Nothing And Nowhere, Everything and Everywhere, Monday

[endsthegame]

The Nothing gnawed and gnawed and gnawed like a dog on a chicken bone. It bit and it tore and it vanished worlds clean away with nothing but a thunderclap and a sea of clouds. It got in between the worlds, it snuck in the little creases and the little folds, and it ate.

All it could.

[[ this is your very last drop post! Have at! ]]

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[outofthecage]

It had been years since Éowyn's time in Fandom, and much had changed in Middle Earth since her strange education. Sauron had been defeated, Gondor had its rightful king, and the Fourth Age was off to a prosperous start, though Éowyn's thoughts and hopes fell more towards her new life with her new love

[cunningkingfish]

It had all finally come together. Revenge, sweet and cold, was at hand. Or in this case, at hook.

"Let them go," Peter Banning/Pan said, looking haggard and worse for wear. He stood in the doorway of his children's bedroom. He knew the man that stood between him and his bound-and-gagged children, and he hated him. "You've gone too far this time, Hook."

"Too far? Too far?" Hook scoffed, waving his sword about a bit. "Oh, Mister Banning, you are a fool. This is revenge. It has a very specific end point. Until I reach it, I assure you that 'too far' has not yet come

[loverlyviolets]

A moment ago, there was a happy young florist (some might say too happy, but only if they were peeping through the window into her completely anachronistic shower, and if so, they could just get stuffed) taking a completely anachronistic shower in a house on Wimpole Street, humming a wee little tune that some people might complain she whistled night and noon, but they could just get stuffed too, and probably would, since they'd be wandering over for dinner in an hour or so, from the building across the street.

A moment later, a shadow like gathering clouds outside the window, and there was no shower (and thus no four-speed oscillating stainless-steel retrofitted-for-Edwardian-plumbing shower-massage head, an insult to the timestream that the Arbiters were only too happy to suggest the Nothing make disappear first, to make the florist stop humming), no tune, no florist, no empty-headed but sweet young Honourable Freddy Hyphenated-Hill wandering down the street where she lived a full hour before he needed to arrive for the meal, and no

[bitchy_smurf]

One knee on the ground, and Illyria, destroyer of worlds, God-King of the Primordium, knelt to no human, yet here she was, on the floor of a mansion belonging to some decrepit latter-day upstart of a demonling, looking down at Wesley.

"Would you like me to lie to you now?"

She should not care that it took him too many seconds to find the breath to answer yes, or be counting the beats to determine how long she should squeeze the throat of the thing that had killed him, before she smashed in its head.

He wasn't dead yet. Linear time was still hard to grasp sometimes, but she knew that much, so she let the change begin to ripple over her face, let her voice go soft and warm. Let--- the marble floor rumble beneath her knees? The building shake? The demon Cyvus Vail fade over her shoulder from inconsequence to nothing?"What--" took three more seconds for Wesley to croak out, seconds that a being who had once stalked through the walls between universes as if they were layers of fog didn't need, to understand the meaning of the darkness