#fic: looking for the meaning

[baddestomens]

when i got to the end

chapter three: ONE TASTE of the LIFE

Summary: The Appalachian Mountains hide numerous monsters, and it's up to Taylor and the Bad Omens to prevent them from causing any harm.

Word Count: 2,945

CW: Supernatural themes, Star Wars spoilers, Hand Jobs (male receiving)

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long. For the past several months, I've been dealing with job issues and major burnout depression. Whereas that's still hanging around, I think I might be in a better place to write more. If you're still hanging on despite my hiatus, thank you very muchness.

This is RPF, and thus will contain real people, but names and events will be changed. If this bothers you too much, then please leave this temple without causing harm.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

“Taylor? Are you listening to a word I said?”

I jumped, nearly knocking my water bottle over. “N-No. I’m sorry. What were you saying?” I asked sheepishly.

Rachel smiled sympathetically. “Still worried about the break-in?” she asked. I nodded, as I had told everyone that that was the reason why I was so jumpy.

I liked Rachel. Despite being almost twenty years older than me, she was sort of my only friend outside the circle of misfits and monsters I had embedded myself in. She also didn’t live in New Hope, thankfully. She was a transfer from a bigger town, since our library desperately needed one after one of our librarians “mysteriously disappeared” last August.

Said librarian’s assistant had also “mysteriously vanished” as well, leaving a job wide open for me to fill. I didn’t mind it, being Rachel’s assistant. I might have to do grunt work a lot of the time, but at least she helped instead of just dumping it all on me.

“Anyways, as I was saying, I’m pretty sure no one has gone through the donation bin this decade, if you want to make a dent in it.”

Sitting on my ass while I sort for the next two hours? “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I said, earning a chuckle from her as I stood up and left the front desk.

There were several boxes. She wasn’t kidding. This was going to take longer than I thought. Setting my phone off to the side, I pressed play on one of my safe-for-work playlists and started humming along to some Chappell Roan.

It had been a few days since the incident with the pale creature that had come onto my porch. There had been no repeat occurrences at our place, but someone had said something about seeing a sick-looking coyote at the edge of their yard. I hadn’t mentioned that to Nick, since I wasn’t even sure that it was the same thing that I had seen. 

And Nick was… I couldn’t burden him with any more problems. Between his time at the new tattoo place, townspeople coming to him for remedies to their ailments, and not being able to sleep very well, he was exhausted. I had woken up to him passed out on his couch this morning, Lydia loafing on his back. If I could make him sleep for an entire day, I would do it in a heartbeat.

I pulled the next box towards me and dug through the dusty contents. I was sure now that most of these donations were just from older ladies dumping the contents of their attics off on us just to free up some space. Several of these books so far were the same cookbook in different states of decay. 

I was just about to ask Rachel for a mask since I was tired of sneezing out dust when my hand pulled out a book that was different from all the others. A quick flip through revealed it was a journal. Either their handwriting was terrible or it was written in a different language, because I couldn’t make heads or tails of what it was saying. But some of the drawings in it intrigued me, so I set it in the Keep Pile, with the intention to ask Rachel what to do with it. If someone donated it without knowing, they might want it back.

By the end of my shift, my back and lungs didn’t appreciate what work I had gotten done. “Being in your thirties must be rough,” Rachel laughed as I tried popping my back several times. “Maybe you could get that cute boyfriend of yours to help you out later tonight.”

I felt a brief flush rise to the surface of my skin as I thought about Nick’s skilled fingers. “Quit it,” I mumbled, earning a cackle from her that would normally get someone in a library in trouble.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the journal in my hands.

“Oh, I found it in one of the boxes. It looks like somebody might’ve accidentally put it in the donation box. Should we ask if they want it back?” I said.

Rachel shook her head. “Sorry buttercup,” she said, using her nickname for me. “Those were anonymous, and who knows how long ago it was donated. There’s no way we’d be able to trace it back to its owner. Unless it has historic value, we’re supposed to throw it out.”

Something in my face must’ve changed her mind. “Well, if you don’t want to, I could conveniently look the other way when you leave,” she said. 

I was about to say that no, that it was fine, that I didn’t need another written book in my house when Nick was still combing through Granny’s hex books, but the words caught in my throat and I thanked her instead. Maybe if I could find its owner, that would be one good deed I’d done for this town, since they were still wary of me several months after I had moved in.

The library closed at seven, but I didn’t get to go to my car until half an hour later. Late April still meant that it was dark out when I left work, but the building was in the middle of New Hope, the forest a ways off. I dashed to my car through the rain, the water from the puddles splashing up as my feet crashed down in them. 

My fingers were wrapped around the car’s door handle when  a cold rush of air blew through my denim jacket, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I froze as the door automatically unlocked, the sound as loud as a gunshot despite the sound of the rain. Something in the reflection of the car window caught my eye.

Someone was behind me.

I slowly turned around, trying not to startle it. Meanwhile, my mind was racing in confusion and fear. Nothing came out of the woods. The town was safe.

The boys couldn’t help me if something were to happen to me out here.

So what was the shadowy figure doing in the middle of a parking lot?

It didn’t move as I stared at it. It was almost formless; I could just make out the thin, vaguely humanoid shape of it. Even if I wanted to say something, my throat had closed shut. The chill of the night increased, the wind picking up and sending some bits of trash skittering across the asphalt. But it didn’t disturb the shadow. 

I opened my mouth to say… something? Shout at it to scare it away? But another voice startled me into screaming. I whipped around. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Taylor!” Rachel swore, hand on her heart. She was standing a few feet away under her umbrella. “What’re you still doing here? Are you okay?”

“Uhh… yeah. Just thought I saw something,” I said. I turned back around.

Other than us, the parking lot was empty.

The smell of food coming through a cracked window greeted me as I stepped onto the front porch. My knees felt weak at the thought of Nick cooking after the heart attack I had had. I took a moment to compose myself, exhaling as I turned the doorknob and stepped into our home.

It was indeed Nick cooking, as he stood in front of the stove. His long black hair was tied up in a bun, and he was wearing his thick-rimmed glasses. “Hiya,” he said, not even turning around. 

I dropped my backpack onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table, immediately walking over and hugging him from behind. “Woah, hey. Everything alright?” He asked. His hand moved down to cover both of mine.

I should tell him; I need to tell him. Instead, I nodded into the space between his shoulders. Even though a part of me knew that the creepiness of the town's legends were true, I still couldn't believe that something would come out of the woods and into the safeness of the streets.

So what I said instead was, “I missed you,” into his shirt. 

“Missed you more,” he said in return, despite seeing each other this morning. 

“What are you making?” I asked, peering over his shoulder. 

“Just some hamburger pasta. Thought it would be good for an easy night, since it's just the two of us until later tonight.”

“Really? Not even Folio?” I asked. 

Without looking up, Nick pointed over at the kitchen calendar with the spoon in his free hand. A little black circle was drawn on today's date and the next two days. The New Moons meant that Folio was stuck in his Grim form until the first sliver of the moon shined. Kind of like a werewolf but opposite. 

“It'll be done in a few. Go get comfortable and I'll put on a movie,” he said, his own way of shooing me out of the kitchen. As I parted with him, I saw that he hadn't done the same with Lydia, who was watching from the floor with her hungry eyes. 

As I changed into some lounge pants and an old sweater of Nick's, I tried to think of a way to bring up the encounter with the shadow person. There was no way that he wouldn't get upset about it, that was a fact. Maybe after we ate.

When I came back out into the front room, Nick had helped himself to making my plate and putting it on the coffee table. I sat down next to him, I pulled my plate onto my lap. He had pulled up Rise of Skywalker for us to watch.

“So who’s coming later?” I asked as he started the movie.

“Noah,” Nick mumbled. There was an undercurrent of something in his voice, so I guess Noah had transferred something to his mind that annoyed him. 

“That's fine,” I said, squeezing his thigh. 

After eating, I curled up into Nick, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “We should dress up as Kylo and Rey for Halloween again,” he said.

“Your hair’s getting too long for you to be Kylo,” I said, poking the side of his head.

“Yeah, because Rey is totally a blonde.”

“It was last minute!”

We kept up the light commentary for most of the film. I was fine up until the part when Rey sacrificed herself to kill the Emperor. As Ben Solo sacrificed himself to resurrect her, I threaded my fingers through his. A moment passed, and then Nick squeezed my hand. 

When the credits rolled, I tried to get up to take our dishes back to the kitchen sink. Nick pulled me back down. “And where do you think you’re going?” he asked, pulling me onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around me.

“Was gonna do the dishes, since you made dinner,” I said.

He pulled my head gently to rest on his shoulder. “Just stay here. With me,” he said, quietly. He would do this if he thought I was about to have one of my moments. 

He started playing with my hair, making my eyes flutter shut. “Okay,” I said. 

He kissed my forehead, but as he was pulling away, I reached up to cup his face and direct him further down. His lips brushed mine before pressing down once, soft and tender, but then he tried pulling away again. “Are you su–”

“Nick,” I pleaded, his name coming out in a rush. If he had any resolve before, it came crumbling down within milliseconds.

He was still a bit hesitant, flicking his tongue against my lips. But I wasn’t made of glass, so I pushed his chest until his back was pressed onto the couch cushions. I crawled up him until I was straddling his hips, my knees pressing into the sides of his waist. The kiss never broke.

It didn’t take long for him to harden beneath me, and I couldn’t help the small, satisfactory grin that rose to my lips. I ran my hand down his chest, down his stomach to the waistband of his shorts. When I finally parted with Nick, his hand shot up to curl around the back of my head. “Bun–”

“Can I touch you?” I asked.

“Oh, fuck yes. Please,” he pleaded.

I lifted myself a little bit, just enough to give me some room to slip my hand underneath the waistband of his boxer-briefs. The angle might’ve been a little bit awkward, but it didn’t really matter when I wrapped my fingers around the considerable size of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, throwing his head back against the pillows. The movement caused him to bare the pretty tan skin over his throat, and I practically descended upon it. The minute I mouthed over his pulse point, his hips rolled up, rutting into my hand. On the upstroke I rubbed my thumb over the tip, and he made my favorite sound of–

Click.

We both froze, my hand down his pants. I quickly raised my head and our eyes locked on each other at the sound of the door unlocking. As the front door opened, I quickly rose up to stand on my knees. Noah stopped dead in his tracks, confusion written on his face. 

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said immediately, Nick echoing my words from below me.

Noah’s eyes roamed over me for a second, and his face hardened. “Please, continue. I don’t want to interrupt you guys making out in–”

Nick sat up, crawling out from underneath me. If he stood up, Noah could easily see that we were doing more than making out. “When we agreed on later, I mean late.” 

“It’s after eleven. I think that’s late enough,” Noah said, striding across the kitchen to the fridge, where he took out a beer. 

As Nick straightened himself, I caught the look on his face that said he was communicating with Noah through the bond that he had with everyone. Was there something agreed upon that didn’t require me knowing about? 

My thought was all but confirmed when Nick put his hand on my waist. “You wanna go to bed, Bun?” he asked, looking up at me with big green eyes. In this lighting, they were dark as the evergreens outside.

“No, I’m not tired,” I said. I fixed him with a look that said that I wasn’t going to be kept in the dark. Again.

He sighed. “Hang on, I gotta get the hex book,” he said, standing up. He then walked to the spare bedroom.

I looked over at Noah, who was leaning back against the fridge. He perked an eyebrow. “How was work?” he asked before taking a sip of his beer.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I was gonna tell him.”

“But you got distracted, didn’t you?”

“Fuck off, Bambi.”

“Oh, I’m about to do worse than that.”

I tilted my head. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Nick came back with a small, leatherbound notebook. He tossed it onto the kitchen table, as if it personally offended him. “We’ve been doing this all wrong,” he said. He practically collapsed into one of the chairs. 

“Doing what wrong? What is ‘this’?” I asked.

“There’s a reason why the Valley has been getting worse these past few years. More things showing up, resurfacing, growing bolder enough to where people can catch glimpses of them. Pale Things showing up shouldn’t be a surprise, really.” He was babbling, practically. But then he took in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Those sacrifices weren’t just for Vessels. They were also to keep the Woods from getting worse.”

Noah’s lips thinned. “I told you, I’m not killing any more innocent people.”

“Yeah, I know, and I think I found a way around that, but…” Nick trailed off. He then silently opened the hex book and flipped to a page he had marked. He then held it out towards me.

“Why me?” I asked.

“I’ve already seen it,” Noah said. 

I took the book and glanced at the pages. It wasn’t in any readable context: Granny wrote in some kind of “language” that had been passed down through her family as to keep their practice a secret from others. Nick had been slowly translating them over the past few months into his own notebooks.

“What is this?” I finally asked. 

“It's a… Fertility Ritual.” Nick swallowed thickly. “My ancestors would send someone into the forest so the Forest would be… sated.”

“A sacrifice. Like what happened with you guys.” I waved a hand over Noah. 

“No! Well… sort of,” Nick said. He bit his lip. 

“That was more the Black Stag's version. Though it wanted sacrifices so it could take a mortal form.” Noah folded his arms over his chest. “This is a… less bloody version.”

I skimmed over the page again, and it finally clicked. “When you say ‘fertility’, you mean… Noah's got to knock someone up?”

“No!” The two shouted at the same time. “God, fuck no,” Nick sighed. “But the baby making process is the main part.”

“He has to have sex with someone?” I asked incredulously. 

“Not just someone…” Nick lowered his voice to a mumble. “Someone with a… someone of the opposite sex.”

“Well how the fuck is he gonna do that?” I asked. “Everyone around here will recognize him, and then you got the antlers to deal with.”

The two were quiet suddenly. Nick put his head in his hands. “Bun…”

“What?”

“He's talking about you,” Noah put bluntly.

tysm for reading! If you enjoyed this, please reblog to share the word of the Revered Father. Next chapter coming soon.

Featured Creatures

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@roley-poley-foley @hedonists @philomenie @shilohrosechicken @comforting-madness @sitkowski

@screamsinsilver @darksigns-exe @nojoyontheburn @baddestomens

[mysticdoodlez]

Whelp.

It's about that time.

Just a reminder tho that it'll be posted on my fic blog, @aplaceinthedark

If you'd like to be on LftM's Featured Creatures list, leave a comment or reblog with the blog you'd like me to tag.

[justaz]

merlin gets sick. like. bad sick. maybe its a curse maybe its natural idk all i know is that merlin gets sick. he has a fever so high he is somewhat delirious. his whole body hurts. he feels like death. he ends up traversing the castle to enter arthur’s chambers and climbs into bed next to him. he was in pain and felt like shit and in his delirious state, he went to the one person who could always offer him comfort. arthur wakes to find merlin curled up next to him, his tunic fisted tightly in his hand as if to keep arthur where he was. gaius quietly walks in and extracts merlin from the bed, apologizing and explaining that merlin was ill and delirious with the fever. merlin is being tugged out of bed, away from arthur.

he’s fighting as best he can which, considering he’s sick, isn’t that good as gaius doesn’t even blink. then merlin is being dragged across the room, away from arthur and his body heat which was chasing away the chills and his touch was easing his pain. merlin starts complaining, whining more like, about how he wants arthur. gaius apologizes again and says he’ll send for a replacement to serve him before finally getting merlin out of arthur’s chambers and back to his own bed. gaius steps out for an hour to retrieve herbs from the town and returns to finds arthur curled around merlin in his little cot in his room, merlin fisting arthur’s tunic and arthur’s hand rubbing up and down merlin’s back.

[camembri]

you wanted zoro to be on whole cake island to fulfil your weird desire to see zoro punish sanji. I wanted zoro on whole cake island because I think he's stupid enough to right place wrong time the plan and accidentally marry Sanji in full view of the whole wedding party in what becomes the most elaborately constructed comedy of errors ever written. we are NOT the same.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[otaku553]

New blorbo :)

Also a silly interaction with this piece

[keferon]

What are your thoughts on a decepticon prowl?

Oh I'm all for it. But! Only if he's actually a Con. Like. Wholeheartedly.

Not "nnnooo we're doingg a bad thing and I kind of dont wanna do bad thing but I have no choice poor me".

You know how in canon he truly believes he's on the right side and makes everything to ensure that Optimus wins the war? You know how he's willing to make every tough decision so Optimus doesn't have to risk his reputation? You know how he literally makes Autobots look like shiny brave and clean heroes who did nothing wrong ever?

I want all that but the other way around. I want him to do that for Megatron and for the Decepticons. The implications would be so fucking dramatic I could write a whole essay.

Low rank Cons would hate him so fucking bad.

Starscream would try to murder him at least once a day.

Megatron would absolutely treasure him. Autobots would have it r o u g h

Can you imagine

[andromedaprime]

"We could have built the future togeth-"

"Wrong. The only future we're building is in your forge."

[alchemistc]

i like your voice in person

Evan's staring at the bed like he's trying to navigate a minefield.

Six months ago that would have sent Tommy on another journey of self-deprecation, a reminder that he'd known Evan wasn't ready for this, known this was a possibility, but Evan, for all his own insecurities, knows what the hell he wants and if he'd felt even an ounce of pressure or remorse up to this point he'd have said something long before now.

Sometimes Evan likes to work it out himself, and sometimes he needs a little nudge, and Tommy watches the head tilt and the angle of his pursed lips for cues as he settles under the sheets.

"Something on your mind?" he prompts, and Evan blinks, like he hadn't realized he'd gotten lost in his thoughts.

"Uh...nothing, maybe."

"Sounds like something, probably."

Evan's smile tilts up at one corner, and he settles on the bed a little stiffly. "It's nothing major. Just. Something I've been thinking about?"

He can feel his brows jumping, can see the way Evan takes in the look with a fond expression. Evan steels himself for something -- they're still muddling through past experiences and learning how to be a bit more intentional in some of their conversations, because they both have a bad habit of reverting to flirting and deflection.

"You remember what we talked about last weekend?"

Tommy can genuinely remember about 93 percent of what he and Evan talk about at any given time, which is an astronomically high number and not at all an exaggeration. He'd be embarrassed about it if he didn't have clear evidence that Evan was as deep into this as he was.

They talk a lot, is the thing, about inconsequential shit just as much (definitely more) than the important stuff. They talk far more than Tommy can remember talking in any other relationship he's been in. But Tommy can pinpoint the exact one he means.

"You mean the roles thing."

Evan hadn't been a stranger to a little daddy talk in bed when they started to explore it, and he'd brought it up right at the start for a reason, but Tommy had taken a while to come around to the realization that Evan had sort of internalized the 'I don't have daddy issues' of it all in a way that Tommy hadn't actually meant it. There'd been little things, here and there; like Evan reaching a door before him and then bashfully waiting with it half open like he'd made a misstep; like twisting his mouth a little funny when he snatched the bill from the table before Tommy could get it. Little things.

Things that, in the abstract, yeah, Tommy liked to do for his partners, but in reality weren't actually that big a deal to him.

He'd needed to clear the air.

Evan nods. Curls a hand around his knee before he shifts his body so that he's facing Tommy. "So, I like taking care of people."

(A conversation, a month ago, Evan grimacing around "My therapist says I have to stop calling myself a people pleaser in a derogatory way.")

Tommy hums, something to remind Evan he's listening.

"And I guess I sort of built up this idea in my head that that was like, a hard stop with you."

("Everyone likes being taken care of sometimes, Evan.")

"And I'm not -- I'm not upset at you, or like, feeling guilty, I just -- I've been thinking about it, and I feel like I forgot to ask you how you wanted to be taken care of."

The thing with Evan is that no matter how often he'll deflect with a joke, when he wants to say something serious he's blunt as hell about it. There might be some hemming and hawing to get there but sometimes he says things that just make Tommy wonder if he'd ever actually learned how to say things before Evan.

"I don't really have a list, babe," he says, and then sort of hates himself for it. Deflect, distract, hey baby how about I blow you about all these big feelings inside my chest I can't articulate.

Evan, though, Evan squinches his eyes and runs a heavy hand through his hair. "I...sort of do?"

"Lay it on me."

Evan grins. "That's actually one of the things on my list."

Tommy blinks. Tries to figure out that trail of thought, but he's coming up with nothing. "Okay, can you expand on that?"

"Like --listen, you know I'm a huge fan of being the little spoon. I'd let someone put screws back in my leg just for continued little spoon privileges. But sometimes I miss being the big spoon, and in my head the idea sounded so stupid to bring up but now I'm wondering if, like, maybe I've just been denying you the joy of being the little spoon?"

Tommy thinks of Evan's hands spread big and warm across his belly, of knees tucked up behind his, warm breath on the back of his neck like when Evan stumbles up behind him in the mornings whining about coffee, and maybe he blue screens a bit because he's never actually dated someone so close to his own size, because there's always been an assumption at the outset that he wouldn't want that.

Alex had been a little too into the same dynamic he'd seen Evan stumbling through, and Colin had hated sleeping with someone's flesh touching his own. Beyond that he hadn't really dated anyone long enough to really form a preference.

Maybe Kara might have been willing, back when he'd been closeted enough to pretend it wasn't an effort to get it up when she had his dick in her mouth, but they'd been young enough that staying the night wasn't really a consideration.

"And like -- listen, I don't necessarily prescribe to gender roles as a thing in general, but a few weekends ago I spent like twenty minutes staring at a bouquet of flowers in Trader Joe's and convinced myself you wouldn't like the gesture so I didn't buy them but you have a few vases in your moms old china cabinet and the moment I remembered them I felt stupid for not buying the flowers."

There's something curling tenderly underneath Tommy's ribcage that he's not sure he's ever felt quite like this before. It's not new, exactly, but it seems to be thrumming particularly hard tonight.

Three months in, Tommy had gotten the man-flu from hell, temperatures so high he'd been grounded and sent packing to rest it off, and he'd texted Evan a jumbled mess of barely discernible things when they'd tucked him into the Uber.

Evan and Bobby had made chicken noodle soup at the station and Hen had sent Evan off with a laundry list of things he could do to help drop the fever, and Tommy had spent the duration sulking and glowering and dragging himself out of bed every time Evan had wanted to change the sheets, to keep Tommy as comfortable as he could, but when Evan had caught it four days later he hadn't hesitated to do all the same shit with gusto. Evan hadn't been particularly grateful either, because neither one of them liked being laid up when the world was out there waiting for them, but he'd at least had the grace to not be an asshole about it.

He had, though. Been grateful. A little awestruck, too, at the mere idea of someone so unafraid of just being there through all the moaning and groaning and hacking and coughing, keeping the tissues from piling up on the bedside table and switching out cold packs to the freezer so he always had one ready in case he wanted it. In the clarity of a full day without fever making his brain feel like cotton candy he'd stared down at a sleepily wheezing Evan and known he could absolutely lose his heart to this man.

"Also I don't want to toot my own horn here but I give excellent foot rubs, and I feel like there's about a million other things I've just been -- holding back from doing?"

"Because of the role thing, or because all your stupid exes told you you were needy?"

It's not a night to pull punches. Also Tommy wants to send thank you cards to every single one of them and attach them to boxes with a bark scorpion inside.

"Both," Evan says without a second of hesitation. His smile crinkles at the corners of his mouth, and Tommy is suddenly annoyed with the space between them. When he holds out his hand to tug Evan into him, Evan melts into it for the space of a moment before he pulls back. "I actually kind of desperately want to be the big spoon right now, if that's something you'd be into." Evan had definitely clocked the look on his face when he'd mentioned it, but he's keyed into the way Tommy checks in and reciprocated in kind since the start of this, so.

Tommy peels his glasses off, snags his bookmark to keep his spot in the monstrosity of the Wrangler maintenance manual he'd stopped being cagey about the fifth time Evan caught him flipping through it, and watches Evan settle comfortably into bed next to him. The problem is, Tommy actually isn't sure where to go from there, which is a ridiculous thought to have because Evan hadn't either and he'd figured it out just fine.

"How do you want me, Buckley?"

The roll of his eyes is so bitchy that Tommy has to remind himself that for all his people pleasing attributes, Evan Buckley is, at heart, a huge fucking brat. Evan tugs and twists and maneuvers his arms and Tommy sort of sinks into it, head tucked in the crook of his shoulder, draping his leg over one of Evan's when he shifts his knee pointedly, a massive, unruly breath escaping Tommy once they're all done shifting.

"You should absolutely try out the rest of your list," he murmurs into the space where Evan's shoulder meets his neck. "Although you don't need to woo me anymore, I'm actually fully wooed."

Lips against his crown, pressed tightly enough that he can feel the smile against his scalp, Evan chuckles. "You don't know how good my wooing is."

The fingers shifting up and down his arm feel somehow different, from this position, even though Evan has done it a hundred times before from the spot he likes to claim with his head right over Tommy's bleeding, three-sizes-too-big-for-him heart. It's ridiculous, and it shouldn't feel any different, but it does. He wants to be greedy with it, soak it in and then never let Evan do this again because he finally understands the appeal and he doesn't want to deprive Evan that.

"This is nicer than I expected."

Evan's soft laugh ruffles his hair, and Tommy wonders if he's dumb enough to ask Eddie how long he should wait before he can reasonably beg Evan to spend the rest of his life with him.

"Save the reviews for when I actually spoon you. It's gonna rock your world." His hand drifts up, fingers digging into the dimple of Tommy's skull.

The hum in his throat has a mind of it's own, going thin and reedy and --

Evan pauses, and Tommy can practically see the gears whirring in his mind, because this is new information.

To both of them, actually, but Tommy doesn't have time to process it because the fingers on the back of his skull spread and sink deeper, just enough pressure to be more than a glancing ruffle, and Tommy can't quite help the way he tilts his head back into it, or the way he hitches his leg to press his groin a little more firmly to the outside of Evan's thigh.

They're both too tired for it to really mean anything -- both off 48's and a fumbled round in the shower while they were already bone weary -- but Tommy wants the reminder for them both when they wake up in the morning.

He can feel his eyes drooping the longer Evan scrubs his fingers against him, and the thought pops into his head as he's drifting off. He doesn't want it to disappear into the fog, though, so he murmurs it into the soft, warm skin of Evan's neck. "I like camellia's. White ones."

Evan hums, and Tommy just knows that the moment he drops off, Evan will be reaching for his phone to google the language of flowers.

[hinamie]

hhmmmmm uh im dusting the cobwebs off my brain trying 2 come up w something interestinf uhh.......anything non spoiler-y you can discuss w regards to geto in the atla au perchance?

hi rin !!!!! tysm fr sending i hope u r doing well <3

atla geto lore fr u courtesy of sam:

he's a waterbender from the northern water tribe. he can bloodbend but finds it distasteful

he gave gojo the betrothal necklace/proposed to him when they were 20 (all of the adult characters are aged up in the fic vs jjk canon ages)

all of his decisions are driven by a desire to lighten the burden placed on gojo's shoulders

aaaaand atla geto draws fr u courtesy of Me :3

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[unclewaynemunson]

Pt2 to this post

'Is something wrong?' Nancy asks, not long after the two of them have taken their familiar spots on the hood of Steve's car. They're basking in what might be the last warm sunlight of the year, looking out over the quarry, at a safe distance from the edge.

It's become a tradition the two of them share, ever since they reconnected back in March. It calms them both, to just sit here and take in the view, no one around but each other. Nancy is one of the few people Steve can share a comfortable silence with: sometimes they sit here quietly for what feels like hours, side by side, listening to music or to nothing but the birds singing around them. But they also have their best conversations here: it's the place where Nancy entrusted him she wanted to break up with Jonathan; it's the place where they talked about their shared past and decided they would always love each other as friends; it's the place where they finally talked about Barbara in a way they couldn't when they were younger. It's where Nancy talked about the ghosts still haunting her and Steve talked about how lonely he sometimes felt.

Steve huffs. 'How did you guess?'

'When you frown, you always do it with your whole face,' Nancy notes. 'So it's hard to miss, really.'

Steve glances at her side profile. There's a serenity to her features that's still relatively new. It means she's healing, slowly learning how to be happy again. It means she stopped waiting for the end of the world and started believing in a real future again. It makes Steve proud of how far they both have come.

'I had a fight with Eddie,' he confesses. 'And with Dustin, I guess.'

'What happened?'

He sighs. 'It's complicated.'

'Wanna tell me about it?'

The look in her eyes is kind and inviting. Steve hesitates. He wants to, but he doesn't know if he can. It's a risk. It's scary.

But he can't imagine Nancy Wheeler ever being careless with his secrets. He can't imagine her judging him, can't imagine her being as small-minded as most people in this town.

He was planning on telling her anyway, because things had been going so well with Eddie lately and – no, he shouldn't think about that right now. But maybe it would actually be nice to talk about it with Nancy.

'So, um...' His throat feels tight and his hands are sweaty. 'I recently discovered some things about myself. I-' The words get stuck somewhere on the way to his mouth, and he clears his throat.

Nancy doesn't push, but only gives him an encouraging nod, waiting for him to find his voice again.

'I found out I like boys,' he finally manages to confess. 'And I need you to know that – that that doesn't mean that what I felt for you wasn't real. It was. I loved you, and now I fell in love with a boy. And-'

'Steve.' Nancy's hand suddenly covers his, causing him to finally jerk his head away from the view over the quarry, to focus on her face again instead.

Her eyes are wide, and she squeezes his hand.

'You don't have to explain yourself to me,' she tells him. 'We're good. But thank you for telling me. For trusting me with this.'

Steve heaves out a relieved sigh, and Nancy smiles; it's that genuine kind of smile which reveals all kinds of dimples and soft lines across her face.

'We might be more similar than you thought,' she tells him, a faint blush spreading over her cheeks.

'Really?' Her words make his breath catch in his throat. He squints at her, trying to see her in this new light. 'Are you saying what I think you're saying?'

She shrugs. 'I don't know. I'm not sure yet,' she admits. 'Still figuring things out.'

'Take your time, there's no rush,' he tells her. 'But...' He bumps his shoulder against hers. 'When you're done figuring it out, talk to me, okay?'

She nods. 'Okay.'

For a while, it's quiet between the two of them. Some kind of raptor circles high above them in the sky. They both follow it with their eyes until it disappears among the tree tops west of the quarry.

'Is it Eddie?'

Steve blinks dumbly a couple of times.

'Wha- what?'

'The guy you were talking about. The one you fell in love with. It's Eddie, isn't it?'

'Jesus, Wheeler, what kind of sorceress are you?' Steve exclaims.

Nancy laughs again. 'You're not being as subtle as you think,' she tells him. 'The two of you have been hooking up for a while now, haven't you?'

Steve huffs dramatically. 'This is unfair. You know everything; I can't even tell you my own secrets anymore!'

'So what happened?' Nancy asks. 'You said you had a fight with him?'

'It's fucking stupid,' he sighs. 'Dustin was getting way too excited about the fact that I was gonna be hanging out with you, so I told him I was seeing someone. Next thing I knew, he was telling Eddie all about how I was seeing a girl.' He waves his hands around to make annoyed air quotations. 'I wanted to tell Eddie it was a misunderstanding, but Dustin was there, so I couldn't out us just like that, and he looked so betrayed and heartbroken... He didn't wanna listen to me.'

Steve sighs; he still can't manage to forget that look in Eddie's eyes when Dustin delivered the big news. 'I wish I would've talked about what I felt for him earlier. I should've been honest when I had the chance, y'know. But I was afraid he wouldn't wanna label what we had, that he wouldn't feel the same way – and now we're in this whole mess. God, he must hate me right now, Nance.'

To his surprise, Nancy gives him an unexpected slap against his arm.

'Ouch, what the hell was that for?!'

'What are you even doing here with me, Steve? You should've gone after him, tell him how you feel!'

'I tried, obviously, but he didn't wanna listen to me!'

'So make him listen! You're in love with him, he obviously feels the same way about you, and you let him leave to wallow in a broken heart he doesn't even need to have!' She rolls her eyes and slides off the car, adding something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like an exasperated 'Boys!' before she pulls Steve off the car as well. 'C'mon, time to get your ass over to the trailer park. Right. Now,' she says through gritted teeth. And, well, Steve knows better than to argue with a determined - and truthfully quite terrifying - Nancy Wheeler.

Read the last part here Taglist: @withacapitalp @ultimatedreamer104 @irregular-child @jcmadgirl @estrellami-1 @myguiltyartpleasure @hallucinatedjosten @jaybren @thew1ldblueyonder @melodymeddler @alycatavatar @zoeweee @lolawonsstuff @fairy-princette @saramelaniemoon @phirex22 @krazyperson @xxsky-shockxx (I only put people on this list who explicitly asked to be tagged. That's really no problem, I love to do that so dw about asking, but I got a lot of relatively vague reactions to the previous post that i'm not gonna dissect and interpret, bc I don't wanna clog anyone's notes unwanted. So just to be clear: i consider it a huge compliment if anyone asks for a tag but please do it clearly if you do!)

[aplaceinthedark]

LOOKING for the MEANING

chapter one: Old Friends, Same Disease

Summary: The Appalachian Mountains hide numerous monsters, and it's up to Taylor and the Bad Omens to prevent them from causing any harm. 

Word Count: 2777

CW: supernatural themes, attempted B&E, mentions of dead bodies, body horror

This is RPF, and thus will contain real people, but names and events will be changed. If this bothers you too much, then please leave this temple without causing harm.

Featured Creatures:

@ladyveronikawrites @lilhobgobbler @deathblacksmoke @cookiesupplier @thatchickwiththecamera

@rottingfern @roley-poley-foley

I learned pretty quickly that Shenandoah Spring never wanted to come when it was told.

I’d heard about “Fake Spring” once or twice from a distant cousin that lived on the other side of the Blue Ridges. The First Day of Spring had come and gone, yet I was certain that some mornings it was still the middle of winter. Mornings like those, I was glad I had a space heater in my bed.

The space heater being my partner, Nicholas Ruffilo.

How most nights he was able to sleep wearing only a shirt and shorts was beyond me. No matter how many blankets I would pile on, or how far I snuggled under his body, I could never get warm. Not that we would complain about the closeness, since some nights felt like they were colder and darker than others.

Tonight was one of those nights - but unfortunately, I was alone.

Night terrors weren’t new to me. Before I left Newport News, I had been warned of the many side effects of PTSD and Survivor’s Guilt. I had been plagued with them constantly until I moved to New Hope, and then they had all but vanished when Nick and I started sleeping together.

Tonight, it was just me and the cats, as Nick had gone to Richmond for the weekend to see his mom. I had stayed behind this time, saying that I was never really alone with our friends in the woods. But now, I was starting to regret my decision.

Usually my night terrors involved the Accident that had happened almost two years ago, but tonight had been different. Instead of Michael’s body, lying lifeless in front of me, it was Nick’s, almost exactly how it had looked last summer. It was an image I hadn’t wanted to ever revisit, but it seemed like tonight my subconscious wanted me to rehash it.

And that’s why I was currently standing on my front porch, alone in the dark.

I took a drag from the joint we had stashed away in our “Medical Emergencies Only: KEEP OUT FOLIO” stash, AKA when we needed to calm down. Despite it being three in the morning, the woods surrounding my house was lively, defying the chill that seemed to permeate everything. I glanced over at the trees, taking in how the moon made them cast long shadows that seemed to claw their way across my lawn.

I no longer feared what those shadows hid.

Which reminded me… I peered behind me, casting my eyes down at the offering plate. It no longer sat down on the porch next to the door, like it was a water bowl for an outside dog. I had put it up on its own little table so as to keep it from getting buried underneath the snow. It held some cookies right now, wrapped in tinfoil to keep the raccoons from getting to them. The fact that they were still there meant Noah or the other two haints hadn’t stopped by to take the offering. 

I no longer woke up when one of them would stop by, though a couple of times I would when I felt Nick leave the bed, but I would just quickly fall back asleep after. Some mornings I would wake up to see that Folio had dumped himself either on the living room couch or the bed in the spare bedroom, snoring away.

As I scrolled away on my phone, I felt the air around me go still. It made the hair on the back of my neck prickle. It was a common sign that one of the boys was near, so I looked up to greet whomever it was. 

Indeed, there was something in the woods, lurking just at the edge of my property line, where the grass turned into the Weeds. I couldn’t exactly see it, just a faint outline, like those games Nicholas likes to play, when the screen says to turn the brightness down until you can't see the image. The presence lingered there for a long time.

I rolled my eyes. “Hello, Noah,”  I called out, putting out the joint in the porch ashtray.

There was only silence in return, and the patch of darkness didn't move. I narrowed my eyes. “Whatever you're doing, Noah, you can do it either on my lawn or fuck off. I'm not in the mood for this tonight,” I snapped.

Nothing.

Unease curled in me. "Jolly? Nick?” I said, using Joakim’s nickname and Folio’s first name, respectively. I tried to keep the fear slowly creeping into me out of my voice, but I don’t think I did a very good job of it.

When I still didn't receive a response, I called out to the shadow with that weird mental connection Noah had with everyone. Noah?

WHAT?

The annoyance in his voice at my intrusion was not helping my panic. Are you anywhere near the house right now?

There was a small pause before he replied,

NO, I'M UP IN THE MOUNTAINS. FOLIO’S ON HIS WAY. WHY?

The second he said the word, No, I was immediately running back into the house. It didn't matter that Noah was still in my head, demanding that I tell him what was going on. I startled the small calico cat awake with the sound of the door slamming shut, causing her to angrily meow at me.

“Shh!” I quietly told Lydia, reaching over to pull the curtains shut. I had barely drawn one set when I heard the front steps outside creak as something put its weight down on them. I immediately dropped down into a crouching position, my back pressed against the door. Lydia was smarter, trodding off back to my bedroom.

Staying as still and quiet as possible, I could just barely hear what was going on on the other side of the door. It sounded like wet rasping, intermixed with some clicking noise. If that was the sound of nails hitting wood, there was no way that was Folio in his Grim form. 

The sound continued for several more minutes, pacing back and forth slowly. The sound would fade off, and I would think it was safe to get up until it paced the other way. I was getting lightheaded from holding my breath for long periods of time. 

That’s when I heard a new sound: metal being disturbed. Was… whatever it is... stealing the offering plate?

I was so focused on listening for the sound again that the knock on my door nearly had me falling over. I couldn't help the yelp that slipped out. I froze, scared that it would alert the monster outside, but then a familiar voice piped up. “Taylor, it's me. Open the door,” Noah said.

I slowly stood up, heading towards the peep hole to check, when I heard the same voice say inside my head, 

DO NOT OPEN THAT DOOR! THAT'S NOT ME!

The doorknob rattled vigorously, as if the thing heard Noah. I felt a small surge of pride at having the wherewithal to deadbolt the door when I ran in, but it quickly evaporated when the door violently shook in its frame. I backed away from it until there was a loud bang, as if it threw its body against it, and an unearthly shriek pierced my eardrums. I bolted for the bathroom.

FOLIO'S ALMOST THERE.

I shut and locked the door, and then clambered into the tub before drawing the shower curtain. I then curled up into a ball to wait it out.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours until I heard the sound of heavy paws beating against the forest floor, like someone was beating out a fast tempo on a kickdrum. Then, sounds of snarling and shrieking filled the air, causing a small sob of what was almost relief to escape me. Then, quiet.

“Taylor?”

I froze at what sounded like Nick Folio’s voice, calling out loud enough that I could hear him. "It's safe now. I'm coming in, alright?"

I climbed out of the bathtub and made my way out into the hall. It just so happened that at the same time, Folio was closing the front door behind him. Dark blood dropped from his lips onto the eagle tattooed on his chest, but I knew that he was the real Folio. Only occupants could come into my house.

I nearly tripped over my shaking legs, but I ran over to him and threw my arms around him. He answered in kind, holding me in comfort.

“I got it, don’t worry. It won't hurt you,” he said, smoothing my rumpled hair as if trying to soothe a wild animal. His nose then pressed to the shaved skin above my ear and I heard him sniffing.

"I was smoking before this happened," I admitted sheepishly.

“Obviously,” he said. He sounded a little disappointed.

That's when I heard the sound of trees being disturbed. “Go clean up,” I said, unwinding myself from Folio.

“Can do.” He patted my backside as he passed me to walk to the bathroom.

I pulled open the door and stepped onto the porch. Only the signs of the struggle were apparent. Nothing was broken, and the only things left behind were nail marks and small tufts of silvery-white fur, which I knew had belonged to Folio. He hadn’t looked raked, so it must not have caught his skin. Whatever the thing had been, there was no sign of it.

In the periphery of my vision, a tall shadow emerged from deep within the woods. As it got closer, it shrunk down to a somewhat normal size of a human. The branch-like antlers seemed to emerge from the treeline before his tattooed body did. It almost seemed like his arrival was accompanied by the sound of a cold wind skittering dead leaves across the ground.

“Jesus Christ,” Noah Sebastian, the Watcher of the Woods, swore. “What the hell did you go and do now?”

NOAH

It was something Noah hadn't seen in a long time. 

Folio didn't leave it in one piece, but Noah could tell what it was just by looking at some of the bits. Almost white, hairless, a dried up husk. Its eyes were missing, but Noah knew it had already been like that. These things never had eyes, even back when he was under the old Watcher's control.

That was what worried him: the fact that this thing was here in the first place. He was wracking his brain over when he could have possibly left a corpse rot in the woods when he heard the front door of the house open. He dropped the pale thing to the ground and shifted into his more human form. Years later and he still felt the pain of his “bones snapping to fit inside a body half his actual size.

Taylor looked dead on their feet, and when he stepped onto the porch, they nearly collapsed against him. He steered them back in the house, forcing them to sit on the couch. He waited until they caught their breath to start interrogating.

“Tell me what happened,” he demanded. He knew a little bit from the panic that made Taylor practically throw the situation through the mental pipeline he had with everyone, but he couldn't actually see what happened through their eyes.

As they told him what happened, Noah listened intently. Normally, they had a relationship that bordered on squabbling siblings, but when it came to the safety of the woods and those he considered his “inner circle”, he was as serious as a heart attack. 

As he began to ask a question, he heard the shower water turn off. “Do you still have that camera hooked up outside?”

“Yeah. I don't have the motion sensor notify me everytime, since you guys would wake me up at three in the morning,” Taylor said. They pulled out their phone.  

“Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep,” Noah said. He saw their eyes roll. 

Folio then came out of the bathroom, wearing sweats. He shook his head vigorously, sending water droplets flying. “Did you see what it was?” he asked. 

“Yeah, what little you left.”

“Hey! I didn't eat the whole thing! That shit was nasty!” Folio protested. 

Folio sometimes thought with his stomach rather than his head. It didn't help that Noah let him eat whatever he found sometimes, but that had to stop after he nearly ate Taylor the first time they went into the woods and got lost. It didn't prevent him from starving, though. Between some of the wild animals he'd catch, or whatever leftovers Nicholas would leave for him, he was eating pretty good. He was, after all, a twenty-five year- old stuck in a seventeen year-old body. 

“There's still cookies on the offering plate,” Taylor mumbled as they scrolled through camera footage. 

“Ooh, sweet!”

“Save some for Jolly!” Noah called over his shoulder as Folio bound for the front door. 

Taylor's shoulders slumped a little bit. “Come here,” he sighed, wrapping a long arm around them and pulling them into his wide torso. He was catching onto their moods quicker. He noticed that they liked stability and normality after stuff like this happened. 

And to think, he nearly killed them last year, too.

“Do you want one of us to stay with you until Nick gets home?” Noah asked. He felt them nod against his chest, leaving something wet behind. He sighed again, and kissed the top of their head. 

“I'll stay,” Folio said, mouth full. 

“The fuck did I just say?”

“I SAVED YOU AND JOLLY SOME!”

Noah heard a semi-hysterical giggle escape from Taylor. “Did you manage to find where the attack began?” he asked them. 

Taylor held up their phone, and Noah pressed play. He watched as Taylor ran into the house, and a few moments later the thing slowly crawled onto the porch. He moved the phone, but Taylor grabbed his wrist and held him fast. They wanted to see the monster too.

From the angle the camera was at, it looked like a hairless dog with too long hind legs. It loped around on all fours, back and forth on the porch several times. After a few minutes, Folio in his Grim form popped into frame, causing Taylor to jump, and he clamped his jaws onto the creature. 

“What is it?” Taylor asked. 

“I called them Pale Things. They're what happens to people who die in the woods,” Noah said. “I haven't seen them since the old Watcher would leave bodies left and right.”

“D-Do you know how tall they are when they stand up?” Taylor asked. 

Noah frowned at the odd question. “Why?” he asked. 

“Because something was standing at the edge of the woods, and this… Pale Thing seems too small to be that.”

Noah recalled when they had woken him. “Are you anywhere near the house?” They had mistaken this thing for him? That seemed impossible. 

So there might be something else out there. 

“Call Nick. I'm gonna get Jolly and we'll look around for anything,” Noah said. He then took the tin foil packets from Folio. “If anything that's not us or Nick comes within a hundred-foot radius of this property, fuck it up.” 

Folio grinned, making his sharp teeth more pronounced. “Abso-fuckin-lutely.”

Noah stood up, patting Taylor on the head in a way that he knew would annoy them. “Go back to sleep, Lil’ Rabbit. I'll be back with the sunrise.” He then walked out of the house that had once been his. 

With every step he took towards the woods, he transformed into a more comfortable form. His body stretched and grew as vines and branches broke through his skin, wrapping around his arms and legs. Bark and moss formed over that as if mocking clothes, but would break at his joints with a loud cracking sound. As he disappeared past the treeline, melting in with the other trees, his skull broke free and melded together so he no longer move his jaw. But the antlers remained; in fact, they grew to impressive lengths.

To some, he was monstrous. 

To him, he was The Watcher of the Woods.

tysm for reading! If you enjoyed this, please reblog to share the word of the Revered Father. Next chapter coming soon.

[fiepige]

Compilation of EVERY single time they changed Hobie's filter in the digital version:

Left: Theatrical release Right: Digital release

You might have to click on some of them to get a better look at Hobie, sadly I don't have a video editor that allows me to make better edits than these :')

[justaz]

im not a fan of modern merthur but the idea of them meeting in modern times and introducing themselves to each other and them laughing and bonding over their names being connected to the myth of king arthur and camelot is just so cute

[devilfic]

part four to this series

cw: 18+ mdni, mentions of blood drinking, fantasizing about biting, miguel’s got a thing for “sir”, EXTREMELY suggestive, no explicit smut just miguel losing his mind. this is the horniest one yet.. sorry!

miguel cannot get the taste of you out of his mind. it hadn’t been the part of you he’d wanted, the part of you that overwhelmed him, but it had been close. throughout the day he’d catch himself licking behind his fangs even though he’d since flushed his mouth clean of you. sometimes, he’d nick his tongue on his canine and the taste of his own blood would remind him of you again.

jessica asked about the gauze on your arm while miguel was in the room and you’d had a quick response, though not one that would spare him the knowing look from his (other) right-hand woman, “oh, miguel and I were playing too hard.”

sure enough, jessica drew’s eyes narrow behind her glasses. she even pushes them up into the crown of curls and coils on her head so her disappointment really gets across, “aren’t you a little too old to be rough-housing, miguel?”

if it were just that, miguel could confidently say it was an accident. if this had been about the cut on your eye that had healed over weeks before, there’d be honest guilt on his face when he defended himself. but no, you had asked. you’d practically put your arm in his mouth. you’d asked for him to hurt you, and you’d liked it.

and he’d liked it too. he didn’t know if he could hide that part.

before he can think of what to say, you chime in, “he’s always careful. it was my fault this time.”

“I don’t get why you two have to fight all the time. can’t you try, I dunno, healing yoga?”

miguel tried to picture himself in a downward dog pose and almost started laughing. from the flicker of mirth across your features, you seemed to be picturing the same thing. then he accidentally pictured you in that pose, pictured himself standing behind you, pictured taking your waist in his claws and crouching over you to sink his teeth into your shoulder so he could taste you there, too.

he digs his heels into the floor to rid himself of the image. his voice is strained as he replies, “it was their idea. can’t help that it works.”

jessica is far too exhausted with life as a new mother to try to understand that. she waves a hand, her white flag for the conversation, “whatever. I just came to borrow your assistant for the day. is that alright with you?”

lyla materializes on miguel’s shoulder, one holographic leg crossed over the other, “who, moi?”

“no thanks, tinkerbell. I need a person. preferably with some muscle.”

miguel would find that funny but all he can think to ask is, “why?” but you’re already standing up and following jessica to the doors of his office. he feels a sudden queasiness at the thought of not seeing you for the rest of the day. the day itself had just started. his morning coffee hadn’t even gone cold.

he hadn’t been left alone without you since you’d started here. now, he’d spend the whole day alone?—lyla sings a goodbye next to his ear—with just lyla?

he stands, abruptly, making his desk shake and shift a few inches. the sound is enough to stop the two of you in your tracks. your eyes bore into his own, curious, and he feels silly like the first day you’d caught him mid-tantrum. he means to sound intimidating and authoritative, but his voice can’t help the weakness when he looks at you, “I didn’t say yes.”

jessica’s hard look is almost enough to make him sit back down.

but you smile, tilt your head to the side, turn fully to him, “sorry. can I go, mr. o’hara?”

in truth, you didn’t need to ask him. but he didn’t know what else he’d expected when he objected like that. he wanted to hear it. he’d wanted to hear you ask for permission, or better yet refuse jessica altogether. he wanted you to sit back down across the desk from him and crack jokes at his expense, tease him and cackle even though he was the butt of the joke  every single time. he wanted you to offer up a mini spar session after he came back from hunting down anomalies again just to get the adrenaline out of his system. he wanted you to pin him down and win, again, so he could flip you on your back when you least expected it and he could sink his teeth into your shoulder so he could taste you there, too-

miguel clears his throat and sits back down, painfully aware of where his blood was flowing to now. he waved a hand, murmured something noncommittal, but you’d really put the nails in his coffin. you bowed at the waist, smug like you always were when he was watching, and said in none too innocent of a tone, “thank you, sir.” and left.

miguel watched the doors shut. his ears tuned into the sound of jessica’s voice and yours mingling down the hallway, further and further away. he waited until you two were so far out of earshot that he couldn’t tell your mumble apart from the next spider’s. and then, he croaked out lyla’s name.

“yes?” she dragged out her response, the knowing, teasing lilt to her voice was more grating on his wound nerves than usual.

“lock the doors to my office, please. and turn off the lights.” his voice was a hair above a whisper. lyla did as told and quietly. “send the… send the society a message that I won’t be in for the next two hours.”

“shall I copy miss drew, too?”

“yes.”

“and… anyone else?”

miguel rests his forehead against his fist, taking even breaths in and out. he could feel the talons beneath his skin beginning to extend. his breath shudders, “yes.”

lyla hums, “anything else, miguel?”

“take a break for the afternoon.”

he can’t see her and he doesn’t want to see her (not right now, anytime but now) but he knows her code inside out, knows she’s questioning him. “that’s a first. got some business to take care of?” his answer is but a low, embarrassed growl, and that’s enough to send her off laughing into cyberspace.

a beat passes, then two. it’s quiet all the way up here in his office without the sounds of the other spider-people or lyla or jessica or you.

thinking about you brings back those images from earlier and when he bites into his clenched fist, he feels the sharp pain of his fangs breaking skin. the pain distracts him for all of two seconds and then he’s thinking of you on top of him, holding your arm out for him to bite you, except it’s your throat this time. you’re hovering over him, the smell at your neck and the bob of your swallowing throat overwhelm him.

you’re sitting on his lap in this very chair, hands clasped at his shoulders or gripping the arm rests or tied together behind his head as you lean in, press yourself flush against him, and bare your throat to him. he’d never wanted to bite anyone that wasn’t a threat to him, never wanted to taste the warmth of their blood as it couldn’t help but trickle onto his tongue, never wanted to hear and feel the guttural moan from you as you sink down on him.

“sir”. you’d called him “sir”. mr. o’hara, you’d done that before, but never sir. a wet and wild whine leaves his throat when he remembers how your voice wrapped around it.

before he goes any further, he sucks in a breath and removes his fist from between his teeth, collecting himself enough to summon lyla once more. the AI didn’t even bother to look in his direction when she appeared on the surface of his desk, her fingers swiping at some book she’d pulled up in front of her. this next “yes?” was just as dragged out, just as knowing, just as teasing.

“three hours.” miguel’s voice cracks out. lyla fades into thin air with a single, three-fingered salute.

part five

[shadebloopnik]

Unrequited/One-sided Radioapple but it isn't treated like an angsty end of the world thing.

Imagine they slowly get closer after all the banters, and eventually becoming close friends. Lucifer ends up catching feelings for him, and after a long while, decides to confess and ask Alastor if he felt the same.

Alastor admittedly does not feel the same.

He's getting uncomfortable, struggling to keep his composure because he's DONE this before. He KNOWS how this ends. He remembers Vox and all his insistent declarations of affection and desperate pleas for Alastor to reciprocate; the possessive entitlement. He remembers how all those sickly sweet words morphed into something venomous when he didn't give the lowlife what he wanted. He remembers the anger, the ridiculous notion that it was Alastor's fault why he was so mad, that Alastor led him on and that he obviously deserved something in payment for it all-

So yes, Alastor knows how this ends.

It doesn't mean he isn't disappointed though, because he actually LIKES Lucifer, far more than he ever did Vox. Perhaps not in the way the king might have wanted, but he did. He treasured their little talks, their drinking sessions, their shared love for their instruments, Lucifers singing, their little duets, the banter, the playful jabs, the sparring.

He'd even slowly grown accustomed to the other's touches, not feeling the same surge of disgust and discomfort whenever the shorter man would grab at his arm in excitement, forgetting his usual thoughtfulness of Alastor's touch aversion for the short moment of whatever distracted him. Alastor even enjoyed it at times, relaxing at the feel of soft feathers beneath his claws, or the sensation of gentle scratches against his ears.

Difficult as it was to admit, Alastor had grown to care for the angel, the same way he had for Rosie orv Mimzy.

But no matter how fond Alastor was of Lucifer, it didn't change the fact that he didn't feel the same way romantically, or even sexually. No way in the 7 rings of Hell was he going to lie to Lucifer about either, not going to even entertain the idea of pretending he reciprocated for Lucifer's sake. He respected his friend too much for that.

So a clear, direct rejection it is. It was a shame, but nothing could be done. He said his piece concisely, and waited, shoulders set, back straight, smile and eyes a careful blank canvas as he prepared for the inevitable.

Lucifer nodded, a normal soft smile still in place, "Thank you for your answer, it means a lot."

Which......what? Alastor expected an outburst, or at the very least sharp words.

What he did NOT expect was....acceptance? And not just that but, a happy one? Contentment?????

"You're....alright with that?", he had to ask, he had to. Lucifer was clearly just very good at masking his upset.

But the damn angel just smiled?? And it didn't even look fake, just as bright and soft as his normal smiles, albeit a little confused?? Lucifer smiled at him, his brows furrowing in a bit of confused disbelief, as though Alastor is being the weird one here.

"Uhh, yeah??? Why wouldn't I be??? Yeah I may have some feelings for you but its not like you're obligated to feel the same. Above anything else, we're friends first and foremost and i'm alright with that..."

Then he seemed to have reached his own little conclusion as his words trailed off, because suddenly Lucifer's eyes widened in realization of something, and his words picking up with a sense of panicked urgency.

Alastor would really like to know what Lucifer's supposed realization was about himself because he had absolutely no clue.

"I mean, we ARE still friends right?? I don't- I- I hope this doesn't like- change your opinion of me. You're not- oh gosh I'm not making you uncomfortable am I? I- I won't mention it! You can even forget this whole confession ever happened! We can just go on as before! I don't feel any different or would act any different! Honest! I mean, I don't regret confessing because you deserve to know and I'm not ashamed of my feelings, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable! It doesn't change the way i'll treat you! Or change any aspect of our relationship! I don't even think I like you more as a lover than as a friend! I really, really do love our friendship, it matters more to me than any thoughts of being in a romantic relationship with you! So please just forget it all-"

Alastor let the word vomit wash over him, every word leaving him more confused by the minute.

Because yes, there's the desperation he expected, but...it was more about, convincing Alastor to remain friends?? Reassuring Alastor that nothing has to change?? That their friendship is the most important thing here??

(If anyone asks, no Alastor's heart didn't swell. Only lesser beings would have had the urge to cry, and Alastor is anything but.)

Lucifer is unknowingly reassuring Alastor of every single one of his insecurities about the situation. Because Alastor DID want to remain friends, he cared too much about the man to let it go so easily. It was rare to find people who treasure friendships above romantic relationships.

"I don't tend to forget easily, nor will I forget this one in particular.", he spoke, finally finding his voice. At Lucifer's defeated, pained expression( is their friendship really that important to him?), he continued. "But....yes. I'd like that.. To remain...friends."

He didn't often say the word out loud, being comfortable enough with each other that it need not be reassured with the label. But with Lucifer brightening up like his namesake, relief and happiness palpable, Alastor felt no qualms at declaring their friendship out loud.

So life went on as usual. True to his word, Lucifer remained basically the same. The following weeks were a bit stilted for Alastor, as he put some rather painful distance between him and the angel; limiting their interactions, their usual touches.

Anytime now, Lucifer would break and show his true colors, Alastor would think, waiting for the boot to drop. Lucifer would end up angry, and dissatisfied, and that was that.

But it never happened. Lucifer never expressed discomfort when Alastor avoided him, seeming to be understanding of the others need for space. He was just as affectionate as before, though initially a bit held back, as though gauging Alastor's comfort.

Months would pass, and the king never faltered. Their friendship remained strong, if not growing ever closer than before. Alastor found himself even growing more comfortable with the man. Affectionate touches were becoming common, hugs and head pats and cuddles being a welcome thing, with the reassurance that the shorter king would never disrespect his boundaries.

Lucifer seemed genuinely happy about it, despite being clearly told that none of Alastor's actions hinted at anything romantic. In fact, he seemed ecstatic that Alastor was getting more affectionate towards him as a friend. The embarrassment the radio demon felt at having Lucifer basically tear up (no really, he was crying so hard, full on drama sobbing) with joy in front of him was intertwined with the sheer incredulous fondness he felt for the man at that moment.

They were sitting at a couch one night, more than a year passing since that confession. Lucifer was leaning back, resting against the cushions, while Alastor had his head on the smaller one's shoulder, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, legs tucked close to his body. Both had a book in hand, two nearly empty cups of tea on the table in front of them. Every so often, Lucifer would flex his fingers that rested on Alastor's head, running a digit against the other's ear, often prompting the demon to lean into the touch. White wings enveloped the two, blanketing them against the chill of the night.

As Alastor turned the page of his own book, relaxing into the touch of his dearest friend, he wondered how he ever got so lucky in hell.