#what the fuck man. SIFFRIN JUST LET ME DO THAT

[walugus-grudenburg]

AT THE END OF THE GAME YOU CAN TAKE LOOP'S COIN AND JUST FUCKING. LEAVE??? EVIL. EVIL EVIL SIFFRIN.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

UH-HUH. NOTHING ELSE. NOTHING ELSE. NOBODY ELSE YOU'RE FORGETTING?? DEFINITELY.

YEAH. THAT'S THE HIGHEST PRIORITY. NOBODY ELSE IS IMPORTANT!

[biblicallyaccuratecrow]

ouroboros rambles chapter 2

you guys seemed to like the chapter 1 rambles, so here is chapter 2!

[spoilers for isat and twohats below the cut]

i would like to start by saying that we all need more mirabelle POV fics in our lives. she deserves only the best.

I always really liked how Mira didn't just. get over act 5? like, the things that siffrin said were hurtful! yes! and she loves him! even after that! but it doesn't erase the pain and the conflicting feelings regarding it, especially because of the no-spoilers rule... which we will get more into i proMISE! in any case I was focused a lot on the fact that Mira post canon is dealing with a Lot, what with everyone still believing that she was chosen by the Change God and yknow. saving Vaugarde, and Siffrin's overall condition doesn't help! She wants him to be okay and safe, and she has already shown that she feels immense guilt over not being able to help siffrin during the loops, so I kinda leaned hard into that.

The entire party is about to be So Tired Of People.... especially The Introverts (Odile, Mira, and Siffrin)...

The fucking cart thing came to me out of fucking nowhere. I have no idea where or why that bit came around.

Siffrin sleeping habits analysis. siffrin sleeps all curled up like a cat most of the time? theyre small scrappy, but not really the most physically strong (before the loops), and i imagine more than a few years of traveling alone would train him to be ready to protect themselves however they can, even in their sleep. I think that this eases up a bit as they get comfortable with the party, which leads to them being able to sleep "normally". but of course, that is how they wake up in the loops. negative association and trauma from waking up back in the meadow..... i don't imagine they'll be going back to that any time soon.

I do have a Full Catalog of Siffrin's injuries (because im actually insane) but that will be talked about in my chapter 3 rambles. for now though, all im gonna say is that Siffrin definitely kept the stars hidden. In my headcanon, healing craft only works when you can actually pinpoint a wound, internal or external. I'm more inclined to believe that siffrin healed them up the best they could on their own after to hide them.

Ohhhh odile. my beloved. i have so many feelings about her and how she processes siffrin's issues postcanon. feelings i will not get into until next chapter. sorry lmaoooooo. All you gotta know for now is that once she starts seeing things, she can't stop. the signs appear everywhere, and she very quickly puts the pieces together from that point. All it takes is one domino to start the cascade, and Odile is the kind of person that WILL get to the bottom of it all, no matter what it takes.

Mira's guilt. Oh man. There are some ways in which her and Siffrin are very alike, and this is one of them. She's justified in being mad, yes, but that doesn't erase the fact that she doesn't want to BE mad. She hates it. because she knows now that siffrin was suffering. She defeated the king, saved vaugarde, but the cost was her friend's health and happiness. siffrin said that they were happiest they'd ever been with the party... and yes, siffrin loves them all deeply, but she never could have wanted that love to come at such a great price.

Mira has gotta be TIRED. girl healed siffrin a grand total of (checks my page of notes from act 5) six times. with very little cooldown. and that was AFTER deflecting the ONE SHOT KILL attack from the king (which, even with the carrot method shield, does at least 1/4 damage) and unfreezing siffrin....ough. let her rest!

i love torturing isa using his crush. its so funny. bro is a disaster. brain completely short circuits at the thought of siffrin in his clothes i can IMAGINE IT SO CLEARLY.... odile is gon abe homophobic soon /silly

Siffrin's wish... this scene was really important to me. Just for clarification (and this will become a LOT more obvious later), I don't really regard this scene as Siffrin getting over what happened? Because he definitely isn't. But they have already literally let go of their wish, and I wanted to explore a more… intentional version of that? its long-lasting effects are still there, mentally and physically. it doesn't just go away. But it has served its purpose and this is my way of showing the transition point from the loops and their future with their family.

Also!!! the idea of mourning something that no longer serves its former purpose, a life you cannot get back. Siffrin can never go back to who they were before their wish. They have been fundamentally changed as a person. And while the wish did bring good things, the flipside is that it also dismantled their entire worldview and life in its entirety. They died from this wish, suffered because of it, but the meaning behind it remains, and i think that this scene kind of shows the idea that siffrin still feels compassion for what it originally meant to them. its a bittersweet reality.

[aluria-sevhex]

posting's been more infrequent because i feel like i've hit a bit of a harder spot with figuring shit out and also have had less mental energy ig :P

update: fuck man it's been like over a week since i intended to post this and i also feel bad for not doing art fight stuffs or working on other projects... what not leaving the house much for a few weeks does to an mf apparently:

[Hi stardust!~ All of the posts in this series can be found in this masterpost and are tagged as #Aluria plays ISAT for the first time (please don't spoil)]

notes:

-i'm back bitch :3

-waiting for it to load and the sweet sweet title theme to hit my ears

-YEAHHHHHHHH

-i always let it finish :3

-time to help everybody

-this time i decided to ask Charline for the book. Odile now thinks Sif is sus! which. yeah.

-"You don't have to remember to yell" :(

-hehe Sif is now asking Loop if they have any theories on the loops

-"Your name is LITERALLY 'Loop'."

-"Don't you 'teehee' me."

-yeah! why don't time freeze skills count as death!

-"what if you loop when something keeps you from advancing?" good theory, but what about the loops where i got stuck in the house on floor 3? i didn't immediately loop back... then again there are the small few-minute loops...

-O_O. HANG OUT WITH LOOP???

-yeah sure i didn't really have any plans for this loop

-i climbed the tree and uh. this music is kinda ominous

-how did Loop 'kind of' know about Sif before they met?

-why did Loop choose to help Sif?

-Loop is stuck with Siffrin... and seems to have been in a time loop before?

-guys i don't think Loop is fine

-yeah Loop tell me about YOU

- >:P

-what'll happen- OH. LOOP. BRUH.

-"it makes you see something, doesn't it?" yeah. "you see a vision of the future"

-Sif is breaking down :(

-SIFFRIN JUST PULLED OUT THEIR DAGGER

-hm. why did i loop if i didn't die?

-aight time to talk to Isabeau

-i love this scene

-...everybody is suspicious of my apparent grace and good attacking skills ._.

-"I'm as tall as you, Mira..."

Mira: looks at their shoes

-funny how Isa's 'worst-case scenario' for uses of Time Craft is... exactly what Siffrin is doing

-inverted Six of Pentacles?

-ah yes. a pit-iful experience

-after i checked the gardening closet, Odile said something's weird...

-checked the book and Isa noticed something off

-i've been trying to make things as suspicious as possible

-hm... what *is* the deal with the book in the secret library? with the tree on the cover and it's in the headache language

-...the book on shields has the weird sugar smell?

-i feel like shields that reflect attacks will become important later

-what if things that have been tampered with all smell like Time Craft? like the various equipment that you can pick up? and that's part of the weirdness?

-sheesh, Tear You Apart is really effective

-bathroom again

-Sif is once again claiming they're fine

-huh. i didn't see the ghost this time

-tried to sharpen the keyknife. Isa made a comment about Sif usually saying something when he sharpens things, but he can't remember

-hm... where would i find carving tools

-"In this moment, you are loved."

"(Because you forced them to.)" FUCK THAT'S. OOF.

-*sighs* time to talk to Euphrasie again

-the others noticed me again...

-"in this moment, she loves you!"

"in this moment, he loves you!"

"in this moment, they love you!"

"in this moment, she loves you!"

FUCK.

-Sif's sad hollow smile and big eye...

-"they all love you!"

"isn't it wonderful"

"you could do this forever!!!"

-"you're happy to have helped everyone become the best versions of themselves again!"

-lol Sif called Loop awkward

-"because you're what's left" of what???

-Sif is level 75 now...

-stopping for now

[orionabovethehorizon]

When Your Pride is on the Floor, I’ll Make You Beg for More

Rating: 18+

Word count: 4k

Characters: Will Graham x Will Graham (brief mention of stagman)

Setting: Hannibal’s office, season 2 episode 8: Suzukana

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE thoughts of necrophilia, canon typical violence, canon typical religious themes, choking kink, autoerotic asphyxiation, blood kink, blood consumption, creampie, cum swallowing, p in v, obsessive and possessive behavior and thoughts, pain kink, light foot fetish if you squint, ftm character

Summary: That one scene where Hannibal asks if Will still wants to kill him and Will says he’d do it with his hands, except Hannibal continues on with his unconventional therapy and tells him to do it

NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH but it’s considered

Author’s note: my first work in this fandom 🙏🏽 Beta’d by @siffrin-enthusiast and a mutual of mine on a different platform, sorry !

Tell me if I should tag any other content warnings please 🫶🏽🫶🏽

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59147416 pls boost 🖤

“Tell me, how would you do it?” 

Will, who despised eye contact, was unrelenting in his stare, his expression offering nothing. “With my hands.” 

Hannibal seemed… pleased. Like he enjoyed the concept of Will trying, because he could overpower him easily. Or, perhaps actually excited by the prospect of letting Will overpower him. Given the look on his face, Will’s eyes dropped to Hannibal’s crossed legs and, not for the first time but having never allowed himself to entertain the train of thought, wondered if it was to hide. 

His own stomach always coiled whenever he spared the time to fantasize about killing him, as Hannibal worded it. Though it would only make him more confused by all the different layers to their dynamic, it wouldn’t be surprising if Hannibal often felt the same. Or maybe Will was just mirroring back Hannibal’s own desire due to his empathy. 

Anyways, there was a challenging lift of his eyebrows as Hannibal adjusted in his seat. Will didn’t know what to expect but it certainly wasn’t, “That sounds promising.”

There it went. A volcanic churning in his lower belly.

“Are you asking me to?” Will inclined forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands. Feeling a revolting twinge of excitement in his gut. Fingers twitching incomprehensibly at the need to grab. 

“Should you find yourself in need of relief when it comes to the resentment you feel toward me, I must inform you that therapy sessions are precisely the place to do as such. It only serves to be doubly beneficial to you that your psychiatrist is the very source of your resentment. My job is to allow you to work through your emotional turmoil however you may need, so long as I am still alive by the time the hour we share has commenced. And you are well aware, intimately so, that I am unorthodox in my methods and willing to go much further than most.” No grin is evident on his face, but it is audible in his voice, and Will wants to reach out and suffocate him right now. 

Will pushes himself to his feet, and it is not lost on him that Hannibal’s schooled expression of stoicism is an act. It does not falter at all, not even once, but he knows. 

“I don’t want to kill you anymore, Doctor Lecter,” he hums as he rounds beside the black chair opposite his own. “Not now that I finally find you interesting.” The words practically purred out of him. The empath notes how Hannibal’s eyes trail him intrinsically and watches them sparkle—fucking glitter—as he reaches out to delicately card his fingers through tamed, aging wheat-blond hair and begins to unlatch his belt buckle with the other hand. 

There’s a minuscule but disemboweling lilt to the killer’s lips while he gazes up at the man gifting him such a soft touch, and Will finds himself wondering when the last time Hannibal had that even was, and more, if he was the only person Hannibal would allow to coddle him. A lack of hesitation or questioning indicated requisition; how long had the monster yearned for this fairy tale?

That didn’t make it any harder to do what he did next. 

The gentleness steeled into brutality when Will curled his fingers into a fist, slid his belt from the loops, dropped it to the floor, and grabbed Hannibal’s shoulder to relocate him to the same location the abandoned leather fell to. 

Besides the huff of oxygen forced out of him in a rush, the man now beneath him gave no sound or other evidence of being phased. Even his eyes held no contempt; a bit of surprise, sure, and heat akin to the amber color of his irises as he watched the fabric of Will’s deep blue button-up slowly drift open. He didn’t dare move. Not when both sides of his shirt fluttered apart like curtains framing a window pane, and beyond the glass lie a glimpse of a secret regarding Will’s identity: two pale, thin, well managed scars cutting beneath each pectoral. Not when Hannibal realized that he would be receiving the full reveal of said identity as the younger man above him undid both the button and the zipper of his slacks. 

If he moved, this might end before it begins. 

So, while his eyes may have widened marginally, and his lips parted slightly in place of his jaw hanging, Hannibal laid there, watching, waiting, drinking it all in. Sketching this angle of Will in his mind to reproduce on paper later. 

If there were even to be a later. Given where this seemed to be going, Hannibal now found himself very much open to the idea of perhaps falling homicide victim to Will’s darkest whims. It wouldn’t be the most dignified way to go, but it was certainly his most appealing threat thus far. 

A good way to torture him would be to let him think this was going where he currently assumed it to be, only to kill him just before doing so. But when he scented the air, the thick, sweet, foggy thunderstorm that was Will’s arousal rushed his senses, growing stronger when pants and boxers alike were pulled down to bundle atop his shoes which he bent to unlace and remove, and he doubted the occurrence of such a punishment. This was accompanied by the stark, jagged waves of Will’s anger, ebbing away only to crash forward again on the rocks. 

His beloved experiment and patient smelled of nature, but not in your typical way. Will didn’t smell like he had been outside, Will smelled like he was Nature herself; every feeling he experienced slotted with a different state or disaster, even. Right now, a rolling evening storm on the beach. Without any fabric between Hannibal’s nose and Will’s sex, his state of excitement struck down into his diaphragm and splintered throughout the bronchioles of his lungs like forked branches of lightning, thrumming in his chest and making him feel light, warm, electric. 

"Will," he puffed out into the stifling, heady silence, dragging his eyes along the full length of his newly exposed body. The parted halves of Will's dress shirt maintained the barest sliver of his modesty and Hannibal dedicated the full power of his creative capabilities to completing the picture within his mind. As he laid there, pushed up on his elbows but otherwise stagnant, to now observe the way that Will kicked the pile of shoes, pants, and underwear at his feet off to the side, the killer set it all to memory. Once he had the time and space to himself to disappear into his mind palace uninterrupted, he would chisel a marble statue of the personified deity hovering over him now to preserve and revere. Again, and again, and again, until the very ground beneath him conformed to mold around the steady weight and pressure of his knees in their unwavering devotion. 

Will’s eyes shadowed with a dark sheen of something primal. Something that made Hannibal’s person suit run cold and warm at the same time. The profiler smirked, sized him up, pausing at the no longer shieldable tent presenting itself at the crotch of his dress suit pants. 

So, he had been trying to hide, just as suspected. 

Curiously, the heel of his foot came down on the bulge between Hannibal’s thighs. Not hard, or malicious, barely even a press of contact. And when the recipient of said action groaned and spoke his name again, Will laid his toes over the man’s lips, still socked and all. Shushing him, with a gentle but sarcastic level of chastisement. 

“None of that,” he scolded, clicking his tongue and ever so slightly shaking his head. “I believe you’ve said quite enough. I want you to be quiet. Do you understand?” 

Hannibal was far too preoccupied with the spinning of the room. His cock swelled to its full potential so quickly that the southbound rush of blood had rendered him dizzy. His eyes were glossy, hazed over, and heavy lidded. He bit his tongue to the point that copper flooded his mouth when Will emphasized his question once more, doubly as stern, and used his foot to push Hannibal’s head to nod. 

After Will stopped moving his foot, Hannibal continued the nod of his own volition to signify his agreement. 

The satisfaction in those raucous blue eyes would have made the cannibal more offended had he not wanted this. Prayed for this in whatever capacity he could receive it, despite having lost his faith long ago. 

He could have bitten them off. But he wanted this. No matter how his pride bristled at his current treatment. Could he truly have expected Will to be any other way? 

No longer balancing a fraction of his body weight on Hannibal’s jaw, Will returned to his previous stance—one leg positioned at either side of Hannibal’s hips. It distantly dawned on the Lithuanian that he could see Will’s entire lower half, he wasn’t wearing a packer around his hips, and he tossed an askance, curious look over to the pants and boxers abandoned beside them to find that his counterpart had the custom underwear that came with a built in pouch for one to sit within. His fingers twitched towards them; suddenly, the want—no, need to smell them was so intense that it was practically electrifying. 

But Will, ever studious, ever predatory, noticed this slight movement and this time it was his other foot to move and find its mark on Hannibal’s wrist. Uncomfortable. More demeaning even than having an arm, or arms, pinned down by his hands. Honestly, quite a fraction humiliating. 

Just like the foot on his mouth had been. 

And yet. 

The frantic rise and fall of his chest was nearly animated in its dramatism, but it was very, very real. Their eyes, fire and ice, two different and completely incompatible elements of the earth, met in the middle with the same sharp, daring, scalding glare and held steadfast. Even as Will returned to his previous position once more and then lowered to his knees entirely, straddling Hannibal’s thighs and working at the fastenings of his dress pants while never even conceding to so much as a blink. Will, insistent on having the upper hand for once. Hannibal, knowing he had already succumbed and doing his inflated (deflating) ego one momentary final service before finally bidding it farewell and looking away. 

For the first time in history, fire melted, and ice won. 

“That’s it, Doctor Lecter,” Will enunciated slowly, and despite the airy atmosphere of patronization, Hannibal allowed the cheap praise to wash over him like a baptism. There was a physical, outward shiver that jittered through the body of the killer beneath him from the chill of such a thin, shallow compliment, and Will allowed his baneful smirk to present itself. “Let me have this,” he finished. At the same time as he’d successfully gotten the cock before him to spring free, expensive fabrics bunched haphazardly at Hannibal’s hips. And the man—no, the monster, stayed silent to such a disgrace. 

He was behaving so well. The ache within him then was indiscernible between emotional yearning, or physical. 

Either way, he knew how to fill the gaping emptiness within him right now; he was staring directly at it after being freed to do so by Hannibal’s surrender in their staring contest. Could it even be called that? Such a title made it seem so… juvenile, when this was anything but. 

Though, when Will righted himself, raising higher on his knees with a dry and calloused palm wrapped around the fattened, flared base of the erection standing before him (at full attention despite receiving hardly any contact at all, the profiler did not miss that little detail), there was a horrifying flash of a moment where he felt much like a fumbling teenager, seeing, touching, fucking for the first time. Felt out of his depth with Hannibal. Hannibal, of all fucking people- no, Hannibal, of all fucking things. 

His monster wasn’t even human. Will could, and would, take from it whatever he damn well pleased, thank you. 

That in mind, Will Graham properly aligned himself, slicked the head through the arousal currently dampening his core, and sunk down in one fell swoop. He fell forward to shove a hand over Hannibal’s mouth and catch his upper body weight there just in time to cut off a catastrophic moan right as it began to crest out of him. Will didn’t want to hear how good it felt for him. Didn’t want any evidence that this could be for anyone but himself. His head hung low for the count of five deep breaths while he adjusted to accommodate such a stretch, dark curls shielding the pinched expression on his face from the magmatic color and heat of Hannibal’s eyes that would singe all his resolve if contact was made. 

The hand he’d used to position himself found the wrist he’d already pinned before, and Will nearly blacked out when Hannibal brought the other up to lie beside it, held. 

Once the lines of his face smoothed, with a cautionary rock of his hips, Will’s breath punched out of him at the first pleasant nudge of the cockhead within him doing its job—providing a service as a victory and a distraction. Then, again, his lungs stuttered and constricted when he finally allowed his gaze to find that of the creature he sat upon, whose skin turned as black as an inkwell to the quill it would likely use to account this interaction on paper later, only to return to its original golden tan hue after Will blinked it all away. Temporarily closing his sensitive eyes to what he saw in the ones below him. 

Love. 

Something deeper, and darker, and more twisted than that; an amalgamation of obsession and divinity and devotion, of hunger and carnality and despair. But, in simpler terms, the look in Hannibal’s eyes was love. This openness did not falter even when Will’s touch slid from smiling lips down to his throat and snatched it like a vice. 

It was like looking in a mirror. One that he’d shattered with his fist. One that he’d covered with a torn sheet. 

And Will loved Hannibal so much that he could kill him. Just to keep him to himself for all eternity. He would get to live with the knowledge that he was the last one to see, hear, touch, the person that he was in love with. It would make Hannibal his, forever. Momentarily, he considered it. The man was so pliant beneath him right now, staring up with red eyes rimmed with more adoration than pain, willing him to do whatever he pleased so long as he wanted it, and Will thought of visiting a grave with flowers every day and fucking himself senseless with Hannibal’s preserved fingers every night. It was as if a frenzy had triggered within his mind, and the thought of Hannibal no longer being alive to torment him as he had, but still being Will’s possession, was addictive. But… well, the cock within him twitched and he knew the warmth would be missed. 

Hannibal wasn’t allowed to feel that way about him in return, but Will Graham knew it was far too late to draw that line between them. There wasn’t even space enough for a line to be drawn at all. In fact, they were stitched together much like the mural he’d been consulted on. 

“Being so fuckin’ good for me, darlin’,” Will purred smoothly, southern accent laying thick, in place of complimenting Hannibal’s endowment as he wanted to. Why would he praise something he was taking for himself? He’d rather gloat about Hannibal surrendering and allowing Will to take this from him, restrained and balancing on the line between consciousness and not. 

Speaking of restraints, the killer began fighting loosely against the hold on his wrists. Will genuinely considered slapping him so fucking hard his head snapped off to the side. Right after commending how well behaved he was? Temptation overtook, though, and Will slackened up his grip on Hannibal’s wrists while tightening it on his throat. Curious, wondering if he would fight back, flip them over, shove Will off; return the favor and choke him, perhaps. 

There wasn’t enough time to bite back the moan that bubbled up when, rather than anything defensive for himself after nearly being killed, all Hannibal did was grab Will’s hips and press them down as far against himself as he could. Sinking in as deep as possible. Didn’t even bother with the hand around his neck. 

“Feels that good, huh, Ripper?” 

He emphasized his words with a slow circle of his hips, and reveled in the way Hannibal’s head rolled and his top lip drew back in a snarl, nails biting into Will’s soft skin. Warmth rolled down his outer thighs, indicative of blood. Which attributed to the warmth between them as well. 

His monster beneath him was nodding his head, or at least something as closely resembling it as he could, considering Will’s hold was so tight now that his lips began fading into a slightly blue tone. Using his knees as leverage to push himself up, until Hannibal was nearly slipping out of him, his own lips twisted into a cocky grin when he sank back down and the only sound the man could make was a strangled whimper that was clearly supposed to be some kind of moan. Undignified, honestly bordering on pathetic because of who the sound was coming out of. Fingers tore down his legs and left bloody trails in their stead, and Will took the hand that had previously been pinning Hannibal’s wrists and slid his fingers along the new wounds to tap them against the paling lips. Before accepting them to suck, he was trying to verbalize something, starting with a kuh sound, and judging from the look on his face and the pulsating within his core, Will assumed it was either ‘close’ or ‘condom’… neither of which he could give a fuck less about right now. So, he just smirked wider, forced his fingers between his teeth, and went back to moving atop him. Dropping his head back as his swollen little cock ground against Hannibal’s pubic bone and left a sticky mess of arousal behind. The lips around his fingers and tongue sliding against them planted a glorious idea in his head. 

When Hannibal drives his hips upward in a sharp thrust, Will releases his throat at the exact same time, and he nearly cums with him when he hears the pure depravity of the sound that leaves the cannibal as he sucks in air. Once his lungs are satiated, he begins imbuing the name of his patient over and over incessantly with each pulse, each shot of ejaculate that Will coaxes out of him with as much grace and intensity as bullets. His hands are slipping around on Will’s thighs because of the blood, his hips are stuttering from the overwhelming ecstatic bliss of tumbling over the edge so early, and the profiler is eating it all up. He wishes he could carve this moment into Hannibal’s skin down to the very detail, no matter how minute or insignificant it seemed, and strip the doctor any time he deemed fit to remind himself of this encounter and get off to it. The pinch of his brows, the curl of his upper lip that closely resembled a snarl, the way he was clawing at his legs, this was his monster. 

There’s a slight tremor to Will’s thighs that he needs to mask when he dismounts the stag recovering below him. 

Hannibal’s words are gravelly and grated practically beyond recognition due to the torture his throat endured when he asks, through heaving but slowly evening breaths, “Did you finish as well?” A question that a man hardly asks without already knowing the answer. And the sinful depth of Hannibal’s abused voice sends a tsunamic wave of arousal crashing over Will in a way that has his dick throbbing, begging for friction. He thinks that if this is how Hannibal sounds after he tries to strangle him, that he is going to have to do this much more frequently, and wonders distantly if he’ll ever be able to cum in the future without hearing it again. Considers that, and doubts it. 

And surely, Hannibal would not object to whatever physical attention he offered. Especially if it ended like this. The doctor was well-guarded but his weaknesses had become obvious and Will could exacerbate them. 

Fair is fair, after all. 

Even Steven. 

“Nup,” Will replies simply; relishes in the shameful tinge of pink that dusts over Hannibal’s already flushed face when his eyes lower. “Got me a solution for that, though.” 

His country accent is still rearing, and he hardly notices it in the moment but to Hannibal, it’s completely dizzying. He watches intently, now back to not saying a word, waiting for whatever it is  he can do to remedy such a massive inconsideration on his part. Oxygen is coming easier now, and yet the tension has his breath wavering. 

Will stands, and for an agonizingly centurial second Hannibal thinks he’s going to leave, that he was so unsatisfactory that Will is going to take care of it himself and abandon him as a sweaty, sticky mess on the floor of his office to mull over the events and missteps of tonight. But then his feet plant themselves coolly on either side of Hannibal’s neck, and he lowers himself to hover above his chest momentarily, watching realization dawn on the powerful man lying so pliant below him. His eyes narrow scrutinizing but he does flash him a genuine, scintillating grin, full of teeth and desire and hatred and adoration and secrets. The blood stretched between them, the blood on them now, and the blood yet to come. 

“Think it’s time you ate yourself for once,” he drawls, dipping a finger into the mingled wetness between his thighs and smearing it from his own lips to Hannibal’s, though both found at opposite ends of their respective anatomies. “Hmm?” He asks, like he’d even take a ‘no.’

The cannibal goes so far as to draw the finger into his mouth (once again) and pull it between his teeth—a sure risk for Will, but not so much as the one he was about to take—to lave his tongue over it and clean the mess. He honestly makes a show of wrapping his lips around it and the way he works his mouth around the intrusion; how his eyes threaten to roll back at the taste of them together, including the lingering tang of sweet pennies from where there had previously been blood on the same finger. 

Hannibal nods, moving Will’s hand along with the movement of his head, eyes so intense in their direct contact that it sets the room on fire, and Will retracts his finger. He wrenches that same fist in ashen blond hair, tugs it back to position himself directly above it, and in a doting voice laced with thinly veiled condescension he instructs Hannibal to take a deep breath. Then he sits. Not really caring if the distribution of his weight or lack thereof makes it hard for Hannibal to breathe. He got a considerable break, far too long for Will’s liking even, and the enslaving saccharinity of the destruction a lack of oxygen impacted on his voice would likely have Will stirring Hannibal’s cock again to coax him into round two.

Maybe it would circle around and around all night in an endless loop. Or maybe Hannibal would suffocate. 

Oh, well. 

If he died, Will would keep it cycling anyways. He wouldn’t stop just for morality’s sake. And Hannibal’s Last Meal would be the one he most desired: Will. 

[ennieasys]

Day 1 of ennieasys playing In Stars And Time✨🤞😁🫡

CW: a ton of cursing

Can the change god change your gender bc if so fuck yeah. - Kats & Tate

Okay, we've got our coffee and put Discord on do not disturb, let's do this! And then immediately has to get up and do stuff *gets triggered* ... goddamn it.

Who knew my knowledge of Stardew Valley would come in handy for something?

Apparently Siffrin has a distain for croissants? Noted.

I love Isabeau.❤️🥰✨🙏 Oh my God I gave him a flower!!!

OMG HIS TOUNGE IS A HEART!!! I LOVE THIS MAN!!!!

Why.. is there a weird sexy camera pan to this character?

RUN BITCH RUN (trying to avoid sadness in the castle)

Oh my God we got the egg key we're getting so far!

I HATE CHAGRIN! CHAGRIN IS A MOTHERFUCKER!

I swear to God if it's the three motherfuckers again...

*Gets hit* Are you fucking me?

HELL YEAH LETS GO BONNIE!!!

*Plays scissors* Hell yeah it's time to cut a bitch!

Oh shit I guess it's a triangle this time???

*Isa gets hit* DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH MY MANS!!!

Oh shit is triangle bitch actually triangle bitches?? Is that like misgendering but for twins or sm?

Have I stated how much I hate the motherfucklets yet?

Isabeau is now level 46?? But I just started?? Oooooh I unlocked the unbroken egg door!!!!

Siff just ate shit...

YESSSSSS I GOT THE EGG KEY AND SAVED IN FRONT OF THE EGG DOOR!!!! Lets goooooooooo!!!!

What will happen next?~ (ooooooh spoooky -Izuku)

i just bought In Stars And Time bc I've seen it on Tumblr so much (probably bc of @siffrin-enthusiast ily) and I'm so fucking excited!!!! I'll repost some of my reactions when I get the chance

[always-just-down-the-street]

Okay, actually I saw CCCC on a time loop media poll and I realized something that may make me have to take it off of this list:

Chonny's Charming Chaos Compendium, as good as it is, barely qualifies as time loop media. AJR's The Maybe Man counts barely more. Let me explain.

In my definition of time loop media, the time loop has to be essential to the plot. You follow one person (or multiple people in the case of Game Changer's Deja Vu, which I put in in another repost) stuck doing the same thing over and over again, trying to fight the inevitable loop back to the start.

In In Stars and Time, you watch Siffrin's mental state deteriorate until it is quite literally gone.

In Groundhog Day (movie), you watch Phil exploit everything he can, get so tired of it all he kills himself in a montage that's how little it matters, learn multiple skills, learn everything about the people of Punxsutawney he knows the exact time a kid falls out of a tree so he can catch him, etc.. The musical kinda abridges a lot of this but you get the same feeling I imagine, I haven't seen it live.

In Deja Vu you see the footage deteriorate from the amount of times the game loops and by the end you can see all of them coping with it in different ways (Mike making a quip, Ify saying they're all trapped, Siobhan going over the answers as they all enter)

What really is the impact of the time loop in these two albums, right? In CCCC, it's mainly brought up in one song and recontextualizes some other lines/songs, but the album is mostly moreso about the struggle between "Chonny"'s Heart and Mind. It's even brought up in Taken for a Ride:

"Emotion vs. cognition, trial the pathos/logos fission- this explosion of devotion."

And in The Maybe Man, you really only see it in the last song with 2085, ending with a reprise of the first song, Maybe Man, and the fact that converting the numbers into letters gives (20 = T, 8 = H, 5 = E) "The", "The Maybe Man", oh look it's the name of the album.

So as great as these albums are, I don't know if I could call them great time loop media. I'd put it like this for my experienced time loop media:

S TIER

Groundhog Day (1993) [The classic.] In Stars and Time (2023) [The modern benchmark.]

A TIER

Groundhog Day the Musical (2016) [This abridges a lot so while it's great I would not feel right putting it in S tier, as much of a theatre kid as I am.] S6E6: Deja Vu (2024) [This is not in S because as good as it is, they also don't do anything to stop the loop, it just kinda ends, which is unsatisfying from that POV.]

C TIER

The Maybe Man (2023) [I think ending an album by reprising the first song is sick as fuck.]

D TIER

Chonny's Charming Chaos Compendium (2023) [Great album, but the time loop is the main focus for exactly one (1) song.]

Please leave any questions below.

Peak Time Loop Media:

Bill Murray’s Groundhog Day

Groundhog Day the Musical

AJR’s The Maybe Man

…Yeah. Yeah this goes here.

In Stars And Time

[siflooping]

this was born out of and snowballed as a thought experiment ftr. but essentially its like. hold on wait this would be funniest in greentext format. im putting it under readmore

> be me (star headed person trying to help my clone escape the time loop that broke me)

> they slowly but surely make it further than i could have even dreamed of when i was in their place

> seething.png

> manage to keep a lid on it for the most part even though just looking at their face makes me so blindingly livid i want to strangle them sometimes

> clone finds out about wishcraft

> hmmmm.png

> clone looks into it more, ends up asking the head housemaiden about it

> she tells him he's in more crab than a seafood buffet and that there's no escape so they're stuck forever

> dont let it get to me but clone has a category 10 mental breakdown about it

> clone has a twitter main character of the day meltdown at their friends one by one

> turns to me

> ahstars.png

> accuses me of lying to him about the loops and hiding stuff from them. refuses to listen to me or calm down. accuses me of enjoying watching them suffer and curses me

> what the fuck man.

> end up snapping and telling him off, argument escalates to catastrophic levels until we're screaming at each other like a bonded couple on the cusp of divorce

> i accidentally reveal the fact that they're my bootleg and that i was the og siffrin who failed to break out of the loops in the first place. i say some real nasty stuff in the heat of the moment

> wuhoh.png

> clone goes silent and leaves while i try to apologize

> im worried as hell but i figure they'll cool down with some time and space and we can work things out

> i decide to take a nap since the argument wiped me out and its not like there's anything i can do right now

> honkshoomimimimi.png

> time passes, have some weird dreams but what else is new so i dont let it get to me

> wake up later. which is weird bc i kind of expected clone to have reset the loops by now considering they've done so over mildly upsetting the friends they screamed at this loop before

> get a bad feeling

> decide to get up from my napping spot at the tree to go look for clone

> get up

> something's off. take a second to compute bc im groggy

> realize i'm not at the favor tree

> realize i woke up

> in

> the

> meadow

> again

had an idea for an au most wicked and wretched..... nay...... i shant say it................... (i will very much say just later when im not sleepy)