#freefall sweep

[freefallthelost]

Missed the stream? No worries! Here’s the vod of the first session of Freefall: Chronicles from the Lost! We all hope you enjoy! ~ Madison

[sarahscribbles]

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏.𝟓𝐤

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐀𝐍: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @springdandelixn 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫! 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬!

“....the entire palace is buzzing with the news! The Allmother is inviting some of her Vanir cousins to the Spring Fete this year for the first time in 500 years!”

“I hear their men outshine even the Princes! Some fresh faces and bodies to admire would be a dream!”

“None could outshine Prince Thor! He was sent here straight from Valhalla!” 

A derisive snort. “Put it to bed, Signe. Prince Thor is enraptured with his mortal. You don’t stand a chance of winning his affections.”

“How can you possibly…”

How could she possibly what? Whatever the girl's quarrel had been it was something you would never know, for the sound of her voice melted away as swiftly as a dewdrop on snow, becoming nothing more than a faint drone in the distance. The gods themselves couldn’t have pulled the reason for her upset from you, seeing as your attention had been locked on one word, one name.

Signe. 

Hearing her name had you stiffen against the tree trunk, every muscle and nerve pulled taut in both fear and excitement. If Signe was here, sitting by the bank of the lake, then no doubt so were Eira and Inkeri - the three likely taking advantage of a rare afternoon of leisure to enjoy the spring sun. It held little heat, but the season had arrived late this year and any chance to forget the frigid winter was one all the servants were grasping eagerly. It had only just passed midday and the sun was at its peak, meaning the girls would likely loll by the lake until it began to slip behind the Asgardian mountains. 

Three of your handmaidens - the girls who helped you undress, helped you bathe, and kept you company through large parts of the day - sat frightfully close to where you were precariously concealed behind the sweeping leaves of the willow tree. Even with the slight breeze that rustled the brilliant green leaves your view of the lake beyond was still obscured, leaving you with no idea as to where the girls actually were.

The uncertainty of how close they were, of how much they could see through the branches, was both unnerving and exhilarating, and you could feel your blood burn with pure adrenaline. Each pump of your heart only heightened your senses; you could hear the whisper of the leaves as the wind continued to pass through them, you could detect the heady sweet smell of hyacinths amidst the wildflowers that were coming to life in patches on the edge of the lake…

You could feel every muscle in Loki’s sinful tongue as he knelt between your legs.

His quiet roll of laughter told you that he had felt you stiffen and you wanted to do nothing more than to curse him to Hel, but that raised the danger of drawing unwanted attention to your little tryst. 

“You’re suddenly so very tense, pet. Whatever could be the matter?” he taunted, licking a torturously slow stripe along the length of your dripping cunt. 

A strangled curse tumbled freely from your lips. You had lost track of how long he had kept you dangling on the edge of release, propelling you there over and over without letting you freefall into bliss. He was a master at delaying your pleasure, at making you buck and writhe until you would do close to anything to be permitted to topple over. You hadn’t yet resorted to pleading, meaning the torture he was subjecting you to was far from over. 

You made to try and push his head away, momentarily forgetting about the shimmering green seidr that bound your arms to the tree trunk behind. There was no way for you to escape. 

“You know…fuck…you know precisely what’s the matter!” you hissed quietly, swallowing the moan that bubbled in your throat when his tongue skillfully circled your swollen clit. 

The ripples of pleasure that washed over you almost had you seeing stars, almost had you forgetting about the maids that still sat giggling by the edge of the lake. You wanted to beg him, to plead with him to send you soaring off the edge and scream his name for all of Valhalla to hear. You wanted him to ruin you right here beneath the willow tree - the place that was enmeshed in the story of you and Loki. 

But the maids.

Loki didn’t answer immediately, and you felt his grip on your hips tighten as he pulled you firmly against his mouth. He continued his assault slowly, licking and swirling and circling until you were all but certain you would pass out with the effort of containing the noises that were stirring in your throat. 

How desperately you wanted to scream his name. 

“You’re going to have to enlighten me, pet,” Loki said wickedly, still buried between your thighs. “I’m certain I have no idea what could possibly have you so tense.”

You yanked again against the wisps of his seidr still binding you to the tree, and he answered with a teasing lap of his tongue directly over your clit. “The…the maids,...you asshole!”

Loki leaned back on his heels, his lips glistening with your arousal and his eyes alight with mischief. Almost instantly your hips began to roll against the air, desperately seeking the warm wetness of his mouth that had made you feel so good. 

“Scared of getting caught, are we? My, my, pet, where has your sense of adventure gone?” he taunted.

“Loki…” Your quiet protest was barely a whisper, was barely a protest to begin with. Arousal pooled like molten lava between your thighs, even with the danger of being discovered. 

You knew you would beg him to ruin you right here if he made you. 

“I have a proposition for you, pet,” Loki said, wiping your arousal from his lips in one smooth brush of his hand. “You either come, loudly, right here against this tree and we return to the palace, or I continue edging you until nightfall. You have thirty seconds to decide.”

You could do nothing but stare blankly at him in disbelief, in horror at the decision he had laid before you. To do the former would be to disgrace yourself in front of your maids - if they could even tell it was you - but the latter would mean your imminent demise. To be kept so torturously close to release for hours would be torture like nothing else, but to come undone would mean having to hide in your chamber for a week. How could you look your maids in the eye after they heard Loki bring you to a blinding climax? Because there was no doubt that it would be blinding.

It was an impossible choice, yet….

“Make me come. Please, Loki,” you said before you knew the words were leaving your mouth. 

A feline smirk curled his lips and you watched his eyes darken to near obsidian. “Loudly, pet,” he reminded you. 

You nodded quickly, eyes fluttering briefly closed. “Loudly,” you promised him.

“Good girl,” Loki praised you, wasting no time in continuing his assault. 

His tongue immediately settled into the exact pace that had the edge rise within you like a cresting wave, building higher and higher with each masterful swirl of his tongue. In seconds the coil deep in your stomach was wound tight and quiet whimpers were falling from your lips like petals from a rose. Loki squeezed your hips - a silent reminder of your promise to him only minutes before. 

You erupted for him in seconds.

Your release crashed down around you like a winter storm, and his name was pulled from you in a scream you couldn't have contained if you had tried. 

Loki.

Loki.

Loki!

It melted quickly to a stream of broken, wanton moans as your orgasm continued to roll through you, seemingly endless beneath the assault of his tongue. In the distance, you swore you heard the sound of girlish giggles fade to nothing, swore you heard a deafening silence settle over the palace grounds, but so great was the pleasure that consumed you that you barely even noticed. All that mattered in that moment was Loki. 

With a heaving chest, you came down from your high, mind still foggy and eyes still unfocused. Your entire body went limp, boneless, and you found you were unable to stop your head from crashing back against the tree trunk while Loki straightened your skirts. Against the ringing in your ears you could hear the quiet concerned voices of the maids still sitting beyond the leaves. 

“That sounded like Her Highness?”

“Don’t be absurd, Signe! The Princess wouldn’t rut beneath the trees like some beast!”

“No? Then who else would Prince Loki have beneath there? I heard his name!” 

In the wake of such a shattering release - so shattering that parts of you were still tingling - you found that you didn’t even care. Let them know that Loki had claimed you in the gardens for all to hear, let the entire palace know without a doubt that you were his

.The warm ropes of his seidr quickly melted from your arms, allowing you to fall forward against the expanse of his chest.

“Good girl,” he murmured, curling a slim finger beneath your chin to tilt your head back. “Now, with me, and I’ll show you how good girls are rewarded.”

Pals of Saz taglist: @cheekyscamp @coldnique @mochie85 @fictive-sl0th @the-lady-amphitrite @cake-writes @joyful-enchantress @lokisgoodgirl @simplyholl @give-me-a-moose @maple-seed @loopsisloops @kinky-faerie @lokiprompts @mischief2sarawr @wintermischief @icytrickster17 @mischief-dream

[hxxsxxng]

SUNGHOON 박성훈 - SOULS BONDED

Word Count : 2k

Genre : Angst

Content : mentions of death, mentions of being orphaned, unrequited romantic feelings, childhood trauma reguarding lack of parental figure and poverty

Preview : When you are hanging out with your best friend, you realize you crave something you could never have

Authors note : I feel like I am becoming a dictionary because I am trying to produce higher quality work. lol enjoy!

SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING if you want

You glance over at Sunghoon sitting across from you at the dingy café table. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he sips his cup of coffee. You know that crease in his forehead all too well - it means his mind is drowning in the turbulent waters of the past again.

Sunghoon had confided in you about his childhood not long after your own paths converged. The two of you were kindred spirits, orphans with none but each other to cling to. While you lost your father at a tender age, Sunghoon never knew his parents at all, thrown from one fostering situation to another until finally aging out of the system.

In those fragile early days, you marveled at how Sunghoon's eyes would become inscrutable pools when he spoke of his upbringing. Never dwelling on specifics, but the hurt and confusion were palpable underneath his steely exterior. You recognized that look because it was the same one you saw in the mirror after your dad passed - the look of someone who had the ground torn violently out from beneath them too soon.

That shared brokenness was the tether that bound your souls. An unspoken language of deprivation and loneliness that became the basis for your bond. No matter how dire your circumstances became, you vowed to always be there for Sunghoon and not let him freefall back into that void of isolation.

But over time, that vow mutated into something more complicated. Something that kept you awake at night, tossing and turning with tangled sheets and an aching emptiness. The more you learned about Sunghoon's quiet strength, his dry humor, his latent brilliance left to wither on the vine...the more your feelings started drifting into uncharted waters.

You trace the sharp lines of Sunghoon's profile with hungry eyes. The elegant slope of his nose, the strands of night-black hair falling across his eyes, the sculptural cut of his jawline that could have been chiseled from marble. Naturally, your gaze drops to the full pout of his lips, and you feel a lush, insistent ache deep in your belly. The painful throb of yearning for something - someone - so achingly close yet impossibly out of reach.

Get a grip, you growl at yourself, shaking your head minutely. Sunghoon is your friend. He's already been through so much in this life. The last thing he needs is the weight of your burgeoning feelings muddying up what little hope he's found.

But you can't help replaying all of the late nights you've spent side-by-side, putting the shattered pieces of your lives back together through hushed conversations and shared laughter over future dreams. How his obsidian eyes would glitter at your jokes as your shoulders brushed, sending tingles racing across your skin. The way his calloused hand would linger over yours during rare instances of contact, raising goosebumps along the surface like an electric brand.

You've tried so hard to rationalize your feelings away as temporary insanity. As the inevitable yearning to find intimacy in the one person who truly sees you for who you are - the lost girl grasping just as desperately for belonging, already torn to shreds by the all-consuming need blazing through your veins.

Sunghoon's lashes sweep upwards, his penetrating gaze catching your fixated stare. You startle slightly, blood rushing quickly to your cheeks at being so transparently caught in your staring. He arches an inquisitive eyebrow and you hastily shake your head, worrying your bottom lip in an attempt to regain composure.

"Sorry, I was just...lost in thought," you mumble with an unconvincing laugh, trying in vain to ignore the thump of your pulse drumming in your ears.

Sunghoon holds your gaze for a heavy moment, his stare stripping away every flimsy barrier you've tried to build. The ghost of a smirk plays at the corners of those tantalizing lips. "I could tell. You get this look...like the whole cosmos is swirling around behind your eyes."

You snort softly at his turn of phrase, finally allowing your features to relax into a crooked smile. An attempt to retake control and deflect from the storm ravaging you from the inside out. "Pretty sure it's just the usual jumbled mess bouncing around my skull."

"Well, whatever it is..." Sunghoon murmurs, leaning forward slightly with uncharacteristic earnestness. His eyes search yours with an arresting intensity that has your breath catching in your throat. "I hope you know you can talk to me about anything. Anytime. You're..." He pauses, adam's apple bobbing, "You're the only real family I've got."

Your throat constricts at his simple yet loaded admission. For all of Sunghoon's projected nonchalance, his vulnerability was one of his most disarming qualities. He didn't let just anyone see beneath the armor.

The urge to reach across the table and pull him into a hug is overwhelming. To pour every ounce of your heart's desires into the union of your bodies and souls. But you swallow that reckless impulse, nodding mutely.

"I know," you rasp, fingers straying unconsciously across the tabletop until they're covering his hand. Ignoring the lump in your chest at the searing brand of flesh on flesh. "And you're mine too, Sunghoon. Wherever this crazy life takes us...I'll always be on your side. I'm not going anywhere."

A kaleidoscope of emotions flicker across Sunghoon's features - gratitude and something deeper, more visceral that you dare not put a name to for fear of shattering the delicate tension covering you both. He turns his hand over, intertwining his fingers with yours in a way that has your breath hitching.

In that single gesture, your vision blurs with a maelstrom of feeling. You realize with a bone-deep ache that even if Sunghoon doesn't reciprocate this all-consuming need scorching through your veins...this bond alone is more meaningful than anything you could have ever dared dream for yourself. Two souls who found sanctuary in each other's light, refusing to let it be extinguished by the gales of the past.

And maybe...just maybe...there's still a flicker of that same fire reflected in Sunghoon's gaze. A spark flickering tantalizingly behind his eyes that could one day ignite into a cataclysmic firestorm if you let the air rush in. But for now, you'll embrace this steady glow of affinity and belonging, letting it envelop you like the first warm rays of dawn after an endless night of darkness.

No matter what the future may bring, you'll bear this burden, letting it burn through your very marrow as proof of life's persisting beauty in the ashes. Both of you have wandered in shadow for far too long. It's time to let this bond guide you, however fraught with longing, into the searing light of grace.

You give Sunghoon's hand a firm, resolute squeeze. Steadying yourself against the current of want threatening to sweep you away into uncharted depths. With a smile, you hold his stare.

"I'm never letting you go, Sunghoon. We've got each other. That's what matters most."

[violet-shadows]

Speaking of forgiveness. (Part Two)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Masterlist

Summary: A spike of fear down the mating bond has Azriel racing back to the Night Court, terrified by what he’ll find. Meanwhile, the Inner Circle grapples with the fallout of a severe case of mistaken identity.

Word Count: 3.0k

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: canon typical violence, choking/strangulation, blood, mention of pregnancy

A/N: So I accidentally put Part One under Cassian x Reader at first, but rest assured this is a Azriel x Reader story. There will be no mate switcheroos planned for this one. I really appreciate all the great feedback I got with part one of this. As always, feedback, comments, likes, and reblogs are so appreciated.  

⊱ —————— ❈  —————— ⊰

Azriel was dying, of that, he was sure. He was several hundred feet up, soaring over the tundra of the Winter Court, when the air was sucked from his lungs. The blow was so shocking he could only assume that an archer found their mark in his neck, sending him plummeting to the earth with an arrow to the trachea. The panic that gripped him was visceral and he remained in freefall for several seconds, gasping uselessly like a fish out of water. Finally, as the frozen ground approached, centuries of training kicked in and he shot out his wings, catching the air enough to make a rough landing on the snow below. He hit feet first and gracelessly fell to his knees, one hand catching him while the other clawed at his throat, searching for a wound to put pressure on. Although he appeared to be unharmed, he continued gasping for air that wouldn’t seem to come, as though his windpipe was being crushed in an invisible, vicelike grip. He realized he hadn’t been shot after all, but something was still killing him.

Azriel had been choked a few times in his life, the most memorable being when his stepmother caught him out of his “room” one evening, his free time extending past the allotted hour. She had flown into a rage, wrapping her hands around his small neck, and squeezing until Azriel was sure it would break beneath her grip. She’d been called off by the arrival of a guest, and, wanting to appear a proper lady before them, had dropped him and ordered him to his cell, leaving him gasping on the ground. When his mother saw him three days later, eyes bloodshot and throat bruised, she had wept. It happened a few more times in training, but as he grew in skill and size, he found there were few opponents willing or able to attempt strangulation as a method of subduing him. Kneeling on the ground of the Winter Court, though, he could swear he felt phantom hands wrapped tightly around his neck.

After a few more moments terror, the sensation began to subside, leaving him stunned at the strange episode. A sweep of his surrounds told him he was alone and unwounded, providing no explanation for the pressure on his neck. His shadows realized it a moment before he did. They had been swirling around him since he first dropped from the sky, desperate to identify the threat that had felled him. As he drew a few shuttering breaths, recovering, they made their horrific discovery and began to chant at him feverishly.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Later, he would blame himself for not realizing sooner. The tightness in his throat and unbridled terror were not his own, though he felt them just as acutely. It was a desperate message hurdled down the bond, a call for assistance from his other half. He let out an audible cry at the realization, horror flooding him. He would have preferred an arrow to the throat over this. A thousand arrows to the throat, even. His mind raced with possibilities, each more appalling than the last, and it was muscle memory alone that had him launching into the sky again. Once he was airborne, he gave a tug at the cord that connected your two souls and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the weight of your presence on the other end. He waited then, wings flapping furiously against the icy wind, for your response. The two of you had learned how to communicate down the bond rather early and had taken to acknowledging each other from time to time when you were apart. You were always quick to greet him when he reached out that way, and when no reply came, he prodded once more. Still nothing.

That was when Azriel began to panic. Before, he was feeling your own fear, an echo through time and space that gave him a taste of what you were experiencing. This time, though, the dread was his own, crashing over him like high tide against a rocky cliff face. He tried not to think about the worst case scenario and ordered his shadows into silence when they began listing their own theories. He didn’t know what it felt like to lose a mate, but he’d seen the grief in his High Lord and Lady and their faces when their mate slipped away haunted his dreams. He reasoned that you had to be alive, then, because if you weren’t, he would have already taken Truth Teller to his heart.

The remainder of the journey passed in a blur, his thoughts of his mate distracting him from the way his wings burned from exertion or the sting of cold wind on his cheeks. He jumped through shadows into midair, catching himself then jumping again, using the full extent of his power to speed his journey. He made it to Velaris in half the time the first leg had taken, landing on the balcony of the House of Wind with a loud thud. His heart hammered in his ears on approach, his fears only worsened by the stricken looks of Cassian and Rhysand as they stepped forward to greet him.  

“Where is she?” He growled, already making strides towards the stairs to check your shared bedroom. When he left you there in the morning, you were utterly serene, wrapped in his sheets and arms while you slumbered. Whoever shattered that peace would pay.

“The guest room, across from Cas and Nesta’s,” Rhysand informed him, following closely as he pivoted to change directions. In the corridor, he was met with the faint smell of blood and nearly gagged, recognizing the scent as his mate’s. His steps quickened, breaking out into a full-on sprint down the hallway, and the guestroom door nearly came off its hinges when he threw it open.

You were utterly still, your face pale and slackened and Azriel held his breath, gripped with terror as he waited for your chest to move. Slowly, ever so slowly, you drew a gentle breath and the pit in his stomach ease slightly. He approached the bed, finally allowing his shadows to surge forward and assess you as he did the same. Your neck was the most obvious injury, a mess of purple and deep red from jaw to collarbone. On the left side, the faint outline of large fingers completed a hand shaped bruise. Your neck and face were slightly swollen, and pinprick purple dots surrounded your eyes, a telltale sign of strangulation. Your hands lacked defensive wounds, meaning you had been surprised by your attacker. Even if you had anticipated this, though, there wouldn’t have been much you could do.

When the mating bond first snapped, Azriel had almost thought it cruel to pair a gentle spirit like yours with his blackened soul. In many ways, you were the opposite of him. You wore your heart on your sleeve, you were quick to laugh and even quicker to smile, and you trusted people. Even if you weren’t his mate, the thought of someone so pure of heart being subjected to violence like that was sickening. You weren’t a warrior; you couldn’t defend yourself against a skilled fighter and you certainly didn’t do anything to provoke the attack. Azriel was at a loss as to how something so awful could have happened in the short time since he left the Night Court. As he knelt beside your bed, taking your hand in his own, your eyelids fluttered open, revealing whites stained red from broken blood vessels. You blinked blurrily, squeezing his shaking hand when you noticed his presence.

“Who did this to you?” He ground out his words, the shaking of his hands spreading to his entire body as he grappled with his emotions. Your face dropped and you paled slightly, clearly struggling to formulate an answer and Azriel kicked himself as he saw fear flash in your eyes, misinterpreting it as terror from your ordeal. You didn’t need to be interrogated, he reminded himself, and he was a fool for letting his anger rule him instead of giving his mate comfort. Scooting closer, he drew you into his arms, one hand coming up to stroke that back of your head before his shadows stopped him, whispering about a sutured wound there. Like him, they were frenzied, eager to get to the bottom of the matter and exact revenge. He placed a kiss on the top of your head and murmured words of comfort, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Take your time. You’re safe now.” You were clearly quite out of it, slumping into his arms as he held you, rocking back and forth slightly in a motion meant to comfort you both. When your eyelids dropped closed again, he eased you back onto the pillows.

Rhysand spoke behind him, wisely remaining in the doorway. “A healer came and looked at her, then gave a her a potion that made her drowsy. He said she should be fine with a few days of rest.”

Fine. As though this were a rolled ankle or springtime cold instead of an attempted assassination. The Shadowsinger fought to keep his hands to himself as he wheeled around on his brother, his shadows coiling like serpents ready to strike. “What the fuck happened?” he gritted out. His tone was low and dangerous.

“Let’s step into the hallway,” Rhysand’s tone indicated it wasn’t a suggestion. “She needs rest, and if we keep talking, we’ll wake her.” Azriel turned, giving you a long look before following Rhysand out of the room. A closer look at the scene outside of the guestroom revealed a smattering of blood across the floor near Cassian’s threshold and rage surged within him. Perhaps it was unfair to blame his brothers without knowing the full story, but as he took in the scene of the crime, he wanted scream at Rhys and Cassian and demand to know how they let this happen. He knew his brothers cared for you like a sister, but some part of him felt betrayed that you had been injured under their noses.

“Before I tell you what happened, I have just one request. Listen to the full story before you react,” Rhysand pleaded. Azriel’s endless patience was fraying, his sense of calm unraveling at the ends. Seeing his mate alive, hearing that you would recover, had temporarily shorn up the dam holding back his fury. With each moment that passed, however, the dam weakened.

“Rhysand,” he warned, “tell me.”

“Okay, I will, just… try to stay calm.” Rhys drew in a deep breach before beginning, “It was an accident—.”

The dam broke.

“That is not a fucking accident, Rhysand!” Azriel had his brother pinned against the wall in a flash, gripping the fabric of his jacket collar. His hazel eyes flashed in anger, but there was something else between the surface, something Rhysand had seldom seen in their 500 years of brotherhood. Fear.  “Tell me what happened. Now.”

“Cassian thought he and Nesta were alone in the house this morning.” Rhysand started, his voice unnaturally steady. “When he woke up, he heard footsteps in the hallway headed towards his door.”

Azriel nodded, backing off slightly as he assumed the role of the Spymaster, dissecting information rapidly. “Someone breached the wards,” he concluded.

“No,” Rhysand’s voice wavered slightly. “No one breached the wards.” Azriel broke out into a cold sweat. “Cassian thought there was an intruder coming near his pregnant mate and—.” Rhysand expected Azriel to go running after Cassian when the truth came out. Expected him to roar with outrage and lay into their brother. Expected him to draw blood as he released his wrath.

What he didn’t expect was this. And this was somehow worse.

The blood drained from Azriel’s face as it clicked in his mind, and he froze. His mask of indifference had fallen, replaced by an expression of pure anguish. His hands went slack at his sides, and he took a step back, then another, until his back hit the door to the guest room. “Cassian did this?”

“He couldn’t see who it was in the darkness. He thought she was an intruder. Please Az he feels—”

“Awful,” a rough voice finished his sentence from the end of the hall.

“Cas,” Azriel said quietly, sounding lost. It reminded the High Lord of the first time he met him, when he was a traumatized child dumped in a war camp. “That’s not true, right?”

“Az,” Cassian began, stepping forward then thinking better of it. “Az, I swear to you I didn’t mean to. I swear it. I’m so sorry, Az. You have no idea how sorry I am.” Azriel remained frozen in the hallway, regarding his brothers with a look full of hurt and betrayal, then shocked both by wordlessly turning, stepping into the room where you slept, and locking the door behind him.

⊱ —————— ❈  —————— ⊰

Azriel understood why his mother wept when she saw him that day. He imagined he must have looked similar to you, bruised and swollen, wearing the handprint of someone who nearly squeezed the life out of you. He ached with the need to right this grievous wrong and exact vengeance, but while it was easy to hate his stepmother for her actions, his feelings towards Cassian were far more complex. As Illyrians, they had been raised to think little of violence and it was by the grace of Rhysand’s mother that they came to know anything else. Of the three, it was Cassian who rejected the cruel bent of his people most vehemently, particularly after learning what fate had befallen his mother. So, while the logical part of Azriel’s mind knew his brother would never assault a defenseless female, much less you, he still struggled to contain his rage.

Consumed with his warring emotions, Azriel almost didn’t notice the shift in you breathing as you started to wake. By the time your eyes opened, however, he was seated on the edge of the bed, his hand intertwined with yours. You were far more lucid this time, the potion induced haze gone from your eyes. As you moved to sit up, you grimaced, and Azriel lurched forward to assist you, adjusting your pillows to support your back. “How do you feel?”

“I’m okay,” you replied quietly, giving him a small smile. He shook his head, his eyes glued on your bruised neck.

“You don’t have to say that for Cassian’s sake. Or mine.”

“I’m not,” you assured him, but he didn’t seem convinced. “Az, I’m not going to lie to you. I don’t even think I can lie to you. It was frightening, and my throat is sore, and I have a killer headache. But I am okay. I’m not as fragile as you think.” You tried to keep your tone light, but the cracks in your voice were a constant reminder of your current state. Your mate was quiet, his head bowed, and shadows pulled in tight.

“I’m sorry,” he replied after a long pause. His voice was almost as rough as yours, and when he finally looked up, you saw tear tracks down his cheeks. “I—I’m so sorry.”

You opened your arms and Azriel pulled you close, burying his head into your shoulder. After a few long, shuttering breaths, he continued. “I felt it. I felt you fear, the way you couldn’t breathe. And then there was just nothing,” he said quietly, gently pulling away from your embrace. “I thought I lost you. I almost did, all because I left you alone.”

“Az, this was not your fault.”

“I saw Cassian as I was leaving. I could have— I should have told him you were here. I should have asked him to look out for you while I was gone. But I didn’t and it almost cost me everything.” His siphons flared as he spoke the last bit and he had a distant look in his eye, as if picturing another life where Nesta didn’t open the door.

“But it didn’t,” you said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It didn’t, Az. I am okay. I don’t want you to blame yourself,” you paused before adding. “Or Cassian.”

“He almost killed you.” You could see the mask slipping back into place as your mates temper flared and you interrupted his spiral with a sharp tug on the mating bond. It worked.

“And he didn’t,” you huffed. “I won’t let one accident ruin your relationship with your brother.”

“This isn’t a minor—,” he began to argue, but felt a prickle of irritation through the bond and suddenly felt terribly ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry. I’m not doing this right. I should be comforting you, not the other way around. Here, I’ll get you some water.”

After fetching you a glass and encouraging you to drink, Azriel decided you needed to eat as well and asked the house for soup, only to scold it when he decided the soup was too hot. You giggled at the absurdity of your mate arguing with a building over the appropriate temperature for your dinner. At that, Azriel flashed you a crooked smile, his shoulders visibly relaxing at the sound of your laugh, even if it was more of a wheeze. After you ate, he drew you a bath, fussing as you made your way to the bathing room despite your insistence that you could walk perfectly fine.

The warm water eased the ache in your muscles, and you hummed contentedly when Azriel came behind you with a comb. He worked through the knots in your hair far more delicately than you usually did, careful not to tug at the sutures in your scalp. When your hair was sufficiently detangled, he had you lean forward so he could rinse the blood from your scalp. He was quiet as he worked, wrapping your hair into a loose braid when he was done. “Az?” You asked and he hummed in answer, waiting for you to continue.

“Try to forgive Cassian, okay? For me?” You turned, craning your neck to look at him where he knelt at the end of the tub.

“Okay. I’ll try.”

⊱ —————— ❈  —————— ⊰

Taglist:

@issybee0611 @mulansaucey 

Likes, reblogs, comments, and feedback are greatly appreciated. Please let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from my tag list for future fics. Click here to check out my other work.

[suguruuuuu-chan]

Listen. Fae Gojo. Adventurer Geto he wants to entrap and who he falls for during the tournaments/games/mazes he has to conquer in order to escape. The rules are bizarre but always fair. Gojo who falls abruptly, hard and fast, a freefall. Geto who takes his time, is hopelessly endeared, but doesn't let that stop him from winning. Geto who gets his freedom and a prize AND THEN sweeps Gojo off his feet

[tomorrowxtogether]

TOMORROW X TOGETHER and HANRORO are “Skipping Stones” on the river of youth

Behind the song and the group’s rock sound

2023.11.09

When the tracklist for The Name Chapter: FREEFALL was revealed, none caught my eye quite as quickly as “Skipping Stones.” I thought two things: One, I was glad that the rock sound I crave so much in TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s music hadn’t faded away, and two, I couldn’t wait to hear what their collaboration with HANRORO, the hottest name in indie music, would sound like. It would clearly take a different direction from their funky “Do It Like That” collaboration with the Jonas Brothers and their danceable synthwave “Chasing That Feeling.” And just like they sing in the opening lyrics (“Over the calm river / We love throwing jagged stones”) the song diverts a new stream through the music of TOMORROW X TOGETHER. Once a short preview came out and the members of the group called it one of their favorite songs, “Skipping Stones” swept social media. With no major publicity push, the song was nonetheless number 45 on the Melon HOT100 as of October 30 and had been streamed by Spotify users the world over more than 3.4 million times.

Fans and less diehard listeners alike are no strangers to the fact that TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s spectrum has expanded to encompass rock. Even before The Name Chapter : FREEFALL, the chapter in which they declared their “free fall,” the distorted guitars, heart-rattling bass, and blood-pumping drums had already helped the boys’ growth during The Chaos Chapter. The transition from bold closure of The Dream Chapter where they sang about the beautifully magical youth to facing the harsh reality in The Chaos Chapter could not be better portrayed than through this sound.

But this personal growth narrative isn’t the only reason the boys adopted their rock sound. Even before the group marked an end to their dreamy teenage years with The Dream Chapter: ETERNITY, Gen Z listeners all around the world were already tuning in to loud and smashing instrumental sounds. The dreary stillness of the pandemic had teens looking back on trends from the 2000s, which by contrast, while still a messy time, somehow came with a more positive outlook. At the forefront of this Y2K revival was rock—more precisely, its gloomy, pop punk child, emo. Skateboarder fashion, colorful hair, smoky makeup, and punk rock T-shirts all helped to revive the turbulent teen years of days gone by.

TOMORROW X TOGETHER was the first one to really run with this style of rock. 0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You) feat. Seori was joined by the pop punk rock star Mod Sun and songs like LO$ER=LO♡ER, Dear Sputnik, imbued with forlorn, desperate and rebellious emotions contributed to The Chaos Chapter. minisode 2: Thursday’s Child’s lead single, “Good Boy Gone Bad,” while unquestionably a K-pop song, reinforced the concept further by leaning into all the emotions that sweep through the undercurrent of 2000s rock. If TOMORROW X TOGETHER were going to stick to one genre, they could easily go all in on Y2K rock, adopting the image and releasing more albums in the same vein. But rather than sticking rigidly to form, the group’s take on rock music is more about moving their listeners through emotional connection.

For TOMORROW X TOGETHER, rock is a means for an awakening as they fight to achieve self-actualization, entering the earth’s atmosphere from the tempting “Sugar Rush Ride” that was Neverland as they enter the cold light of day and have to face up to the pangs of reality. The Name Chapter: FREEFALL opens with the hard-rocking, metal-infused “Growing Pain.” An “endless fall,” though “proof of growing,” leaves the whole body scratched up, and “though my blood spills and bones break,” there’s no guarantee it will amount to anything. Once they choose to free fall into this world without fear, the boys have to muster up the courage to bring themselves to their feet. The aggressive song acts as a substitute for their pained cries as they emerge from their cocoons to spread their wings and fly.

And so they go without regret through the night sky, feeling around for traces of the past they left behind in search of a new world (“Dreamer”). At this point, they’ve matured enough to realize there’s nothing wrong with having “a horn coming out of my head” (“CROWN”) that makes you stand out—it’s merely “different” (“Deep Down”). Even if everything isn’t “Happy Ever After,” they can still smile knowing that “reality has no right answer / There are so many options, it’s all on me.” And that’s something beautiful: a worldly, finite pleasure.

The “Skipping Stones” that follow this realization are a different story. As the five young men watch their rocks bounce away, creating placid waves as they skim across the surface of the water, “Over the calm river / We love throwing jagged stones / We know it’ll hurt / But still, we pick up another one,” they smile. Happiness is easy to find in the vacuum of solitude, where there’s no one around to butt heads with, but after all that wandering, they enter the wider world, ultimately leading to better versions of themselves. In this song, rock plays an important part in that process of maturing and healing.

“Skipping Stones” was written by 22-year-old singer-songwriter HANRORO. Currently a university student, HANRORO leapt right into the hearts of indie rock fans with her song “Let Me Love My Youth” and the way it likens how it feels for the younger generation to anxiously step out from the pandemic’s shadow to springtime. The lyrics she writes come from a dark place and tell the story of someone who doesn’t know how to love themselves. “MIRROR” tells of someone trying to comfort themselves as they struggle to keep on living; “Questions from our night” looks at conflicted feelings when trying to accept how love feels; and, in “Even if you leave,” vulnerable people living with terrible regret find relief. Although HANRORO and the members of TOMORROW X TOGETHER express themselves in different ways, they’re all living through their 20s. Ideal was a bit too high and the reality was solitary.

At the end of fierce self-doubt and inner conflict, they seem to have finally reached somewhere ideal. Just before “Skipping Stones” came out, HANRORO put out her first EP, Take-off. In it, the singer fully basks in the youthful paradise they’ve discovered at last. Likewise, in FREEFALL, TOMORROW X TOGETHER come into the real world without hesitation. HANRORO’s vocals in the “Skipping Stones” chorus don’t sound out of place surrounded by the TOMORROW X TOGETHER members’ confident singing, and the group would have looked right at home had they appeared alongside HANRORO in the video of her cover. It’s no surprise, then, that in his interview for the group’s latest album, SOOBIN said, “I’m a big fan of her music. The song she gave us is so characteristic of her sound that it feels like a song she would’ve written for herself. I fell in love with it the very first time I heard it. It was fun getting to record a song of a style I listen to and sing all the time, which made the process laid-back.”

TOMORROW X TOGETHER were making themselves small in the song “Tinnitus” off The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION: “Being a rock, I guess I’m fine with that / Just rolling, that’s my kind of rock ’n’ roll.” In a world filled with conflict, hostility, and hatred, and where everyone’s always comparing themselves to others, quick pleasure and blind addiction seemed like decent escapes, if only temporarily. Luckily, when this group rocks, they aren’t just rolling around. It cleanses the soul, awash in deafening noise, injecting youth—finite by nature—with a vitality that’s infinite. They shout themselves hoarse pouring their aching hearts out. Together, TOMORROW X TOGETHER and HANRORO skip their nostalgic feelings of youth across the water and out of sight—into a calmer youth that, though spreading thin, spreads out far in wave after beautiful wave.

[hiccanna-tidbits]

@jackunzel-time

Jackunzel Month Week 3 - Lost in the Clouds

***

Late night, relapse Driving steady but I’m ready for the whiplash Coffee and cigarettes Almost empty, but we’re buzzing from the regret

Just you and me, dancing in a daydream Just you and me, lost in the clouds Just you and me, dancing in a daydream Don’t wanna wake up right now Don’t wanna wake up right now

Barefoot in tall grass We’ve reached the palace but I’m betting that it won’t last Bright lights and mirrorball We might be hurting but I’m ready for the freefall

Just you and me, dancing in a daydream Just you and me, lost in the clouds Just you and me, dancing in a daydream Don’t wanna wake up right now Don’t wanna wake up right now

And if I open my eyes If I open my eyes Will it unravel? And if I turn the page If I turn the page Will I lose my shadow?

And if I open my eyes If I open my eyes Will it all unravel? And if I turn the page If I turn the page Will I lose my shadow?

Just you and me, dancing in a daydream You and me, lost in the clouds You and me, dancing in a daydream Don’t wanna wake up right now

Just you and me, dancing in a daydream Just you and me, lost in the clouds Just you and me, dancing in a daydream Don’t wanna wake up right now Don’t wanna wake up right now

***

Rapunzel's been having the strangest dreams.

There's a boy, his face always unchanging. The one constant.

Sometimes, his hair is white. They're dancing through the sky, twirling round and round among the clouds. Dashing over snow-covered forests and sweeping in and out of ethereal castles floating in the air. Racing across airwaves until they're lost to the horizon.

Other times, his hair is brown. They're running barefoot through a meadow, trying to reach a distant castle. It feels like an eternity before they get there, crouching behind a hedge and watching strung lights in the palace gardens illumine the dusk. They whisper and giggle as they creep into an unguarded corridor and dash for the bustling ballroom.

She always wakes up before they get in a dance.

It's probably stupid, putting so much thought into some random visions cooked up by her unconscious mind. Fantasizing continuations for them in her waking life. But there's something about them that feels so...transcendent.

Rapunzel wishes she could talk to Jack about it. She feels like her bleach-haired coworker--one of the few people who accepts her eccentricities and random tangents without question--would understand.

The dreams are just awkward to bring up, considering he's the one starring in them. More awkward still that she's been having these dreams since long before she met him.

Rapunzel's been at the downtown 24-hour coffee joint for a little over a year now. Jack's a new hire--a college dropout trying to make ends meet.

Of course, Suddenly swooping in with the information that you've been dreaming about someone since you were a small child could do a lot to dampen an otherwise-promising friendship.

Rapunzel read somewhere that your brain never forgets a face. The unconscious can't make up a new person, so it's forced to use existing people you've met--no matter how briefly--as characters in its dreams.

The thing is that Rapunzel's pretty damn sure she never met Jackson Overland-Frost until three months ago.

Then, in the wee hours of one post-graveyard-shift morning, everything changes.

They're sitting in Jack's car, sipping mocha-hazelnut lattes and laughing about some diva of a customer who wanted a secret menu item they stopped carrying 7 years ago. Rapunzel takes a few drags of Jack's pack of cigarettes. It tastes disgusting, but she wants to impress him.

"You know, you don't have to do that if you don't like it," he says with a laugh. "I don't want to see you miserable."

And somehow, that warms her heart more than the approval she was seeking ever could.

When the sun finally peeks up, rosy gold outlines two entangled bodies. Crushed into the passenger's seat, pressing further and further into each other with frantic lips.

He was supposed to give her a ride home and be on his way. Now he's dropping her off 3 hours after her roommate was expecting her, stumbling through the apartment door disheveled and manic.

The panic and regret doesn't come until later.

The massive trouble they'd be in with their manager is only the tip of the iceberg. What would happen after a bad breakup, with them both trapped with each other at the same lifeline job? And the idea of just going out and trying to land another job? In this economy??? Absolutely unthinkable.

There's also the fact that Rapunzel has been in all of one serious relationship in her life. She fell hard for the resident Bad Boy With A Troubled Past in high school, and things fell apart precisely because they took things too fast. She and Eugene Fitzherbert had lip-locked not 48 hours after meeting for the first time, and things only picked up pace from there.

The incompatibilities emerged little by little. Things that didn't matter individually, but when blended together, painted something that just couldn't work anymore. Rapunzel blamed teenage hormones at the time, but it isn't as though she's doing much better now.

But the heart has a way of speaking louder than the mind, and Jack and Rapunzel continue their secret trysts in the staff parking lot and the grounds storage rooms. It isn't until 6 months after their first kiss that Jack says something that sets her mind at ease.

It's a cold December evening, cafe emptying out as people try to beat the coming snowstorm. They're stirring peppermint lattes for a couple of exhausted nursing students when Jack breaks the companionable silence.

"Do you believe in reincarnation, Zellie?"

She nearly knocks her latte over with her stirring stick.

"Do I what?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I just feel like..." He sighs. "We've always been on the same wavelength, but it's more than that. It's like I knew you in a past life or something. Is that stupid?"

"Not at all." She shakes her head firmly. "I get it."

He hesitates for a moment, as though debating whether or not to add something.

Apparently he decides to. "It's weird. Even before I met you, I was always having these dreams about a girl who reminded me a lot of you. And now that we're here together, it's like I found you again."

He chuckles, shaking his head. Rapunzel leans forward, rapt with interest.

"It was always the strangest things. I'd be dancing through the sky with her, or running through these floating castles, or--"

"--sneaking into a palace ball," Rapunzel finishes. "Because we were commoners, and we couldn't have gone otherwise."

"Oh shit!" Jack's eyes widen in delight. "You get them, too!"

Her entire being goes weak with relief. "Yes! Yes, for years! I thought I was crazy."

"And you lived in that cottage on the edge of the meadow." Jack screws his eyes shut, trying to remember. "With the crazy apothecary who never let you do anything. And I was--"

"--the shepherd's son!" Rapunzel beams. "We always danced in the field together, after your dad put the sheep to bed. But you wanted to crash high society, right? And I would have followed you anywhere."

He blushes a little at that, and Rapunzel can't help but giggle.

"But we never get to do that first dance, do we?" he says ruefully. "Not before I have to wake up at 5 am and go to work."

"Well...it's not too late, is it?" She holds out a hand. "May I have this dance, Sir Jackson Overland-Frost?"

"Here?"

"Why not?"

And so they twirl around the hardwood floors, surrounded by coffee machines and flavor syrup and rubber booths and the falling snow outside. Lost in their own private daydream, entwining their lives in this lifetime and the last and the next.

And maybe taking things fast wasn't so foolish when you've had a millennia to get to know them.

They could have gone all night were it not for the interruption 10 minutes later.

"Guys, please. Please. You're cute together and all, but my roommate and I have a final tomorrow and we need our caffeine fix. Please. We've been waiting on our lattes for 30 minutes now."

***

EYO YOU THOUGHT I WAS DONE WITH JACKUNZEL MONTH, DIDN'T YOU???

PSYCHE! I WILL get all my shit in by the end of the bonus week if it's the last thing I do!!!

Tfw you set out to do one prompt and accidentally ended up incorporating another XD So I guess this also kinda counts for "In Another Lifetime", whoops ^^;

I see your coffee shop AUs, and I raise you: Coffee shop AU, but they're BOTH baristas XD And they were coworkers!!! Just impulsively decided to do that because I thought it would be funny XD Truly nothing can make romance bloom between service workers like their shared disdain of The Customer™️

Actually very pleased with how both the moodboard and the minific came out :O The fic I did crank out in one day, so hopefully it won't look too sloppy later on XD

There's actually a whole series of cloud castle photo edits like the one in the bottom left moodboard pic, and I am in LOVE with them :O Picking just one for the moodboard was one of the hardest things I've ever done!!! They all have this kind of ethereal, liminal, eerie-yet-comforting quality to them that I am just enamored with. Like that would be the setting for exactly my brand of dark fantasy book :O If it doesn't exist out there somewhere then maybe I'll have to write it myself aaushdkshu

Poor Jack and Rapunzel. All they want is to hang out with high society and go to fancy balls, but they're doomed to continually be reincarnated as the poorest MFs alive 💔Although it would be funny as hell if Gothel kept getting reincarnated, too...and she steals Baby Rapunzel from a rich, powerful family every single fucking time for one reason or another. Hopefully one of these incarnations, Punz will find out about it ^^; Then she can be Jack's sugar mama ajhkuhdueyfg

As always, pic credits available upon request!

[ghoulspirits]

☀ Come on, love ☀

*heading out to The Castle and en route shanks a molerat with a bayonet*

*takes psycho*

(You are addicted to chems)

(Hancock liked that)

(Hancock idolises you)

And here we are 💍

He watched her, running through the gentle rays of sunlight coming to their close for the evening. Close behind and deep eyes full of wander, Hancock's memories flood back to their days as The Silver Shroud, reminded of how gracefully her and Kent got along, and too how unrelenting she was in making sure Sinjin went down and Kent was saved. He smiled, a slight heat reaching his face- the butterflies of longing were a welcome feeling now.

After clearing mutants for their friends at The Slog, he opened his heart to Emily, just enough that if she felt as strongly as he did she could let him know. He could've guessed it, by the way she always glanced back, searching with pure care and concern if ever he were not behind her. Or, the soft moments of closeness, underlaid with unmistakable desire in each of their eyes. Gentle brushes of hands. Gaze falling to eachothers' lips. Too, the way she edged closer to him anytime a drifter wanted to sweep her away in The Third Rail, a subconscious act which warmed his heart- easing his anxiety that his feelings may be unrequited. So, before heading out to The Slog, he spoke to one of their closest friends- Magnolia. The beautiful singer was forever observant, and giggled at the thought of Hancock even questioning if his feelings for Emily were mutual. She had watched them together, seen the way they looked at each other, and adored the way their personalities and stories fit together like they were tied by a red string of fate. But, she knew how fragile and intimidating matters of the heart were, especially to the Mayor, so she reassured him without giving away all the things Emily had revealed to her about how much she liked him. Magnolia simply nudged him, kindly, that he should definitely take the leap of faith, and tell her truly how deeply he felt.

So, after they opened up on their return to the garden and friends of The Slog, talks of impure thoughts and lasting glances of passion and fantasies, there it began: a freefall of feelings into something so tangible, no longer just a dream both of them held in whispers in their own minds. It was perfect. But, as time went on, he knew his feelings were, for the first time in his life, serious. Not just flirtations, something fun to pass the time- for he could see just how unconditionally Emily cared for him, how she wanted him. She made it known to him how she loved his attitude. "Help those that need helping, hurt those that need hurting" was something she stood by as strongly as he did. It was a blessing to find someone who accepted her truly, who made her feel safe, who made her laugh, and who sparked a fire in her core more so than anybody she had crossed paths with before. He loved to tease her with his flirtatious remarks, but instead of receiving a harsh dismissal from her, she would blush and meet his eyes, challenging him with her own quiet firey nature. It was when inhibitions were gone with the wind, thanks to the various substances of the Commonwealth, Emily would let slip not just how much she really adored him- but how she longed for him. Talks of his eyes, the way his shoulders fit into his red coat, wanting to see more of his beautiful skin that peaked out of his shirt. He never acted on it whilst she was intoxicated, he would never take advantage, but he did cherish her comments. Thought about them at night, as his hands wandered down upon himself. It felt so real, not just their connection, but the feelings of adoration they both held. Hancock couldn't believe his luck in finding her, and little did he know, neither could Emily. There was no ulterior motive, caps or chems or status. She saw him for him, listened intently and empathetically to all he had to say- and Hancock fell even harder. He knew he had to do something more, make her his girl.

This time, he needed no reassurance. The passion and longing within him was too strong to ignore, stoked by the glimpses she gave him of feelings so far beyond a flirtation. He wanted to wait for a perfect moment, perhaps after they got to The Castle, he thought. Maybe when they next went back to The Slog, it had become a sacred place for them after all. However, after watching her launch her bayonet into a molerat, and taking her Psycho without second thought, watching as her body lurched with cares to the wind of the thought of addiction, knowing he wanted to watch out for her but also live a romance of being addicted to eachother- he realised he was thinking too much and just wanted to act. In reality, the words almost fell out of him involuntarily.

Instinctively.

Naturally.

Like it was meant to be...

"Hey, when you've got time" He began, "there's something I need you to hear"

☀

[doublecheekedkinard]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by my audacity :)

Eddie puts the last of the dishes away, Buck empties and cleans the sink, the silence occupied along with their hands, every time Eddie passes behind Buck, he’s a little too close, a tiny crackle of passing friction that keeps Buck on edge, holding his breath. He turns to head out of the kitchen and into the bedroom, ready to strip the bed and dump the rest of his clothes into his case – a small reprieve from the ever-decreasing circles of Eddie's orbit. Instead, he finds himself walking, or more like colliding, into Eddie. Neither of them makes a move to step back, frozen in an accidental embrace curated to stop them both tumbling to the ground; their hands fall into place against each other’s bodies. Eddies slotted under Buck's elbow in the curve of his waist, the other, wrapped around, sinking into the dip at the base of his spine. Buck’s flat against Eddie's chest, fingertips pushed into his collarbone, and curled around his hip.

Buck can feel Eddie breathe, the rise and fall of his body against his own with the soft in and out, a warm brush of air against his mouth and chin that makes him want to shiver. He doesn’t think he imagines Eddie's hold grow tighter, the hand on his back pushing him closer. His stomach swoops, skin coming to life in a sweep of cold breeze that only Buck seems to feel. But Eddie is looking at his mouth, and moving a foot to steady his stance, letting go of Bucks waist and moving his hand to the back of Bucks neck. And Buck wants. He trembles with it, eyes studying Eddie's face to find the same open longing he found there the night before, the same one that had him freefalling into Eddie's mouth and left him unable to think about anything else. Buck wants. “I should-“ the words are barely a whisper, spilling over his lip before Eddie can stop it.

I'm trying to tag @folk-fae but it wont let me, but this is for enabling me.

[healingskywalker]

Sweeping Corellia

A Bad Batch x Reader Series

Chapter 1 - Crash Landing

Summary: The Bad Batch are stranded on Corellia. With the chipped clones being exterminated, being on the run from the Empire, and after a shipwreck that left the Marauder unable to function, they have no way of contacting help. Especially since Corellia has been abandoned and borderline unlivable after The Battle of Coronet City, leaving the entire planet taken back over by nature.

You are the only other person alive.

After being shot down by the Empire, you are also stranded on Corellia. Now, you are trying to survive in less-than-survivable conditions, in a post-apocalyptic world. I hope you know what you are doing.

masterlist

Pairing: future Hunter x Reader, Wrecker x Reader, Tech x Reader, Crosshair x Reader, Echo x Reader - polyamory

Rating & Word Count: Mature - 1.8K

Trigger Warnings: ship crash, mentions of blood and stitches

Wrecked ship parts and small fires. That is all that can be seen through your blurry, half-lidded gaze. Panic stalked up your spine, filling you with a sense of urgency that you haven’t ever felt before. Life or death situations were common for your way of life, but a ship crash like that wasn’t something that you had ever experienced. 

Between the Empire shooting at you, and managing to shoot you down, both ship engines failed, leaving you freefalling through the sky, holding onto the steering of the ship as it had vibrated violently in the fall.

The first thing that you process, beyond the smell of engine oil and smoke, was the sharp stabbing pain in your left calf that seared its way through your muscle and bone. 

A low groan slipped through gritted teeth, your head throwing itself back to hit the back of the ship’s seat that you were in, despite the crash doing its best to jar you out of it. It felt almost like poison in the slow way that it encased your entire leg. You almost didn’t want to look down to see what was causing the pain, but something was telling you that you needed to get out of the ship. Now. 

Through the blinking red emergency lights, you lifted your head, which immediately made you woozy. Stars spun in front of you, bright and swirling, giving your surroundings an almost divine light that you knew was just due to the oxygen level difference in the air, and probable blood loss, if the pain was anything to go by. Your gaze fell upon your leg, where the source of the pain was. Yep. Definitely blood loss. 

A large gash from a stray piece of metal was present from your knee to your ankle, leaking dark red mess all over the ship’s steel floor, and splattered onto the black cloth of the pilot’s seat. Head heavy, you leaned forward to examine the injury - it didn’t appear too ridiculously deep. You couldn’t see bone, but you would most definitely need stitches. Great. Just what you needed right now. Though you supposed for how rough of a crash landing there was, you were lucky to just make it out with this. However, you didn’t appreciate the gash in your flight suit. 

Urgency rushed through your mind, pressing at you to get out, and get out now. You weren’t sure what exactly was happening - minus the small engine fire you were fine. That wasn’t something that you had ever had a problem with before. But when your instincts tell you to get out? You get out.

You unbuckled your seat, groaning deeply in pain as you had to move your leg and stand up. Using the wall for support, you half-ran, half-stumbled through the tiny halls of your ship, until you reached the cargo hold, and slammed your hand onto the hatches open button. It barely worked. It slowly opened, creaking and screeching the entire time as metal rubbing against metal. 

But now you had to find a place to go. The nearest city would be the best bet. It was quite a ways away, but if there was going to be any help, then Tyrena would have it!  was the closest city and you had briefly glanced at it in the brief second of free time that you had while nearly falling to your death. There were so many people there, always, that it would also be a good place to hide among the people. That was the best thing that you could think of in the haze of pain that blinded your mind and thoughts. Tyrena was the answer to all of your problems. 

--

Desolation. That was one of the only words to describe precisely what the city looked like. The city had truly fallen - what had once been a large tourist destination, filled with noise, people, and the smell of vendors, no longer existed. Instead, the ruin of vine-covered dilapidated buildings was now what ran the city. 

Emerald moss clung to the sides of buildings, intertwining with the ivy that snaked its way around all buildings. Giant skyscrapers and hotels and smaller, more stout buildings and offices - all of them were taken over by nature. Parts of buildings were scattered around the city center. There was no one around, either. It was silent and barren, save for the sound of the ocean crashing into the nearby seabank. 

You could smell the salt in the air, as well as the dry scent of mold and staleness from the lack of movement. Even animals must not come here a lot - it seemed as if there was an entire blanket of dust, silence, and tension that laid on top of everything in the city. 

Tension tightened itself around your spine and throat, leaving you on edge and scanning your surroundings, your hand finding itself on your weapon. A single person, injured, was definitely a target - but you were determined to put up a fight against anyone, or anything, that thought you were an easy meal. 

You made your way slowly, carefully through the city, peering down every alleyway and crawlspace carefully, keeping your gaze ahead of you, sweeping Corellia’s streets with an anxious and alert nature. You had to be careful. It didn’t seem like anyone was here, but you never know what may or may not be lurking around any corner. 

--

You had made it, half dragging your leg, into the city center. Your gaze immediately fell onto the fountain of running water that was the central hub of the city. It was large and ornate, still beautiful despite the broken and dirty nature in which it currently existed. But more importantly?

Water. Drinkable water! Sighing in relief, you hobbled your way over to the fountain. Agony seared your leg with every step but cleaning the wound was a priority, and needed to be done quickly, before any infection set in. If an infection set in, that was sure to doom you on this world. 

The pain was beginning to get unbearable, and without knowing where you were, this would be a good place to start figuring out where to camp for the night. Surely the middle of the city was as good a place to start as any. After all, there didn’t seem to be anyone here, and it was better to get a good layout of the terrain before you just set camp anywhere. As you sat on the edge of the fountain and propped your leg up on the edge of the fountain to splash water on it, you began to think.

You couldn’t go back to your ship. You had nothing while out here. The crash had ruined just about anything and everything you owned, and parts of it had been engulfed in a tidal wave of flames - anything worth using wouldn’t have survived. You were lucky that you kept weapons strapped to yourself, even while flying the ship, because if you hadn’t…well, you’d be even worse off. 

You hissed through gritted teeth as you used one hand to keep your leg from shaking in pain, and the other to gently rub the crusted blood off of the edges of your flayed skin, as well as the dirt, sweat, and miscellaneous grime that was present near the wound. 

Walking through the dust and sand had ensured that your entire being was filthy, and you were half debating on showering in this fountain. You eyed the water longingly, drawing your lips up into a pout. Probably not a good idea to get naked in unfamiliar territory, but the temptation was still very much there. 

You needed shelter. Your gaze darted to the nearest building, thick with nature, and settled in rocks, before your eyes shifted back to your leg. Concrete buildings were probably the best bet. With the looks of everything here, it had been at least a few years since things were taken care of. So any untreated wood would have rotted by now. 

But concrete would still be stable and secure, even though it would be cold. Fire was your next concern. Again, wood from the dilapidated houses should be enough; down by the sea shore, there was sure to be some type of flint or rock that could be used to start a fire. 

Shelter and warmth, done. The last thing you wanted to set your eyes on was another fire, a source of destruction, but survival came first. Anger had already slithered its way into the deepest part of your stomach, striking you every time that you thought of your ship. 

You wished with every fiber of your being that it hadn’t exploded as soon as you had escaped the steel death trap. You were honestly probably too emotionally attached, but that was alright. It had been your only companion for quite some time. Making friends while bounty hunting wasn’t exactly easy - or part of the job description. 

You paused your ministrations for a moment, closing your eyes and tilting your head back. How were you going to survive out here? Your comm wasn’t working, your ship was gone, and there was no way to contact outside help. You were stuck here. Fuck! Frustration and desperation settled itself deep into your chest, and you grit your teeth to keep yourself from screaming. You were so focused on your thoughts that you almost didn’t catch the footsteps that hit the pavement. 

As quick as you could, you snatched your leg from the fountain, twisted around, blaster pointed at where you heard the sound. Two very tall men were standing not 1000 feet from you, and boy did they not look happy. 

The slimmer and shorter of the two wore gray and black armor with a face shield it looked like - a visor, maybe? - while the other, a few inches taller and packing more muscle than you thought possible, wore black armor that was covered in mud and dust. 

You all stared at each other for a moment, weapons drawn, tension crackling in the air violently. You stayed silent. It was best to let them do most of the talking. All you had to do was make sure that they didn’t kill you.

“Who are you?” The slimmer man asked. His eyes were narrowed dangerously, and his brow was furrowed in something akin to anger, his grip visibly tightening on his pistol. 

“Yeah! And what are you doing here?” The low, gravelly voice of the bigger man made your eyes quickly dart to him. A smirk was present on his face, and looked ready to fight, but held no weapon. They both stared at you with wary expressions and a distrusting demeanor. 

Now you had to explain why you were here. And hope they liked your answer enough.

taglist: @thebahdbitch @nekotaetae @lafy-taffy @salaminus @heavenseed76 @arctrooper69 @l-lend

[freefallthelost]

Happy New Year everyone!!

We don’t have any more character to reveal, but instead we present to you our fun and whimsical storyteller, Madison! And with this, we have all seven characters revealed! see more about them here 

You can stream the game on twitch ( twitch.tv/freefallthelost ) starting January 20! 

[itofthames]

Freefall Pt 10 (Jing Yuan x Reader)

WC: 589

Tags; nothing new

rushing a little bit, but more yandere type stuff to come as we reach the end.

Read here or on Ao3

It's a new day and you're looking over some food supply reports. A pre-predicted and scheduled change in soil materials has led to a drop in produced food by a third of a percent. Over the course of a normal human lifespan of fifty to seventy years, no problem. Thousands? A potentially massive issue.

"And how are you this evening?" Jing Yuan asks.

"Oh, reviewing some reports and double-checking stats."

Jing Yuan laughs heartily.

"I'm beginning to think they hardly have you do anything else around here."

"You'd be about right," you chuckle and swipe away on your holopad.

His hand settles right above your ass again, his face is close enough that his breath sweeps against the back of your neck. And it stays there. There's no ghosting past you this time so as to not draw attention to the too-intimate contact.

Your stomach sinks and you look up from the pad, smiling nervously at him.

Your co-workers are still in the room. What if they notice? It isn't like Jing Yuan gets all close and lovey-dovey with anyone else.

"Jing Yuan, did you want to speak with me in private again?"

Its his typical go-to whenever he wants you, but this time he shakes his head, "No, I just wanted to stand near you, is all."

"Oh,"

You're not sure how to feel about that, but Jing Yuan does eventually wish you well and leave to attend other business. No one walks up to you directly and says anything and eventually, you stop thinking about it.

...but eventually, you begin to notice. It's a slow, lurching feeling that makes a home in the pit of your stomach.

Jing Yuan can only do so much. There are naturally things that give it away and you're willing to cut your co-workers a lot of slack but not this much. You would have called yourself out by now.

Your work allocations, though numerous, are just a little too easy. People clear out when you enter hallways and, while it is empowering, is a level of creepy that leaves you shaken. Above all else, a full month after your return from work, there's one noticeable factor missing.

Where is Fu Xuan?

One of her honored duties was to come and see Jing Yuan and update him on whatever she divined. Now she's absent. Without so much as a word or an update or some sort of report.

Were you mortified to ever have to face her again knowing that she knew? Sure, but that didn't mean you never wanted to see her again.

You're pretending to be consumed with work again when Jing Yuan steps down for his own daily routine and lingering by your side. Sometimes dragging you away and sometimes not. This time when he's behind you, you're frightened to even ask.

"And how are your reports so far?"

"Boring as ever," You say, not even wanting to throw a look over your shoulder. You've got a good idea as to what's going on by now, and its making you wish you'd said something earlier. Much earlier. Possibly even before he had shown up in your home that day. "Jing Yuan,"

"Yes, love?"

"Are you...telling people to make things easier for me?"

The silence that stretches between the both of you is enough of an answer. You finally turn to look at him.

His eyes are steely and vicious. You feel frozen to the spot, but he deflates and closes his eyes.

"Who told you?"

Your heart sinks.

[poorlytunedukulele]

Prompt 19 - Weaving, Unraveling

May 24, 2951; The Last City, Earth

Cayde had been suspiciously cagey when he’d asked her to come in, so Azra had been expecting a surprise. Somehow, she still managed to find herself stunned.

Azra walked into the War Room, eyes sweeping the space for Cayde and finding someone else first.  She didn’t stop walking, but she did falter for a second.  She hadn’t seen them in over seventy years.  They were supposed to be dead.  

Azra had enough wits left to act casual.  “Eris Morn, as I live and breathe.”  She strode up and made no pretenses she wasn’t looking the other Hunter over.  Her eyes didn’t miss the presence of the Speaker, a rarity in the Hall of Guardians. They didn’t miss Ikora Rey’s bright focus, or Cayde’s too-tense stance.

“The taint of the Vex clings to you,” the other Hunter said. Hive eyes stared unblinking from behind a rough cloth wrapping.  It was a bit disturbing, Azra admitted to herself, but… well, she’d seen a lot of disturbing things.  It’d take more than this to phase her at this point.

Azra shrugged.  “Always has, always will,” she said nonchalantly.  “A small price to pay, for the victory I’ve seen.  You, Eris…”  She didn’t know what to say.  Was she here as some sort of test?  Obviously a long-dead Guardian showing up out of the black, sporting some Hive-y body parts? Anyone would be a little suspicious, especially considering the track record of Hive-touched Guardians.  Azra wished Ikora or Cayde had told her about this beforehand.  Did they expect her to pick up on something they couldn’t?

Screw that, she decided.  Screw tests. Eris Morn stood steady, but there was no Ghost over her shoulder and the bandages around her eyes wept black oil like tears.  Azra knew what it was like to come back a changed person.  If the Consensus wanted scrutiny, she wasn’t going to give it.

Azra spoke the truth she wanted to.  “I know we weren’t really even friends, but it’s good to see you alive. This… it’s rough.  I know what it’s like.  If you need anything…”  She was awkward, the tension of the situation robbing her of her feigned ease.  What could she even say?

Eris obviously hadn’t expected a stilted platitude.  She cast a glance sideways at the Speaker, questioning.  “I am afraid to say I am confused.”  Of course- she wouldn’t know why Azra was here.  She had no context.  They’d just called up a random old acquaintance and they’d started rambling.

Azra sighed.  “They called me ‘cause this isn’t the first time a Guardian’s shown up out of the black after decades.”  She crossed her arms self-consciously.  It had only been thirteen whole months, but it hadn’t gotten easier to talk about.  “I didn’t get stuck in the Hellmouth, but I was… trapped, kinda, in the Vault of Glass.  It wasn’t…”  How to explain?  “I guess to say I was there a long time is a lie.  To say I was there a short time is a bigger one.”

She shook off the uncomfortable nostalgia and turned her focus back to the task at hand.  “But I know what it’s like, being alone in the Dark for so long. And I saw the horror at Mare Ibrium.”

“Perhaps you do,” Eris said.  “You echo like water blind in the night.”

“And you stink like a Hive Wizard.  Like them brittle half-rotten leaves you find in caves when the rain washes them in,” Azra replied.  She peered at the other Hunter with narrowed eyes, leaning more on her Lightsense than her sight.  Yes, the sense of dry rot, yes, bone shards and dust, but underneath it, still… oiled canvas, chamomile tea, that electric moment when you slip and your feet lose purchase and suddenly out of nowhere you’re in freefall- “But you still feel like Eris,” Azra concluded.

“You sense it, too?” Eris said.  “Curious, that we both find ourselves so adept.”

“I think Guardians who spend a lot of time in Dark places get more adept with their Lightsense,” Azra supplied.  “And I spent, well…” Again she ran into that impassible, undefinable wall.  How long had she been in the Vault?  How could she define the shape of it?

“Not a long time, but certainly not a short one?” Eris guessed.

“Forever,” Azra said.  “I guess I was in there for just about forever.”

“I suppose there is no use keeping it a secret,” Ikora Rey interjected.  “Mz. Jax was indeed called in to help determine if you would be a threat to the City.”  She looked pointedly at Azra.

The Arcstrider shrugged.  “Wouldn’t the Praxics be a better authority on this than me?”

The Speaker finally spoke.  “The Praxic order is always looking for threats.  They would find one anywhere.  On this matter, we need to see with clearer eyes.”

“I trust her,” Azra stated, without hesitance or doubt.  “Yeah, so she’s different than she used to be.  But nobody is ever the same as they used to be.”  She took another moment to glance at the other Hunter, but…  “If she’s hiding something, it’s nothing that I can sense.”

“That is enough for me,” Ikora said.  “Welcome home, Eris.”  Her eyes held a warm twinkle- she’d known this would happen, that Azra would come and throw her lot in with Eris.  Azra had sway now with the higher-ups, with her victory in the Vault and her continued dedication to the Vanguard.  She was the perfect person to absolve Eris Morn of suspicion.

It was still underhanded.  Azra decided she had no more time for all this testing.  She took a step forward and stuck out a hand.  “You have any questions, you need help, or an advocate, you come to me,” she ordered.  “The future is a confusing place.  You don’t need to walk it alone.”

“You are different than I remember,” Eris mused.  She reached out her own hand and they shook. Eris’s grip was wiry and strong.

“I’ve seen a lot of things, Eris,” Azra said.  “I’ve been through a lot, but here I stand on the other side.  And now here you do, too.”  A miracle, practically.  That they had both known terror and loneliness, and yet they were both still here to feel the sunlight.

“Perhaps…” Eris said.  “It has been so long…”

“Bibimbap,” Azra decided.  “And a hot shower.  And you’re welcome to crash in the Crew’s room-“

“Hey,” Cayde protested.  “That’s my bed you’re giving away.”

“Go sleep in your office, then,” Azra scolded.  “The woman hasn’t seen a pillow in seven decades.”

“Let us start with the Bibimbap,” Eris interjected.  “And we will see where the path leads from there.”

AO3 Linky!

[reddeadreference]

Saint Denis Times No. 53

-Click here to return to the index for Newspapers-

This issue is available after completion of the mission: The Wheel

(All article transcripts below the cut)

Articles marked with * are exclusive to this region’s issue.

Articles marked with ** are only there upon completion of the related mission.

Panic of 1907

STOCK MARKET CRASHES. EXCHANGE IN FREEFALL. ECONOMY ON EDGE.

Traders and economists are reeling after the stock market continued to collapse this week. Those in banking circles say we are witnessing the largest evaporation in wealth ever recorded. Cries of anguish were heard on the streets of lower Manhattan as the stock exchange continued to erupt into a frenzy and bankers rushed to find some way to subdue the panic.

Some speculate the panic on Wall Street was made to order by big capitalists in order to depress values and allow them to reap a rich harvest when the rise returns. However, some have claimed it foolishness that a banker would will a panic, likening it to a farmer wishing for a drought or a sailor praying for a typhoon. The banker, despite being opulent in wealth, thrives from stability.

Bankruptcy claims are being filed by the dozens of large institutions, however, as New York banks are protecting the situation by holding money out of circulation. Congress has already promised to investigate these national banks and review their conduct, though no charges are expected.

Pump Jacks Sit Silent

NO OIL FOUND AT WAPITI. INVESTORS ALLEGE FRAUD.

The oil reserves discovered on land near the Wapiti Indian Reservation in 1899 have turned up dry, and all drilling operations have ceased and packed up. There were high hopes for the location following a detailed explanation by the Leland Oil Development Company on behalf of Cornwall Kerosene & Tar, and a number of petroleum outfits have sought to develop it into a well-paying field.

Workers flocked to the area in anticipation of jobs that would pay as much as 22 cents an hour. Companies sank well after well, coming up empty with only a miniscule amount of oil being found, not enough to keep operations running. The tribe at the reservation went on the run after a series of attacks on the army, culminating in a bloody battle at the Cornwall Kerosene & Tar factory around the time news of the oil discovery became known.

Many members of the tribe were gunned down in Wyoming, but a few members are believed to have escaped into Canada. It is unknown what will happen to the Indian Reservation land moving forward as there are no Indians in the area to relocate there currently.

Small Farms Disappearing

SWALLOWED BY LARGE CATTLE INTERESTS. LARAMIE CORP OFFERING BUYOUTS.

A sense of unease and uncertainty has arisen among landowners as a wave of real estate speculation is sweeping through cow country and large cattle outfits are offering large sums for small ranches. Headed by Abel Atherton, the Cattle Association seems intent on remaking the West, having recently acquired Hanging Dog Ranch and a considerable number of acres around Strawberry.

Property agents from The Laramie Corporation are visiting small farm owners offering large sums under their new economic model. While opponents say a way of life is perishing, others argue that America is a country of progress and those clinging to the homesteader ideal are firmly stuck in the past. Scale, they say, will always win out.

President Waxman Hails Progress, Discusses Canal

IMMIGRANTS FLOODING ELLIS ISLAND. 1.1 MILLION EXPECTED THIS YEAR. ALSO DISCUSSES BUILDING PANAMA CANAL.

Speaking to a packed crowd in New York, President Thaddeus Waxman announced that this year is set to see the largest number of immigrants ever recorded passing through Ellis Island. The promise of this great land is known far and wide, he said, and over a million immigrants are expected to arrive in New York in 1907, greatly eclipsing previous years. The President also announced that Col. William Thomas Kirchner would be the chief engineer of the Panama Canal project, one of the largest construction projects in memory.

The project was taken over by the United States from France three years ago amongst high worker mortality rates. It is thought that the American tradition of hard work and architecture superior to that of the French will allow the grand project to be completed on time and below budget.

It has been one of the President's main initiatives since he took office after President Macalister's assassination. When asked about the large number of people coming to America, Waxman said all immigrants should be required within five years to learn English or leave the country.

Romance Novel Proves Best Seller

OVERNIGHT SUCCESS. AUTHOR LESLIE DUPONT'S FOURTH TOME PROVING VERY SUCCESSFUL.

The thrilling romance novel "Lady of the Manor", published under the pen name Leslie Dupont, is difficult to find in bookshops, owing to its massive popularity, especially among young girls and the elderly. Her novels have arguably been read by more people than anything that has been produced by any contemporary writer, although critics dislike her work enormously.

Miss Dupont's books are lurid and steamy and weave tales of licentiousness and thievery, love and deceit, murder and mayhem, lust and despair. It is claimed many of her tales are from the author's torrid past, although Miss Dupont has never herself commented. It has been alleged that she once consorted with outlaws and gunslingers on the frontier. She has always been unwilling to corroborate these rumors.

Bounties Beware

LANGTON IS HOT ON THE TRAIL.

From the words of those he's chased down, James Langton is relentless, cunning and fearless. Known for his sizeable frame and ten gallon hat, the bounty hunter from New Austin is the best in the country, running down outlaws and flushing out bandits. With a small army now working for him, law enforcement are happy to hand over their dirty work to Langton and his crew.

He captured the Dillard Brothers with the help of a pair of twin prostitutes. He killed Cecile Montgomery while he sat trapped on the commode. Sheriffs say, "Crooks beware, Langton is coming after you."

Man's Tropical Enemy

GERMS OF LAZINESS. HOOKWORM PLAGUES WARMER CLIMES.

For many years, the lethargy of residents in the South was thought to be due to the "germ of laziness." It is now known that the anemia that plagues warmer climes of the United States is the direct result of a parasite that lives in the gut known as hookworm. A major outbreak occurred in 1902 in Cornish mines, and in the coal mines of France, Germany, and Belgium the affliction is quite common. The worm is half an inch long and its mouth armed with teeth.

They attach by the thousands to the inside of the intestines, sucking blood, moving from place to place and leaving bleeding wounds subject to infection. As to how the affliction takes place, there is by no means unanimity of opinion by medical men. Some think it to occur by penetration of the skin on dirt floors or fouled drinking water. The malady is especially a scourge to residents of the Philippines and Puerto Rico whose residents' health and welfare we are now responsible for.

Radio Miracle

MUSIC TRANSMITTED THROUGH THE AIR. SHIPS RECEIVE BROADCAST.

Written dispatches from the coast of Massachusetts report a novel experiment transpired recently. Using an experimental alternator-transmitter at Brant Rock, technicians broadcast radio signals carrying the music from a phonograph record of Handel.

The transmission was intended for shipboard radio operators at sea, especially the Navy, who have taken to the new technology for daily transmissions of time signals and weather reports via Morse Code. The scientists working on the radio experiment hail it as a new dawn in entertainment and foresee a day where bible devotionals and hymns are transmitted into the home for families to enjoy.

A Rotting Jewel

FORGOTTEN, FORLORN LAKAY

Lakay was a bustling settlement teeming with fish, wildlife, and people who came to make a life there. Today it sits abandoned since the massive shootout between outlaws and Pinkertons in 1899. Located in the swamps of Bayou Nwa, North of Saint Denis, the site was used as a gang hideout in the past. Locals are said to avoid Lakay entirely, saying that it is under some voodoo curse and that any who enter are plagued with bad luck and disease.

Voodoo dances were said to occur there, a heathenish mode of worship where fanatics wail and perform rituals often involving blood and animals.

New Railroad Completed

A GRAND PROJECT OUR MANIFEST DESTINY

The final ties were laid and spikes driven through to complete the Central Union rail line stretching through New Hanover. Passengers will be able to bypass the Grizzlies, Rhodes, and Scarlett Meadows, drastically reducing travel time. Now with a direct line connecting Cornwall Kerosene and Tar and Saint Denis, freight and commuters will flow fast and freely.

The project came with complications, including controversy over missing workers' wages and a land dispute. Representatives from towns such as Van Horn Trading Post and Annesburg say the new line will result in the decline of their towns. Civic planners hail the railroad as a new dawning day in American progress and history.

The Art of Angling by Jeremy Gill

REDFIN PICKEREL.

When not entertaining heads of state with the joyful pastime of fishing, 1 traipse into backwoods "cricks" and “hollers” where I meet the most delightful, simple folk who imbibe strong local spirits and gush about Redfin Pickerel. These uncouth semi-savages claim it to be the best eating fish you can find, and for that matter, the easiest to catch. They are feisty little predators that will attack a piece of cheese, and as one old-timer showed me, a piece of red cloth.

He'd dip it into the crick, the fish would bite and he'd sling it up onto the bank with a toothless laugh. Happy fishing, for those of you with and without a full complement of teeth.

[lnsfawwi]

[hossi] behind the mask

ship: hossi(but actually it's all about Aaron)

summary: who was he if not hotch?

English is not my first language so please bear with me

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He learned long ago not to complain about his life. He’s got it all, money, name, what was there to whine about? So he swallowed every cold dinner, hid every bit of the bruises and wounds, blinked backed every drop of tear, and endured all that “perfect life” threw at him and never uttered a word. When people started to call him “Hotch,” he didn’t protest. It had one syllable, easy to pronounce, easy to remember. He learned to accept it as a part of his life like many other things. Still it felt strange whenever he introduced himself as “Hotch.” It felt like another person, a person who was unflappable, almost impassive so emotions wouldn’t get in the way, yet still passionate enough to charm the jury. It wasn’t HIM. He got frustrated when he couldn’t find a breakthrough to crack a case, he made mistakes, more importantly, his heart bled every time he looked at yet another victim and their loved ones. But vulnerability wasn’t allowed, he kept those to himself so Hotch could appear invincible. After all, he was quite good at hiding. As time went by, Hotch grew stronger and stronger. Since he was always working, he was always Hotch, even at a bar, when his colleagues were drunk and emancipated, Hotch had only one glass of scotch and made sure everybody got home safely. Those people whom he considered friends only knew him as Hotch. The worst part of it was, he wasn’t sure who he was if not Hotch. For years he thought it was nothing. People hid behind masks all the time, it was primal, natural. Who’s to say it wasn’t your true self if that was how you present yourself all the time? He was reticent about the void between him and Hotch. It was never a problem, his life so far had been one of success, the house of card of his had yet met a draught. What was there to whine about? When his brain finally caught up with the event, he realized, it was never meant to be a draught. It was a storm. A catastrophe ready to send everything spiraling, sweep everything away and swamp the earth. Yet nothing happened, nothing could happen for there was nothing but a bottomless void. The dead pale eyes of the unsub stared into his. Empty. Empty. Empty. The gun barrel was uncomfortably warm against his palm. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. The pouring raindrops kept freefalling. He was freefalling. Down. Down. Down. “Hotch?” a voice called. Male. Down. “Hotch?” It was that voice again. Sounded concerned. Down. “Can you hear me, Hotch?” East coast accent. Familiar. Down. “Aaron.” He tried, like a baby learning his first word, his voice not so much as voice but rather a huff of air, scratchy and inaudible, so he tried again, “I’m Aaron.” Silence. And then, “Aaron.” The storm. The howling tempest landed, wrecking havoc. The waves was flooding inside of him, hitting the walls of his being, rocking the barricade that held his persona intact. He was drowning. He was suffocating. He was alive. The flood rushing out through his eyes. For the first time the unassailable mask of Hotch was destroyed. He needn’t hide no more. A warm embrace encircled his trembling body. Touch - the only way to assure one’s existence. Aaron held on tighter and was reciprocated. “Aaron.” like an incantation, like a mantra. “Aaron.” Finally, the sun shined over the surface. Devastatingly beautiful.

[scintillating-galaxias]

dream

this story is about freefall and overkill, two neutral bounty hunters who needed to make a living during the war while simultaneously not being forced apart through the various means of either ‘side.’ they aren’t the best at their job, and it was tough scraping enough together, but some weeks after they finally manage it, the two bump into an old friend of theirs, who was thought to have perished in the bombing that destroyed old gygax...

(@exchangeyourexperience so i heard you liked adina writing,, i dug up and polished an older piece for you, though it’s more centered around a couple other ocs of mine. still, adina plays a large part, and i feel it does a good job at summarizing the sort of effect she has on people :,)) (also oh No the tag broke, sorry if you see this twice ;0;)

3.7k, OC / OC, rough take on an idw continuity.

x

“Babe!” Freefall hollered. “Come check this out!���

Overkill glanced up from the holoboard advertising a new sweets shop that had opened up a couple blocks down to the sight of Freefall waving her arm unnecessarily enthusiastically—she was taller than a majority of the startled mechs around her, Overkill could see her just fine, seriously—and pointed at a quaint little building. She wandered over, taking Freefall’s hand in hers. And then she blinked when she saw what was sitting pretty in the display window.

“Conjunx ritus designs?” she said, slightly incredulous. Then she grinned. “Aw, Freefall, are you trying to tell me something?”

The blue of Freefall’s visor deepened into a familiar, embarrassed hue. “I—No, I wasn’t trying to—C’mooon, that’s not fair, I just wanted to show you it! You already know I wanna make you my conjunx. My connie. My wittle junxy-wunxy—”

“That’s enough out of you,” Overkill said, dutifully ignoring the pinkening of her own white faceplates. Freefall merely laughed. “Slagger,” she muttered fondly.

“I just wanna look inside,” Freefall continued after a very mature appearance of her tongue from her mouth. “Y’know, to consider our options. I’m not proposing right now or anything, I wouldn’t surprise you like that—.”

“I know, I know, I was messing with you. You just want to be ready when the time’s finally right.”

Freefall huffed a puff of steam from her vents. “Damn right I do! We’re gonna have a slagging great ritus, and we’re gonna have it done right.” She dropped a firm kiss on her crown and started tugging her towards the entryway, opening the door and dramatically sweeping her arm to gesture for her to pass first. Overkill chuffed with a smile and did so, Freefall quickly following her in.

A quiet chime gently played overhead as the doors slid shut behind them. The inside was just as picturesque as the outside, with its tasteful decorations and its light creams and pastel pinks. Overkill almost felt like she should apologize to the receptionist and step out to take a quick shower at the least. A little bit off from the small lobby was a much larger open, round room. Stuck to the walls were dozens of samples of metal plates etched and painted with a variety of intricate designs and colors. They were organized into neat columns by city, and there were five tiers of them from what Overkill could see to account for mechs of different heights.

Overkill and Freefall looped their arms together again and stepped in further. The receptionist, a small mech with a teal and gold-accented paint job, glanced up from a small stack of datapad on the desk.

“Hello,” he said warmly. “Do you have an appointment with us today?”

“Nah, we’re just checking it out for now,” said Freefall. The clerk nodded politely.

“Of course, go ahead. I’m sure you’ll find something you enjoy. If you have any questions, the artist of these lovely pieces will be out shortly.”

“Alright, thank you.”

Wings twitching excitedly, Freefall strode for the round room, visor glittering away as she made a beeline for the section of wall dedicated to Simfur. Overkill followed a bit more slowly, taking in

“Oh, wow, look at these!” Freefall whispered in her best mockery of ‘quiet.’ “You’d look amazing in this!”

“You think so?” Overkill murmured, smoothing a hand down Freefall’s back to keep her fluttering wings from clocking an attendant over the head.

“Frag yeah! The gold’s like… I dunno, it just works with you! Gold ‘nd pink look good, gold nd’ brown, and white, it all looks good!”

A pleased flush darkened Overkill’s cheeks. But as she went to answer, a soft, warm voice called from behind her, “Hello there!”

Overkill paused. A memory flickered in the back of her processor, an old light that sputtered with age. Frowning, she turned around to the plod of heavy footsteps approaching from behind her. “Are you two lovelies finding anything you like…” The mech, a massive rose-gold tank, stopped in her tracks. Then her eyes spiraled out to the size of dinner plates. “Freefall? Overkill?”

“‘Dina?” Overkill gasped.

Adina squealed and threw her arms open. Overkill only barely managed to stop herself from leaping straight into her—she noticed the cane looped over her wrist at the last second and instead rushed straight into Adina’s waist.

“I thought you were dead!” she whisper-shrieked, clinging to Adina with everything she had. “Gygax—I didn’t know if—” Adina sank carefully to her knees and shifted Overkill over to pull her tight against her thick neck. Overkill shrilled delightedly, burrowing her face in to hide her tears.

“Starlight, am I dreaming? Starlight, are you real?”

“Yes, oh my God—!”

“You would’ve slapped me silly, I couldn’t stop crying—Oh, who am I kidding, I still cried for ages afterward—”

Adina sniffled, and then clung to Overkill all over again. Wave after wave of pure relief and joy washed over her, doubled by Freefall’s own bewildered, overjoyed blubbering. Adina hurriedly shifted Overkill to her other arm then, before leaning forward to wrap the other tightly around Freefall.

“I haven’t forgotten you, Freefall, sweetspark, my goodness, it’s so good to see you!”

“We wanted to come look for ya,” Freefall explained shakily as she looped her arms around Adina’s waist and buried her face into Adina’s chest so closely, it was as though she were trying to hide beneath her pink armor. “We really did, ‘Dina, but all we cared about after Gygax blew was getting the hell out of dodge. By the time we even remembered everyone else—you, Tango’s crew, you know—we were already getting trained up by the Autobots. We didn’t even know where to start looking.”

“I don’t blame you one bit,” murmured Adina, bumping her cheek against the top of Freefall’s head and giving her a tiny kiss on the crown of her head. God, Adina’s hugs were just as heavenly as ever, just the perfect amount of squish and closeness without it being suffocating, and there was her hand cupping the back of Overkill’s head, pressing her close. They stayed like that for a long few moments, whispering and clutching each other as though they might vanish if they did not.

Primus, was this a dream? But, Adina’s armor did not pass through her fingers, she did not awaken clung tightly to Freefall—

Thank you, she thought mindlessly to whatever stupid thing above them sat back with its ridiculous opera glasses to watch the shitshow fly, thank you for sparing her, too.

Eventually, Adina shuddered in another breath before patting them both “Come, come. We must catch up. I don’t have any appointments until this evening, so we won’t be interrupted. Though—ah—my spark certainly isn’t what it used to be, so I can’t be up late.”

Adina’s earlier desperate question echoed as Overkill and Freefall got to their feet. Was this a dream? Watching the slow sway and drift of her gauzy shawl fluttering behind her, the steady and slow way she seemed to glide through the halls with her cane regally and dutifully at her side. Overkill’s visor furrowed in thought as Adina swept the two of them behind a small curtain to go to her office. It could have almost been chalked up to memory’s error. The Adina she knew two million years ago moved with springs in her feet, animated gestures, bubbling smiles. While grace suited Adina as perfectly as her paint, Overkill had to wonder—What happened?

Adina tapped in a short code to a door on the right and motioned them inside her office. Quaintly decorated in light colors like the rest of the place, cozily filled with organic plants and a variety of art pieces. A series of tablets with schedules and what appeared to be commissions lay neatly stacked on her desk. She gestured to a couple of comfortable-looking chairs before reaching behind her desk and pulling the chair behind it around to the front.

“I’ll get us some drinks,” she said with a sunny smile as she opened a cabinet in the wall and pulled down a jar of shiny silver metal. “Freefall, do you still like zinc flakes?”

“Aw, you remember!” Freefall said jovially.

Adina chuckled. “Of course,” she said. “You regularly poured three containers of zinc into your energon because you liked the way it ‘thickened it up.’ How could I forget that?”

Overkill feigned a gag. “I wish I could forget about it. She still does it.”

“Aw, you love it.”

“And you, Overkill, still a fan of Siebenaler?”

“You have that here?” she gasped, transgressions against Freefall immediately forgotten. “I haven’t been able to get my hands on any in eons!”

“It was a gift from one of my clients. Odd one, that one is,” Adina mused.

“Oh?” Overkill curled her fists under her chin with a coy smile. “Someone holds you in high regard if they’re willing to go out of the way for it.”

Adina laughed again, but it took a noticeably bitter note—sharp, compared to her usual sweet timbre. The warm, bubbling pool of her field rapidly cooled. “It’s nothing like that,” she said, meeting neither of their gazes as she poured their drinks. “I’m not seeking out anyone at the moment, anyway.”

Freefall grunted. “Where’s Bravo anyway? I haven’t seen him around.”

Crunch.

The pieces of the cube in Adina’s hands tinkled to the ground. Dread twisted Overkill’s tubes into a crumpled scrap ball. Not Adina. Anyone but Adina.

“Oh,” said Freefall, shoulders hunching. “I’m… Sorry, I didn’t realize. Erm.”

“You’re forgiven. You didn’t know,” Adina murmured as she rapidly shuttered her eyes. She gently set down her bottle of energon. “He… We didn’t break our bond or anything. Primus, no. I love him more than I love life itself. He was killed during the siege. A Decepticon recruiter tried to coerce us into joining, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter who did it, does it?” She burst out a shivery vent. “I couldn’t protect him. I tried to, I really did, but I—I failed.” She thumbed some spot over her chest, and the grip on her cane grew tighter. “I paid quite the price.”

Overkill scooted over and leaned her body against Adina’s arm, while Freefall tucked herself up against Adina’s other side. Adina fell silent, and they sat there for a long few moments, waiting for the cold to thaw just the slightest before speaking again.

“I don’t think he’d blame you,” Overkill said softly. Blame was a very difficult concept to grasp these days. It wore a variety of names and could switch forms at the same time it took a spark to pulse. But with her? With Adina? Blame could never take her soft, rosen chassis.

Freefall hummed. “Yeah. I’m real sorry, ‘Dina.”

“It’s… Not fine, of course, I miss him every day, but”—Adina straightened and handed them both their drinks—“I can’t keep identifying with his passing.”

“You’re a strong mech,” said Overkill. “You’ll figure out how to carry that weight someday.”

“Thank you.” Adina wiped her eyes and let a short huff. They sat there quietly for a few more moments until Adina drew in a wobbly breath. “Today’s meant to be a happy day,” she said, shaking her head with a roll of her shoulders. “You’re here! We have plenty of time to mourn him properly another time. I’d first like a chance to be nosy, if you’ll grant me it.”

“Go for it,” Freefall said into her cube as she threw her head back to swallow it down.

Adina neatly slid a coaster beneath Freefall’s cube a second before it made contact with her table. “You two came in here together, of course,” she prompted. Overkill ducked her head and smiled into her glass.

Freefall smacked her lips. “Yeup.”

“And you were looking at my conjunx ritus etchings?” Her cannon was slowly rising up out of her backpack again to peep over her head like a nosy neighbor craning their head over the fence. So she still hadn’t chased away that particular giveaway to her poker-face. Cute.

“Those’re yours? Hot damn. Anyway, uh, yeah, we were.”

Adina’s watery gaze turned wide. “Does that mean you two…?”

“Hitched our trailers and hit the road?” Freefall snorted. “Naw, not yet. But soon.”

“I mean this in the kindest, most loving way possible, but—” Adina politely laced her hands together and gave them both a strained smile. “It’s been millions of years! How have you two still managed to avoid the question?”

“We were going to before the war,” explained Overkill as she took a far more modest sip from her glass. The Siebenaler sat perfectly glossy on her tongue, just the right mix of tangy and sweet. It’s like she was backstage accepting free handouts all over again. “Mm, that’s good,” she muttered, lifting the cube to peer approvingly at the liquid swirling within. “Anyway, obviously we didn’t get around to it in time, and neither of us wanted to have a super private, low-budget event in the middle of the war. But we do really want something special to celebrate when we can put down our guns for good. So we decided to wait until the war was finally done before getting around to anything.”

“I admire your patience,” said Adina. “I suppose you two ended up staying with the Autobots, then?”

“Nah, we’re neutral now. We just”—Overkill kicked her in the shin—“Ow! Um. Filled in for either side. Sometimes. But we’re done with that too, now.”

Adina’s gaze narrowed. Overkill took a long draw from her cube.

“We’ve all had to do things we’d rather not do,” she said. Her tone never changed from that slow, steady sweetness, but Overkill couldn’t help the guilty worms squirming in her fuel tank. Adina… sounded like she knew, somehow. How dirty they’d gotten their hands. And now here they were, tracking their mud and filth into her quiet, clean space. They weren’t fit for the presence of someone like Adina anymore. “But I digress. You’re keeping busy in the meantime?”

“Traveling, mostly,” said Overkill, leaping on the conversation change like a scraplet to a dying mech. The air slowly cleared as they chatted, from that awful, dense brine to something light and airy. Soon, it was like they hadn’t even spent the last couple million years apart. God, she’s missed this. Neither her nor Freefall had a lot of close friends due to the nature of their work, and that meant they saw a whole lot of each other. That was fine, of course, but it didn’t stop being able to talk to new people in new ways from being any less refreshing.

So she sat back and soaked it in, swirling her cube and listening to the sound of Adina’s breathy laugh as Freefall recounted one of the more bizarre things they’d seen off-planet. Adina had been a sculptor before everything went to the Pits. She’d never stopped creating, but after her injury, labor and standing for days on end like that simply wasn’t possible anymore. So she’d turned to smaller works—her conjunx ritus designs. And on top of that, to Overkill’s surprise, massage work.

“There’s enough discomfort and misery going around,” explained Adina. “I might as well find some way to lighten that load, however little or temporary. Besides, you know I like working with my hands. It seemed reasonable to me.”

Hours slipped by like that, passing stories around the same one does a cup of energon, until a ping from Adina’s computer had her standing up out of surprise.

“My, I hadn’t realized how much time had passed,” she said with a frown. “I hate to cut this short, but I’m afraid I simply cannot keep my energy up as long as I used to.”

“It’s no problem,” said Overkill as she and Freefall stood. “Don’t worry about it, we can hang out some other time. Grab a bite or something.”

“I’d like that. I’m not scheduled for anything in a couple of days, so. I suppose your comm-line changed? I couldn’t reach you when I first tried.”

“Yeah, we had to change ours a few times. I’ll just send our new ones over.” She does so, and it brings her an absolutely bizarre amount of joy to see that read receipt under Adina’s designation again. She’d tried before, but given up after hundreds of tries. Adina wouldn’t have been able to respond if she was in a coma, of course, but how was she supposed to know? “So we’ll be seeing you around?” “Absolutely!” Adina swept them both into another hug. “Ohh, it was so good to see you both again! Stay safe out there, won’t you?” “No promises,” chortled Freefall. Adina pursed her lips. “Alright, alright. Promise we’ll try.”

“Thank you.” Adina released them and followed them towards the door, where she leaned out as the pair of them made their way back down the hall. “Come back anytime! Friends and family get a discount,” she added with a twinkle in her golden eyes. “You’re considered both.” “Shucks,” said Freefall, bashful.

“We’ll take you up on that,” Overkill called over her shoulder as she looped her arm through Freefall’s. “See ya around!”

“Tah tah, my dears!”

Freefall shimmied a little as they walked back out of the parlor, bell chiming cheerily behind them. “‘My dears.’ I like it when she calls me that. It feels nice.”

“Me, too.” Overkill sighed and bumped her head against Freefall’s arm. “Primus. I’m just—I’m glad she made it.”

“Same,” murmured Freefall. “‘S nice to know at least someone made it.”

Overkill glanced up at Freefall’s souring face. “Thinking about your team again?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah. Now that I know she’s—well, not okay, but alive, all it does is make me wonder evenmore. I just… I hate not knowing.”

“I know, babe. Maybe once we’re settled down, we can try getting some leads on them.”

Freefall’s jaw tightened. “I—I thought about that. Still am, thinking about that, to be honest, but I don’t… I don’t want to wreck what we finally have. It took so long. And I know I’m probably not gonna like what I find.”

Overkill worried her lip. She knew, of course, what Freefall meant. Millions of years of scraping together what they had, having bank accounts randomly closed, emergency visits to the medics, accidents, the horrific inflation of the average Cybertronian credit to just about everywhere else in the galaxy—saving up for a home had nearly killed them both. But…

 “You need the closure. And it’s not a bounty we’re collecting. It won’t be half as dangerous. Now that the war’s done, there’s been a ton of time to get the names and a headcount of everyone who died.” She nudged her shoulder. “And given how anal Panzer is about getting his labels in place,” she added, “it’s happening fast. I bet we’ll barely even have to head off-planet. We’ll just be breaking our backs over in an archive for days on end.”

That got a short laugh out of her. “I guess.”

“Freefall.”

Freefall’s wings sank in a silent sigh. She faced Freefall with a sad, restrained hope swimming in her gaze. “…You’re sure?”

“Of course. You deserve to know what happened to them so you can either celebrate, or grieve, properly. You can’t stay in limbo forever.”

Finally, Freefall broke into a broad grin. “I love you so damn much,” she said, yanking Overkill into a tight hug and planting a kiss firmly on her head. “I got dinner tonight. We’ll get lunch with ‘Dina, get settled in and then… I guess we head out again.”

“We never were very good at staying in one place,” Overkill smiled. “Adina’s right though. “We really need to get a move on.”

“Think she’ll do our ritus designs for us?”

“Well, now that I know she’s around and in the business, I don’t want anyone else.”

“Same. They were damn gorgeous. When d’ya think she picked those up?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m glad we’re in agreement.” Overkill leaned her head back to let the light of New Gygax touch her smile. “Let’s get home.”

“Home,” Freefall hummed. “Haven’t been able to use that word in a minute now.”

“And it’s all ours to use.” Overkill kissed Freefall on the cheek and laced her arm through hers. “Let’s not wear it out. Shall we?”

“We shall,” said Freefall. “We shall.”