of them were chains of attacks that demanded I blindly learn a random rhythm of button presses. On account of all the lightning from the previous attack hiding the next swing.

One of the things I actually did like about the fight was the grab being a guaranteed 2HKO regardless of health values. It would have been a great gimmick on a better fight. Where I had a better probability of seeing it so I could dodge it.

I also liked the warp-in speed effects of the boss jumping in, although such warps felt very buggy.

Were the lightning effects transparent or otherwise did not obscure the battle so terribly, I wonder what kind of fight it would actually be. Maybe the attack chains only feel unreasonable to dodge to me because I cannot see what is happening in them. It is possible that the fight itself is just bad, and the lightning is, just like in a bad mod, being used as a crutch to hide a very boring, simple moveset.

But it is impossible for me, in the game's current state, to imagine how that fight might play.

Because I can't see shit.

Part 3: The Remembrance

Turning in the remembrance and a duplicate of it just to end up with a total of 3 Radahn swords I think really shows the lack of creativity under the lightning. That is what the essence of the DLC final boss distills down to: 2 variations of a sword we already have.

If the fight had been something COMPLETELY different, perhaps we would have gotten something interesting from Miquella's side of the pair. Something that bewitches a struck enemy? I don't know.

The last fight was a spectacle, but only due to all the fancy effects that it vomited everywhere. Remove them, and I suspect there exists an uninspired base.

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

You put a lot small visual elements and details in that I never seem to notice on my first read, and it always makes rereading exciting. What’s a detail from the comic that nobody ever seemed to notice? I’m sure there are things that nobody has mentioned, especially from the early chapters, that you’d want to talk about

Oh man.........that's a great question.

The thing is, there are a lot of details that people don't pick up, but there are definitely eagle-eyed readers that also do! There are also details which most didn't pick up until someone posted about it, and now everyone knows!

There are also details which are actually... yet to be revealed as relevant! That's a secret tool that'll help us later. :)

But most of it is plot relevant decisions I make which make the story more full, but are not necessarily NECESSARY for full enjoyment.

For example, in the very first comic, when Earl approaches Steven....

Her eye isn't white! That was a fully deliberate decision. She didn't actually approach Steven because he wanted her to. That was a decision she made on her own!

Most of the white eye shenanigans in Season 1 were deliberate, albeit not very explicit. I suppose that worked out okay, though. Plus, many people DID catch on!

Also, this part in the Kindergarten comic:

...which people assumed was a power separate from everything, is actually just the first instance of Steven's Command power. The thing is, I hadn't settled into how to portray it at the time, and also - the gem is Corrupted! It doesn't respond to Steven's commands the same way normal gems do. I planned to explore that earlier initially, but in the end, decided to tie it into much later plot.

In Season 1, EP 38, Steven asks Earl to write her name.... and she does! But in gem, not English, because she doesn't know how to write in English.

She designates herself as White Pearl, putting the dash over the top diamond. It was at the time when she was still anxious about making Steven - White Diamond - angry with her.

And to add to the eye thing - during the Season finale of Season 2, when Steven wondered if Earl only came to see him because he forced her to - the comic where she finds him in the water proves otherwise!

Immediately when she grabs him and swims up, her eyes aren't white! She's doing it of her own accord.

Also, in Season 3's opening, when Rose is angry at what she THINKS is White Diamond, she almost has a slip of the tongue when talking about the past.

There's a very pointed reason that panel of Earl is right there next to Rose's cut-off 'My...'

Also, when Rose leaves Steven in the Containment Sphere - the Baby Jail Bubble - she unlocks it to leave, and you can pretty clearly see an interesting detail.

(which Steven, of course, doesn't notice.)

There's also a bit of a narrative tongue in cheek line-up which is accidental on Steven's part but still rings true:

(TVTropes editors caught this one! Hey TVTrope editors!)

Also, this very famous Seaglass foreshadowing:

The first instance of Steven connecting to tech was in the beginning of this season!

When Steven has a bad dream after fusing with Earl and forming Bleached Coral, there's a hidden detail in this reflective text from Nightmare Rose:

(It might be easier to read if you mirror-flip it.)

Another fun thing I enjoyed doing before I got busy with other stuff is gem language! Earl writes Steven notes in it to help him learn, and now signs with her English name,

In the Cluster Experiments comic, if you look at the panels before stuff starts to Happen, you can find a few Experiments hiding in the background. :)

In Amethyst's room, there is a Japanese stopsign and a d20 in the background.

In episode 25 of season 4, Steven is playing Moonlight Sonata!

In episode 33, the ship Steven connects to displays a bisection of the earth which showcases its lumpy core! Or rather, the megastructures that are hidden deep inside the mantle.

It also showcases a few geothermal coring sites made during the colonization.

And by the way, the drill Pearl built was actually a repurposed ship hull which was used for the Space Race ship in the original show!

And man there are actually... many more! But I had to skip over them because they are alluding to things which have not yet been explicitly revealed! :D

But even with this, I'm sure there are other ones I'm missing. If you think you have one that should be listed - throw it on a reblog or in the comments!

[mychemisgay]

Yuji, the main character of the story is the son of Kenjaku (big bad mastermind of the series) and part of Sukuna's soul (final big bad in the series). These seem like important plot points, right? Wrong, they go exactly nowhere.

If you think about it, the story would've been the exact same if Yuji was just an unusually strong human. He gets told he's a really good vessel for Sukuna, most other people probably wouldn't be able to contain him, but no one, not even Yuji questions why that is. It's just accepted at the start, so they start feeding him the fingers. No one thinks it's kinda suspicious how strong he was even as a non-sorcerer. Literally no one cares, it's just accepted in the manga, quirky main character syndrome I guess.

Then why make these interesting plot points about his parents as one off remarks? The reader gets baited into thinking these will all tie together, then gets blue balled.

Why did Sukuna mention towards the end of the whole manga, that Yuji was made from part of his soul (his would-be twin that he consumed before birth) and that Kenjaku wouldn't make a kid for no reason? We could see Sukuna hated being in Yuji so what was Kenjaku's plan? As soon as he could Sukuna dipped and posessed Megumi instead. So what even was Kenjaku's plan with creating Yuji? Even Sukuna said he doesn't fucking know, and that's where we as readers are left at.

Also, we got the conversation with Yorozu, Sukuna told her she could do whatever with him if he lost. What was the point of that out-of-place conversation in the middle of a mediocre fight? Logically it could have been foreshadowing as to what will happen when Sukuna is actually defeated in the series.

When Sukuna lost against Yuji, he could have done anything with his body, and with Yuji wanting to help him, he probably should have eaten him. Even the deal they made in Yuji's domain went something like "give back Fushiguro and come back to me OR I will kill you." Sukuna gave back Megumi, so by that logic he should have gone back to Yuji, probably by Yuji eating him. But no. Nothing comes from this at all, he just fucking dies.

Man, Gege is the true potential man (gn).