#and i was like surely not… maybe the pieces i chose to consider a ‘single serving’ we’re kinda big but idk that still feels like too little

[latinokaeya-moving]

i had a very embarrassing meltdown earlier today while cleaning the house but then i went out alone to buy groceries and it was really cold and windy and i hadn’t taken a jacket so going through the motions of buying stuff calmed me down and then i got home and helped my cousin make lunch and then i portioned out the meat for the meals of the week to store in the freezer which settled me even more. i’m fine now other than feeling a little sad i guess

[dobbysnotsureaboutthis]

Interrupted

Masterlist

WC: 7.1k approx.

Description:

Alastor's been wondering what all the craze around sexual pleasure is (because of Rosie) and decides to give it a single try. That's when you arrive at the hotel, becoming his assistant; and you're just always interrupting at the worst time. (Written almost entirely from Alastor's perspective)

Warnings:

Light cannibalism, torture, and stuff, NSFW (purely written for smut purposes), unintentional edging, unedited

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“Ah, is that so?”

For the most part, Alastor considered Rosie a dear friend. Her horrific tales of marriage and cannibalism, her excellent management of Cannibal Town, and her all around entertaining manner of speech were all qualities he very much enjoyed. Yet no soul is without its flaws, and Rosie certainly had hers.

“Yes! And then he…” He does his best to tune her out, grimacing at the extreme level of detail his fellow overlord chose to give him about her sex life. “There were these new knives with beautiful handles I’d bought, and they were just the perfect size for his-.”

“Would you look at that! Our waiter friend here has brought your favorite off the menu!”

The waiter listlessly sets down a plate of fingers, all tied up with bows at the end. Rosie coos in delight, thanking him with a wiggle of her fingers.

“Seriously, you’re missing out!”

“I highly doubt there is anything new I will learn from the experience.” He sips his coffee, one eyebrow raised as he listens to his old friend ramble on. 

“Oh Alastor, you can never be too sure if you like something until you try it!” She giggles as she pierces her fork into a piece. Blackened blood oozes from the wound. “I didn’t know I had a liking for cannibalism until I ate my first husband!” 

She hums at the taste, her sharp teeth easily breaking through leathery skin and stubborn ligaments. “And I liked it so much I had the second as well!” 

“I’m sure you had a very enjoyable time.” 

She laughs, noticing the telltale sign of exasperation furrowing his brow. “I was only trying to broaden your horizons. You’ll be in Hell for a long time after all! Who knows? Maybe in one of these centuries you’ll feel compelled to test things out. Don’t think too much of it sweetie.” 

But Alastor did think about it. Unwillingly, of course. Nonetheless, the thought nagged at the back of his mind as he bid Rosie farewell, heading off to his usual stop at the butcher shop. He thought of it as the butcher plodded to the back of the shop, retrieving for him the whole carcass of a deer. Could the flesh of another, moving creature be just as delectable as a dead rack of venison?

He thought of it as he grinned his way into the hotel, half-heartedly entertaining Charlie and the others just enough that they wouldn’t bother him further. He let his gaze momentarily land on each of the hotel residents; could he even imagine the thought of laying with any of them? He feels his stomach curdle in disgust as Angel Dust shoots him one of his looks. That spider doesn’t know what he’s thinking, does he? No, of course not. He’s way beneath the caliber of mind reading.

Any person, any body on top of him would simply feel wrong. No, Alastor decided. Surely, his good friend must be exaggerating the pleasure. 

Yet still, the thought simply wouldn’t leave him as he sliced through the sinews of his venison, closing his eyes in satisfaction at the gamey, lean taste. As custom, his butcher had prepared the meat just right; so that the texture was firm yet tender, rather than resistant and too chewy from its muscle fibers. Was it possible that the pleasures of the flesh could be just as addicting as the pleasure of consuming it? 

He polishes off the last bit of meat clinging to the bone, tucking in his chair so it aligns perfectly with the edge of the table. Nevermind all that, he has a radio show to host! He adjusts his bow, humming what the people of today would consider an old-timey tune as he makes his way to his radio tower. 

On tonight’s broadcast he had prepared a last minute catch to torture, some mid-level overlord who attacked the hotel in the middle of the night. Charlie might nag him about it later, but what Charlie doesn’t know won’t hurt her. He takes a seat, flipping through the script. Announcements, jazz, a brief segment on the meat market in Hell, and of course the most infamous part of his show - broadcasting the screams of said angry demon in the far corner of his tower, bound by the power of his chains. 

“Sinners, I hope you’ve prepared your ears for a feast!” 

The overlord’s body is resisting, tossing and turning helplessly in his hold. It’s exhilarating, the feeling of control pulsing through his veins. Delicious, the way its face contorted further until it was no longer even vaguely humanoid in appearance. Mesmerizing, as he skinned its identity in one loud tear; from forehead to chin, the overlord was no more. A meaningless black hole where its mouth once sat opens in an ear-shattering scream. He feels the noise reverberate pleasantly through his spine, echoes of its cries spreading in waves across Hell from his radio tower. 

He stretches his back, then, lengthening bones making pops and snaps as they release from their prison of sinews and tendons, until he loomed over the fallen demon who pathetically clawed for an exit as though it still had a chance of escaping. He lets him crawl a miserly few feet, before easily snatching him up with one long arm, savoring the absolute forced submission in the other demon’s blood-drowned eyes.  

“A reminder to all the misbehaving, insolent souls of Hell…”

He unhinges his jaw till it’s as large as the sinner’s head, then bites it off, removing the screaming machine right off its neck. Its hair is a nasty texture on his throat, though he ignores the mild inconvenience for the incomparable satisfaction of the rush of raw power. The studio is quiet now, save for the sounds of thick, tainted blood sliding down his elongated throat, and the soft gulps as he swallowed. 

He licks his lips, which is coated with the putrid blood of that demon - ah, there’s nothing that quite hits the spot like the bitter taste of total conquest. 

“...not to cross paths with the Radio demon.” 

He laughs as he ends the broadcast, cleaning up the rest of the body by obscuring it in flames and letting it wither. He doesn’t particularly enjoy the taste of sinner meat unlike his dear friend Rosie; once the body becomes inanimate, unable to scream or shake in terror, it’s simply a slab of meat the same as any other. And he far prefers the bite of fresh venison. 

His body slowly compresses itself, returning to the usual form he enjoyed. But his blood still pulsed quickly, and his face was still flushed from the euphoria of domination. His ears twitch once, twice as he feels strangely stuck on the feeling.

That irritating worm of a thought creeps in yet again, reminding him this morning’s unsettling conversation. Missing out? It itched at him, the thought that he has yet to experience this aspect of hedonism. He seats himself at his station, blood-crusted nails tapping on his knee. 

He could give it a try. That’s what he did with television, after all. Twenty years after he landed in Hell and that imbecile Vox started rising in power - well, they were friends at the time - he had entertained the idea of video, if only in the privacy of his back then radio station. And after a mere week with the device, he had decided that radio still was the best and most refined medium. 

Hmmm. 

He sinks into the shadows, tapping his fingers on his cane as he makes his way toward his room. He stretches his grin to scare Angel Dust, who he crossed in the halls; delighted, as he grimaces in disgust at the sight. 

Although, he muses, he can hardly bear to think of sleeping with any of the demons surrounding him. The door shuts, and he finds himself seated on his bed, restless fingers never stopping their erratic tapping. 

Perhaps, he can test things out by himself first. Only if things go well will he entertain another. 

And that’s how Alastor finds his fingers slipping beneath the band of his pants, sending his shadow to guard the outside of his door. Who knows which one of those pesky fiends would come knocking for some ridiculous problem? 

He snakes a hand around the length of his member, internally grimacing at the intimacy of the action. It wasn’t as though he’s never touched himself before; but rather that the last time had been… more than a century ago by now? 

That’s right, he thinks, awkwardly maneuvering his hand up and down. He recalls the more foolish early days of his life, when he was in his teens and sex was all the craze amongst his peers. The one thing that actually should’ve changed with time, yet only grew worse.

He had found the activity disinteresting back then, much like he does now, observing the ripples across the swamp in his room as he rhythmically moves his hand. Up and down, up and down. 

He tries to summon back the adrenaline he experienced while torturing the demon, but it was slowly fading away, each stroke of his arm cooling down the pulse further. The skin on his palm was growing tired of brushing over the same crooked vein, his cock not hardening nearly enough to penetrate another’s innards. He redirects his attention toward the activity. The best he gets is a slight twitch, his member half-erect only from the arousal of torture half an hour prior, and the repeated stimulation from his hand. 

This is what people get all excited over? How laughable, really. Not that he was so surprised, considering how pitiful many of them were already, even without their questionable choice of pastime. 

He gives his arm a rest, squeezing at the base of his cock then languidly moving his fingers upward until he comes to a stop at the tip. A modest smear of precum peeks from the opening, and he watches the viscous fluid gather into a bead, which he spreads over the head of his cock with his thumb. The miniscule feeling is growing into a low-level buzz in his gut, like an itch he can’t be bothered to scratch. 

One time, he reminds himself. That means finishing the whole experience. He resumes the motion, but before he could get back into it…

“Alastor?” His eyes, which have started to shut from concentration, snap open at the sound of Charlie’s excitable voice at the door.

Now, of all times! It’s a good thing he sent his shadow to guard the door. He sighs, tucking his half-hard member back into the confines of his slacks and picking up his cane - with his other hand, of course. He swings the door open, his smile gleaming and wide as always. 

“What is it now, Charlie?” 

The blonde squeals, her hands clapping together quickly before she flourishes them toward you. “We have a new guest!” 

He notices you then, a tiny thing beside Charlie, eyes shining just as bright if not more than the princess. He could already tell, without you even speaking a word, how bothersome you were likely to be. How wonderful. 

But the show must go on, and his smile grows even wider, fixing his stare on you in the hopes of making a fearsome first impression. “Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, dear!” 

You don’t flinch at all; instead, you lean in to match his smile, enthusiastically shaking his hand with glee - the hand that he used to do… that, he realizes in dread. No matter how much of a nuisance you were going to be, this was absolutely inappropriate to do to a lady, nevertheless, one he’d just met. But of course, you don’t know that. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Alastor! I’m so excited to work here at the hotel! I can tell we’re going to be good friends already!” 

“Mmmhmm, I have no doubt you’re correct.”

The subtle flair of sarcasm is immediately lost on both you and Charlie, and the two of you squeal simultaneously.

“Best friends!” Charlie cheers, holding your hand in one and his in the other. 

“The bestest!” You giggle, leaning your head affectionately on her shoulder.

He strains his smile. “Now then, aside from the friendly introductions, I assume there is something you require from me?” He directs his attention to Charlie, whose eye suddenly sparks up as though remembering something. 

“Oh yes!” She clutches onto your shoulders, presenting you to him. “Our new guest here is looking for a job! She’s brand new in Hell and found out that you don’t just get to stop working after death, unfortunately. So she came to our hotel from that brilliant ad you made, and we were brainstorming what sorts of jobs she could take here.”

“You… just got here, and your first reaction is excitement?” That… is interesting, although it’s an avenue to be explored another time. 

Your eyes sparkle at what you likely presumed to be his interest. “I’ve always known that I was going to Hell anyway! I just didn’t know it would be so cool!” 

Charlie swoons at that, taking your hands in hers. “Oh we are just going to have the best time together I already know! I should take you to Lulu World, I used to go on the rides there with my dad all the time!” 

“There’s. An. Amusement park??”

He increases the sound of his static until the two of you finally notice him. “As you lovely ladies were saying?” 

“Right! We were thinking…” Charlie wiggles her eyebrows at you, which you catch and reply with one of your own. 

“...That I could be your assistant!” 

All the static stops. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Your assistant! Charlie was telling me about how you do so much for the hotel, that it’d be better if you had somebody helping you!” 

His grin remains frozen on his face, radio-dialed eyes boring straight into yours, which never seemed to dull no matter what they were looking at. Weren’t you afraid of him in the slightest? It’s almost insulting, how you approached him so fearlessly. Perhaps it’s only because you’re new to Hell. That thought relaxes him slightly, his mind churning in delight at the picture of you a few weeks from now, much more tame as you’ve learned to stay in your lane. 

“I do not require any assistance-.” 

Charlie’s face instantly falls.

“...But, I suppose, if no other career option in the hotel is available, I will take you as my assistant.” 

“Great! Awesome! Thank you so much, Alastor!” Her face lights up so quickly that he rolls his eyes; that girl was such an open book that it hurts to look at sometimes. 

Then there’s a figure colliding into his chest, as two arms wrap around his back. “I’m so, so glad!” Your girlish voice is too loud for his sensitive ears this close, and though it takes him a moment to react, when he finally does, he hisses, flattening his ears as he pulls away instinctively. 

“Do not step out of your boundaries, my dear.” 

To your credit, you do pull away quickly; but the same unbeatable optimism still shone in your eyes, as though you didn’t take his word as a threat at all. 

“I’m sorry!” You didn’t look nearly enough sorry. “So when are we gonna get started? I hear you work in a radio tower! Oooh that sounds so fun! But I wouldn’t mind getting started on the rest of the tasks you do around the hotel either, I’m sure there’s a lot!” 

Alastor bites back another loathing groan, the corners of his normally well-practiced grin threatening to fall. He could only hope your initial excitement would wear off within a few days.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alastor, do I put in the eggs or the bacon first?” 

…It’s gotten worse. 

“Cook the bacon first, then the eggs in the leftover grease.” 

“Got it!” You zoom off, hurrying as you move to do just as he says. 

He sighs, taking the opportunity to direct his attention back to the script he was working on; but he knew it wouldn’t be long until you once again appear in front of his vision, free to help again.

He was used to dealing with irritating personalities as a public figure, but none had been as bad as this; because the difference was, that he could eventually get away from them. You, however… he didn’t quite hate you. Aside from being a naturally excitable person, you were pleasant and helpful enough. The issue was that you were too helpful. You were always around to help, finishing every meaningless task he threw your way in mere minutes. And once you finished, you would come back for more. 

Goodness, he’s never seen someone this hardworking! You worked as though you were a single mother of five fighting for a living, rather than a childless soul free to spend the bare minimum effort for the rest of your afterlife. Even at night, there was no rest! When you found out that he preferred his nights sleepless, you were eager to copy him, insisting that you had never enjoyed sleeping; it was only for the sake of living that you did so. And while it was true that he had grown used to the nights awake, your persistent presence was starting to make him tired enough to long for rest. 

The sound of the kitchen sink turning off catches his attention. His ears flick in your direction, listening for the telltale sign of your scampering feet. 

And sure enough, a few moments later, you’re here. “Breakfast is ready and served!” 

To his surprise, you actually sit yourself down on the couch next to him. You? Taking a rest? Well, it should preferably be farther away from him, but at least he wouldn’t have to do the whole act of sending you off for a task, and then waiting in dreaded anticipation for the timer to end, bringing you to him like clockwork.

“That’s wonderful, dear. Good job!” He takes a sip from his “Oh deer!” mug. “Say, you’ve been working very hard all week; does the idea of a day off entice you at all?”

You shake your head, swinging your feet below the edge of the couch. “Nah, I’m good. It’s been so fun working with you I hardly felt it was work at all!” 

“I see.” Another sip.

This wasn’t going to do. You see, there was yet another unexpected issue your constant presence brought. That little… experiment of his. He had no room to finish the experience, simply because you were always there! He supposed that he could give it up altogether. After all, he was never interested in the first place. 

But then he would also never get to check off that irksome box. He had to find some way to finish, if only just to call it a day. If you weren’t going to take the day off, then… he was just going to have to find some way to keep you busy for long enough. But what was there for you to do? There are certain parts of his workload that he simply can’t have you touching. His radio equipment, for one. You wouldn’t be going anywhere near that. Which does reduce his options by a lot. 

Perhaps he could have you assist Husker? Or-. His grin sharpens. Or! Ah, what a great idea! 

“…Alastor?” You question. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, yes, of course I’m here silly, I'm right in front of you!” 

“Oh, good. Because I thou-.” 

“My dear, I’ve suddenly thought of a task I need your assistance for!” 

“Oooooh what is it?” You perk up, back straightening as you bunch your hands in anticipation. “Is it gonna be more cooking? Sweeping? Walking back and forth in the hallways a hundred times while counting my fingers? You never did tell me what that was for, by the way.” 

“Not at all! I think it’s about time I request you do something more… difficult. Something more time consuming that I didn’t think you were ready for until now.” He stands up, guiding you by your shoulders to the bar. “-Niffty!” 

“Aw, yes, I love her! What about her though?” 

“Wonderful! Then I believe you’ll be perfectly suited to the task of entertaining her.” He snaps his fingers, drawing the one-eyed cyclops to him. “Niffty dear, why don’t you show her the bugs you’ve got there?” 

He grins even wider when you visibly cringe at the bugs, that being the first negative reaction you’ve shown since arriving at the hotel. He watches for only a few more moments before turning his back, knowing that he could leave the rest to the little cyclops. 

Now, to take advantage of the time he’s earned for himself. His steps are oddly eager for a mediocre activity, his rush to close his bedroom door out of the norm. Once again, he has his shadow watch over the outside, as he sits himself on the edge of his bed, shifting the band of his pants over his hips. 

He feels the itch come back, subtle and buzzing like a pesky mosquito, as though he were picking up at exactly the same level of arousal as where he last left off.

 Good, that should save him some time. His fingers wrap around his half-hardened cock, giving it a squeeze to tease the light pulse at his tip. The itch soothes as he works his hand down his shaft, causing him to breathe a small sigh of relief. He slowly quickened his pace, his cock becoming stiffer as his movements sent more blood to engorge it, flushing his tip with a pretty red shade. He has to admit that the feeling was becoming pleasurable. Although he has no need for such a thing when killing works just as well to get his adrenaline racing.

Surely, doing it with another would have little difference. He feels his jaw clench, grin tugging at the edges as he quickens his hand further, determined to get his high over with as fast as possible so that life could continue. 

The tightening of his abdominal muscles as he neared a climax wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to him; despite having an inactive sexual life, the thrill of a good kill was sometimes intense enough that arousal would stiffen his cock similarly to how he was now. Yet the unbearable growl in his stomach, and the almost painful sudden swelling of saliva in his mouth, always overpowered the feeling from below, leading him to satisfy that carnal desire with the consumption of another, from the irreplaceable feeling of control beneath his fingertips as his victims screamed with the regret of crossing him. 

A slight sheen of sweat gathers above his brow as he feels unpracticed muscles prepare his orgasm, stroking faster until-.

Three sharp knocks ring on his door. “Alastor? I’m back! Are you in there?” 

He has never directed the fury he currently felt toward any woman; but you were coming close to being the first. He had half the mind to just… continue, let you wait outside. But that would only work if you were literally any other person. Knowing you, you would just persistently call for him until he answered, and that would definitely disrupt his concentration on achieving his climax. He reluctantly tucks his still twitching cock back into his slacks, fumbling around as he struggles to conceal the bulge protruding there. He fixes the lapels on his coat.

“...Hello, my dear. Back so soon?”

You sheepishly look at your toes. “Yeah. Sorry if I was bothering you-.” Hmmm. Some self-awareness for once. Perhaps you could be trained. “-but Niffty got distracted in the middle of showing me her bugs. She’s by herself now, smacking her head with a broom. Is she going to be alright? I mean, you’re kind of like her boss right?” 

“I own her soul. And yes, she will be alright as she always is. Funny! I expected you to last longer with her, given how popular you’ve become amongst the residents of this hotel. Was that all, or was there something more important you came to bother me for?” 

“Yeah the thing is, I’m not that good with bugs so I couldn’t keep her entertained.” You seem to be entirely unaware of his jab, as your face brightens again. “I came to ask for another task! Aside from the bugs thing, I can pretty much do anything else! In fact, I can work all day if you need me to.” 

Known weaknesses - bugs. He’ll store that in his mind for future use. “I’m well aware of your work ethic! You… just seem to never run out of energy.” 

You beam, taking his words as a compliment. “Yup!” 

“...But I may not always be ready with a task for you. With that in mind, why don’t you check up on the other residents? I recall you taking quite the liking to our dear princess of the hotel.” 

Your face falls. Oh, if you cry at this moment, he will have truly hit his last nerve. Unexpectedly, his cock, which still sat uncomfortably hard in his pants, stirs at the thought of your teary face; sobbing as you begged for his forgiveness for being such a nuisance. He pushes that thought away. 

“I do want to spend time with Charlie, but she’s in the middle of figuring something out with her dad. And Angel Dust is always at his job, Husk doesn’t talk much, and you know Niffty…” You stop as you count to your fourth finger. “...And that’s everyone in the hotel.” 

“And what about simply spending time by yourself? You must have passions you enjoy outside of working.” 

With that, your face falls even further, your pupils downcast, lashes lowered. Must you play this act with him? “I used to, when I was alive. But I just… can’t find the point of doing so anymore after death.”

For a moment, he thinks that he’s hit a weak spot. Then you recover in record time, rubbing your hands together with an animated smile. “Because there are just so many other things to do in Hell! I want to take in everything this place has to offer!” 

And how could he turn down such a brilliant display of optimism? It would be one thing if you had broken down, weeping some sob story about not wishing to be left alone. Then he could easily spin some excuse to cast you aside, preferably forever. It was another, to have you insist with genuine excitement, how you enjoyed working for him. In this case, you would be the one in control if he were to turn you down; that would be a display of weakness from him, not you. 

It could be worse. You could be the horribly unhelpful variety on top of your constant proximity. As for his little experiment… he would just have to find a way to carry it out in the little time you were away from him. Thinking, plotting deliberately long tasks that you managed to solve in a quarter of the time he planned for you. He even trusted you with the tasks he wouldn’t let you touch at first; fine, you could touch his stuff, edit his scripts (not that he would use your edits), clean whatever! Anything to keep you busy for long enough!

And so it goes; every time his wrists moved faster, nearing that ever-unreachable climax, you were there, knocking at his door. It came to the point where his expectancy of your arrival made it even more difficult to achieve his orgasm; the thought of your interruption restrained the frustrating throb of his cock to constant level of almost-there but never-finished. 

It was beyond vexing! Every time, he came closer to the idea of ending you. Though it would be uncharacteristic, given you didn’t fit his usual demographic; that might also come with its benefits, as it would be easier to blame your sudden disappearance as a… happy accident. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Whereas he usually anticipates the feeling of victory after killing, he couldn’t help but feel like killing you meant he was losing. That it was evidence your overwhelming good cheer had finally gotten to him, and killing, in this case, means his surrender to your attack. 

Not to add that despite his recent contemplation, he really has never thought of killing a woman. It was not out of some strange moral construct, but rather the self-important disgust at the thought of becoming as pathetic as the demons he normally enjoyed obliterating. No, he wasn’t going to stoop to such a level.

So he holds on, letting your interruptions continue, figuring that one day he had to be desperate enough that his orgasm would come quicker, before you could knock at his door. Yet no matter how aroused he was, no matter how painfully strong the urge to release; he could never finish the race before you got there. 

Subtle jabs and hints flew past you. Direct expulsion would mean his loss. Threatening you never worked, and you always seemed to be strangely calm as you swung your legs back and forth, watching with utter ease his show of tearing apart his captured souls. In fact, to his incomprehension, that seemed to be the part of his day you were the most neutral about; happily humming along to the jazz he played, eyes casually fixated on his cannibalism the same way eyes normally stare at a mediocre TV show - unbothered, neither interested not repulsed. 

Just what did you do to get into Hell? 

He can feel the precum pressing uncomfortably, his pants pushing against the over-sensitive tip of his cock as he listened to you ramble on about how you didn’t mean to bother him, but you had questions about how to work certain equipment in his studio. His ears are flat, eyes narrowed as his grin threatens to actually fall. But no, he had to endure it all as he pretends to be wholly unaffected, patiently (albeit with an extra edge of snark in his voice) explaining to you the mechanics. 

“I would’ve never imagined handling radio equipment in my afterlife! I was a teacher when I was alive, you know.”

A teacher? Interesting, that was the first piece of information he had gathered about your life. Though he couldn’t imagine what kind of school would allow you near their children, especially with his knowledge now that you’ve ended up in Hell. Or perhaps, your upbeat attitude was exactly what they were looking for. 

His stream of thought is cut off by your happy humming, bending over his desk as you poke around his equipment. Unfortunately, he finds his eyes lingering on the curve of your butt, the edge of your panties peeking innocently at him from under the atrociously short hem of your skirt - were the modern people so comfortable with walking around nearly nude? It wasn’t that he found the side of your rear particularly enticing, nor was he attracted to the mere appearance of someone’s privates; but he found himself wondering, fantasizing, of how easy it would be to restrain you against his desk and take you there. How easy it would be to get this over with.

His cock strains tightly against the fabric of his pants, reminding him of his predicament. He grits his teeth, pulling at his hair in a rare display of regret, and desperation. Why did he ever take on such a ridiculous experiment? He prided himself on his composure and unbreakable self-control, yet the very sensation of his length throbbing for a release, and the uncomfortable persistent ache in his cock as he went about his day; a sensation that was usually entirely dormant, bothered him so greatly he felt he might go insane if he didn't finally climax.

He was no stranger to the idea that desperation was the root cause of many bad decisions; he just never thought that he, of all people, would fall prey to it one day. 

He thinks he must’ve lost his mind a few days later as he lets your knocks continue on his unlocked door, one hand pumping at his angry red cock. This was supposed to be the original experiment anyway, he tries to rationalize. He’s beyond caring about the consequences. One time only, he reminds himself, teeth gnashing together as he lowers his boundaries at a snail's pace, for the first time letting your voice infiltrate his activities, even fuel them. 

“Alastor…? I’m done cleaning your desk. What can I do next?” 

You quiet down. Then you speak up again, hesitantly, as though you somehow also knew you would be crossing an unspoken boundary if you were to twist the doorknob. “Alastor, if you're ok with it, I’m coming in.”

Wonderful. He can’t wait to see the pained look on your face as he fucked your womb, forcibly erasing that unshakeable mask of optimism you wore; replacing it with apology, regret, and subservience. 

Then you speak up again. “Actually, I better not. I don’t know if you’re in there but if you are, come find me when you’re done with whatever you’re doing alright?” 

He stops his movement, a feeling of absurdity taking over his mind. No! Absolutely not! Well, it was what he wanted all along, but not when he had already prepared himself to accept the feeling of your hole clenching deliciously over his cock, not when he could finally 

Against his will, he calls out for you. “You may come in if you wish, my dear. The door is unlocked.” 

He hears your footsteps stop again, unsure and slow. Were you already aware of what was going on behind the walls? “Oh ok. Only if you’re sure though.” 

What happened to your lack of respect for his boundaries? He rolls his eyes at the door, impatiently waiting for you to crack it open, waiting to see your reaction as you see the depraved motion of his hand now moving languidly across the length. What shameful look would cross your face?

“I’m coming in!” The door opens. 

If he wasn’t so against the technology, he would’ve wished to capture your expression with a camera; your smile drops, eyes widening as you stood there absolutely frozen, always-running mouth still for once as you look between his face and hand, brain short circuiting at the sight of him. It was rewarding in a near mouthwatering way, to see you finally react the way he wanted you to. He feels superior, the way he was always meant to, as he sits perched on his bed grinning, never stopping the motion of his hand as he watches your face start to take on a red hue. 

…That satisfaction doesn’t last long though, as you seem to regain your composure, the only hint of your prior expression being the flush on your cheeks. He’s taken aback as you yet again regain your usual beam, albeit a bit more bashfully. 

“Is this a new type of task for me?” 

…Oh, fuck it. He extends one of his tendrils to slam the open door, eyes glowering as he collects you by the waist with another. Up close, he sees your bravado waver; your eyes glued to the now furious red head of his cock, which rubs against your stomach as you land on his lap. 

“My dear assistant, do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused the last couple of weeks?” 

He wasn’t going to let you respond, but in yet another turn of events, you press yourself closer to his throbbing cock, coyly smiling up at him through your lashes. “Have I? Well I can always assist with the trouble I caused.” 

At any other time, he would’ve jumped on the opportunity to dig deeper into your motivation; but right now, he’s beyond caring to decipher your intention. All he wants is to sink his cock into your waiting hole, which warmed his length teasingly through only the thin separation of your underwear. 

He digs his hands into the sides of your hips, the sharpness of his teeth glistening from the low light in his room. “I’m afraid your assistance isn’t needed at the moment.” 

Your brows raise in confusion, temporarily caught off guard by his statement. “What-.” 

Before you could finish your sentence, he’s torn off your panties with a skilled claw, grin straining as he prods the tip of his cock into your already wet folds. Were you waiting for this? The thought, which should irritate him, only intensifies the guttural desire to ruin you. You let out a breathless squeak as he pushes his cock into your walls in one go. He feels blood collecting between his teeth where he bit himself to stop the utterly humiliating sound of relief that would otherwise fall out. You, on the other hand, gasp for air as you attempt to adjust to the shock of his intrusion. 

He presses your body into his pristinely folded sheets, grin straining as your back collides with the headboard, the jolt of the motion rocking your pussy flush against the base of his cock, where your clit smacks wetly against his abdomen. 

“You can just watch me do my job.” 

He does one experimental thrust, feasting on the sight of your head throwing back as he hits that spongy spot inside you, licking up the gratifying sounds of your cries. He pins your arms to the headboard as he pulls back, then thrusts again. Oh… this does feel phenomenal. 

If only for the pure fact that he had been denied his release since you’ve made your entrance, he could barely think as he picked up the pace, moving his hips back then slamming them forward in the way he’s only heard of until now. You moan with every thrust of his hips, the pathetic little sound vibrating from the vigor of his movements. 

He realizes, mortifyingly, that he can already feel his orgasm approaching. That isn’t supposed to happen this fast, is it? It certainly never was that way the few times (well, recently many times) he experimented with his own hand; but the moist, gummy heat of your walls seemed to coax his length, beckoning him to release and paint them white. 

He grits his teeth, refusing to give in. Were things always destined to end this way? So that no matter which way he took things, you would be the one to win? 

He speeds up his pace then, mind attempting to focus on anything but the depraved ache of his pent-up cock, balls tight with a torrent of cum, despite how his release was the only thing that the animal part of his brain craved. If this was your plan all along - no, even if you were unaware and it was simply your nature to be devious - he’ll ensure that he at least makes you come first, make you fall apart on his cock before he ejaculates. 

Your eyes are hazy, bottom lip caught succulently between your top row of teeth, as your back arched up so your nipples would graze his suit each time he sunk into your deepest spot. By the looks of your trembling thighs and quickening breath, it wouldn’t be long until you cum, his wanting brain reasons. 

He has one knee digging into the bedsheets, his other leg working to powerfully ram into you; and he tightens his own muscles, willing himself to contain his long-awaited release. 

“Alastor! A-A-lastor!” You call out his name, and he feels a surge of satisfaction rushing through him; your submission like a hefty meal that feeds straight to his starving gut. 

Then your eyes roll back, stilling as your walls convulse rhythmically around his cock. His nails rip into the bedsheets, prepared to resist this climax, wanting to wait until he fucked you into a second orgasm. 

But your unpredictable little mind has other plans, and as you suddenly bite down on his shoulder, teeth sinking all the way into the muscle there; he groans in surprise, the first noise he’s let escape during the whole session, cock twitching as it releases his sperm in lengthy ropes against his will. 

Your sweaty face is smug, smiling up at him as you playfully flick at his hair. He forces himself to recover, the irritation crawling back into his heart twofold. 

He’s going to fuck that look right off your audacious face.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It was amazing! I simply didn’t know one could do such a thing with a rope! Especially with how tight-.” 

Alastor nods, tuning out and sipping his coffee as Rosie droned on about her latest escapade. It seems she’s found yet another man to toy with; and although he wasn’t particularly interested in this story, he was looking forward to her inevitable follow up on disemboweling him. 

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes! It’s important to prepare your meat well, as in the case of any dish. But sinner meat requires a different type of preparation. It’s unfortunate that you’ll never know the taste.” She giggles, stirring her cup of tea. 

“I might’ve taken a sample since the last time we spoke.” 

Her eyes light up in recognition, excitedly leaning forward in her seat. “You have! And tell me, how did it go! Was it everything you hoped for?”

He sets down his mug. Was it all that great? Well he supposed that while it wasn’t anything near the surge of primal power murder gave him, he certainly didn’t dislike it. 

He certainly hasn’t minded the new change to his routine; when sometimes, after a broadcasting session where his adrenaline is rushing particularly high, after he solves the growling of his stomach, he also tends to the ache of his cock by fucking your womb. As usual, you didn’t mind providing him with your assistance, pliantly spreading your thighs on his table whenever you recognized the look of raw hunger in his eyes, that look of hunger that differed from his usual craving for meat. The craving of flesh. 

But he hasn’t turned into some… lustful creature. He merely gave an unventured avenue a try, and it turned out to be more pleasurable than he expected. 

He widens his grin, static buzzing with threat as a warning to her not to question further, and Rosie takes the hint, smiling knowingly as she backs down. 

“It was alright.” 

.

.

.

A/N: It's up to you whether the reader did it on purpose LOL. Anywho definitely don't be expecting me to always post this often, this week I went through some weird writing craze. I have no idea when I'll post next but when I do it'll probably be a series (we'll see how that goes) cuz I want to try long-form writing (oooooo intimidating). I wrote this fic cuz I've heard that the way serial killers choose their victims is closely related to who they're sexually attracted to. & cannibalism is often used as a metaphor for love. And I thought that it was so interesting Alastor is this cannibalistic serial killer who's also asexual! I speculate that the adrenaline rush they get from killing might somewhat mimic arousal. And I thought that might be true for Alastor as well, he just doesn't project those feelings onto another person cuz he's asexual... BUT WHAT IF HE DID? Well, I wrote a fic to find out and thought Tumblr might like it lol. Not that I'd know about how all that feels cuz despite my amazing wonderful extremely realistic writing skills it might surprise you that I've never killed anyone or done a sex... My author notes are more like author short essays (that's why I put them at the end)

Taglist:

@angeldustharmony, @littlebluefishtail, @cryssyd, @reath-solia, @speedycoffeedelight, @mo-0-o Comment below if you wanna be added!

[redshoes-blues]

Emotional Time Travel: How Will Byers Controls Time in the Upside Down

"We are all time travellers, if you think about it."

Buckle up, everybody, this is gonna be a long one! :)

Over a year ago I wrote an analysis on the references to clocks throughout Stranger Things, and looked at how this connects to the show's specific form of time travel. This post is a bit of a redo of that original analysis, but this time I'm focusing on the idea that emotions have the power to alter the movement of time. And not only this, but Will Byers specifically has the power to control time in the Upside Down.

From the clock symbolism throughout the show to the time travel references, it’s clear that S5 is going to delve fully into the way the Upside Down operates; more specifically, I suspect we'll finally get answers to the question raised last season—why is the UD stuck on the day Will vanished?

I have some ideas on how that might work, and it has to do with emotions, which are described in ST as a way to time travel, as El says it best herself in the opening of S4: "We are all time travellers, if you think about it."

[CW: this will delve into the various forms of trauma and abuse faced by Vecna's targets in the show]

The Vanishing of Will Byers: Time Travel and Dimension X

First of all, let's deal with the obvious. The Upside Down, aka Dimension X, is a dimension that is stuck in the past. This is tied directly to Will Byers, given that it exists perpetually as the date he vanished. Therefore, entering the Upside Down is a form of interdimensional time travel.

To me, this could work in one of three ways, although a combination of these factors could also be at play here.

First, the UD could be a fixed point in time. A place where time doesn't work. It acts as a set piece, where characters can move around and exist within, but otherwise, it remains the same. In this case, it is quite literally frozen from the moment Will is taken. However, there are some things in the UD that do change. The weather, for example. Or vines that move and grow. So it's really hard to say how the fixedness would work. Perhaps, if this is the case, time is fixed and frozen, even non-existent, but space isn’t.

Second, is the idea that the Upside Down exists as a time loop. How long the loop would be, we don't know for sure. All we know is that the UD is stuck, somehow, on November 6, 1983. Maybe the loop is a single day long. Maybe it goes on for the entire duration of Will being missing. Either way, the time loop is certainly a plausible theory for how time operates in the UD.

Another important thing to consider is S5's use of A Wrinkle in Time as a source for inspiration, which brings me to the third way that time could operate in the Upside Down. Now, it has been awhile since I read AWIT, but there's an important concept in that novel called a tesseract. This is basically a way of travelling through time and space, to a fourth dimension. Looking at ST, this seems like a likely culprit for what's going on with the UD, which would be a sort of fourth dimension in this case. Vecna as much as says the UD is a fourth dimension himself:

"I became an explorer. An explorer of a realm unspoiled by mankind. I saw so many things, and one day, I found the most extraordinary thing of all."

But Vecna isn’t the only one to explicitly refer to the Upside Down as another dimension/realm. The government call it “Dimension X,” and the Party refer to it as the “Shadow Realm” pretty early on, an analogy to D&D’s location of the same name.

Now, I went googling for a description of the Shadow Realm, and I found this one that is very telling: “The Shadow realm is a realm caught between the realms of the living and the dead, a place where the boundaries of time and reality blur.” [link to article]

Looking at the UD, this absolutely makes sense as the location of choice that the Party (aka, the writers) chose to compare it to. As we’ve discussed, time does blur in the UD, and things don’t always happen as they would in Hawkins (there are strange storms, cosmic horror style monsters, etc.). Perhaps, in this realm, time itself doesn't even exist in a way that makes sense to us.

Now, going back to Vecna, we see that this sort of fourth dimension where time doesn’t exist as it should is exactly what he wishes to achieve.

On his motivations, Henry Creel says this: "Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Decades. Each life a faded lesser copy of the one before. Wake up. Eat. Work. Sleep. Reproduce. And die."

Clearly, he feels burdened by the limitations of how time functions in the real-world. This is why, he explains, "I became an explorer."

Now, the Upside Down we see him enter is very different from the one that Will is taken to, and the one we see from S1 onwards. There are two people we know that may be responsible for this change in appearance. Either Vecna shaped the world to his liking, or Will did.

Maybe it's a both/and situation. After all, we know Vecna has powers and has been communicating with the Mind Flayer (who seems to be a sort of eldritch/cosmic god/force of the UD) for years. However, it is Will's vanishing that shapes the "time" of the Upside Down.

Will vanished on November 6, 1983, which is the same day that the UD is stuck on. This means that the Upside Down is inexplicably tied to him. Why it's tied to him is hard to say. He's the first kid Vecna kidnapped, and it is very interesting that he didn't just kill Will like he does his other victims: there's something different about Will.

I'll get into that later, but for now, what does this mean for Hawkins, where the UD is beginning to leak out of the gates?

As I mentioned previously, it's clear that one of Vecna's goals is to create a world that is "unburdened" by time's constraints. As the gates open up, we see a clock turning backwards (see: gif above), which may represent how time is slowing down or ceasing to exist the same way it always has.

If we want to get metaphorical about how time functions in Hawkins vs. the Upside Down and Vecna's mind lair, just look at the first sign of someone's Vecna vision, which is represented by a chime of the Creel house clock. For Vecna's targets, time is literally running out. Not only because they're about to die in Hawkins, but because they're about to enter a dimension where the passage of time does not exist.

"We Are All Time Travellers": Emotions Alter Time

Let's back things up a little bit.

Last spring, I was rewatching S4 to look for any references to time travel (turns out there's a lot of them when you go looking for them). It didn't take long for me to get a reference. In fact, there's one in El's opening monologue, as part of her letter to Mike.

"Dear Mike. Today is day 185. Feels more like ten years. Joyce says time is funny like that. Emotions can make it speed up or slow down. We are all time travellers, if you think about it. For example, this week is going very fast because I am so busy..."

In one sense, El's line here is describing how time can literally feel fast or slow depending on how we feel. For example, if we're busy and happy, time often goes by fast, but it we're upset, time can feel slow. Of course, I believe this line also has a deeper meaning that foreshadows what we later learn about the Upside Down being tied to Will’s vanishing.

It's no coincidence that in the season whose villain is represented by clocks, who is tied to a dimension where time is wonky, and who feels burdened by the existence of time, this opening scene mentions time travel directly. It's also important that El says this line. She's the one who opened the gate in the very first scene of the season, after all. She's also the one who goes through the NINA program, which is essentially sending her back into time (through her memories) to access her powers again. Isn’t it interesting that revisiting her traumatic experiences is what restores her powers?

If we take what El says literally, emotions actually have the power to speed up or slow down time, and not just our perception of it, depending on which emotions are felt. This bit about emotions is vital. As we know, the UD is shaped around Will's vanishing, which is a traumatic experience that he continues to deal with for years after it has occurred.

Now, this begs the question: did time in the UD slow down because Will left an emotional imprint on the landscape via his childhood trauma?

Again, it isn't a coincidence that Will's vanishing is the day that the Upside Down is stuck on. The "demogorgon"—which is pretty obviously going to be revealed to be Vecna—took Will into this fourth dimension, traumatizing him in the process.

All of Vecna's victims in the 80s timeline are also victims of trauma and/or abuse in their childhoods. Chrissy and Patrick have an abusive parent, and Fred has trauma from the car accident. Max has mental health issues and a complicated family life that we see in detail—an abusive brother whose death she blames herself for, suicidal ideation, a dad who isn't in the picture, a mom who becomes an alcoholic, and that's not to mention the inherent traumatizing circumstance of living in poverty. Will is also implied to have been abused by Lonnie, who called him homophobic slurs and turned into an awful deadbeat who doesn’t accept that his son doesn’t follow traditional masculine gender norms; he's also bullied at school for being different.

Each of these victims of abuse and/or trauma are all targets by Vecna. They have that in common. And we know that Vecna is targeting these kids on purpose because we see him sifting through his mind lair to select his next candidate. How does he do this? By looking at these kids' experiences and selecting someone vulnerable.

After Patrick is killed, Lucas and Max say as much when they discuss Vecna's motivations. To them, to be hurt us to be haunted:

Lucas: "It's like everyone Vecna targets has something in their life...something that's—"

Max: "Hurting them. Haunting them."

With this in mind, it begins to look as if Vecna is using the trauma and hurt of these kids because their emotions are strong enough to create gates, and therefore to alter—or even slow down—time.

Interestingly, the psionic powers of the lab kids seem to be impacted by their emotions as well.

Dr. Brenner tells the kids in the NINA memory to not use their emotions, but it’s One’s advice to El—to focus on something that makes her angry and sad—that helps her win the battle against Two. Brenner is so angry at One’s interference here that he tortures him for it. We know that Henry Creel was the original kid with telepathic powers who was experimented on. Somehow, Dr. Brenner learned to develop powers in these other kids, but it’s Henry/One who first received his powers from the Mind Flayer. Even as a kid, he understands that channeling negative feelings makes his powers grow stronger.

Before we look at why I believe Will is the only one truly capable of restoring the Upside Down to the way it was before, aka Dimension X, I want to dive a little bit deeper into Vecna’s targets themselves.

The Trauma of Vecna's Targets

There isn't a single main character in this show who isn't traumatized, hurting, haunted, or a victim of various societal pressures and/or forms of oppression. This isn't an accident. These themes are built into the show on purpose. Sometimes they aren't handled as well as they could or should be, but they're certainly present.

When we look at Vecna's victims, the reason they were his "perfect" targets is because of their vulnerability.

Lucas suspected Patrick was dealing with abuse at home, but Patrick never talked about it with anyone. Same with Fred's guilt about the hit-and-run. He's terrified of the idea that he'll be found out, so he never tells anyone about his visions. In the case of Chrissy, her own boyfriend has no idea about what she's going through, and she turns to drugs for an escape from her pain. If Max hadn't confided in her friends about her visions, equipped with her knowledge of Vecna and the Upside Down, then she would have had the same fate as them.

So, not only are Vecna's victims people who have something in their life that is hurting or haunting them (trauma, abuse, mental health issues, etc.), but they are also actively repressing these emotions. With this, I think the writers are trying to say that opening up about what you're going through with other people who care about you is vital to your survival and well-being.

Healing from trauma requires you to confront the emotions and/or experiences many people would rather suppress. I think El is a good case study for this. She is very clearly a traumatized character who is a victim of child abuse. Much of it is stuff she doesn’t actively remember, because she has repressed it, as we see in the NINA project. But despite her repression, the trauma, those memories, are still with her. She believes she's a monster, and she carries this guilt around with her for years. But El is also very resilient.

In fact, she confronts her trauma head-on in the NINA project. She relives her abusive childhood, the bullying she experienced, and the massacre, and she comes out of it a stronger person—even though she doesn't beat Vecna this time around, because she’ll require the help of someone else who is deeply tied to the UD if she wants to beat him.

Looking back at what Henry Creel knew from a young age, that his pain and experiences could be a source of his power, it becomes clear why he’s killing all of these traumatized kids. He’s doing so to harness the power in those experiences, perhaps because their emotions will affect the UD and cause time to slow down.

However, when El talks about emotions as a way to time travel in the beginning of S4, she isn’t just referring to negative emotions like boredom or sadness, etc. She also refers to positive emotions which make time move faster. If Vecna used his targets’ trauma to slow down time—originating with Will’s arrival in the UD—then maybe it is positive emotions, like love, acceptance, and healing, that will undo the changes Vecna has made in the UD.

Will The Wise: Why Will Byers is the Antidote

Will's connections to the UD are my main reason for believing he is the key to defeating Vecna. It began with Will, and it will end with him, too.

This is also supported in the text.

D&D always forms a direct analogy to the events that happen in any given season of Stranger Things, and it's through the lens of D&D that the Party describe the happenings in the Upside Down. For example, Will rolls a 7 in the first episode of the show, and tells Mike that "it [the demogorgon] got me." Later, the creature we're told is a demogorgon does get Will.

So, that's why the D&D campaign run by Eddie in S4 is very interesting, as it serves as foreshadowing for the rest of the season. An 11 is rolled first. This is a miss. It isn't until Erica—who is an unlikely hero in this campaign—rolls a 20 that Vecna is defeated.

It's crazy foreshadowing that an 11 is rolled, which isn't enough to defeat Vecna, in the season where Eleven is not able to defeat Vecna on her own, despite her powers being stronger than they've ever been. That's because power isn't the only thing at play, here. And we don't know yet who will be the Erica in this story, the underdog who will swoop in and join the fight, being the unlikely hero to defeat Vecna, but I think the missing piece will be Will.

It's like Dustin said in reference to his drawing skills (interesting, because when Will drew to solve the puzzle before, it was directly related to his connection to the Upside Down): "we need Will."

This brings me back to the main point of this analysis. If emotions alter time—with traumatic memories causing time to slow down, and causing Vecna to gain power—and if the Upside Down is shaped around Will's trauma, then confronting Will's trauma is crucial to Vecna's defeat.

Everything goes back to Will. To the moment he entered the UD on November 6, 1983. The very day the Upside Down is frozen on is the same day that Will's trauma began. By experiencing his trauma and imprinting those emotions onto the dimension, did Will quite literally grind time to a halt in the UD?

I certainly think so. And we've already seen a little bit of how positive memories can be used to fight against Vecna. Music is shown to carry positive memories and emotions, almost forming a shield around a person, as was the case for Max and Will, who were able to fight back through the power of music. If we take this a step further, it makes sense that healing from his Upside Down trauma, would work as a sort of antidote to Vecna, who feeds off of people's trauma. He only targets people, haunts them, if they are hurting. Heal the hurt, and he has no use for you any longer.

Functionally, this could work a number of ways. I think it could work by Will re-entering the UD and bringing positive emotions with him. Maybe the UD would reshape itself again, this time in a more positive way, removing the "rot" that has existed there since Will first entered. After all, Dimension X does not appear to be inherently evil like the Upside Down, it’s only when it begins to shape around trauma that it changes and rots.

Some Final Thoughts

If we consider that it was Vecna who took Will, then it’s clear that Vecna's goal isn't to kill Will. In fact, in S2, Dr. Owens asks Will if the evil wants to kill him, to which Will responds that the Mind Flayer wants to kill "everyone else."

Why? Because Will has powers that Vecna wishes to exploit for his plan. Because, by keeping Will and his strong connection to the Upside Down alive, he caused the Mind Flayer to enter Will, giving him the ability to feel what it feels—and later, in S4, to feel what Vecna feels.

My speculation, given all of the similarities between Will and Henry Creel, is that Vecna hopes Will will come to see his view as the correct one. He recognizes that Will is treated differently, that he’s an outsider, and he wants to exploit this to have Will join his side. Like the Emperor to Anakin, and later Luke, Vecna doesn’t actually care about Will: he’s manipulating his emotions to access his power. He didn’t keep him alive out of the goodness of his heart. He kept him alive because he knows that Will’s emotions have the power to alter time in the UD.

Killing Will simply wouldn’t serve his purpose of using his trauma to keep the UD stuck in time, grinding it to a halt.

Because, if Will’s emotions have the power to imprint on the Upside Down to the degree that he shapes the way an entire dimension appears and operates, everything begins to make sense. That’s why Vecna kept him alive: to continue his plan of removing the burden of time from the world. That’s why the UD is shaped around him. And that’s why Eleven could not defeat Vecna on her own.

Will controls time in the Upside Down. He shapes it through his emotions and experiences. His fear and trauma slowed down the movement of time, so, if Vecna is to be defeated, it only seems plausible that healing from his trauma, learning that he is loved and accepted for who he is—that he’s not a mistake—will have the opposite impact. By doing so, time will speed back up in Dimension X, healing it in the process.

In the end, everything began with Will. It was his vanishing that kicked off the story we’ve followed for what’ll be five seasons. And it’ll be him that brings an end to everything, as well.

Author’s Note

Thank you to everyone who stuck around and read this whopper of a theory/analysis! Writing it has been a long (but very fun) process. I started writing this about three weeks ago, as a rewrite of my old clock theory with more of a focus on how I think the UD functions, but then it grew into a beast of its own. I just couldn’t help it! When I get a meta idea about Will in my head, I can’t not write thousands of words about it lmao.

That said, I always love to read other people’s thoughts on these theories—it’s truly the best part of our little community on here. So please, feel free to add onto this if you have any ideas! :)

—Em

[mrskreideprinz]

| If I Killed Someone For You |

Pairing: Shigaraki x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, No pronouns for Reader, He/Him pronouns for Tomura, Murder, Death, Grief, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy on the hurt, Guilt, Angst, Reader scratches as an emotional response just like Tomura, Idk if you can consider this a happy end tbh, 1k words.

A/n: I love Tomura Shigaraki just about as much as I love making him suffer <3 This is also my piece for my Help Me, Hold Me collab!

Summary: Upon watching the news you find yourself having a gross realization. 

Tags: @auphelia @suyacho @tighnarly @fleur-de-leap @themovingcastlez sorry i've been such ass about tagging my pieces lately aoijdoaisj

You thought nothing of it at the time, it was simply another day for you and the League of Villains, but in the days that followed after it became truly clear that it was no ordinary day. All of you gathered around the tv, climbing onto the couch and grabbing some snacks and other various foods and drinks before settling in to relax for the night. Tomura curled up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist while he kissed your neck. Silently praising you for all the good work you’d done for him and the league over the past few days, and you beamed from his sweet affections, but that joyful moment was quickly shattered as you watched the television closely.

Watching the screen you quickly recognized a young girl that was being interviewed by a news reporter. She was crying, her school uniform dirty, tattered, and covered in blood. The girl wiped her tears away with her fist as she forced out her words in between sobs. 

“My parents w-were killed by the League of Villains.”

A picture of her parents embracing the young girl flashed onto the screen. 

“They weren’t heroes.”

Your heart pounded hard in your ears. Why couldn’t you breathe or think?

“They weren’t even doing anything.” 

Something warm fell down your cheeks. Tears? You weren’t sure and quite frankly didn’t care at that moment.

“I just want my mom and dad.” 

The world stopped. 

“They didn’t deserve to die.” 

Before you could hear another word from the young girl’s mouth the tv was shut off. Most of the league avoided eye contact with you save for Tomura who held your face, pressing his forehead against yourself in hopes it would ground you, and Dabi who watched you with a solemn expression. Tomura tried to get your attention, calling out your name hoping to snap you out of whatever miserable trance you were caught up in. You didn’t respond, not uttering a single word until Dabi and the League had slowly walked back to their respective rooms. 

Tomura looked deep into your eyes, using the pad of his thumbs to soothe your soft cries and anxious mumbling. Your eyes scanned the room frantically as Tomura shushed you, talking in a soft voice as to coax you into a calmer state, but it was a fruitless attempt. It came back so fast and you could barely contain the guilt and shame which overwhelmed you. You wanted to scratch so bad. Itch away at your flesh which was tainted with the blood of a corrupt sinner. You wanted nothing more than to rip yourself from your body, a punishment befitting of someone who so willingly chose to end another’s life. 

Maybe it was fate or pure coincidence that you saw that young girl on the television that day. Perhaps it was a realization that needed to occur, or maybe it meant nothing at all. Although, if it truly meant nothing, if you really had done the right thing as you had thought you did, then why did you feel burdened with such anguish? You thought back to when it had all happened, remembering the faces of the parents that had been murdered, and felt something swell up in your chest. Guilt? Anger? Sorrow? Whatever the feeling was it suffocated you and left you choking on your own questions. How could you let this happen? How could you be so careless? So destructive? So evil. 

“Hey, listen to me.” Tomura’s voice snapped you out of your self-hating trance. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. If you want out I will give you an out.” 

His voice and words reassured you that what he said remained true, but it simply wasn’t enough. 

“It’s not that. It’s just.. it’s complicated and fucked up, Tomu.” You replied.

There was a brief moment of silence before either of you spoke again.

“You’re not a bad person.” Tomura reassured you.

He pressed his temple against yourself and looked at you with a soft expression.

“No I am and that’s part of the problem, Tomu.” You insisted. 

He pulls away and looks at you with a sad and frustrated expression. 

“I killed someone, Tomura. Don’t you get it? I murdered people, people who had a life and family and friends.” You paused. “They were people too, Tomura. They didn’t deserve it.” 

Tears started to flow down your cheeks, and everything was hitting you all at once. Tomura understood, he was the one person who would know what you were feeling more than anyone, and yet, he had no idea how to make it better. Sure, he could hold you and rub your back as he usually did, but that would not take away the pure agony you felt. It would not fix what happened or heal what had been broken. There was nothing he could say to save those that had been lost. 

You frantically wrapped your arms around his waist, firmly gripping his shirt in your fists as you cried.

“It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me, Tomura!” You yelled, pushing your face into his chest as you sobbed. 

He said nothing and instead caressed the back of your head calmly. There were no words he could possibly utter that would carry your pain away. That guilt that you felt, the sensation of your chest feeling as if it was being crushed, would live with you until you were six feet underground. That he was sure of. Without a doubt he would try and try again to fix your problems, but it would ultimately be useless. There would be nights where Tomura would wake up to the sound of your hushed cries and quiet mumbling, and he too would feel a familiar ache in his chest as he realized that it was all his fault that you were wracked with such anguish. 

It was all his fault, he thought, it was always all his fault. 

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Six - Aye, My Lord

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Masterlist

Neither you nor Hyunjin spoke a single word to one another on the walk back to the capital. Even if he tried, you would’ve shut it down immediately. There wasn’t a single nice word you would’ve been able to conjure up to say to him. 

By the time you entered the stone walls of Miroh’s capital, it was close to midnight. Gone was the laughter that filled the streets. Instead, you were met with a close silence. 

It wasn’t eerie, but you’re sure that you would’ve appreciated the distraction. What wouldn’t you give to walk into one of the taverns and order yourself a strong drink.

Once you both stepped inside the keep, Hyunjin spoke up. “Until next time, Y/N.” His voice still had that cocky tilt to it. Truly, it made your teeth grind. 

Your fingers itched to connect your fist with his jaw. 

His farewell receives no response from you.

But, as soon as he disappeared down a hallway, all you could feel was the ghost of his gentle touch on your ears. The feeling slid down your spine and you shivered. 

He knows. He knows how sensitive they are. What he did was akin to him shoving his tongue down your throat and pulling your hair. 

Honestly, maybe that would’ve evoked less of a reaction. 

There were so many other ways he could’ve proved his point, but he chose the most… intimate way you could think of.

You should feel a lot angrier than you do. You should’ve slapped him, kicked him in the groin, ran your sword through him. But instead you leaned into it and let yourself be consumed by the shivers that came with the sensation. 

The way your body reacted to his touch like a cat curling around its owner’s legs. 

You immediately shake your head free of those thoughts. Enough. 

A deep sigh comes from your chest and you take in where you’re standing in the keep. Since you returned, you should probably check in with the Jarl if he’s awake. You can definitely find the throne room from here. Maybe you’re starting to get the hang of this place.

----------------------------------------------

To your surprise, Chan was awake. He was standing at the end of one of the tables in the throne room. 

He was in a simple tunic and cotton pants. The top of the tunic was undone, revealing a large portion of his sculpted chest. It was strange seeing him in normal clothes. The last few times you saw him, he had on regal, expensive looking robes.

The clothes he wore were still tame considering what you’re used to seeing nobles wear. 

It was also a surprise to you that he never wore a crown. 

His hair looked even curlier and more unkempt than usual. Did he wake up and come down here? Has he not gone to sleep yet? A deep frown pulls at his lips, he looks lost in thought. One of his hands comes up by his mouth.

There were no guards in the room, the only sound was the fire flicking in the grand hearth. 

As soon as your footsteps crossed the threshold of the room, he looked up in surprise. 

“Ah, Y/N. I see you’ve made it back in one piece.” A genuine smile crosses his face. “And you have a new shield.” He looks over your shoulder at the Shield of Absorption poking out from behind you. 

Even with shoulders on the broader side, the shield showed around you. 

“Aye, an enchanted one too.” You say, taking steps closer to him until you’re about five feet away, standing on the other side of the table. 

“A fantastic find, then.”

Sprawled out on top of the table is a map of the continent, Olera. The six holds of the continent are clearly labeled. There are several smaller villages and cities written in ink that you’ve never heard of. But the most interesting part of the map was the small flags placed on top. 

They were on top of military posts and forts. 

This was a war map. 

Most of the forts that were identified were in Miroh and Erbus, but there were a few in the other four holds. Especially the two kingdoms that shared northern borders with Miroh and Erbus: Bewaes and Inuin. But there were a few known strongholds labeled in Daefall and Upera. 

Chan made no move to shield your eyes from the map. Twenty four hours you’ve been here and he trusts you to see the location of his strongholds. Not only his strongholds, but the other holds as well.

Back in Erbus you could be hung just for being in the same room as a map like this. 

“How did it go?” He asks you. 

Pulling your gaze from the map, you look up at him. “Ah,” you couldn’t hold eye contact with him. A sheepish smile crosses your face and you look away, “I do not believe we will be doing business with Camus again… nor will… anyone.”

Truly, the consequences of your actions didn’t cross your mind until now. Would you be charged with another murder? Would he take away your room? Banished to the dungeons?

Obviously, this merchant was someone they counted on for supplies, and you killed him the first time you met him. Within the first twenty minutes of meeting him. 

Chan sucks in a breath and lets out a deep sigh. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his head roll around his neck like he’s stretching. “Did you strike first?”

“Nay, my lord. He slammed Hyunjin’s head into the counter, I threw a tankard at his head before it could get worse, it all went downhill from there.”

You gulped, ready to accept your punishment. There’s a stiff moment of silence before you hear gentle laughter coming from Chan. 

“I apologize, it is just not every day I hear that Hyunjin had his bell rung.” When you look over at him, he has his hand over his mouth. He’s trying so hard not to laugh out loud. 

The corner of your mouth pulls up. “I believe he still has a red mark on his forehead if you would like to see it yourself.”

That seems to delight him even more and the floodgates of his laughter break. It’s musical, his laughter. And apparently contagious, as you find yourself chuckling under your breath. His eyes crinkle shut with laughter and he leans over on the table and braces his weight on his hands.

It’s such a warm sight.

With clothing like this, his hair messy, the beautiful smile on his face, you would never realize the power this man holds. This man could snap his fingers and bring an army to their knees.  

He’s laughing while holding himself over a war map. That, in itself, is poetry to you. 

Eventually, after a few moments, he calms down. “Thank you for reporting in, Y/N.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Please call me Chan.”

You nod your head once. “If you don’t need me for anything else…” you bow your head and turn to leave. 

“Y/N.”

When Chan’s voice calls out, you turn back around, a curious expression on your face.

“I know it has only been a day, but I am glad you’re here,” Chan states, his hands staying put on the table. 

“Thank you, my lord.” You nod, heat coming up to your cheeks.

“I know you spoke of a life back in Erbus…” his eyes stare deeply into yours, they’re so warm and comforting. “But it could not have been easy. Especially given the details you provided.”

Your eyebrows furrow as memories of Erbus play through your mind; both good and bad. Playing in the streets with other children, song filled nights in the tavern, but what you hear the loudest in your mind is the night that the city guard discovered your father was an Elf in hiding. 

Slowly, your gaze falls from Chan’s eyes, to the floor. The mirthful glint from your eyes fades. 

You can still hear the sound of the door to your cottage being kicked in, the guards screaming and calling your mother and father such vile, nasty words. The way it sounded when they snapped his bones, when they-

“Y/N.” Chan spoke your name so softly, but it took you out of that nasty memory so fast. 

When you look up, you see nothing but compassion written on his face. One day, you’ve been here one day, and already he looks at you as if he knows exactly what you’ve been through. Like he wants nothing but to comfort you.

“I know it must not have been easy,” he pauses, searching your face, “but you are here now.”

Your throat feels dry when you respond, “Thank you, my lord.” the words crack a bit and you realize that if you do not leave this room soon, you’re going to start crying in front of him.

“Chan.” he repeats in a stern, yet gentle manner. Again, all you do is nod. “Oh, before you leave.” Chan reaches over and grabs a small pouch from the table, he holds it out for you. “Your payment.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I’ve only been here a day.”

“Aye, but I pay all my workers on the same day, it would be a pain to adjust it for one person. Additionally, you did complete a job today, so it is not as if I am paying you for nothing.” He motions for you to take the pouch from him.

Hesitantly, you reach out to grab it. Chan reaches forward and grabs your hand with his empty one, forcibly placing the pouch of gold in your palm and closing your fingers over it. 

It’s the first time he’s touched you. The warmth from his palms spreads all the way up your arm. His touch lingers for a moment before he drops your hand.

“Do with it whatever you please.” he adds with that loving smile of his.

Your mind goes back to the market you passed by today.

Nervously, you look around the room, absentmindedly shifting your weight from foot to foot. “Am I permitted to go to the market in the city?”

When Chan doesn’t answer, you look at him. He’s staring at you with an absolutely flabbergasted expression. As if you asked him the most ridiculous question.

“You…” he trips over his words, “Y/N, you are not our prisoner. You can come and go however you wish. All I ask is that you report to me when I request you for a job.”

Your tongue pokes from your lips and you lick them nervously. “Aye, of course, I knew that. I was simply making sure, thank you, my lord.”

“Chan.” he repeats. Once more, you only nod. 

There’s a few moments of silence, the pouch of gold in your palm is the heaviest you’ve ever held. All you want to do is roll it around in your fingers, open it up and count each coin.

“Um,” you stutter after a moment, “I’ll be going then.” 

Swiftly, you turn on your heel and walk towards the door that leads to the closest path to your room– at least, it’s the closest you know of.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” he calls after you, there’s a bit of mirth laced in his voice.

“Goodnight, my lord.” you answer, a bit softer than his.

“Chan.”

“Sure.”

[misc-obeyme]

please share your thoughts about someone having a demon's grimoire and control over them, i am very curious

because my first thought was like, belphie makes his pact with mc as a way to never hurt them again after lesson 16. imagine someone gets their hand on his grimoire

and do the brothers share a single one?? I've always wondered that, like it'd make sense as they are the Avatars and fallen angels, except for satan. Like theirs had to be created when they fell right? Maybe their grimoire is actually a case that holds all seven together.

but if they had individual one's, why would that be kinda romantic to get someone's grimoire. like the trust that has to come from that is so immense. Better than a marriage proposal, that's like soul bond level or something. Imagine mc getting buried with it too if they die (i say if because i have lots of ideas about what will happen to mc and about their lifespan that i could ramble about)

- ✨ anon

Ah, my tags give me away yet again lol!

I just feel like there's a lot of stuff about grimoires that we don't know, specifically about how they work.

Sure, having a grimoire gives you control over a demon, even overriding any pacts that demon has. But does that mean you have to be physically holding it at the time? Or can it just be considered to be in your possession? Does having a single page from the grimoire work? What's even in the grimoire? It's a big ole book is it just full of blank pages?

I have questions!!

Presumably, the demons themselves can use pages of their grimoire to cast spells or otherwise protect the holder of that page. We saw that happen when Barbatos gave MC a piece of paper from his grimoire just before MC found Belphie in the attic. Belphie then cast his sleepy lethargy spell on MC, but the paper flashed with a blinding light and then MC & Belphie were sucked into the Little D.

So was that Barbatos protecting MC and lifting Belphie's lethargy spell? Was that Barbatos somehow initiating MC and Belphie going into Belphie's mind? How did he do that with only a scrap of paper from his grimoire? Why did it work if MC is not the holder of the grimoire??

The questions continue lol.

Anyway, I do think the brothers only have one grimoire. Isn't it the same one that was in the Underground Tomb in OG? And then in NB, it's the one that Solomon goes to the Fountain of Knowledge to find, only to have MC hand it over to Lucifer.

So it did sound like they only have one grimoire for all of them.

Which is kinda crazy because man if anybody got their hands on it...

And just imagine someone evil getting a hold of it... for instance, if we're talking about Belphie, they could really mess with him by making him hurt MC.

But if they did have individual ones, it would be pretty romantic to give that to MC. I like the idea of MC being buried with the grimoire, even if it was the one that belonged to all seven of them. Like, they know it'll be safe with MC's skeleton! Awww.

I also have thoughts about MC's lifespan and the possibilities of it. Just seems unlikely that someone like MC would stay mortal unless they straight up chose to and even then... they got too much magic and such at this point, you know? Feel free to ramble all about it if you like!

Anyway, the grimoire thing really plays a part in Arrie's story, so I've had to answer all the questions about it myself. Since they don't tell us all that stuff, I just made up whatever worked best for my story lol. I have done that with a lot of things for this story honestly...

[dragonflight203]

Mass Effect 3 replay, Normandy part two:

-As others have mentioned, how did Liara get her equipment on Shepard’s ship?

She left Mars on the Normandy. Presumably her equipment was on Mars and out of reach. Possibly even destroyed by Cerberus.

-If you go paragon, Shepard compares not knowing what the Prothean device does to handling a loaded gun.

This is the same simile that can be used in the ME1 side quest with the Terra Firma party; the turians preventing humanity from turning on the dormant mass is similar to preventing a child from handling a loaded gun.

Intentional? Or small reference pool?

-It sure is convenient that the blueprints for the Crucible have survived countless cycles when so much other knowledge has been lost.

The one piece of knowledge that the Reapers should absolutely want destroyed has somehow managed to survive the Reapers wiping traces of previous cycles. Every cycle finds them and every cycle expands upon them.

Yes, I’m sure each cycle took strenuous measures to protect them but this goes beyond straining belief.

-How significantly does the dialogue with Liara change if you have not done Lair of the Shadow Broker? I’ll need to look that up.

-What does Liara mean that Cerberus tracked her down?

It’s repeatedly mentioned in ME2 that the Normandy has Cerberus bugs and tracking devices. Cerberus should have learned the Shadow Broker’s location as soon as the Normandy traveled there.

-Feron’s conveniently an agent for Liara now, so he’ll never directly appear in ME3.

Game’s loss. He would have made an excellent additional shipmate. Maybe even squad mate.

-According to Liara’s notes on the Broker Terminal, the Therum expedition was conducted by University of Serrice. That’s the same university Liara got her doctorate from.

So they were fine with Liara just abandoning the expedition after the volcano exploded…? Spectre privileges, I suppose.

And where was everyone else, for that matter? The only people on Therum were Liara and the geth.

-I love that Chakwas is a single woman with no complexes about it. That’s so rare in fiction.

-Adam’s reasons for not joining Shepard are valid. Shepard could have been a clone, Cerberus is evil, and you can’t just up and leave the Alliance.

-Adam’s acceptance of AI is established here. His issue with Edi was that she was a Cerberus AI, not that she was an AI. Once he realized Joker trusted her he warmed up.

He also apparently never informed authorities, which is pretty significant considering the Normandy was to be Anderson’s model command center.

-You have the option to tell Diana to focus on getting support or Cerberus.

Once again, Cerberus is taking center stage despite not being the main villain.

-The Hammerhead was so despised that Bioware killed it offscreen in M3.

It was sent to labs to have the armor improved; they were presumably destroyed when the Reapers attacked.

-Cortez’s interest in men is established here in your first conversation with him; you can learn he had a husband.

Kudos to Bioware for not burying it.

-The conversation with James is odd. It’s a rehash of the one you had on the Citadel

On the Citadel, you can speak to him after the meeting with the Council. He affirms that Shepard was right to leave Earth to gather support. He’ll stick with Shepard because he knows it’s the right thing to do even though he wants to be on Earth.

Then in this first conversation on the Normandy, he asks you how the Council meeting went. After the sparring match, you can ask him how he feels about leaving Earth.

It’s like the scenes were written separately and the writers didn’t realize they repeated until it was too late to change either of them.

-James chose the intel about the Collectors over saving the colony. Renegade.

-This also disproves the oft-repeated point in ME2 that the Alliance was doing nothing about the Collector attacks. James’s squad was there to protect the colony and were installing additional defenses (according to the wiki). Most of them die protecting the colony and James retrieves information about the Collectors.

Cerberus told Shepard the Alliance was doing nothing to get them onboard; the reality is the Alliance was making an effort.

Maybe if Cerberus had shared information with the Alliance, the Collectors could have been stopped sooner or the colonies could at least have been better protected. But that would have risked Cerberus not getting the Collector base, and that was TIM’s real agenda.

-I’ll give James a pass on not recounting the events of Paragon Lost for gamers who did not view it. That was probably one of the worst events of his life.

I will not, however, excuse Bioware for not providing a Codex entry on it.

-I wish I could go neutral with James. I don’t want to flirt with him or be cold. I’d be fine with ignoring it.

[cr1mson5returns]

Unpublished Excerpt: Leaving Catholicism Over Identity

Consider that you have an immutable, inherent quality about you that impacts everything about how you see the world, how you relate to others, and even how you relate to yourself. It can’t be wished away, it can’t be ignored, and it comes out at the most inopportune times when others feel inclined to judge and ridicule and make light of you over it. When you think about the future, it’s shaped by this quality; when you think about the past, it’s always been there, even if you couldn’t see it at first. You never chose this quality–indeed, it came to you quite like a personality trait or a cat dander allergy–but people insist that you can just not do the thing and that you should, in fact, not do the thing so that your eternal soul doesn’t suffer in flames forever. In all of this, you’re left wondering why it had to be you when you tried so hard to be good, to be something else, and yet it never worked. You could never shake that quality that left you so outside the norm, so outcast and othered. You wonder, silently, sincerely, if God even hears you when you cry out. You wonder most of all if everyone else is right about you.

This is what it feels like to be gay in a non-affirming church community. This is what drove me away from the Catholic religion. It wasn’t a desire to do bad things with no consequences, or a desire to rebel against my family, or any of those tropes. It was a sincere search of my soul in which I realized that I couldn’t just not be a lesbian, that I couldn’t just wish away all the parts of me that longed for the touch of a woman. I had tried for so long to be interested in men, I had struggled for years to just fake it until I made it, and I had to realize that it just wasn’t possible. Maybe other people could find a way to ignore some piece of themselves, but for me, it was immutable. It was non-negotiable. It was also something that, evidently, qualified me as worthy of eternal damnation unless I followed a very specific set of rules that nobody else had to follow.

I understand very well that life isn’t fair. Two suicide attempts and many years of non-suicidal self-injury taught me that life doesn’t grind to a halt just because you want it to, just because you can’t take it anymore. But something in me protested at the thought of being celibate forever. I wanted companionship like everyone else had the opportunity to have, I wanted to be with someone I loved and who loved me in return, and I was supposed to believe that was…what, sinful? That it was a disordered desire in the eyes of the Catholic Church? I couldn’t hack it. It wasn’t an issue of sin; it was an issue of being able to live with myself.

I’m also quite familiar with the red letters in Matthew 16:24 that read, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” It seems pretty simple from the outside, doesn’t it? Every good Christian has to deny their flesh; every good Christian has to take up their cross, and homosexuality is yours! But the unfairness sunk in, and the lack of compassion, and the true misunderstanding. I could deny my flesh for things that actually hurt me–and I know that because I had done it every single time I ever thought about taking a razor to my skin just to prove how worthless I really was. But wanting to feel loved, wanting to give that love in every possible way, wanting to grow old with a woman who cared about me…did that hurt anyone, least of all me?

Sure, there’s also the whole thing about sexuality existing for procreation. But nobody was stopping infertile straight people from getting married. Nobody was revoking the marriage licenses of couples who sought out fertility treatment, or adopted, or went childless because of the struggle. Besides, why was the sex I was having or not having the dominant point of the conversation, anyway? The thing about being gay is that it’s not just about who you want to bang; it’s about who you want to spend your life with, who you love, who brings you joy and receives the joy you put out into the world.

I had tried so hard to be anything other than homosexual. I really did. But it wasn’t happening, and it wasn’t happening because it wasn’t possible. Maybe other people could watch a piece of themselves wither away in hopelessness and be fine with it, but I couldn’t. Is that so sinful in the end?

[lunadorned]

I’ve been thinking of some theories. These ideas tie in with the concept that the Maasverse explores the same world in different time periods, with ToG being the oldest of the three, followed by ACOTAR and then CC.

(Disclaimer: I’m just playing around with some thoughts. I don’t have the time to back up my thesis with citations at the moment, so the ideas presented are based upon my recollection of reading the books in the past few years. I’m well aware that I’m human and, as such, able to make mistakes, so. Don’t take this as a full-bodied literary analysis, just a simple thought exercise.)

I think that Rhysand is a descendent of Maeve via his father’s lineage. Those violet eyes and dark hair? A monstrous form? Mind reading and thought manipulation? We’ve seen all of these traits in the false faerie queen. And Rhys’s father had a penchant for cruelty—just like Maeve.

Which begs the question, who could have fathered Maeve’s line?

Consider who in ToG was able to step in the space between. Who was able to “winnow” before this skill was called such? We’ve got two candidates and both of them (unfortunately) had relations with Maeve: the wolf twins.

I think Maeve specifically chose the twins because they were rare among their kind and they had magic she did not possess.

Fenrys mentions at one point that even he’s not quite sure how his magic works—it’s a kind of ability without much information, and hence, rare. To Maeve, this would be a coveted skill.

So, okay. One of the twins could have conceivably fathered a child for Maeve. If that’s the case, where’s the kid? Why did no one ever see them? Did Connall have privy to that kind of information?

My theory is that Maeve’s child is the owl with whom she was often seen. Although rumored to be a healer, the bird didn’t exactly have a confirmed backstory. What if, like their wolf father, the child was a shapeshifter? SJM didn’t explicitly state how the shapeshifter gene works. A case could be made that the gene could be passed on without a specific animal being attached to it.

Even if the owl is not Maeve’s offspring hiding in plain sight, there are still plausible theories as to where the child could exist. Maeve could have easily hidden a child in her kingdom and manipulated the minds of caregivers to obscure identity. In this vein, she could also have erased any knowledge of a child’s existence or of her potential pregnancy from the minds of The Cadre, Connall included.

Maeve may also have gotten rid of Connall for this very reason. If she only required a child (perhaps multiple children) from Connall, not true companionship, then he would have at some point fulfilled his purpose. He would have become disposable, especially if Maeve wanted her progeny kept secret. At some point, the kid would likely start asking after their parentage. As a single parent, Maeve would have total control over the child’s life. We know she loves to be a puppeteer; she’d never allow anyone else to pull her kid’s strings. Or, maybe Fenrys is the true father, and Connall figured this out. Either way, Maeve couldn’t risk that knowledge getting out and making her vulnerable.

I already suspected that Connall was manipulated into his own demise, but the theory that it furthered Maeve’s hidden agenda (while also causing Fenrys pain), gives additional weight to the idea.

And when we think about Rhys in connection to Maeve, many puzzle pieces begin to make sense. His mind-bending abilities are unrivaled. He can break a brain with little effort. Rhys was even able to hide an entire city for decades. He shape-shifts into a monstrous form and struggles with this dark side. Sounds like Rhys has a lot in common with his violet-eyed ancestor. And let’s not forget that Rhys, just like the wolf twins, is one of the characters able to winnow in ACOTAR.

Mor, Rhys’s cousin with the same lineage, can also winnow. Yes, there are others in ACOTAR who have the winnowing ability, and that could mean potential mixing of lines for those families. It’s worth exploring.

Updating to add:

Forgot to mention that the word “Daemati” suggests these mind-reading powers are “demonic”. And Maeve was a demon/Valg.

Thanks for reading!

What do you think? Did Maeve have an heir? Multiple heirs? If so, with whom? Is Rhysand Maeve’s descendant?

[emotionalcadaver]

Part 4: Until Time Stops

Fandom: In Time

Pairing: Raymond Leon x OC

Summary: What is one to do when asked to chose between their survival and doing their job?

Word Count: 3,662

Notes: Last chapter! Thank you all so much for reading! I hope that you’ve enjoyed it! Warnings for depictions of violence and character deaths, and references to sexual content.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Part

Chapter 5: All That Matters

Finally catching her breath where it had all but been punched from her lungs, Rose pushed open the door, standing up on the car to see over the heads of the crowd. She watched as they converged on the Timeline, arms held out desperately to the man holding a single silver time capsule.

The capsule that Salas had probably stolen. The one with a million years on it. Chewing on her bottom lip, she considered what to do. Trying to barrel in there and take it would probably just end with her getting torn to pieces by the crowd. They all looked so hopeful. Like this was their big chance.

Maybe it would be. Maybe this would be the push needed for the system to be reformed. Or maybe all of Dayton would be dead and gone within a month. She was more willing to bet on the latter. 

She couldn’t see Raymond, amongst the crowd. Or Salas and Sylvia for that matter. Where had they gone?

Ducking back into the car, she crawled over the gearshift and into the front seat, trying the engine. Come on, baby, come on, baby.

She let out a rather dorky whoop when it started. Pulling the car away from the wreck, she decided to ignore that rather alarmingly rattling that was coming from…somewhere. Instead beginning to drive down the road, hitting the siren once to get a few of the people in the crowd who were right in front of her to disperse as she eased the car forward.

Do not make me run you over.

Swinging around the outskirts of the crowd, it took some considerable maneuvering until she was out of the worst of it. There was another Timekeeper standing at the edge of the crowd, looking a little worse for wear and rather helpless as to what to do.

“Hey!” she shouted, rolling down the window and sticking her head out. “Hey! Have you seen Raymond?”

The Timekeeper flinched. “Um. Yeah. He took my car.”

“Where did he go?”

He pointed towards one of the roads.

“Thanks. Just sit tight. The others are on their way,” she didn’t wait to see what his response would be, instead flooring it again, beginning to drive down the road, in the direction that hopefully her boyfriend and the two wanted criminals that he was chasing had disappeared to.  

∗ ∗ ∗ 

The whir of the car’s engine wasn’t particularly loud, but to Raymond it was like thunder. The sound invaded his brain, making it hard to think. His jaw was clenched so tightly with stress it was giving him a headache.

Up, over the hills, down the road…where are you? Where are you?

He caught sight of them, running towards the town in the distance. Salas was moving fast, clutching tightly to Sylvia’s hand. The poor girl looked about to keel over, clearly still not used to running at the speeds or distances that Salas was.

Pushing the car to the top of the hill, he came to a stop in front of the short cement pillars blocking the road. Leaping from the driver’s seat, he didn’t even bother with closing the door behind him, charging down the hill, allowing gravity to help push him along at a faster speed.

“Stop!” he caught up to them at the crossroads, gun raised. The pair froze, chests heaving. Sighing out a huge gasp, he allowed his burning lungs to fill with air. “You can run,” he said finally to Salas. 

“So can you,” Salas panted. “You’re from here, aren’t you?” 

Raymond wiped at his brow and nodded, slowly. “A long time ago.”

“Yeah,” Salas’s face shifted.

“I worked out how to escape.”

“And now you make sure no one else does.”

Raymond did not like the accusation in his tone. The judgment. As if he knew anything about the things that Raymond had done. That he lived through. 

It wasn’t like he was the one who’d made the fucked up system they were all trapped living in. Why did he have to shoulder the blame for it? 

Crying and screaming that the world wasn’t fair. And then throwing a tantrum and trying to break everything when things didn’t go their way. That was what Will Salas and Sylvia Weis were doing. He wondered if they actually cared all that much about the people they claimed to help. Or if they had just become addicted to the rush of feeling like saviors.

“It’s the way it has to be,” he tried to explain. “I didn’t start the clock. I can’t turn it back. I keep it running. I keep time.”

“I keep time,” Salas repeated back at him, mockingly, in disgust. There was the sound of tires squealing in the distance. “I’m gonna need some of that time you borrowed from me,” he raised his arm, to show Raymond the numbers ticking down. “Unless you want us to die on the way to our execution?”

Yes, he could do that. Salas was right, annoyingly. He didn’t want either of them dead. He’d just give them enough to get them back to base and book them–

Wait.

He went rigid.

You should collect yours too.

I will, in a second.

He swallowed hard, stuttering. Fuck.

Reaching down, he pulled away the sleeve of his coat to check his timer. 

A car, or what was left of one, roared around the corner, screeching to a stop directly beside him. The front was smashed up and still smoking. Door flying open, Rose staggered out, gun pointed at Salas and Sylvia, swaying a little, almost as if she were drunk. Her eyes darted amongst them, processing.

“Rose…” Raymond started to say, and she must have seen the mounting panic in his eyes. Or maybe she was close enough to read the numbers on his arm. The measly seconds counting down that he had left. 

At least he got to see her one last time.

But sometimes he forgot just how fast Rose could be when she wanted to.

She lunged forward, and seized his arm so tightly it would probably leave bruises, catching him before his timer could hit zero, sending the numbers speeding upwards. He was so surprised that his gun slipped from his fingers to clatter onto the road. Staring at each other, their breaths stuttered in their chests at the realization that he had almost died.

There was a click, as a gun was cocked. Starting, their heads snapped around to stare down the barrel that Salas was pointing at them.

“Give me some of your time,” he said to Rose.

“I barely had enough to split with Raymond,” she said. 

“Sylvia, get to her car.”

“The time mechanism is smashed. It won’t work.”

He could see the beginnings of desperation appearing in Salas’s eyes. Desperation was dangerous. Turning the gun to aim at Raymond’s head, he raised an eyebrow. Rose looked at him with an expression that was rather unimpressed, pointing her own gun at Sylvia.

“None of us have time for this.”

Salas gritted his teeth. Raymond looked warily at the gun pointed at his head. Rose looked between the three of them, mind clearly working. Finally, she huffed, gritting her teeth and tilting her head upwards, to the sky, as if in exasperation. Then she looked at him, head tilted in apology.

“You can make it to the town if you stop standing around,” she said to Salas. Raymond started. Salas gaped.

“What?”

“Rose, no,” Raymond said at the same time.

“What choice do we have? We keep standing around here, all four of us are going to time out.”

“They are underarrest–”

“They have a gun to your head!” she shouted back, and he blinked, more taken aback at the sudden fear in her eyes than anything else. Turning back to Salas, her eyes glittered with fury. “Truce,” she said, through gritted teeth. “I don’t shoot her, you don’t shoot him. We will let you go, but only this once,” she nodded to Sylvia, trying to appeal to Salas’s clear care for her. “You need to get her to town before you both time out.”  

Raymond ground his teeth together. Goddammit.

“Will,” Sylvia tugged on his arm. “Will, come on. Let’s go.”

“You left Raymond alive, back at the plaza after your girlfriend shot him,” Rose said. “You didn’t have to. I’m repaying you now. After this, we’re even.”

Salas hesitated only a moment, before lowering the gun, allowing Sylvia to begin to pull him away. “Thank you.”

“Don’t ever let us see you again,” was all Rose said in response.

They didn’t wait to see what happened to Salas or Sylvia, instead rushing to the banged up car. He winced at the sound the engine made as Rose put it into drive, tearing back down the road into town.

“Why did you do that?” he demanded. “We had them–”

“Ray, we have minutes left on our clocks. We don’t have time to wrestle them into the car. And if we’d tried, Salas would have shot you dead,” she sniffed, once. “They’ll probably time out before they get to town anyway,” from her tone, he could tell that even she didn’t believe that. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Okay, fine. I did,” she snapped, pushing the car to go faster as they approached the swarm of Timekeeper cars that had diverged onto the town since they’d been gone. “I chose your life over capturing them.”

“Who knows what kind of damage they will do now that we’ve let them go–”

She slammed so hard onto the breaks that he jerked forward. “We can talk about this later. We’ve got seconds,” Jumping out of the car, they rushed past the other Timekeepers to get to the working mechanisms in their cars, both sighing in relief as they collected their per diems, timers counting upwards. 

He didn’t speak much to Rose for the rest of the day. He was too busy attempting to cobble together some sort of a response to the situation. Inside his chest swarmed a mess of emotions. She’d saved his life. He couldn’t begrudge her that. Had their positions been switched, he probably would have done the same thing.

He felt bad for yelling at her.

But, god. They’d been so close. And the frustration prickled in his mind like pins. Not to mention the anxiety of what was going to happen to them at work. They’d probably get fired, for letting this happen while on their watch.

And who knows what Salas and Sylvia were planning next.

What a fucking mess. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

They didn’t get fired, but they did get demoted.

Desk duty. No more patrols. No more involvement with the Salas case.

The system didn’t collapse under the million years that Salas had released into Dayton, but it had made it unstable. Many had managed to escape Dayton into the other, richer Time Zones thanks to the wealth Salas had gifted them. But it didn’t matter. 

The taxes were strategic. Aimed to hit all but the very richest of the rich. And jobs had dried up. Soon, the people who’d migrated out of Dayton would be forced to return to the ghetto due to its sudden influx in job offers and low priced living expenses. It was that, or time out in the street.

So much for making change.

Salas and Sylvia were still on the run. But the nets were closing in on them. Timekeepers posted at every bank and time check. It was a miracle that they’d managed to elude them for as long as they did.

A bottomless pit of guilt had opened up inside her stomach, the desire to curl in on herself in shame powerful enough to leave her almost paralyzed. It was her fault that all of this was happening. She shouldn’t have let Salas and Sylvia go. Even if it had meant running the risk of timing out, she should have taken it.

Raymond hadn’t talked to her much in the past week. 

To be fair, she’d been avoiding him. She didn’t know how to face him, knowing just how badly she’d fucked up. She needed to find some way to fix all of this. Then everything would be okay again.

Almost everyone else had gone home, the office dark save for the light from her computer screen. Still, she glanced around anxiously. They were banned from working any more on the Salas case. If she was caught, she could easily get fired. 

Clicking through the files, she skimmed over them carefully.

“What are you doing?”

She jumped and almost screamed. Raymond had strode over to stand behind her silently, hands clasped behind his back, lips pressed into a deep frown.

“I-I’m-”

“Are you still investigating the Salas case?”

“...No?”

“Rose,” he ground out, gritting his teeth. “We’re not allowed to look at anything pertaining to that anymore.”

“I know, but…”

“If you get caught doing this, they’ll fire you.”

“They’re not going to catch me!”

“All it would take is someone to access your computer history.”

“I’m just…I’m trying to fix things.”

“Really? Because it looks to me like all you’re doing is trying to make things worse.”

She froze, jaw setting. “Oh, fuck you.”

His brow rose, arms crossing across his chest. “Wait–” 

“You keep blaming me, but none of this would have happened if you had listened to me when I told you to collect your damn per diem!” she shouted, voice echoing in the dark, empty office. “I said that I’m sorry, I don’t know what more you want from me!”

“Rose–”

Spinning back around in her chair, she closed all applications and locked her computer. “I’m going to go get a drink,” standing, she grabbed her jacket from the back of her seat, yanking her arm away when he tried to touch her. “Don’t follow me.”

She spent about an hour sitting miserably at the bar near the base, sipping at her drinks and staring at the sticky counter in front of her, arms wrapped around herself. The bartender didn’t say much to her, likely seeing in her face that she didn’t want to talk.

By the time she got home, she’d expected him to be in bed. But he instead had his arms folded over the kitchen counter, a single light on as he waited for her. 

“Rose,” he sighed quietly as he watched her in the living room. She didn’t say anything in return as she fluffed at the nest of blankets and pillows she’d created on the couch, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment to change into her pajamas and brush her teeth. When she returned, he was still standing there, staring depressively at the couch she’d banished herself to sleeping on for the past week.

“Rose, come to bed.”

“No.”

“Honey, please. Stop punishing yourself.”

“I’m not punishing myself.”

“Yes, you are,” he said gently. “I’m not angry with you, okay? I’m sorry.”

Dropping the blankets, she looked away, lips pouting as she tried not to cry. Raymond padded cautiously over to her. 

“I didn’t want to let them go,” she whispered, sniffling. He touched her shoulder.

“I know.”

She let him wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her into his chest, leaning against him tiredly.

“Just come to bed,” he said softly. She sighed. “If you don’t, I’ll just wait until you’re asleep and carry you there myself.”

“No you wouldn’t,” she mumbled.

“You want to try me?”

Huffing she draped her arms over his shoulders. “Fine.”

Raymond squeezed her once, then scooped her up into his arms, carrying her gingerly to the bedroom, setting her on the mattress and curling up next to her. 

“You did the right thing, given the circumstances,” his lips pressed along the nape of her neck as he buried his face there, arm going around her waist. “You saved our lives.”

“But they went free.”

“They’ll get caught eventually. You see anything promising on those files you were looking at?”

“Not particularly.”

“It’ll work out.”

“I don’t like this. It feels like we’ve switched places,” she was often the one reassuring him about shit like this, not the other way around.

He chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Go to sleep, honey.”

Her eyelids were growing heavy. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

His chest rumbled as he laughed, kissing her again. “There’s my girl.”

∗ ∗ ∗ 

There was no sign of Salas and Sylvia within a month, and the lack of progress clearly had angered their superiors. They’d allowed them back onto the case, with the promise of a full reinstatement if they managed to deliver both of them. Dead or alive. 

“See? They just needed to cool off from the mess that happened when those million years were released into Dayton,” Raymond said.

“I think that it has more to do with the entire department going to shit since Jaeger was put in charge,” nice as the kid was, he was still so young. He didn’t have anywhere close to the experience level needed to take command. Whatever anyone had to say about Raymond, he’d run a tight, effective ship for the past fifty years.

“Salas and Sylvia must be furious that the million years didn’t crash the system like they’d hoped.”

“Which probably means that they’ll be looking at bigger banks to rob.”

“We know that they have a preference for Weis banks thanks to Sylvia’s connection to them. What’s the biggest one?”

“Um,” she tapped at her computer. “This one. On the edge of New Greenwich.”

“Hm.”

She cocked her head. “You got an idea?”

“The beginnings of one, perhaps.”

∗ ∗ ∗ 

In hindsight, Will and Sylvia weren’t actually all that smart. Just lucky.

And luck always ran out sooner or later.

But for god sakes, Rose would have thought them to be more clever than to just drive up to the front of the bank, step out, without even trying to cover their faces, guns shining in the afternoon sun. They exchanged a few words, then began to saunter up the stairs, towards the entrance. Pulling away from the window, before they could see her, she turned to where Raymond was leaning against the front counter.

“They’re here.”

Raymond made a silent signal and everyone moved with ease, like a well oiled machine, sliding into their assigned positions. Moving to sit behind the counter, where one of the tellers would usually be, she let her finger rest against the red button on the underside of the counter.

The doors opened, then closed as Salas and Sylvia stepped inside, and she pushed down.

There was a satisfying, click as every single door in the building locked.

“Hello, Will,” Raymond said slowly. “Sylvia,” he added in greeting. “Please put your guns down, get on your knees, with your hands above your head.”

When Salas didn’t immediately comply, eyes instead darting around the building, Raymond clicked his tongue. “This bank is completely locked down. All doors are locked and the windows are reinforced. They can’t be broken. You can’t run.”

Salas glanced at his gun. Rose lifted hers in a silent threat. The squeak of boots announced the other Timekeepers, practically an entire army, moving from their places of cover, weapons raised.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Raymond said smoothly to Salas.

While Salas had seemed to enter a mode of entirely cool calmness, Sylvia was growing twitchy, glowering at Raymond, her fingers flexing around her gun. Rose kept an eye on her.

“You let us go,” Sylvia said.

“And I warned you to never let either of us see you again,” Rose shrugged.

“Will Salas, Sylvia Weis, you are under arrest. Please put down your weapons and get on your knees with your hands above your head. I won’t ask again,” Raymond’s voice echoed in the big room. Something twitched in both of their faces.

Oh, children, no. Don’t.

She knew that look. It was the you’ll never take me alive, look.

They only got about halfway to raising their guns before they were open fired upon.

It was gruesome, to watch their bodies jerk with each passing of the bullets through them. Blood splattered the doors behind them, staining the front of their clothes. Sylvia crumpled in on herself, falling to the side in a heap. Salas collapsed to his knees first, arms spread wide, back arching, before he fell face forward onto the ground. Smoke was still emitting from Rose’s gun from when she’d fired it. Though it would be impossible to tell which of the dozens of rounds that had been fired at the duo were the ones to kill them.

For a moment, there was little more than silence in the room. Raymond sighed, boots thudding against the tile as he moved to stand over the bodies, looking down at them with an expression that was equally relieved and mournful.

It was finally over.   

∗ ∗ ∗ 

“Does it make me terrible?”

“Does what?” Raymond asked. He was draped around her back, naked and warm, with his soft skin sliding against hers. Shifting in his arms so that she could look into his eyes, Rose huffed. 

“That I don’t really care if the system ever gets fixed or not.”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, nose brushing her shoulder. “Probably.”

“Hm.”

“If that sort of thing matters to you.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “The way I see it: we go to work, we do our job, we get paid, and we come home and enjoy our lives.”

“If the clock stops, we all die.”

“Exactly. It’s a shitty, unfair clock, but the alternative is…probably worse.”

“Yeah.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re terrible,” he kissed her temple. She laughed.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Mhm. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

In the end, she supposed, that really was all that mattered. 

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[erabundus]

@monogatcri &&. said... A long drawn out day, riddled with tears and conversations he'd rather forget. Upon returning home, however, he'd managed to pull his emotions completely down, forgoing any thoughts about how he's blocked by Kazuha -- forcing himself to be jovial for the others. It's after dinner (it'd gone by a in blur ; he barely registered that he'd eaten, maybe he'd barely eaten anything), once Diluc had left to shower, he'd sat beside Ren, arms lacing around the younger to pull him into an embrace, it's loose enough to pull free from yet firm enough... Conveying three things, he hopes through this: he's here for him, there's no need to speak about emotions that aren't easy, and you're free to leave this moment any time.

he's  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  bed,  still  flicking  through  his  phone.  the  streamer  is  nothing  if  not  meticulous.  he's  blocked  kazuha  —  no,  he's  blocked  ██████  on  every  single  platform  he  can  possibly  think  of.  closed  every  chat  without  the  possibility  of  reopening  them.  the  mug  he  (  begrudgingly  )  declared  a  cherished  gift  now  sits  in  so  many  shattered  pieces  on  the  kitchen  table  in  their  once-shared  apartment;  he  placed  it  there  deliberately  when  diluc  took  him  to  get  his  things.  he  isn't  sure  when  ██████  will  be  home  to  see  it,  but  considering  the  other  also  BLOCKED  HIM  and  ren  has  no  interest  in  going  through  shikanoin,  it  seemed  like  an  effective  enough  message.  a  metaphor  for  their  entire  relationship  —  something  that  was  once  treasured,  now  reduced  to  painful  shards. he cut his fingers picking them out of the grass, and somehow that feels equally symbolic; it's done nothing but cause him PAIN.

he's  clearing  out  the  last  of  their  pictures  now.  it's  taken  quite  some  time  —  there's  an  entire  (  ill-fated  )  vacation's  worth  of  photos  to  delete,  along  with  months  and  months  of  images  that  make  him  feel  sick  to  his  stomach.  it  was  fine  during  his  stream;  slipping  into  wanderer's  headspace  is  as  effortless  as  putting  on  a  comfortable  set  of  clothes  —  and  wanderer  (  though  he  may  flirt  with  the  occasional  donor  )  has  always  been  SINGLE  as  far  as  anyone  is  concerned.  he's  arrogant,  witty  and  unempathetic  to  the  point  of  sheer  comedy.  ren  only  wishes  he  could  live  in  that  persona  permanently.  the  moment  the  camera  turned  off,  he  could  already  feel  what  feeble  scraps  of  NORMALCY  he  managed  to  claw  for  himself  slipping  through  his  clumsy  fingers.

they're  both  smiling  together  in  this  one.  it's  funny;  he  can't  remember  the  CONTEXT  at  all ...  but  he  can  remember  every  single  word  of  ██████'s  last  message.

a  flicker  of  white  hot  anger  briefly  cuts  through  the  artificial  apathy  he's  been  trying  to  smother  himself  in.  i  don't  have  a  job  where  i  can  simply  decide  when  i  work  or  not ...  my  work  is  also  my  therapy  in  a  sense.  bastard.  there  he  goes,  DEVALUING  his  career  again.  does  he  have  the  slightest  clue  they  took  equal  amounts  of  time  away  from  their  jobs?  does  he  realize  ren  didn't  necessarily  have  to  —  that  he  could  have  just  as  easily  continued  streaming  from  niwa's  place  but  deliberately  chose  NOT  TO  just  to  be  there  when  he  needed  him?  that his job is his own way of coping? of  course  not.  of  course  he  doesn't.  and  isn't  that  so  funny  —  that  ren's  feelings  were  born  out  of  the twisted  DELUSION  ██████  actually  cared  about  him,  when  he's  done  nothing  but  act  selfishly  (  hurt  him,  hurt  everyone  )  all  along?

it's  not  supposed  to  feel  like  this,  is  it?  he finds himself wondering that often these days. he  wishes  he  never  met  him  —  but  the  best  ren  can  do  is  try  to  pretend.

he's  so  caught  up  in  what  he's  doing,  he  doesn't  even  register  that  niwa  is  there  before  he's  already  being  pulled  into  an  embrace.  the  streamer  blinks,  thumb  swiftly  jabbing  the  yes  prompt  to  delete  the  picture  —  hoping  the  older  hasn't  glimpsed  the  screen  before  he  does.  ❝  good ...  evening?  ❞  ren  ventures.  the  greeting  sounds  a  bit  more  UNCERTAIN  than  he  ordinarily  would  like.  he  thinks  it's  evening,  but  he  isn't  entirely  sure;  time  is  always  a  bit  unruly  when  one  runs  on  a  sleep schedule  as  warped  as  his.  (  something  so  shaky  even  labeling  it  as  such  is  incredibly  generous.  )  ❝  i'd say the  stream  was  a  SUCCESS ...  i  appreciate  you  letting  me  work  from  here.  ❞  work.  because  it  is  work, despite what some people might assume to the CONTRARY.

❝ how was your day?  ❞ perfectly normal, he hopes. there's no reason for it not to be.

[compulsoryroyalty]

COUGH!!! HACK!!! COUGH COUGH!!! WHEEEEEEZE!!!!

“You do this every time. Get over yourself.”

The Magi stood over the feline and watched her. The “false” nun was now on her hands and knees, looking to have an especially painful time with the amount of harmful smoke in her system. Her sounds would be concerning to anyone who didn’t know her.

Or, to anyone who wasn’t used to this song and dance.

COUGH COUGH!!!

“If,” HACK, “If you and Sister were more proactive in keeping Mary in check, then I would not need to,” WHEEEEEEEZE, “Do such things every single time we meet.”

“What you and your five billion selves do ain’t our problem. You chose this.”

“Oh, come now Magi Lila,” COUGH, “It is only myself and Fleur, and you know this. “...” A pause, a moment to consider.

“Actually, young Ana might still be around--”

“That’s worse. You realize that’s worse, right?”

The cat shook her head, slowly rising up from the ground to stand. A sigh, a snap of her fingers, a pink aura enveloping her in less than a second. A bright, blinding beam of yellow light shined behind her.

But, as soon as it came into view, a white sphere slowly enveloped it, dimming and reflecting the light off of it’s surface. A calmer, more manageable white light took it’s form behind the feline, the pink aura dissipating off her figure.

Her eyes sprung open.

Crescent moons covered most of her pupils, a sigh escaped her maw.

“I do not get used to this. I do not think I will ever get used to this. “Must she ruin my body every time? Must I have to clean it every time?”

“Hey, you’re the one who went into hiding. Like I said, you chose this.”

“I am ever so eager to return to being Fleur.” She shakes her head once again. “How is Sister?”

“Fine. You know how she is.”

“And Laphoda?”

“M.I.A.”

“I can not say that is not expected. “I would ask more--I am sure I have missed much since our last meeting--but I,”

A pause as she looks over the witch, noticing her overall demeanor shift since she revealed herself. Foot tapping on the ground, arms crossed against her chest, gaze averted from the Mother of Magic.

“Believe that there is a more serious matter to attend to. There would be no other reason for you to waste a ticket on this, correct?”

A nod in response, the human witch wandering over to the nearest pew and sitting at it. “I’m in real deep shit, and I got a sneakin’ suspicion it’s your fault.”

The Mother of Magic shook her head, placing her hands in front of her and followed behind the human... though she did decide to stand instead of sit. Who knows what Mary has been doing on these pews?

... She knows.

She shudders lightly. She sometimes wonders how one can live in such a manner. Did she not take any responsibility for anything?

...

Of course, the answer to that is ‘‘no.’’ Mary’s modus operandi was fun before anything else. Had she been a different person, maybe she would agree with this lifestyle.

But no--there was simply too much to be done to live out life like... like that.

“I assure you, it is not,” she responded, “Whatever has happened here, it is the blame of yourself and yourself alone. As well, I can not have possibly been a culprit in your mistakes--my mind was locked, remember?”

A roll of the human’s eyes, “Yeah no shit. I’m the one that unlocked it, remember? And I’m about to relock it if you keep bein’ difficult.” She stared right back at the Mother, her eyes in a furious squint.

The feline hummed. “What is it that ails you, Magi? What could make you come to such a ridiculous conclusion?”

Wordlessly, a clock--colored a shade of rose pink--appeared in the witch’s hands. She tossed it over to the Mother, it quickly becoming stuck in midair once it was close enough to the feline, as if it got caught on a particularly thick piece of air.

The feline raised a brow, squinting at the off-colored clock---

. . .

“Now, I would expect someone under Sister to know spacial magicka, I am not surprised about that. “But... time, as well? How did you accomplish such a feat?”

“I only know one time spell--“

“And that is?”

“Time-lock.”

By the Gods, Lila.

“And how many times have you used it already?”

“This is my second time... why?”

“It is incomplete, is why.” A swipe of her hand at the floating clock and it continued it’s journey towards the Mother, as if it was never stopped in the first place. And before it reached it’s destination, she was able to catch it without much issue, her hand moving faster than one could perceive, “Preparation spells were never something I had mastered before my absence--”

“Bullshit.” She stood, pointing a finger at the feline, “People use prep-spells all the god damn time--you can’t be tellin’ me that you haven’t mastered something when it’s already in wide use.”

“Alright then, Magi Lila. Tell me,” she started, a frown on her face, “How it could ever be possible for a Time Witch such as myself, to not have entirely figured out something at one point, but for it to exist in another?”

That frustration on Lila’s face? Immediately dropped.

“And as well,” she continued, now pointing a finger at the human, “I would imagine it would be rather rude to go through another person’s room without their full knowledge, Magi.

“Has The Veil truly become that boring?”

The frustration was now replaced with a sheepish grimace! She took a hand to her hat, tilting it down just enough to hide her embarrassment, a light groan accompanying her.

A sigh, “You are an amazing witch, Lila.” She placed the clock on top of the other’s hat, and as soon as it left the Mother’s hands, it became stuck, “Surely you can do more than this.”

A heavy sigh escaped the Magi’s lips.

Just like Silvana. Only difference being was her anger was obviously more controlled. She was more... sympathetic, maybe?

Being a mother must’ve influenced her in some way, probably.

She turned away from the human, her white light now facing in front of her, casting a gray shadow over the witch.

“I will help, if you request it. “But only because I know my Lila and my Silvana would not be very happy knowing about any of this. “And in turn, you will help me as well. Are these conditions fair?”

“I.”

She stopped.

A sigh.

“Yeah, alright.

“Thank you, Madama Mystana.”

“Just Mystana will be fine, Magi.”

[ogden-narrator]

The cut of the stolen time capsule videos starts with a close up on Ida Clarke, the blonde wagging her finger before speaking.

@idaclarke:  “This place ain’t your friend.”

It cuts to black for a split second, before cutting to the next video.

@sassa-fiske: “People aren’t who they say they are. They aren’t who they pretend to be. Trust me. Nothing and no one is what they seem.”

And again, and again, as it cycles through what seems like everyone’s submitted videos. 

@anyaexe: “You’re here for four years, and from that point onwards most of these people won’t spare you a single thought.”

@charfletchh: “Fuck it.” You see her consider it briefly before lifting up her top and flashing her chest.

@leakywright: “Fuck bitches, get money.”

@snxwflxwers: “Do cocaine. Cheat on your finals. Sleep with your best friend's partner. Try your best not to get stabbed in the back, but I'm sure you will anyway. None of this actually matters, all your parents will pay so nothing ever ruins your damn lives."

@defavorise: “Don’t disappear without a trace and leave a bunch of cryptic notes for your peers to find. It’s dramatic and fucking weird and it’s already been done.” 

@sebmorrison: “My best piece of advice… don’t waste a second of it, because you never know when it’s gonna end.”

@ironlvngs: “This school is boring as fuck. So boring, that a missing girl from campus must have been the most interesting thing to happen to it since I started. And it's no wonder she had to slip and run away from here the way that she did.”

@aletheapierce: “Everyone you encounter has so much more going on under the surface. Be careful, be kind, and maybe spend some time exploring what’s there. Then maybe they won’t surprise you in ugly ways.”

@jacqui-velazquez: “Jesse made me feel like I mattered. And then it turned out it was all just…fake. A game for him. A literal bet. And once he won, he just ghosted. Even though I was…”

@jessehart: “I was fucking this girl who had a boyfriend for pretty much all of my Sophomore year. And I’m not sorry. It was fun, we had fun together. The secrecy and the sneaking around is fun. And you know what? I’ll do it again next year.”

@aceofportsmouth: “I’m just another brat.”

@milonavarroo: “If you manage to look around you and every single person has their back turned, you should look inward and you will probably find the reason why."

@court-mills: “I feel like I’ve gotten so addicted to the feeling of people actually liking me.”

@cinnamonfm​: “I’m overworked and exhausted. I’m constantly trying to live up to some invisible standard that I’m not quite sure I meet.”

@rhia-falla​: “I used to think I existed for a boy. To love him and heal him, to give him every part of me. But people aren’t toys to be fixed. It doesn’t work like that. All I did was break myself trying to be needed by him.”

@walshparker​: “How often do you run into your ex—a serious ex—after they’d hooked up with someone else, find out you were completely wrong about a person, bite back… intense guilt in front of a friend, and finally feel like you’re going somewhere with someone who really excites you? All in one night?”

@ollieinoue​: “One day you can be getting stoned in your room after a party and some scrawny little shit head from South Dakota will walk in and suddenly maybe you don't want to die as much as you used to…But I guess there is a lot of shit I still haven't told him. Like, I'm just really … Forget it.”

@dantebsinferno​: “I like fucking guys. Change that, I love it. I don’t care if they are in me or I’m in them, it’s the best shit.”

@rileyvander4rd​: “You made a big mistake and if you're smart, you'll fix it. If not, I guess I'll see you fifty years from now.... when I look almost as hot as I do now and you're regretting every life decision you ever made since the day you chose to view me as a commodity.”

@mari-zuko​: “I thought I loved her.” 

@pi-mimi-for-hire​: “Life sucks. You can’t escape it.”

@nataliavega​: “Since these look way better now than they will then…” Nat’s fingers bunched around the hem of her shirt before she lifted it and her bra up, flashing her bare chest at the camera.

@montyrichler​: “Ogden’s dogshit. Sorry you didn’t make the cut for Yale."

The video cut to black again, this time staying black for longer, a few seconds ticked by, letting everything the viewer had just seen sink in, before a familiar blonde’s face appeared on screen. 

“You see,” Greer Morrison started, eyes distant even with the easy-going smile on her face. “People think the way to get close to me is to let me in on their secrets. But they never once tried to figure out mine.”

“And god, I have so many,” the golden girl said, letting out a low laugh, the sound contagious, just as it always had been when she was actually around. “Like...for example, things are over between my boyfriend. Maybe he doesn’t realize it yet, but if he hasn’t figured it out by the end of the summer….” 

And with that, the video cut, this time turning to black for good, leaving everyone wondering - what else had Greer shared on that tape? 

[cult-of-dollbabies]

how did nica come to learn about werewolves in the first place? does she have hope for a cure? how much of her life is consumed by hunting werewolves/helping andy?

This is gonna be a long one folks buckle up 🌙

Nica and her sister were raised by a close family friend of their dad's, the kind you'd consider an uncle. He made sure they knew their parents well enough, but he kept some secrets.. clearly not well. In her adolescence she first discovered hastily written notes on "bites" and the effects, when she'd been asked to grab a pen from the study and briefed through drawers. She couldn't help snooping, she was twelve.

She'd stay home to "watch the house" when she was really looking for what was hidden and piecing the story together. From what she understood her father was an accomplice in monster hunting, it was possible their guardian was too. Mainly, they spoke of lycanthropes, werewolves.

Nica was always one for logic, she remembers thinking this was all for an old game, perhaps something like role-playing? D&D? But they sounded so.. serious, certainly much more than you'd expect for a game. Besides, what she at first thought were 'props' found in far crevices of the basement were cold and rusty, and still bore dried blood. She chose to ignore them.

Nica stashed her information in secret, copying what was written on her own notes as just taking them might raise suspicion. She even copied the drawings the best she could, finding a near obsession with drawing the twisted figures. Along with the 'props' she understood now were real, authentic weapons and tools for capture. She kept a single silver bullet, she didn't know why exactly, maybe to keep her father close.

It still made no sense, monsters didn't exist, or did adults only tell children that so they'd sleep soundly? Did everyone's parents have some secret double, monster slaying life in the night? Maybe, maybe it was just a game, or maybe monsters do exist.

When their guardian passed away Nica & Barb inherented the house, full reign offered in his will made Nica feel less guilty for the years of sneaking around, if she was being honest he probably knew for a long time. And for the first time she was free to investigate whenever, and wherever she wanted. Barb already moved out by the time of his passing, but she came to assist Nica in clearing some of his things and finally Nica got to keep the real notes, and ahold of the contents of the highest shelves.

One of them being a cardboard mailer, containing a single hard drive with the word "laluna" taped to its side.

__

I mean.. wouldn't anyone hope for a cure? It's not something so simple and Nica knows it, the only known "cure" is only an antidote for the initial infection and cannot be used to treat the curse itself. And theres nothing quite like it, burrows into a hosts genetic makeup like a tick and reprograms the whole system. Affecting and changing the very biology is unheard of, and as far as anyone knows so is simply lifting it like an average curse.

Nica experiments, she doesn't know if that thread of hope is worth hanging onto, though. The best she can do is the elixirs, and she refrains from suggesting a cure around Andy, not that he'd think it possible she wouldn't want to give him false hope. It's a sad, quiet mess, but what can you do?

__

Her actual hunting days were short as a blink, Nicas pursuit for a werewolf that night was the affects of mania. She studied them from curiosity and after the slaughter of her family she spiraled hard. She knew how to track them, how to bait them, she figured she knew well enough, she could do this, but she was no hunter. She came close to it, but she couldn't.. kill somebody. Even if they didn't look human at the moment.

Instead since moving in with them she's taken to her father's past position, she tracks the unchipped lycans and does risk calculations for Kyle so things run quicker, now concocting her own brand of tranquilizers and laced weapons. Sure she could sell them in the future. Recently Andy's taken an interest and Nica has been showing him how she does it, they all knew he's felt more less of a drag now hes unable to join Kyle and the second set of hands would be a great help.

Nica is very skilled in her craft, the hunting supplies for the next moon can be done through the month, its just like having a job. Andy only requires the one or two things, unless there's an emergency, so he's actually the least of a hassle Nica is quick to assure when he feels it wastes her time, "how could my time be wasted when I'm here spending it with you?"

[tim-hoe-wan]

In your honest opinion, why do so many people dislike Meghan Markle? I'm not even talking about the disgusting far right and the monarchist, just in general a lot of people find her unlikeable. Even my friends who I think are pretty level headed don't hate her but did say they don't exactly like her.

There's not one single all encompassing answer to this question. She doesn't deserve the level of hatred and vitriol she receives, but she's completely harmless. Even if you do have valid reasons to dislike her, it isn't worth it to dwell on it. I also can't believe she gets the vitriol and Harry barely gets any considering how genuinely stupid and entitled he is. That said from what I can observe here are some reasons:

Misogyny and racism. Internalized misogyny is real. But what's even worst is misogynoir. God forbid a black woman ever tries to step up or defend herself, cause people will be unforgiving, just take a look at Meg. Even if you have valid reasons to dislike her, you can't deny she is a victim of relentless bullying and misogynoir.

She's an enemy of the royal family but not the monarch itself. This is genuinely one of my gripes about them. They are obviously monarchist and have no issues with the royals who treated them nicely. Like ok, so you are willing to criticize the monarch now but let's save Lizzie cause she's nice to you? You still want your kids to have titles?

Lying or plain ignorance? From the Oprah interview onwards, there's just a lot of things easily debunked that you don't know anymore if these two are liars. Why their children won't get the titles, Charles supporting them, the Mandela comment etc. I mean, surely at least Harry knows these things could easily be explained or debunked, but it really doesn't help to give them sympathy.

The Cut Interview. This was actually the one that made me annoyed with them cause she chose the journalist, there was nothing wrong with the interview, yet Meghan threw the journalist under the bus for some reason. Same goes with the netflic doc. Even before it was released, they threw the creators they handpicked under the bus. These two seem to want all praise and everything about them glowing cause The Cut interview was handpicked and was a very good piece.

Those two are truly lacking in self-awareness and have a high opinion of themselves. In this era you'd find it very hard to sympathize with rich people. Especially when these two complain about things that make them sound plain entitled. Just get a regular job Harry. My dad also mentioned recently that Harry's gripes kinda remind him of Andrew trying to assert him and his children as part of the royal budget.

Speaking of which, those two or maybe just Harry, are close to Andrew. By default of course a lot of people would find that an issue. They're willing to talk against Willy, but nothing on Lizzie and Andrew? Come on Harry if William was the one who made a racist comment just say it. You'd look less ridiculous.

Tax payers money. My grandparents favorite gripe. Again you just don't know if they're lying or ignorant. Of course the people don't want to pay for your security if you're no longer "working" royals. Not even giving your children titles will save you as exhibited by Lizzie's less favored children and grandchildren.

She really is an ugly American. You know how everyone hated Emily's attitude in Emily in Paris? Like how Americans act like they're better? Like how Americans can find other culture and other people's rules as ridiculous? Yeah Meghan is like that. Even if I don't mind her disrespecting royal protocol, I mean sometimes her response come off as she has some messiah complex meant to change to system and it does seem she really believes that. But again, we don't want to change the system. We want to abolish it altogether.

My friends really love mocking how she still signs herself as the Duchess of Sussex. From my British friends, it's ironic and hypocritical and just shows in the end they're not your allies. From my American friends, it's ridiculous cause Hamilton is right there to remind you George Washington kicked them out so we don't have to care about these titles anymore.

It's a play of narrative. A lot of their words and actions seem to be they're the protagonist and Willy and Kate, not Lizzie or Charles, are the antagonist. I have no doubt the royal family is an antagonist. I just don't think Meghan and Harry are worthy protagonist at all. Sometimes I'm just waiting for Harry to say he should be heir instead.

Those are what I can think off. In the end I think it's valid to dislike or get annoyed with any person or celebrity. But I do not think Meghan has done anything to receive the level of vitriol and hatred that she is receiving in the daily. They're so easy to ignore and overall way too harmless that if you spend time getting so riled up at Meghan (not Harry, I won't defend his ass), I personally think that's a you problem.

[furinuris]

personal

Im pretty sure you don't remember this username anymore—even tho you were the one who made it for me, nor are you actively looking into how Im doing so I know you'll never see this but in the off chance that you do, I mean every single thing I wrote here even if it's coming from a place of deep seated hurt, resentment and anger, guilt and fucking embarrassment. im not sure why im writing this, I guess I just want to dump it all here for the last time,

At one point, i know —you loved me, as best as you could and it was amazing and freeing and healing. I never knew someone would go through all that effort to try and see me and considered me, and accepted me. to be loved is to be changed and considered and seen, and you, at some point in time did. And I'll forever be grateful for that, forever hold on to those memories and cherish them for they taught me the beginnings of self love. if someone as amazing as you could love me, why couldn't i love myself the same? And to be looked at with such affection despite me feeling my body was ugly made looking at myself in the mirror more bearable. I could finally smile at my own reflection. So i know it wasn't all this bad, yes?

you will forever have a place in my heart, i believe, and somehow i will always carry a piece of you with me. you dont get to love someone as genuinely as that and not have them be a part of yourself somehow. and so i know this hate will dissipate in time, but for now, let me. Let me resent you, as you have asked so many times before so i could finally walk away from this suffocating hold you have over myself. Let me hate your choices, the way you gave up, the way you chose to keep me in the dark at the end, and let me hate you so i may forgive you. Let me hate you so i can finally stop running away from this hurt that color my days gray. Let me hate you so I can finally heal.

You said so yourself before, you fucked it up —yes you did. I did not deserve to be ghosted for a month. I did not deserve to be led on that everything was okay, and that maybe you just needed the space for yourself for the boards. I've been witness to the heaviness you carry on your shoulders N, and I didn't want to, as much as i could help it, add to it. Im sounding a bit petty now, it feels as if I'm trying to wash my hands of any responsibility i might have had a hand in this falling apart but was I not good to you?

But I get it, people grow and sometimes you outgrow the people you loved. I understand, falling out of love is no one's fault—i don't blame you, nor hate you for it either, even if that hurts like hell. I do hate you for not telling me when you could've, for running away, for being a coward at facing the truth of it. For making me think you were needing the space for it (maybe you did) but knowing you could juggle being an admin, making new friends and even going on group watches with them while I sit at home hoping you're fine and the anxiety eating at me if we're okay or if we're ever going to end up okay or if you're doing well or if you're having a relapse or just.

I have never stopped you from doing the things you want and making new experiences, yes? and so please know, im happy to know you're growing, and making new connections and putting yourself out there. This version of you looks amazing. I just really wish you had the courage to tell me you were falling out of love with me then, it would have saved me this much pain. While you had the time to walk away and mourn the death of a relationship, I was waiting on you to comeback because the last time we talked we were okay weren't we? and isnt that unfair of you?

And haven't I been nothing but honest to you? Didn't I say, tell me if you dont want to and i will gladly let you go, as long as you're happy i wouldn't beg you to stay. If that was your way of figuring out your emotions then N, wasn't I worth even an emoji back then? If you couldn't stomach telling me. Was I not worth a single update; hey, i need time to think about us, please give me time and space. Was I not worth any of that? But there's really no point in asking now right? no point in dwelling because what has happened, has happened, and we both understood this was for the better (or atleast that's what i would like to believe)

I guess, I really just want to voice that truth out—I listened to what you said; Im not being pragmatic anymore, nor am I holding you at a pedestal. I am allowing myself to see things as they are, and I am finally allowing myself to embrace the truth that yes, I do hate you for this. I hate you, I hate how even after all of this—I will still find it in me to justify everything. I hate feeling guilty over hating you. I hate how I have to resort to this to take the step at walking away from you. I hate how I have to understand and hurt at the same time. I hate how, after all this, i still love you. I hate you, N. I don't want to, but this honestly broke me in ways I didn't know I could break.

You say, dont be a stranger because at one point before all of everything we were friends and you'd like to still have that part in your life right? You say dont be a stranger, but you ended up being one anyway. Maybe, someday, when I've made peace with what happened I'll take you up on that offer, but for now I do think it's best I turn my back for now. Im sorry.

I wish you nothing but the best, N, goodluck on those exams (I know, you'll push through it because you have always pushed through life and Im proud of you for that). I wish you'd find that peace and happiness you long for and deserve. I'm happy you've found newfound love. Im happy you're surrounded by people who love and care for you and support you. Happiness looks beautiful on you, it has always looked good on you gha. I hope the days are kinder and you get to enjoy and indulge in that pink feeling of new love and to enjoy your friendships. I will always be rooting for you.

Thank you, you were a wonderful experience.

maybe next time, in another life or whatever crazy ass astrology shit they talk about—we get another chance and maybe there we get it right, but if that doesn't exist well then it's been quite a ride ;)). Take care 🍊

I will always love you, in time that may grow into something less than it is now, but know that I will always have a space for you. (and somehow i kinda hate that too lol?)

-H