#den map hours...

[counterfeitphantoms]

:]

[suswous]

Lesson learned: when you’re not super familiar with a bus route, make sure you take all available time to figure out where you go.

[yandereonepieceimagines]

You brought me on an idea with a little bit of a crack/funny scene with the baby 5 ask xD What about the reader, stumbling into those Den Den Mushi moments, where it rings? Here is at least one moment that I think about:

Crocodile who tries to reach Mr.3, but is met with the reader exploring Little Garden, and is the one who stumbled on the wax house instead of Sanji. Bonus if she instantly has beef with him.

But can you do something similar with Doflamingo, King and… Akainu too, maybe? Really like how you seem to imagine our magma man to be like as a yandere!

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Omg even Akainu! xD That makes me happy! This one was tough, but I gave it my best shot! I actually picture the reader being pretty strong. Definitely tougher than most of the infamous pirates from the Grand Line and beyond. But compared to the true heavy hitters of the New World, she’s still a bit below average. So honestly, she either doesn’t realize what she’s getting herself into or she just doesn’t care.

Crocodile, though, is an exception. Unlike most characters, I genuinely feel he was introduced way too early in the series and Luffy was rocking some serious plot armor to pull off that ultimate win. In my mind, Crocodile is still stronger than the reader. I always try to let that show whenever I’m writing scenes with him.

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Donquixote Doflamingo

The trees of the island bled red and gold. Their leaves rustling like paper caught in wind. It was always autumn here. Perpetual twilight, where the sky stretched heavy with bronze clouds and the ground was layered in thick, crunchy carpets of fallen foliage. You had landed only hours ago. Your small but dependable ship anchored in a quiet inlet where no marine nor pirate eyes would pry. The island wasn’t charted on most maps, but you weren’t most travelers.

You weren’t searching for anything in particular. Sometimes, the Grand Line simply offered places that drew you in like a whispered dare. And so... With your satchel strapped and weapon sheathed, you had wandered into the woods until you found it.

A log cabin, old but sturdy, tucked beneath the boughs of a crooked sycamore. Moss crept up the sides, and its windows reflected the orange canopy above. No smoke in the chimney. No footprints around. But the door had been left ajar, as if someone left in a hurry.

You pushed inside.

It was quiet. Functional. Whoever lived here had cleared out in haste. Half-eaten rations still on the counter, a coat flung across a chair and a Den Den Mushi blinking silently in a wooden bowl.

You turned around to leave, but then it rang. "Pururururu."

The snail jerked further to life, its face twitching into a grin far too amused for the stillness of the room. The sudden noise startled you. Not because it was loud, but because it felt so out of place in the quiet gloom of the cabin. Like the room itself had been waiting for that moment.

You stared. The Den Den Mushi’s features animated as if it already knew something you didn’t. Its little eyestalks twitched in your direction, looking at you.

Then, with a faint frown, you picked it up.

"Hello? Owner of this Den Den Mushi isn't here right now."

"Well, well," came a smooth, languid voice on the other end, practically dripping with theatrical charm. "And who might you be, hm? I didn’t know we’d upgraded from grunts to goddesses."

You blinked, confused. The line was unusually clear. His voice had that honeyed tone that suggested he was far too used to being listened to.

Then you sighed.

"Alright? Anyhow... Whoever this is, your person is not here. And neither am I, for long."

A pause followed. Long enough that you almost set the transmitter down again.

Then a short laugh. "Oho? You’re not going to play along? And here I thought I was being charming."

"You're not," you replied dryly. "You sound like a man who talks too much and listens too little."

Another beat of silence followed, but it felt heavier now. Charged. As if he hadn’t expected to be dismissed so quickly. You imagined him leaning forward, just slightly, intrigued by your disinterest.

"Now, now, don’t be so cruel," the voice said again, the velvet edge thinning, revealing something less polished beneath. "At least tell me your name. Surely that’s not too much to ask?"

"No," you said again, sharper this time.

"Oh? Then maybe just a hint?"

"…Still no."

A pause. It lingered longer this time. Then he let out a low chuckle, but there was a new note to it. Something colder and more deliberate.

"You know, people don’t usually trouble me like this. It’s bad manners."

"Then consider this an education," you muttered.

And with a tired breath, your patience gone and your interest long since vanished, you clicked the line shut.

Unceremoniously. And completely unmoved.

Far away, in the lavish interior of a certain sky-lit palace where the sun's beams fell across velvet furniture, a tall figure lounged in a throne-like chair. Doflamingo stared at the now-silent Den Den Mushi. The curve of his lips still twisted in a smile, but his eyes from behind his distinct sunglasses had narrowed. There was a stillness in the room. A coiled quiet that belied the tension blooming behind that smirk.

He tilted his head back before letting out a small chuckle that echoed like shattered glass through the vaulted space. he is far too delighted for someone who had just been so thoroughly dismissed. But the sound was hollow, yet razor-edged. Amused, yes, but in that way predators are amused when prey shows unexpected teeth.

‘So that’s how you want to play it...’

He ran a tanned finger along the Den Den Mushi's now dormant shell, as if expecting it to wake up again with your voice, to apologize, to beg. His grin remained, but it no longer touched the sharpness in the rest of his features. The mood in the room shifted, the temperature cooled by calculation.

You had no idea who you were speaking to. No fear. No reverence. Just irritation and the gall to hang up on him.

Amusing. Unforgivable.

He laced his fingers beneath his chin, elbow resting comfortably on the arm of his chair as the lenses of his glasses flashed gold beneath the sunbeams. The wheels were turning. Names. Faces. Locations. You had become a question that needed answering, and once answered, a piece he would yet decide how to keep.

King the Wildfire

The air was brittle and sharp. Each breath you took cutting into your lungs like tiny knives. Snow fell in soft sheets, almost too delicate for the world it blanketed. You had landed your ship; small, frost-lined, and slightly worn by travel, on the edge of a cliffside inlet. It was the kind of winter island only the bold or the desperate would approach, hidden deep in the New World, far off any trade route or charted log pose.

You’d come here for solitude. Maybe to resupply. Maybe to breathe. Even in the New World, there were moments when the silence of the snow could drown out the madness of the sea.

But the island wasn’t empty.

You found the cabin while following a trail of broken pine branches and faint blood marks half-buried beneath the snowfall. Whoever had stumbled through here had been in a hurry, and hurt. The cabin itself was wedged between slabs of frozen rock, built tight against the wind, its windows frosted over and door cracked open slightly.

Inside, it was dark, dimly lit by a fire that had long since died. Supplies had been overturned. A half-unpacked crate of rations sat untouched, next to a thick black fur-lined cloak that hung by the wall. Whatever had happened here, the occupant had left, or even been taken, suddenly.

You should have left. It was none of your business.

But the Den Den Mushi on the corner table suddenly stirred from its blanket.

Its eyes blinked open, slow and groggy, then twitched to life. Its shell, black and almost armored, vibrated slightly as static bled through its mouth. Then it rang. "Pururururu"

You frowned, hesitated, then stepped forward and picked it up, your fingers tensing instinctively.

"Yes? Whoever this is, they’re gone now. I just found the place."

There was a pause. Then, a steady voice came through with a weight that settled instantly in your chest. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

"Who are you."

Not a question. A demand.

You raised an eyebrow. Lips twitching at the coldness of it as you are more intrigued than intimidated.

"Shouldn’t I be asking you that mystery voice?"

Another pause. Then a sound like wind through steel. Controlled, but dangerous.

"This line was not meant for you."

"Clearly," you muttered, already feeling the conversation sour. "Take it up with whoever left their life behind here. I’m just passing through."

"Describe yourself."

You snorted, more amused than concerned. "You first."

Silence.

And then, for a moment, you thought he’d ended the call.

But then he spoke again. Slower. Measured. Almost... Thoughtful.

"You shouldn’t be there."

That sent a prickle up your spine. You glanced toward the window, suddenly more aware of the wind outside, of the cabin’s exposed position.

"Tch. Don’t worry. I won’t be for long," you muttered, your breath curling in the frozen air as your fingers hovered just a moment longer over the receiver.

The silence on the other end thickened, as if he was still there. Judging. Waiting for a mistake you wouldn’t make.

Your lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. With a soft exhale and zero ceremony, you clicked the transmitter down with finality, like closing a door on a storm that hadn't quite reached you yet.

Amid the churning clouds of a storm-gray sky, a tall, dark figure hovered. No longer flying in motion. Enormous and winged, it was enshrouded in a mantle of black leather and flame.

King stared at the Den Den Mushi nestled in his gloved hand. It looked almost like a pebble cradled in his palm. His jaw set, unreadable behind his obsidian mask, but his eyes narrowed beneath it- two sharp coals in a sea of silver cloud.

You had not been afraid. Not respectful. Not even curious.

You had spoken to him like he was just another voice. A stranger. Like he didn’t matter.

Now he needed to know the face behind that voice. The stranger who spoke so carelessly.

And if you thought the cold of the island would hide you, you didn’t yet understand what burned beneath his skin.

Sakazuki Akainu

The island was alive with birdsong and breeze, the scent of wildflowers sweet on the air. Spring had settled thick into the ground. Lush green hills rolled beneath a soft blue sky, and warm sunlight danced across the surface of quiet streams. It would have been peaceful. It should have been.

But something felt off.

Your ship was moored in a small cove just beyond a canopy of flowering trees, nestled beside jagged cliffs. You'd come here for a brief survey. Mapping islands untouched by the World Government, collecting samples, maybe marking a few points of interest. It was the kind of work that should have felt routine by now. But as soon as your boots touched the forest floor, the wind shifted. The birds quieted. Something- someone was missing.

It was a trail of bootprints that led you to the modest hut perched on a slope above the stream. Simple, sturdy, built with intention. But the door was ajar, the interior empty. No food. No packs. Just the remnants of someone leaving in a hurry.

And a Den Den Mushi, sitting neatly atop a wooden desk.

It rang the moment you stepped in.

You stared at it. Just long enough to question your instincts. Then you picked it up.

"Hello? The person linked to this Den Den Mushi is currently nowhere in sight."

"Who the hell is this?" the voice growled through the line. Low, gravelly and laced with the tightly controlled outrage of a man unaccustomed to sudden surprises.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You first."

A pause. Just a beat. But it was dense with barely contained irritation.

"You're trespassing on restricted grounds. Identify yourself immediately."

"Pass," you said flatly, not in the mood to entertain command barked like law.

The silence that followed turned molten. You could practically feel the seethe radiating from the snail. The Den Den Mushi even twitched slightly in your hand, as if anticipating the fury on the other end.

"Listen well. I don’t care who you think you are, or what authority you pretend to operate under-"

"You want to try that again with a little less barking and a little more humility? Who are you exactly?"

The voice hissed like boiling coals. "I am Admiral Sakazuki Akainu."

You blinked. Then scoffed. "Oh. That explains the total absence of warmth."

The line went still, but not with silence. It felt like the kind of stillness before a firestorm rips through the sky. The Den Den Mushi's features slowly twisted in discomfort, its body drawing back just slightly further as though it too feared what was coming next. Yet its face… Its face still mirrored the one on the other end. And that face was furious.

Then he spoke again, lower this time, slower: "You have five seconds to explain why you're there."

You rolled your eyes. "Take a hike. I currently abide by the law, as the island itself isn’t officially limited. And I won’t let some old man too high up his horse ruin my expedition. Not today."

You didn’t give him the chance to steamroll the conversation again. Your finger hovered just half a second longer, then pressed down with quiet finality.

Click.

Out at sea, aboard a massive Marine battleship cutting through the blue, the call ended with a sharp click that echoed louder than it should have in the Admiral’s quarters.

Though you weren't present to witness it, the ambient atmosphere within the Admiral’s quarters had changed noticeably in the span of just a minute. An almost tangible pressure descended, as if the temperature and tension simultaneously rose in response to the call's abrupt end.

Sakazuki stood behind his desk, gloved fists clenched tight at his sides, the Den Den Mushi still twitching faintly in fear on the polished surface. The words you’d left him with still rang in his ears. Unapologetic, dismissive and entirely undeserved in his mind.

Your voice. Your tone. That defiance. It wasn't just a slight… It was a challenge. And whether you realized it or not, you had his full attention now.

He stared out the porthole, his jaw working, heat radiating faintly off his shoulders as magma simmered just beneath the surface of his skin.

You had mocked him. Dismissed him. Treated him like an annoyance.

You still had no idea who you were speaking to.

But he did.

You were now a question he needed answered. A fire he had no intention of extinguishing, but rather understanding.

He would find you. He’ll go directly to the spring island instead. Marinefort can wait.

And when he gets there, he would meet your defiance not with fury, but with equal intensity. A force not to silence you, but to match you. He needed to know what kind of mind stood behind that voice, and what kind of a heart dared to challenge his.

You had sparked something he couldn’t ignore.

Sir Crocodile

The jungle of Little Garden buzzed with ancient life, massive prehistoric flowers blooming in unnatural colors, their petals bigger than sails and glistening with dew the size of pearls. You had come to this strange island alone, navigating the Grand Line aboard your own compact but expertly built vessel. Fast, stealthy and equipped to endure the worst of the seas. It was all you needed. You never did like sailing in someone else’s shadow.

Your boots sank into mossy earth as you ventured deeper into the foliage, drawn not by a map or mission but by curiosity alone. Something about the raw, untouched feel of the island tugged at you. And then you saw it. Tucked into a grove of twisted trees. A structure entirely out of place.

A house made of wax. It looked like a giant box with oddly charming round windows, basic in shape and strangely pristine among the jungle's chaos. The structure seemed almost cartoonishly simplistic, its smooth waxy exterior untouched and looking quite fresh. It stood there like a misplaced toy dropped in the wilderness, absurd in its bold presence but undeniably inviting. Your instincts bristled at the unnatural sight. Every survival lesson told you to walk away. And yet, curiosity whispered louder, more insistent. It always did. You stepped inside.

It was quaint, eerily tidy, with the faint scent of candlewax and floral tea lingering in the air. The interior was smooth and softly glowing, with light filtering gently through the round windows. A kettle still steamed gently on the table, and porcelain teacups were set out neatly for five, their delicate rims catching the light. As if the host had just stepped out and would return any minute.

You arched a brow but shrugged, placing a modest stack of belli beside the cup that looked unused. Gratitude without a name. You sipped. Jasmine? Maybe bergamot? You have no clue. Still… Surprisingly refined for such a bizarre setting.

After a few minutes of soothing silence, a strange crackling sound broke the quiet. Muffled, subtle, like a whisper trapped in a box trying to escape. It was faint, but persistent, threading unease through the otherwise peaceful stillness of the wax house.

Your eyes drifted toward a modest wicker basket tucked against the wall. You approached slowly, each step muffled by the waxy floor beneath your boots, and crouched to examine the basket.

Curiosity, again, won over caution.

Cautiously, you flipped open the lid. A low, static hum greeted you, followed by the sudden blinking of a Den Den Mushi, its tiny snail body twitching awake as if shaken from slumber. You picked up the call.

Its eyes blinked at you, already mimicking the tension of someone on the other end of the line. Someone who looked anything but friendly.

"Hello?" you said smoothly, lifting it to your face. "Whoever owns this Den Den Mushi isn’t here right now. Can I take a message? I could write it down for this..." Your eyes examined the engraved black lettering and the serial number inscribed neatly near the top of the Den Den Mushi's shell, just above the dial casing. An identifier likely tied to its designated owner, which made it all the more curious. "Mr. 3?"

The snail's mouth twitched, its face forming into a vaguely annoyed scowl. You watched, your brow arching slightly, as the Den Den Mushi’s features settled into the likeness of someone clearly unamused. There was a pause. Intentional and weighted. Then came a voice. Low, smoky and steeped in suspicion: "Who are you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the tone. Not what you expected from answering a snail call in a wax house.

"Excuse me?" you asked, your voice tightening with a mix of confusion and annoyance.

"Who are you." the voice repeated even sharper now. Every word laced with barely restrained authority. It wasn’t a question anymore. It was a demand.

Your spine straightened instinctively, the hairs on your arms rising in silent protest. Irritation surged, flaring beneath your calm expression.

"That sounds like a personal problem," you replied, tone clipped. "Why does it matter so much to you anyway?"

A pause stretched out between you like the calm before a storm. Then, as if on cue, the temperature of the room seemed to shift. An invisible heat curling through the line, thick with tension. Whoever was on the other end wasn’t just irritated. They were dangerous. And they weren’t used to being talked back to.

But that only made your disinterest grow.

"Wait. Don’t answer that," you said, your voice suddenly as cold as it had been curious a moment ago. You glanced at the snail’s twitching face and exhaled slowly.

"I’m already bored with the start of this conversation as is. Have a nice day, and I hope your attitude truly isn’t as low as your voice is. Bye."

Click.

Far across the Grand Line, deep within the opulent, marble-veined walls of Rain Dinners, a Warlord sat behind a desk carved from dark wood, the room scented faintly of cigars, a tinge of ozone and dry desert wind. The Den Den Mushi before him had gone still, its mimicry fading, the tiny snail now blinking blankly once more.

Crocodile's golden hook tapped once against the desk’s surface, the soft clink echoing louder than it should have. His lips curled. Not quite a smile, but something darker, bemused and simmering with intent. It wasn’t anger that stirred behind his deep, heavy-lidded eyes. Not entirely. No, it was intrigue. Thin, sharp intrigue that slipped into something more vicious the longer he sat with the silence.

Across the room, lounging comfortably beside the lounging Bananawani, Miss All Sunday didn’t say a word. She continued stroking the creature’s chin with idle grace, her fingers moving in lazy circles as if this moment meant nothing to her. But her eyes, sharp and impossibly calm, flicked toward Crocodile. Her smile grew just slightly. Subtle, knowing  and amused. Still, she said nothing. Just a glance, a raised brow, and the curve of her lips betraying silent amusement.

He ignored her entirely.

No one… No one spoke to him like that. Not Marines, not pirates, not even the fools under his employ. And yet, that voice; sharp, cool, unshaken, had done exactly that.

Who were you? Why were you there? And how dare you hang up on him like this?

His mind, once razor-focused on the original task, began to shift. The irritation you’d sparked twisted into something far more obsessive. Cold calculation replaced surprise. Your words repeated in his head. Not just the insult, but the tone: bored, dismissive, utterly unafraid.

Now he had to know who you were.

[auraisereigh]

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[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 61

part 1 | part 60 | ao3

cw: mentions of canonical minor character death

Chapter 14

It's twilight by the time they make their way to Rick's place — gnat clouds swarming, sun dipped low, Lover's Lake an inky smudge beyond the blur of passing pines. Steve’s not totally sure how they got here, this dusty service road that's more pothole than pavement; one minute he's bitching about doomed love and double VHS, the next he’s taking the scenic route to a drug den.

There were some important moments in between, he’s pretty sure.

He’s also pretty sure he blacked out somewhere around the moment the morning news reported that an-unidentified-Hawkins-student-who-very-well-could-be-Eddie-Munson was found dead in his fucking trailer.

Kinda difficult to resurface from that one.

Feels like his soul’s got swimmer’s ear.

Even hours later — after Dustin and Max burst into Family Video talking a mile a minute about how Eddie was alive and they needed to use the phones; after Ernie stupidly gave a reporter Steve’s name, swearing up and down on the TV that his neighbor Steve Harrington was an upstanding young man who would never do something like this; after they spent an agonizingly long afternoon lying low and taking backroads to avoid the cops because the cops probably suspect Steve of murder now, oh god—

“It’s this next right up ahead,” Max says from the back seat. There's a map spread over the bench between her and Dustin, and Steve blinks himself awake; gives her a nod in the rearview.

Beside her, Dustin’s munching on Twizzlers he stole from the store — window down, easy slouch, just way too chipper for the situation at hand. "So Steve," he says conversationally, "now that you're a fugitive, does that mean—?"

Steve cuts Robin a pleading look.

Robin reaches back and smacks the little twerp upside the head.

"Ow!" Dustin whines.

"Shut up, please," Robin smiles.

Max makes a sound like she's trying not to laugh and checks the map again. "Right here," she says, pointing. "After that weird tree stump."

They turn onto another road that could be generously described as paved, once, several decades ago, and eventually, the winding path lets out onto a slightly nicer street. Aging but cared for, Holland Road is a crowded row of little lake houses, trailers and shacks with manicured shrubs and chipped fence paint, weeds growing through the sidewalks beneath pristine American flags. Steve pulls into the driveway of #2121.

It looks abandoned. Dark inside and out, a truck parked on the curb that's likely been there for a while, its tires sagging in a mulch of old wet leaves. There’s an autumn wreath on the front door.

“You sure this is the place?” he asks as they climb out of the car.

Max sasses him for questioning her navigation skills, Dustin unsuccessfully tries to land a revenge slap on Robin — a move that earns him a retaliation wedgie and a wrestling match he was never gonna win — and Steve pops the trunk and feels a hundred years old. Feels every bit the exhausted dad trying to keep the family road trip together as he grabs his nail bat and slings his duffel over his shoulder.

"You planning to spend the night?" Dustin teases from Robin's armpit, still bent double where she's got him in a headlock.

"No, just-" he drops the bag at their feet with a grunt, “doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Dustin’s eyes bug out. “Is that a can of goddamn bear mace?”

“Keep your voice down!” Steve hisses.

“You keep your voice down!”

"Should I just go ahead and choke him out?" Robin offers.

Steve considers it for a second: knock 'em all out, stuff 'em back inside the car. Go do this shit quietly by himself.

He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips.

"You're no fun," she pouts, but she lets Dustin go.

Dustin grabs flashlights and walkies out of the bag, passes them around the circle. They take a moment to steel themselves — huddled together in the dark, shoulders tense, the creepy house looming ahead. Sharp shadows stretch toward them. Croaking sounds creeping from the edges of the lake.

Robin puts her flashlight under her chin like she's about to tell a scary story. "Alright, kiddos," she says in a deep, ominous voice. "Let's go rescue Steve's ex."

Stunned silence in the sudden vacuum her words create. Steve lets out a tired sigh. Dustin’s jaw is on the curb.

“His WHAT?” Dustin shouts.

Oh, my god. “He’s not my ex."

Robin rolls her eyes and says ‘sure’ under her breath, and Max turns to Dustin, laughing. “You didn’t know they were a thing?”

“We’re not—” Steve tries again.

“What were you trying to get them back together for then?”

She seems genuinely curious. Dustin seems three seconds from spontaneous combustion. “What was I WHAT?!” he yelps, limbs everywhere. Reminds Steve of Eddie so bad it hurts.

“Okay,” Steve interrupts, clapping them both on the shoulder; drops his voice to a harsh whisper. “In case you two forgot, we’re here to rescue Eddie.”

“Who you’re dating.”

Dustin’s voice is small, disconnected, his gaze far away. Like he’s shellshocked.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I— Yes. No. It’s complicated.”

Max snorts at his answer, Dustin makes a series of faces like he's gonna need seven years to process, and Robin interrupts his crisis by waving her flashlight like a traffic guard, walking backward up the hill as she directs them toward the house.

“Why don’t we just go find him first?” she suggests, making a rainbow with her hands, flinging light through the grimy windows. “And then Stevie here can answer alllll your big gay questions.”

Steve glares at Robin. Dustin glares at him, narrowed eyes for a full ten seconds like 'yeah, you fucking better,' and then he takes off up the driveway hollering Eddie's name.

—

part 62

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[andreafmn]

Collision | Chapter 29

Word Count: 3.5K Warnings: bodily harm, self inflicted wounds, mentions of blood

Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life is at its first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same.

A/N: um, I am so sorry for the trauma this chapter may cause 🫣 strap in, girlies. share it with everyone, if there is a chapter of this story you should read, it's this one

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Confusion overtook (Y/N) when she woke the next morning, the sun still hanging low in the horizon. The walls around her were foreign, the smells were overwhelming, the temperature was uncomfortable. She wasn’t home, and her body knew it.

She stretched the knots from her body, shaking off the sleep that had wound itself in her joints.  Yet, as much as she wanted to remain in the soft and warm bed, she knew the task at hand had to be done as soon as possible. She wanted it to be done as soon as possible.

The longer (Y/N) spent away from LaPush and Forks, the more her mind ruminated on her past. Images of her time with the Cullens bombarded her brain, reminding her of a life lived and lost. It made her heart ache and yearn—something she thought she had moved on from. It made her think of forgiveness, of reconciliation, of regression. She felt her judgment was held hostage and everything she had strived for was going down the drain.

Without giving it much thought, she got up from the bed and got ready, packing everything she brought back up. She wasn’t going to spend a second more in New York than she had to. Her goal was to get Carlisle back to Washington and then go home. That was her plan, and she would do nothing to stray from it.

Esme and Theo were already waiting when she came downstairs, talking in hushed tones until she was in their presence. Their conversation halted as she joined them, and they gifted her warm smiles.

“How’d you sleep?” Theo asked. “Haven’t slept in centuries, but those mattresses are great, huh.”

“Yeah, no, they’re amazing. Definitely not a mattress I could afford,” the girl commented, unsure as to why she had. “But, uh, we should get going. Got a long ride ahead of us.”

“Of course,” Esme smiled as she grabbed their bags. “You can eat your breakfast in the car, and just let us know if we need to make a stop.”

“Sure thing.”

“Let’s do this, then.”

The car ride went by faster than (Y/N) thought it would. Mostly because somewhere along the three-hour ride and the mindless conversation, she had drifted off to sleep. She couldn’t recall when her eyes had closed, but she awoke with a startle when the car rolled to a stop a couple of miles away from the parking lot of the Panama Rocks Scenic Park, deep enough in the forest. Her neck was tight, and her mouth felt dry, but once she saw the green and the grey mingling in an almost endless void, she knew her trip back home was closer than when the day had started.

The park was still closed to the public, and they needed to keep their presence hidden from any onlookers. There wasn’t a way to explain to people why three women were sneaking into the place, much less why Teo of them were glittering under the sun. Though they could have hidden better during the darkness of the night, (Y/N) didn’t have the supernatural ability to see well in the night, and flashlights would definitely give them away.

“Okay, I have a vague idea where Carlisle might be,” Theo said as she pulled a map of the area out. “If he wanted to be ironically poetic, he’d be in the caves in Devil’s Den, but that’s part of the more trafficked area, so I don’t think he would. To be as far away from civilization as he could here, I think he’d settle somewhere along the center—up sixty-foot rock formations.”

“Well, I don’t think my boots are good for a hike like that,” (Y/N) blurted. “It’s going to take me days to check everywhere, and I’m not good at climbing.”

“There is a way we could scavenge the area in maybe an hour or a bit more,” Esme added. “Theo and I can run through, pinpoint his location by his scent, and then carry you there. That way, you won’t have to overexert yourself, and we can get you home as soon as possible.”

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“You’d stay with the car,” Theo said. “Be on the lookout for anyone that might come around. And if you have to, move the car away. We won’t take that long, I hope.”

“Great,” the girl muttered as she slumped onto the driver’s seat. “Guess I’ll just wait here, then.”

“You’ll be safer this way, (Y/N),” her friend offered. “The last thing you want is to be clinging onto me for dear life as we run and jump unnatural lengths. You need to save your strength for whatever is to come, okay?” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” she smiled softly. “I’m being prissy for no reason.” 

“It’s okay to be nervous, you know. You’re literally going through a one-in-a-billion situation here, (Y/N). I honestly don’t know how you’re here, but you're still standing. You’re the best of us all.”

“I just can’t stand by while so many people keep hurting,” (Y/N) muttered. “Not anymore. There can’t be any more hate in my heart. I don’t like what it did to me.”

“There could never be anything that could ever dampen your light, (Y/N),” Theo said. “You are one of a kind, and everyone you meet knows it. Those who say they don’t are just lying.”

“Thank you, Theo,” she smiled as warmth spread through her cheeks. “Now, go. I’m not getting any younger here.”

“Lock the doors. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

The vampires disappeared from her sight in the blink of an eye, leaving her alone in the middle of the woods with nothing but the bags and the car to keep her company. She scrolled through the texts on her phone for a while, skipping through message after message of both Sam and Paul. They were begging her to come back home, apologizing for their outburst and their actions, pleading she at least give them a call back.

But she was angry. Not just at them, but at the entire situation. (Y/N) could understand their reason for what they did—her logical mind would not allow her not to see their side of things. They had been tasked with the extraordinary job of protecting the people of LaPush from vampires, stopping anything they deemed a threat to the reservation. They didn’t have a rulebook or many directions on how to fulfill their duties, and they were doing what they thought was best with what little knowledge they had.

Yet, she couldn’t understand why they would think they had any right to meddle in her life and sever ties with people she loved. It was one thing to think that she could be in danger because of the scent of a vampire, but it was another for them to destroy letters from her friend even when she didn’t know the supernatural existed. In their minds, they were protecting her, but the truth was they were cutting her off from the world—from the one person that had made her feel seen in a sea of blue and grey. They had decided (Y/N) would become a nobody in Theo’s life, leaving her wondering for the rest of her life what she had done wrong.

There weren’t many people she had ever connected with in her life—not in a deep and meaningful way. Of course, she had grown up surrounded by people who had loved and cared for her, but she always felt like there was a role she had to fulfill. She had to be strong, she had to be calm, she had to be the smartest in the room, and she was each and every thing people expected because everyone did.

Well, Sam had always seen her as more than intelligent. He’d seen her as his little sister, the girl he had sworn silently to always protect. Even if somewhere along the way, his lines had blurred, and his protections had turned into rules and demands, he had always tried to keep her safe. He could have cared less about the accolades and the academics. Sam simply wanted her happy. At least, for some time, that was all he had cared about.

There had also been Paul, of course. He didn’t care how smart she was or what had happened in her past. He had just wanted a friend. When he had felt the loneliest after the move to LaPush, she had appeared like an answer to a prayer, tripping in front of him with a stack of books from the library that she was taking home. After that fateful day, he had become her shadow while he found his footing in the reservation. And when he gained popularity amongst their peers, he took her under his wing and protected her from anyone that attempted to harm her. Paul had cared enough to see past the surface that everyone admired and had been interested to learn about the girl past the books and the absent dad.

Once (Y/N) had left for Greenfield and was alone again, she didn’t think she’d find someone like him. Someone who wouldn’t care about what she could do but who she was. And then she had found Theo—or Theo had found her. She had changed the trajectory of the girl’s life, helping her down the path of academic excellence and confident living. After Theo, she believed there was nothing she couldn’t do. As long as she invested her time wisely and stopped listening to what others thought, she would be capable of anything.

And, of course, there had been Carlisle. The man who had been able to transform the very fibers of her essence. The man who had not only seen her soul but also her heart. He had shown her all the things she hadn’t known she desired; he made her believe in a life she thought she deserved. What happened at the end… well, the jury was still out on that.

Finally, after a long bout of darkness and pain, Eden had come along. He’d been distant at first, being short and cold with her. But the second the gears had changed, and he saw her truly, he had been a breath of fresh air she didn’t know she needed. Eden was kind and patient, wise beyond his years and understanding. Somehow, he had begun to make her excited to meet someone new. She saw potential in him. She saw possible l…

As she debated getting on the phone and calling him, Theo’s sudden apparition startled the phone out of her hands. “We’ve found him,” she exclaimed. “We’ve finally found him.”

(Y/N) hadn’t noticed that she had let her mind wander for close to two hours. She had fallen down a thought spiral she would not have come out of had it not been for Theodora. The girl jumped out of the car, shaking away the shivers that started running through her veins. This was it. After almost eight months without him, she was about to face Carlisle once more—to save him and bring him home. “How do we do this?” she asked her friend, her voice trembling slightly under her nerves. “Do I just…?”

“Get on my back, (Y/N),” Theo chuckled. “And grab on really tight.”

Running wasn’t an activity (Y/N) partook in very often. As much as she wanted to incorporate the training into her daily life, it was too time-consuming for her already packed schedule. Now, speeding through trees and rock formations while clinging to the back of a vampire at a hundred miles an hour was not what she envisioned for a light run. The cold air of the morning bit at her skin alongside the branches that tried to snag her. Theo did avoid getting her hurt, but just the feeling of leaves smacking against her face was enough to have the girl thinking she’d been wounded.

What had felt like hours to her, where she prayed silently that her strength was enough to keep herself on Theo, had only been a few minutes. The vampire came to a stop at a particularly odd boulder that stood at a little over sixty feet of height and over twenty feet of width from what she could tell. The rocks seemed to mold into each other, creating the illusion of various black holes forming into its sediment. Even in the light of day, it looked tenebrous. The last thing anyone would say of the area was inviting.

“He is not well,” Esme said as she joined them, jumping out from one of the caves. “Wouldn’t even respond to me. No matter what I said, he just stared at the wall. (Y/N)…”

“I know,” the girl sighed defeatedly. “I’m the only one that he will answer to. I can… I can do it.”

“I was going to say you should be careful,” she replied. “We will be just a few feet away, but he’s still stronger and faster than us. Keep your distance.”

“Oh,” (Y/N) muttered in surprise. “I will. Thank you, Esme.”

“Of course,” the woman smiled. “Just give a shout if you need us.”

“Will do.”

“Alright, then,” Theo said. “Back on.”

Theodora went a couple of yards back for a running start, kicking off the ground with a force (Y/N) had never witnessed. As they raised through the air, the girl’s fingers dug into her friend’s shirt, hiding her face in the crook of her neck to avoid looking down. They landed with a soft thud at the entrance of the cave, the heel of her boots echoing through the hollow space.

“Don’t get too close, okay?” Theo worried as she handed (Y/N) a flashlight. “Yell if you need us. And if you can’t, snap your fingers three times.”

“I thought Carlisle had unnatural resistance,” (Y/N) muttered, concern sinking into her veins. “Do you think he would really attack me?”

“He hasn’t fed correctly in far too long,” Esme sighed. “He has always been the strongest out of anyone I know, but paired with heartbreak… well, I just couldn’t tell you what he’s capable of.”

(Y/N) trembled at the thought of what awaited her. A voice in her head told her to turn around and say she wouldn’t help any longer. A voice warned her of the strength and unpredictability she could face. Yet, she couldn’t listen—not when her heart told her to keep moving her feet, one in front of the other. With shaky hands, she pointed the flashlight ahead of her, ignoring the smell of humidity and the cold eeriness that threatened to overtake her.

The girl knew Carlisle had not fed in some time. She also knew what vampires could look like after a prolonged time without blood. But nothing could prepare her from coming face to face with the shell of who her first love used to be.

Sitting against the cave’s walls, Carlisle stared into nothingness. His eyes were as black as coal, his cheekbones had sunken, and the bags under his eyes battled to take over the rest of his face. Long gone was the beautiful marble white of his skin, replaced instead with a putrid gray color. His hair had lost all life, flopping against his dampened skin in matted clumps. The man didn’t even care a drip had settled just above him, falling tauntingly on his head, over and over and over again.

Had (Y/N) not known if he was standing before her that he was alive, she would have been certain she was staring at a terrifying replica of Carlisle. He simply sat, unmoving, unblinking, unresponsive.

(Y/N) tried to speak, but the words seemed to get stuck in her mouth, tasting of bile and rancidness. They scratched the walls of her throat as though he had willed her not to mutter a single sound. Carlisle didn’t want to hear it. Carlisle couldn’t hear it.

But if one thing was clear to the girl, it was that he had to leave the cave. He needed to.

“C-Carlisle?” she managed to croak. His head snapped toward the sound of her voice, and she could have sworn that his neck had cracked like a dry hinge. His dark eyes bore into hers, analyzing the image in front of him. “It’s me, Carlisle. It’s (Y/N). I’ve come to take you home. ”

She wasn’t expecting a triumphant reunion. With all their unresolved feelings, she had prepared herself for a stern talk and flight back home. Instead, Carlisle had jumped from the place he seemed permanently planted in and sped toward her. His hand circled her throat as he pressed her against the cavern’s wall. The rock scratched at her skin through her shirt, and she had to stand on her tiptoes to keep him from being her only support.

“Is this where my delusions have driven me? You’re not real!” he laughed manically. “(Y/N) would never come to take me home. ME! After what I did to her, she would be more than happy to let me rot! I will say, brain, you were far more creative the last time.”

This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. The crazed look in his eyes told her just how much he’d been suffering on his own, punishing himself for a situation he had not known how to handle. “Carlisle, it’s really me,” she muttered, straining against his hand. “Feel my heartbeat. I’m right here. I want to get you home.”

“I’ve felt and heard your heartbeat a million times. Do you really think you could fool me? ME?! AGAIN?! No. YOU CAN’T FOOL ME!” he continued. His eyes stared at her but could have been looking through her. Yet, something told her as strong as he wanted to appear, had he been human, tears would be streaming down his face. He wasn’t well. He wasn’t Carlisle. “Months and months of the same apparition. This is my way of the cross. I am cursed to live with the memory of the one person I regret ever breaking—the only person who will ever have my heart. You come, and you go; you hurt, and you save; you laugh, and you cry. And I can take it. I can take it all. But not this. Don’t talk about home. There is no home for me. For my home is only where I burnt my own heart to the ground. I torched the thread that held me together to my one reason for being. If God has ever forsaken me, it has been at this moment. If God had ever wanted to punish the abomination that I am, it is now. Don’t talk to me about home.”

Carlisle’s ramblings were nonsensical, but the threat around (Y/N)’s throat was very real. Without meaning to, the man cemented his every word by closing his hand just a little bit closer and closer. She tried to scratch at his arm, meeting the same hard skin she knew—unbreakable. “Car-li-sle,” she croaked. “Stop. It’s me.”

“STOP! SHE’S NOT HERE!” His anger rained upon her as he slammed a fist next to her, making shards of the cave scatter around them. “You’re not real. YOU’RE NOT REAL!”

He muttered the phrase over and over like a mantra as though he was trying to keep himself sane. But he had lost his sanity months before. He’d grown restless and delusional quickly, berating himself for everything he had and had not done. Carlisle blamed himself for the brokenness of his family, but most of all, he promised himself eternal damnation for letting go of (Y/N) in the most horrid way he could muster. He had not physically killed her, but he had done the second worst thing.  

A jagged piece of quartz grabbed (Y/N)’s attention then. It had landed perfectly at arm’s reach. She could feel her vision growing spotty from the lack of oxygen, but she couldn’t call the girls just yet—not until Carlisle had snapped back into reality.

She struggled against his grip slightly, reaching for the crystal, feeling its edge cut slightly into her palm. “If you don’t think I’m real, then you won’t care if I’m hurt,” she whispered. Carlisle watched with a look of concern as she raised the quartz to her wrist. “Come back, Carlisle. Come home.” 

Without thinking twice, (Y/N) ran the sharpest point of the quartz down her arm, flinching as blood pooled on her skin. Putting all trust in the vampires, the girl let the crystal fall to the ground and snapped her fingers three times. She mustered all the love and care she could in a simple gaze and stared into Carlisle’s black eyes as she raised her bloody hand onto his cheek and smiled.

Then, it all went black.

Next ->

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[p5x-theories]

More information about Version 4.1.1 from today's post:

More info on how Tartarus works here: "Tartarus is a mysterious tower that appears during the Dark Hour. Players need to form a team to investigate. Every time you enter, Tartarus will generate a new map, making every adventure full of unknown challenges. During the exploration, players will encounter powerful floor guards, the Monado Gate that can be investigated in depth, lost missing persons... and can also strengthen the team or restore the status at the clock by collecting "fragments of dawn". Player level and exploration lineup will be restricted when entering Tartarus. In this gameplay, you can choose different characters to form a strategy team (characters that have not been obtained outside the gameplay can also be used in the gameplay). At the same time, the combat values ​​of the characters are independent and not affected by the development outside the game. In the process of exploration, you need to accumulate exploration experience through battles to gradually improve the character's ability. In the "shuffle time" after the battle, players can choose to obtain Arcana gains, or choose to expand the team characters to improve their lineup. In addition, please always pay attention to your own "willpower" status to avoid falling into despair and heading towards a fate of failure. This tower full of mysteries is waiting for you to investigate in depth with strategy and courage."

It sounds like there are also permanent upgrades that the player can unlock and bring along for Tartarus exploration

Through exploring Tartarus, you can also earn "dream fragments" for different characters, which unlocks a special story with each character. This update adds Makoto Yuki's dream fragment story. This apparently consists of 9 parts, including three "ending stories"? I'm guessing these are just brief interactions (perhaps similar to the Phantom Thieves in Leblanc, or maybe the character interactions in the Thieves Den?), but I can't tell exactly from this post

As with Joker's butler costume, Makoto Yuki's butler costume is obtained through a raffle/mini gacha system

As expected, Manaka Nagao's Confidant ranks 15-20 will be added with this update

"Color Your Night", "Iwatodai Dorm -Reload-", and "When The Moon's Reaching Out Stars -Reload-" added to the music player function (which allows the player to choose their BGM as they complete daily activities)

17 new songs added to the Thieves Den, as well as some new art including the P3RE Collab Chapter 1 art

Baal Zebul will appear as a Door to Ominous Dreams boss for the first time with this update

[onim5]

Isekai Au

Chapter 3: Realization

Portgas D. Ace x Female Reader

Warnings: Reader getting mad at Ace.

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

"Who raised you?" You asked as Ace ate with his hands. "Mountain bandits," Ace mumbled through his chewing. Raising your eyebrow, you decided to dismiss it. After all, this guy was clearly a delusional imbecile who dreamed about being a cool pirate with a big bounty. "Do you have any more questions about me?" Ace asked, looking at you like he wasn't sitting there lying to your face. "Do you have any caretaker I can call?" You asked. This guy was definitely not fit to go around unwatched. 

"Uh, you mean my captain?" Ace asked, confused. "I guess," you answered. "It would be great if we could contact him. Where's your den den mushi?" He asked, looking around, and then he fell asleep for the third time. "What even is that?" You mumbled, standing up. The information he gave you was bullshit. He was either a liar or is actually delusional. 

It took some seconds, and then he woke up again. After yawning, he looked around. "Are you some kind of noble?" Ace asked, looking around your apartment. "No, we don't have that kind of society here." You frowned. "Huh, that's rare. Anyway, which sea is this island on?" Ace asked, wondering where he ended up. Though seeing your reaction made it clear, he was supposed to know.

"Hey, look, I somehow teleported here. So I have no idea where I am." Ace explains. "You teleported?" You asked sarcastically. "I know, hard to believe. But let's just say it was a devil fruit. So which sea?" He asked, curious. "We're in Aldinomanic, in the Sunday winter nation sea." You answered sarcastically, again. "Really, I have never heard of that." Ace groaned. Did he perhaps teleport to unknown territory?

"It was a joke. We're on a continent." You finally told. Ugh, can't I just kick him out? You thought. "What's a continent?" Ace asked, confused. "Alright, do you like wasting peoples time?" You asked done with his bullshit. "Not really, why?" Ace asked, not taking the hint. "You're wasting mine!" You said in a harsh tone. "Going on about pirates. Really?! And magic bullshit." You complained madly. Ace watched as you walked around the table.

"If you think I'm an idiot, you can mess around with, then you're wrong. I'm a highly respected woman. I make £25.64 per hour. And I know that's what you want from me, money." You scoffed. "Wait, don't you mean berries?" Ace asked, confused. "What do you mean berries? I'm not talking about food here." You declared.

"Um, no, I mean the currency." Ace explained. "Are you. There's no where, in the entire world, people would use berries as money. Okay, maybe children. But if I want like blueberries, I go to the store." You said in disappointment. Ace didn't know what to say. It's like you never heard of pirates before. Ace pushed his plate forward. "Thanks for the food. But um, can you get your den den mushi, so I can try to call Pops?" Ace asked.

"What even is that?" You asked, grabbing his plate and putting it in the dishwasher. "You don't know?" Ace asks, getting a weird feeling in his chest. "No." You answered, now being tired of Ace. "Do you know what a map is?" Ace asked nervously. "Of course I do." You answered. "Can you show me one?" Ace asked politely. Rolling your eyes, you put up google Maps on your phone and then put it before him.

Ace slowly bent down his head. And then tried to read the small text on it. "Do you have a bigger one?" Ace asked nervously, already knowing you're done with him. "Just zoom in. You don't seem to have that bad eye sight." You frowned, folding your arms.

Ace had no idea what you meant and decided to just pick up the map and look closer. "Are you an idiot?" You asked, taking the phone from him, and then zoomed in so he could see. "Wow, how did you?" Ace asked as he watched the screen. "So where's the sea?" Ace asked amused. You zoomed out a lot. His eyes widened upon seeing the world, supposedly.

Ace scanned his soroundings, taking in a lot of stuff he had never seen. Did he, did he teleport to whole new world? "This is gonna sound crazy."

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

End of chapter 3.

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

Chapter 4.

Masterlist

[maxdibert]

The US bombed Iran, are we all doomed?

The U.S. has spent like the last 100 years attacking countries for fun, economic gain, or imperialist goals. And when they’re not bombing them directly, they’re promoting and funding dictatorships. So I really don’t get why we’re suddenly supposed to clutch our pearls now. I was already alive during the Iraq War so I guess I’m just too old to be shocked by the U.S. being the U.S. lol I mean as long as they don’t go back to nuking civilians — because, yeah, they love that too — or funding terrorist groups or backing genocidal regimes… Honestly, I haven’t slept in over 27 hours, I’m not in the mood to pretend I care how Iran might respond to the attack. Like, go ahead if Iran wipes them off the map, so be it.

My least cancelable opinion, but I’m still a little tipsy. Or not. Or yes. Or not. Kind of yes. But seriously me la pela mucho Estados Unidos son como el niño malcriado que se merece que le den un par de hostias por mal comportamiento. I wish someone would do that.

[papaver-decervicatus]

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 4, Mus Urbanus

Fatal attraction is one thing but stuck on a stakeout, a certain little mouse decides to push her luck with the cat who's been chasing her... just how far is too far, and how much more can they take?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Hahaha, remember how I said I was going to do shorter updates? Yeah well, I felt really bad for missing the previous week but I did have a lot of terrible IRL shit happen, so working through that was a priority. That being said, going back through all the amazing comments and everything everyone has written has been absolutely keeping me afloat! Thank you all so so so so so much, you will never know how much it all means to me.

There are a couple of Hannibal references in this part that, hopefully, will start to make sense by the last part of the story (which was, coincidentally, the first part written!) Not going to lie, I am just glad to publish this so I never have to think about this damned part again as I have been stuck on in for literal months. Also sorry if Soap's accent sucks, the only experience I have with anything remotely Scottish in the way of language tendency is my grandmother whose father was a Scottish immigrant and that's it.

Anyways, I hope you like agnst and interrogation scenes, because next week, König loses his faith in god and in mouse while tied to a chair! See you there!

❣️Cura ut Veleas ~ Caedis 🥀

PREV | Pt. 4 Mus Urbanus | 4.2k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

“Mouse?” A voice from in front of her calls out, but only after she deliberately drags her feet into the threshold of the neutral ground, alerting him of her presence. 

“Quiet as a.” She utters her usual response, stepping into the little flat in Buenos Aries, Argentina. She hears the smile as Soap sucks in a breath at her little joke. Her callback should be old by now, shouldn’t make him smile anymore, but he does anyway. He’s easy to get along with, something hard to come by in war. She crosses the minimal space between the two and takes stock of his little setup. 

For a mission, it’s luxurious. He’s sitting, in a chair might she add, with a scope poking barely out of an antique window on the 7th floor of an apartment building, looking into a busy market square. His arms rest on a table littered with little signs of life, a map of the area adorned with notes and coordinates in inexpensive ink, no less than 7 pens whose caps are chewed through (everyone’s got bad habits but this little sin of his drives poor Price up and down the goddamn wall), two disposable cups with sediment rings denoting how much instant coffee was drunk from them at a time before they returned to their places besides their drinker. Most notably, however, are two radios in a strange moment of near fornication– backs ripped open and wires crossed in an almost pornographic display of field ingenuity. 

Damn demolition specialists, she hears the echo of Gaz say in her head and she absentmindedly rubs the scabbed over cut on her left hand where the shrapnel of a certain someone’s frag grenade got her two weeks ago. She wants to be mad but-

“Hear any good ones, lately?” Soap turns to her, he’s disengaging from his post, changing his guard for her to take his spot, just as command ordered. He’s been in this little nest for about 6 hours and she can feel his desire to scuttle and tinker about radiating off of him. As he takes apart his gun, already aware and familiar that she refuses to use anyone’s but her own, his eyes shine to life. The color of sky blue permafrost, yet they radiate a certain lived-in warmth impossible to distance yourself from. Eyes almost like-

She bites her tongue at the thought. Bad time to be thinking about König… she mourns. But, speaking of the man.

“Yes, but it’s bad,” she offers, in fake warning as she sheds her outer jacket before moving to unhook the case that stands between her and the assembly of her gun. She knows the warning will only intrigue the poor pyrotechnic more. 

His smile is nothing short of sadistic as he raises an eyebrow.

“No, like, really bad,” she emphasizes, throwing a pleading look his way. His grin gets even more shit-eating-er if that sort of thing were even possible. “I mean it, MacTavish. Pass it along to your long-suffering Lieutenant, and you will be picking teeth out of your shit.” “I’m sure I’ve done worse to Ghost,” he supplies, rolling his shoulders. Yeah, I’m sure you have, she thinks but is much too self-preserving to say, especially aware that the Frankenstien’s monster of a radio he’s resurrected from two dead circuit boards is likely not secure enough to promise any real privacy. She would rather not alert Simon Riley that she’s become a dealer in his and Soap’s arm’s race of terrible jokes. He does not take prisoners, after all… 

“Alright, alright, just don’t tell him it’s from me,” she smiles, putting her hands up defensively in a quick jest. “Okay, play along with me now,” he nods along as he steps away from the perch and lets her take his spot at the table. 

“So, what's the difference between a piano, a fish, and a gluestick?”

“I know about two-thirds o’ this one.” 

Mouse trap baited. She smiles.

“Give it a go, then.” She wiggles in the chair, pressing her cheek to the crux of the sight and its metal holder. She sighs into the familiar feeling of control that settles into her bones as she hunches over.

“Can tuna piano but’cha can’t tuna fish?” He supplies, half teasing her already.

“Yep, but you’re forgetting something.” She sighs and goes to fiddle with the red-light optics extension, Command is confident enough in her abilities that she was specifically told to take it off for this one. She hears Soap whisper a quiet ‘oh shite’ behind her when he realizes he probably forgot to himself and she laughs a little. 

“What about the glue?”

Mouse trap set. Poor Soap, always getting himself into ambushes…

She smiles wide and hums remembering how excited her kitty-cat was to tell her this part. 

“See, I knew you’d get stuck on that one.” 

Mouse trap sprung. A moment of silence.

“Oh fuck me, that one is bad.” Soap chokes out a hearty laugh as he collects his discarded coffee cups from her side.

“No thanks,” she purrs as she finally sets herself into position. “Use it at your discretion, soldier.”

“Aye, that I will.” 

Soap goes to rummage through the kitchenette to her right and she takes the moment she lacks supervision to indulge herself. She does not move her sights to alert the man with her of the wandering of her eyes, instead, she scans windows and alleys without visual aid. The stale air threatens to choke her as she rakes over the golden-hued morning scene with desperate efficiency. 

After what feels like an eternity of stolen glances switching between her targeted area and anywhere he may be, she sees him. 

Technically, she has no way to know for certain that it’s König, she doesn’t have his usual wave or cheeky grin (affectionately referred to as a Cheshire Cat Smile in her own belabored heart) to alert her to his presence. That being considered, there is a masculine figure barely peeking out of a window into an alleyway who is just shy of 7 feet tall and his face is covered. Yeah, probably König. She smiles despite herself and her company. She wonders if he has radio access to her little hideout. 

(She remembers the seemingly endless weeks of his arrival to her perch. The early morning light hits the streets the same way it had hit the forest ground that day. Like a fairy tale prince, beseeching a princess on hand and knee, he would always somehow appear in her sights, nearly as though it was just meant to be! 

His form stands out tall and proud from its surroundings and she recounts every single reason he should not be here. By the third time their eyes caught she’d decided he was doing it on purpose, but she never let him get away with it without some acknowledgment on her side. She can only imagine that if she’s getting hunted for sport, her calling out his position will, at least temporarily, halt his advance. 

But by this rate, she’ll be in his mouth by the end of the year. 

His eyes are cold and bloodshot red. Painted tears lick their way down the hood she’s never seen him without, possibly a feeble attempt at impersonality? Maybe if he looks enough like a monster people will just trust their first assumption and leave him alone. But she’s never been one to judge a book by its cover…

“I see you, König.” She warns out to him. He stills among the foliage, bathed in sweet-honey-like warmth from the rising sun. He does not shy away from his imminent death on the business end of her rifle, of course not! Instead, he raises his chest proudly, seemingly aware that the loneliness in her yields to whatever greater magnetism the loneliness in him commands. He’s an enigma, it bothers her that of all the people to put the effort into finding her, it has to be him. Mostly she curses herself for promising him a next time all those encounters ago, if she’d known what sort of a game it would inspire in the predator stalking her like prey despite her flipping sniper rifle, she never would have said a thing. 

He may be in her scope, but he’s got her under a finer microscope to seek her out so faithfully. She wishes she got this sort of dizzying devotion from someone, anyone else. It is the third day this week he has found her.

What she expects to happen is what has happened for weeks now, 1) he hears her transmission, 2) he smiles at her as a predator smiles at pray, his eyes find hers and her hackles rise in utter terror, and 3) he hums to himself and turns away, self-satisfied enough to have won hide-and-seek for the time being.

That does not happen. 

Instead, König sits down, right where he is, and pulls out that monster of a knife he keeps strapped to himself. He throws it up and catches it without looking at it, instead his eyes are laser-focused on Mouse. This is, of course, despite the fact he should have no earthly idea where she is. He plays with his knife idly for what must be an hour, but she does not- no, can not- look away from him.

She remembers her trigger finger twitching with sinful power, she remembers choking back the insistence at killing another lonely person, devoid of their autonomy on a basic level when they signed up for a mercenary-issued ticket to hell.

She remembers hopelessness. She remembers refusal. She remembers the smile reaching his eyes when she played along with his joke. 

“Why don’t rats like cats?” Her radio labors out. 

She half forgot what his voice sounded like, surprisingly excitable and shrill for a man of his stature. Her brain stutters around the implication of the only words she’s heard him say to her since the fateful ravine that gained Mouse her own personal 6’10” shadow. 

She blinks a few times in surprise, genuinely pondering if her long hours hiking through the woods have made her susceptible to hallucination and general hysteria. She is not thinking when she timidly responds-

“Why?” 

“Because they are weapons of maus-destruction.” Konig replies like it’s not the stupidest thing she’s ever heard in her goddamn life. Perhaps it's pity at the memory of his discomfort around his comrades. Of the thought of the way he tries to make his body so small when around others (truly an impossible task he routinely fails.) Maybe it’s irrational fear, twofold and buried in her instinct to shoot despite the clear disadvantage on his behalf and her insistence that she does not do her damn job, or fear of the inhuman man in front of her stalking her through the woods. Or it could be discomfort, no one ever prepared her for dealing with whatever the fuck this is in basic training or field school. In the end, it doesn’t really matter what it is.

In the sparkling, decadent light of a sunrise, her heart hammers in her throat at the first joke he’d told her, in some strange and desperate attempt to fill the meters of silence between them.

She laughs. 

And he hears it.

And with his wide stance, his ghastly executioner’s hood in the place of a crown, and his knife back in its holster- his beautiful eyes seem to smile. Suddenly, his eyes look lived in, like someone has just put up new curtains in an abandoned house. His whole affect changes hinging on what was an irresponsible outburst on her behalf at best.

And for the first time, she does not fear a monster hunting her through the woods, silent and purposeful in his pursuit of prey. Instead, she wants to understand a man, whose eyes have lit up like a princess has just laughed when he kissed her hand.) 

Soap wanders back into her small perch with two cups of coffee and sets one down next to her. She takes a quick glance and hums with appreciation. He takes another sip out of his and she remembers that they’re supposed to share shift for about an hour before his rotation ends.

“You treat all your girls to coffee in the morning?” She quips.

“Only the pretty ones,” he returns with an effortless charisma and her breath catches.

Not because of Soap, but because in that alleyway, where she really shouldn’t be looking, she sees the uneasy rise of two massive shoulders and-

Oh my god, did König just… get jealous? 

The next idea she has is downright evil, really this is not the place or the time or any of that but-

Fuck it. She’s already flirting with the enemy, what more could this do? She’s already told the poor mountain of a man something dangerously adjacent to “God I really missed you when we didn’t talk to each other for three weeks like a horny teenager and by the way I love you desperately and think about you when I’ve got my hands down my pants,” and she probably imagined him tensing up, anyways. No harm, no foul. 

Maybe, it's dangerous, to wave a steak in front of a mountain lion, but what if she wants to get mauled?

“Hey Soap, what page are you on?” She says, putting her terrible plan into action. She sees him look up from his report, or more likely an idle sketch, on her periphery. 

“Ah, only the second chapter, did'ya move my bookmark?”

“Nope, the book’s in the leftmost pocket in my duffle.”

“Thank ya,” He says and moves from his spot to go fetch the book from it. She takes a quick sip of her coffee, delighted to realize he’s made it to her specifications as far as milk and sugar go, as he rummages around in her bag.

The impromptu book club started nearly eight months ago when Nova passed her copy of Emma by Jane Austen off to Gromsko to help him with his English. That turned into Mouse recommending the book Jane Eyre to Nova on the pure suspicion that she would hate it, which she did. Gromsko still needed to practice and enjoyed the spirited discussions so he joined the blossoming group with an English copy of The Doll by Aleksander Głowacki after he finished Jane Eyre. Never one to be left out, and surprisingly well-read when he wanted to be, Soap had pitched the idea of The Lord of the Flies (because to quote “Fucking Brits,” and he wanted to subject others to his high-school reading list.) If she remembered correctly, Farah and Reyes had also started sharing copies of books they enjoyed occasionally.

“Can’t believe it was Gromsko that put it in rotation.” Soap says, pulling out a well-worn copy of The Silence of the Lambs from the bag.

“He said he picked it up years ago in Polish thinking it was a cooking field guide.” She offers, as the man next to her idly thumbs through pages.

“Yer shitting me, yeah?”

She just shakes her head and smiles into her scope. Soap laughs and removes his homemade bookmark, a pencil sketch of a stake-out view somewhere in Mexico scribbled onto scrap paper. He keeps his thumb on the page and flips through to where hers is, much further along.

“Yer a right romantic, ain’cha Bonnie?” Soap laughs somewhere between the pages and somewhere behind her. “Hmm?” 

“This part, that’ya highlighted,” she hears a well-meaning sneer in his words. “The one you put the hearts by and everything…”

Mouse’s mouth tethers itself into a terse line and she attempts her best noncommittal shrug. 

Somewhere in her line of sight, a mountain shrugs himself chuckling lightly. She wonders what it would feel like, to lay on his broad, muscled chest as he laughs, how closely he would hold her, how she could rest entirely on top of his chest and not touch the ground beneath them and-

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She lies through her teeth. Soap’s laugh behind her is loud and proud. Suddenly, his casual sadism isn’t so amusing when turned around on her. 

“Do you think it's because I like to look at you and think about eating you up—“ he reads from the book, voice dripping in mock chivalry and breathless romanticism. “About how you would taste?"

She feels her cheeks and ears heat up as Soap loudly proclaims her funeral to all those who may care, and she doesn’t miss the way König leans a little too close to his radio as he goes about mocking her. His stance shifts as if he hangs on the very words like he’s found a secret buried deep in her subconscious. Technically, she has no way of knowing, but Mouse knows in her heart that König is smiling. At least someone is having fun. 

Once Soap comes down from his laughing fit he puts her bookmark back to its spot and talks at the back of her head. 

“With your pressed flower bookmark and everything. Oh, it would be sweet if he wasn’t Hannibal the Cannibal.” Soap hisses out. “I always figured you were…” he pauses searching for the right word, “adventurous from how Gromsko talks bout ya, but seriously cannibalism?”

If she’s not mistaken, König’s hand grips ever so slightly tighter on the radio attached to the best. Maybe the battle plan has to change, but she’s still got some ideas. 

Soap is completely oblivious to the electricity licking up the air between her perch and one man on the ground. He looks around frantically, seemingly desperate to find her, and look in her eyes. Mouse is a sniper, she really should hate the attention, but something fatalistic descends into her smile as she lets Soap continue his little outburst. 

“I swear. You and him, yer sure there’s nothing there? He’s even given you special field medicine lessons, no one gets treatment like that from Gromsko.”

“His name is Sobieslaw.” Notably, it is not a denial. Technically, everything that’s just been said is the truth. 

König’s shoulders rise. 

He looks right down her site. 

She smiles. 

Come and get me, kitty-cat. 

“See! That’s what I’m talking about. You’re the only person who calls him by his first name.”

“Because you never put in the effort to learn it.”

“That don’t mean a thing since I don’t have tits.” 

“You do, just not as good as mine.”

“Aye, off it. Gromsko is into you.” She can hear from the way Soap’s voice carries haphazardly around the room that he is pacing and talking with his hands. She doesn’t turn her back, gaze still fixated on the looming shadow in her sights. Soap continues, entirely unaware of the exact type of beast he is tempting. “He swaggers around you, never even bothers to fucking ask to pick up your boxes, he just does it. His voice gets all soft around ya, too, like he’s cooing at a goddamn pet animal or something. He nearly got into an actual pissing contest with Ghost the other day when he bitched about you beating him in poker. Face the facts, Bonnie, he wants you.” 

König’s eyes have focused with the ferocity of an apex predator and his chest labors out concentrated and sharp inhales and exhales. He resembles a recently sharpened knife, desperate for some carnage after a particular kind of attention. His body is crumpled in on itself not unlike a cat getting ready to pounce. His heels dig desperately into the cobblestones beneath his feet. His hand flicks out his beloved Glock field knife with all the reverence of a praying man.

In short, he looks every part like he does in immediate battle. He looks like he did the split second before he started sprinting for her in the snowy woods, the scene that occupies her lonely nights when she tries in complete vanity to recreate the feel of his hands cradling her sides.

Mouse should be scared of König.

Instead, she sees before her a scene of complete and hopeless adoration focused so intently on her alone that she should be afraid of. Realistically, she recognizes the clear and present danger of the moment. Is König upset at her? At Soap? At a potential adversarial suitor by way of Gromsko? She doesn’t quite know, but after a career of intentionally hiding like a coward, she basks infatuated by the calamitous captivation he exhibits.

He looks like he wants to maul something to death.

As keen as she is on getting him close enough to try to get over to her (and ideally, throw her under him,) in her infinite mercy, Mouse decides the teasing has gone on long enough.

“I like Gromsko just fine, but not like that.” Soap audibly scoffs and König’s entire form relaxes. Both men mutter something to themselves before an encore of gunfire breaks out. Mouse’s heart stutters to a stop when her radio comes in.

“Visual on Gaz, he’s hit!” Nova calls out, clearly alarmed. Soap grabs for the radio right next to Mouse and brings it to his face, holding onto a few loose wires as he does to ensure the amalgamation does not fall apart in his fingers.

“Where is he?”

“Two blocks from south from you, Gromsko is a click out.”

Soap looks at Mouse with his heart bobbing in his throat. The pain and worry on his face is palpable.

“Go.” She says. Soap looks around frantically at their supplies, seemingly taking a split second worth of inventory, making as many life-or-death decisions as he can in such little time.

“Soap, listen to me,” Mouse soothes. “I keep overwatch, you take my TAC vest and stabilize him until he can get a medic.”

“Mouse, I can’t just leave you-” “You can, and you will. Go.” She says with all the finality of a door slamming shut. Soap doesn’t look at her again as he gathers her supplies and nearly sprints downstairs. 

Soap leaves. Quickly. Quietly. He never looks back.

Her stomach settles into discomfort and she looks through the door he closed with the same sad nostalgia she looked through falling snow and monumentous trees. She can’t help but think she would not get the same priority in Gaz’s situation. Like some terrible premonition, she imagines bleeding out on the ground as Soap turns away, never once looking back.

Would König come for me? She ponders, before she smothers the paranoia-induced delusion with the memory of his large hands on her sides. She looks down at her shoelace, where she carved a cylindrical hole through his effigy to attach it. The birchwood mouse carving that sleeps at her right toe gives a silent reassurance: he never really left you, did he?

By the time she looks back into her scope, in between the all-too-familiar white noise of war that’s broken out around her, she sees a shadow dart out from the alleyway one down from where König is. The figure is cloaked in the specific type of military fatigue denoting his affiliation, one that is unluckily for him, kill on sight. It ducks behind the building to the right, where König is. It stalks out, lining itself up behind the hooded man, brandishing a drawn pistol.

König doesn’t have the time to react to the blood spray that litters across his back from the other man’s head once Mouse pulls the trigger on her gun, silently thankful (as awful as it is,) that Gaz getting hurt allowed her to take the shot without Soap inquiring into her actions. (But maybe it’s her fault in the first place that König was distracted enough to allow someone to get the drop on him…)

König looks back towards her and his head lulls to the side like a heavy flower bloom weighed down by morning dew. His eyes, somehow the softest she’s ever seen, are also carving a large chunk of her soul like a knife cuts through soft wood. When he lifts his hood to blow a kiss to her, she knows she will never get her traitorous heart back.

“Danke, mein Engel,” the radio on her table whispers in his voice.

“It’s only fair. I did owe you, after all.” She responds, all together unconcerned with whether or not he can hear her. She smiles, thankful she can see those bright eyes another day. 

When he turns away, she feels her entire heart walk away with him. With every step of his fleeting form, she feels less and less herself, as though someone had separated her shadow from where it meets her feet. Something has changed in the air between them, a sad resignation settles into her trigger finger when she releases it.

For the first time, she does not feel as though she wouldn’t run if he took her, but rather that some integral part of her is with him as he leaves. 

All is fair in love and war, but she’s not sure just how much longer she can stand to play cat and mouse.

taglist!

@kneelingshadowsalome @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyy @haisebo @crowbird

And special thanks to @bucca2 and @ivymarquis for finally kicking my ass into gear to write this. Can't wait to read yall's WIPs!

[kaccvcate]

My apologies for complimenting a video game, I agree completely that "historical" games are poorly researched garbage churned out by overworked writers pushed by greedy producers who can't be bothered making good art because they know people with too much money will buy whatever crap they put out. Basically the same industry problems that make most Hollywood movies unwatchable. Assassin's Creed is as much a fantasy about viking life as How to Train Your Dragon, and that's why it looks fun to me. I will say this, realistic looking open map games are not for me, I always get lost and then bored and then I never play again (the open map reminds me I'd rather be playing outside.) The only video games I enjoyed playing for more than a couple hours are Okami, Grim Fandango, and Portal/Portal 2, every other one I've played was repetitive crap that's designed to test your motor control and patience and not your problem solving and deductive skills, which is more what I enjoy exercising. Most of them don't even try to make you laugh!

Anyway, this is my favorite piece of Viking media ever produced. With its gloriously lush animation and totally Scandinavian sense of humor, it bankrupted the Danish animation industry with its massive failure, much like Akira did in Japan. To me that's the biggest tragedy, because it's so beautifully unique, and its portrayal of the mythology is closest to the source material of any adaptation I've seen.

I also enjoyed Benny's Badekar (Benny's Bathtub) which unfortunately has never been translated into English. It's not about vikings, but it's another unique animated film from Denmark.

[capturedheritage]

Natural Falls State Park: Oklahoma’s Hidden Waterfall Gem

Tucked away in the Ozark Highlands just west of West Siloam Springs, Oklahoma, Natural Falls State Park spans a modest 120 acres yet packs a powerful scenic punch. Here’s why this park deserves a spot on your bucket list:

🌊 Majestic Waterfall

At the heart of the park is a stunning 77-foot waterfall, cascading into an emerald pool nestled within a V-shaped valley. This dramatic drop is tied for Oklahoma’s tallest waterfall—and a cousin to Turner Falls—making it a breathtaking sight year-round. The state even pumps water to the top during dryer spells to keep the cascade flowing.

📜 Rich History & Pop Culture

Once privately known as Dripping Springs, the site was a popular roadside retreat until Oklahoma purchased the land in 1990 and renamed it Natural Falls. Fun fact: the area served as a filming location for the beloved 1974 movie Where the Red Fern Grows. Long before that, Native American tribes—and later Union and Confederate soldiers—found solace around these springs.

🎯 Access & Amenities

Easily reachable: Just 6 miles west off Hwy 412, with ADA-compliant paths from the parking lot to the top overlook . A second observation deck with seating lies at the base of the falls.

Modern conveniences: The park has RV and tent campsites (44 RVs, 27 tents), plus 5 yurts—complete with AC/heat, microwave, fridge, coffee maker, and deck—for a cozy “glamping” experience.

Activities for all: Explore hiking trails (around 3.5 miles total), disc golf, fishing (catch and release), playgrounds, volleyball, horseshoes, basketball, and picnic spots.

🌿 Flora & Fauna

The misty falls create a microclimate ideal for ferns, mosses, and liverworts—over 18 fern species thrive here . In the wider woods, expect a rich mix: maples, oaks, hickory, dogwood, sassafras, pawpaw, redbud, and spicebush populate the lush forest floor.

🛠️ Visitor Tips

Entrance fee: $10 per vehicle (Oklahoma residents $8) with annual and multi-day passes available. Veterans and seniors may be waived.

Hours: Daily from daylight until dusk, with the office/gift shop running from 8:30 am to 5 pm.

No swimming: To protect the ecosystem, water access is limited to viewing platforms.

Best hike for families: The waterfall trail is a quick, manageable hike—mostly paved and stroller/wheelchair friendly. For a loop, mix in Fox Den, Ghost Coon, Pine Ridge, or Bear trails; bring a trail map or use AllTrails—some are less maintained.

🧳 Planning Your Visit

1. Pack right: Bring layered clothing, sturdy shoes, water, and snacks.

2. Book ahead: Reserve campsites or yurts online—these fill up fast, especially on weekends.

3. Support conservation: Entry fees help fund park maintenance and protect native life.

4. Explore nearby: West Siloam Springs lies just 6 miles away and is a great base if you want to combine this with a trip to Strange Brew or the Cherokee Casino.

📣 Final Thoughts

Natural Falls State Park may be small, but it delivers big on experience: a towering waterfall, scenic forest trails, modern camping with a glamping twist, and a slice of living history. Whether you're chasing waterfalls, glamping in a yurt, or enjoying a peaceful afternoon among ferns and forest, this is a staple for anyone exploring Oklahoma’s hidden outdoors.

So next time you're in the Tulsa area or cruising through northeastern Oklahoma, take the short detour to West Siloam Springs—you won’t regret it.

Quick Info:

Location: 19225 E 578 Rd, Colcord, OK (on US 412, 6 miles west of West Siloam Springs)

Entrance Fee: $10/vehicle ($8 OK residents); veterans & seniors waived.

Open Daily Daylight–dusk; office 8:30 am–5 pm year-round

Campsites & Yurts: 44 RV, 27 tent, plus 5 furnished yurts.

Top Activities : Waterfall viewing, hiking, disc golf, picnics, playgrounds, fishing, group functions.

[lookingforhappy]

transcript of Five's case files on the Hindenburg, the case that he solves for the Commission while working in management:

MEMORANDUM ON INTENDED EVENTS RE: HINDENBURG DISASTER May 6, 1937 The airship will complete its first scheduled demonstration flight for the 1937 season, between Frankfurt, Germany, and Lakehurst. It will depart from Frankfurt about 8:15 P.M, G.M.T., Monday, May 3, and will be due at Lakehurst on the morning of Thursday, May 6. It will be due out of Lakehurst at 10:00 P.M E.S.T, that night. Because of unfavorable winds encountered en route, its arrival at Lakehurst will be deferred until 6:00 P.M, Thursday evening, and departure will be postponed until midnight or later in order to reservice and prepare for the voyage. The ship is owned and operated by the Deutsche Zeppelin Reederei, G.m.b. H, of Berlin, W8, under den Linden, Germany. The flight, which is intended to be one of a series to be arranged into the United States territory during 1937, will be authorized by a provisional air navigation permit from the Secretary of the Navy to the American Zeppelin Transport, Inc., of 354 Fourth Avenue, New York City, as general United States agent of the Deutities at the Naval Air Station at Lakehurst. On March, 1937 the German Government will renew the airworthiness certification of the aircraft, reporting that all of its safety devices had been inspected and found satisfactory. Personnel, including officers, numbered 61, will be on board, of whom 22 will die as a result of the accident. Passengers, 36 persons besides the Crew will be on board. Of these, 13 will die as a result of the accident. Other passengers and members of the crew will sustain serious injuries. Total weight of the freight carried will be 325 pounds and will be stowed in the main freight compartment at Frame 125; 2 dogs will be kenneled at Frame 92, and 3 packages will be stowed in the control car. Mail will be carried in a compartment on the top of the control car. Of the freight and mail on a few pieces of mail will be recovered. The ground personnel will consist of 92 naval personnel and 139 civillians. Practically all of the gorund crew will have previous experienve landing airships. One member of the ground crew will die as a result of burns received during the accident. Across the Atlantic from Germany to the United States, the flight will be uneventful, save for retarding winds which will not be unusually turbulent. The route traveresed by the ship on this side of the ocean will be from Nova Scotia, vis Boston, Providence, Long Island Sound, New Forks and thense cruise along the coast for a few hours before retracing its course from Tuckerton N.J., to the naval Air Station.

ATMOSPHERIC ANOMALIES PRESENT The 7:30 A.M, EST. U.S. Weather Bureau map of the vicinity, including the northeastern tier of states, Shows a disturbance over central New York and northeastern Pennsylvania, with a cold front extending from this center Southwestward to West Virginia. This front separated neutralized polar air to the east of the cold front which had become warmer and more moist and neutralized colder air to the west of the front. The warmer and more moist mass of air covered the Middle Atlantic states, southeastern New York and southern New England. --- The cold front advanced eastward during the day from central Peensylvania at a rate of 12 to 15 m.p.h., passing Lakehurst shortly after 3:30 P.M There was not quite sufficient surface heating during the early afternoon to set off a thunderstom at Lakehurst, and it was not until the front passed and some slight lifting of the air mass occured that a thunderstorm began, The records of the Naval Air Station show that the thunderstorm began at 3:43 P.M and ended at 4:45 P.M --- Telegraphic reports indicate, the thunderstorms in and to the west of New Jersey were not severe; nor were they of a well defined squall character. Between 12 P.M and 1:30 P.M E.S.T., these storms extended in a definite belt over the region of Harrisburg, Pa., northeastward to Bear Mountain, N.Y., and New Hackensack, N.Y. Between 1:30 and 2:40 P.M, none was reported. Between 2:40 and 3:40 P.M, Camden and Fort Monmouth, N.J., only reported thunderstorms. Between 3:30 and 4:30 P.M, Lakehurst, Mtchel Field, N.Y, and Floyd Bennett Field, N.Y., reported them. Between 4:40 and 5:40 P.M. none was reported; and betweeen 5:40 and 6:40 P.M, Floyd Bennett onlt reported one. Summarized, the thunderstorms in eastern New Jersey were of a local character and not severe. --- The New York Weather Bureau office bulletin issued at 1:20 P.M, May 6th, follows: "1800 G.C.T. Moderate wind shift with increasing and lowering clouds possible thundershowers New York and vicinity expected in middle or late afternoon Stop New York Scattered cumulus and small cumulo nimbus approaching from west - visibility excellent surface wind south 12 miles - barometer 29.68 falling steadily temperature 66."

DATE: May 6 1937 0725 EST OPERATION: Hindenburg Disaster DAMAGE: Catastrophic PLACE: Lakehurst, New Jursey, 40.026088, -74.316592 LOCALE: Open air field WEATHER: Light rain PILOT: Commercial TOTAL HOURS: 567 ALL 63 NO TYPE LAST 90 DAYS: 179 ALL 62 NO TYPE CASUALTIES: Crew: 23; Pass: 13 OCCURENCE: Numerous expert and lay witnesses on the field testified as to where they first observed the fire on the ship. There was great diversity in this testimony for reasons that are very apparent. Among the most important of these reasons were the extreme rapidity with which the fire spread, the different positions of the witnesses with respect to the ship, the size of the ship, more than one-sixth of a mile in length, and an over-all height, equicalent to a twelve story building, and the fact that the interval between the first glimpse of flame and the impact of the main body of the ship with the ground was 32 seconds. The great majority of the ground witnesses who testified as to the first sppearance of fire were looking at the port side of the ship. After carefully weighing the oral evidence and transcribing to a master diagram the numerous disgrams on which the gound witnesses indicated their first observations of fire, we conclude that the first open flame, produced by the burning of the ship's hydrogen, appeared on the top of the ship forward of the entering edge of the vertical fin over Cells 4 and 5. The first open flame that was seen at that place was followed after a very brief interval by a burst of flaming hydrogen between the equator and the top of the ship. The fire spread in all directionsmoving progessively for ward at high velocity with a succession of mild explosions. As the stern quarter became enveloped, the ship lost boutanct and cracked at about one-quarter of the distance from the rear end. The forward part assumed a bow-up attitude, the rear appearing to remain level. At the same time the ship was settling to the ground at a moderate rate of descent. Whereas there was a definite detonation after flame was first observed on the ship, we believe that the phenomenon was initially a rapid burning or combustion - not an explostion. From the observations made, is appears that there was a quantity of free hydrogen present in the after part of the ship when the fire originated.

HINDENBURG DIASTER INTELLIGENCE SUMMARY Place | Date | Hour | Summary of Events and Information | Remarks FRANKFURT April | 2. | A deviation occured in the subject's plot to detonate a controlled explosive device on the rear fuel tank of the zeppelin. An alternate plan is underway. | EF 5. | Progress in the creation of the subject's explosive device has stalled. An alternate catalyst is still viable. | SB 7. | The zeppelin has successfully completed it's seventh cross-continent trip carrying 19 crew members | - LAKEHURST May | 9. | Lakehurst Nacal Air Station recevied 8 new directives in preperation for the first cross-continent civilian flight of the zeppelin. German and American organizations continue to increase communications. | EF 12. | Progress continues on the controlled explosive device. Another player emerges in America, a linesman from New York. | SB 15. | The zeppelin is grounded for 2 days as high winds buffer the Western coast of the English Isles. FRANKFURT June | 29. | 300 feet of steel is salwed and loaded up at Frankfurt for repaits to the central gangway after miscalculations in the rate of expansion cause cells 15 and 16 to bend 4 degrees outside of normal variation. | EF Instructions regarding Intelligence Summaries are contained in Regula II and the Management Manual. Title pages will be prepared in manuscript.

The airship will be placed in service early in 1936. It will bear the builder's numer LZ 129 and have been constructed by the Luft Schiffbau Zeppelin of Friedrichschafen, Germany, and organization which also built the 118 Zeppelin type airships. Briefly described, this type of design provides for frame work of duralumin metal girders with tension wires. There is division by fringe wirings of the bosy into different compartments, into which the gas bags are placed to received the lifting gas; a keel walkway to take certain load; a framwork with an outer cover of fabric to give form, and engine cars suspended from the frame outside the ship. The Hindenburg is a Zeppelin type airship, having an axial corridor constructed longitudinally through the center of the hull. During its 9 months of operation in 1936, this airship will make more than 55 flights; flying 2,754 hours, cruising 191, 584 miles, crossing the ocean 34 times, carrying 2, 798 passengers and more than 377,000 pounds of mail and freight, all without mishap. The Hindenburgs length is about 803.8 feet; height, 147 feet; maximum diameter, 135 feet; fineness ratio, about 6; total gas volume, 7, 063, 000 cubic feet; normal volume, 6, 710, 000 cubic feet. Weight of the ship with necessary equipment and fuel is 430, 950 pounds; maximum fuel capacity, 143, 650 pounds; total payload 41, 990 pounds, and total life is 472, 940 pounds. Cruising speed is about 75 statute m.p.h.; maximum speed is slightly over 84 m.p.h. Passenger space is entirely within the hull. The control system is the conventional Zeppelin type control, with two rudders acting as a Unit for horizontal control, and two elevators acting likewise for veritcal control. Emergency elevator and rudder control wheels are installed in the stern of the ship. An electrical gyroscopic device attached to the forward rudder wheel provides automatic steering.

[dragonmaiden39point5]

No Escape (2)

Probably one or two more parts for this? Idk if I can get up five parts just yet. Appreciate the amazing response! Thank you so much to everyone who read, y'all are the best❤️💕🥰

All characters depicted are over the age of 18

Summary: You grow tired of Bakugo's bad behavior and after 4 years as a couple, you make a run for it.

Katsuki Bakugo x Black!Reader

Darkfic. Stalking, humiliation, dub-con, mild Daddy!kink. Potentially some untagged triggers.

For a few months, you plotted and played your role. If you wanted to go somewhere, you asked him to bring you. You wore overly revealing clothes and climbed all over him in public. You stopped using his name, referring to him exclusively as Daddy no matter who was around. You would initiate sex, begging him to fuck you; beg to fuck him. You even took to sending him video and pictures of you playing with yourself when he left you at home, sometimes in his oversized clothes, other times nothing at all-- (which would make him come back much faster, if he could help it). You really made him feel his victory; it was the only way to disarm him.

Kats was too busy loving that you didn't resist him anymore and was all too eager to have you all to himself; You, he, and the dog had been to 5 countries in the three months since. It was easy to get swept up in the gifts and vacations (and mind-blowing orgasms) and forget he was something that you needed to get away from, since he had been absolutely perfect since you started acting the way he wanted. You almost felt bad about your brewing plot to leave.

Well, it actually wasn't much of a plot, you were you going to take a few thousand out of his home safe, get the dog, and ghost. He was just too unstable and insecure, and at this point it was clear that he could only behave properly when you were 'obedient'.

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The sole opportunity to leave came with the passing of another month. When he wasn't traveling, Bakugo habitually visited his parents' headstones on the Saturday of every third weekend, at sunset. It was the absolute only time that he left you devoid of incessant phone calls, messages, and his suffocating presence. A cloud of guilt shrouded the decision to leave at such a time... But you'd never know peace if you didn't. What other choice did you have? You had learned from the last several times you attempted to break up with him that it would only intensify his crazy.

When he left that evening, you waited until receiving the text that he was there to make your move. You left absolutely everything behind other than Thunder with his dogfood and cash from Bakugo's safe-- On foot, hence lurking through the woods that started on the edge of the property instead of taking a main road. The location of motion cameras on the edge of the acreage that surrounded the house were something that you had carefully mapped out the boundaries of-- And after almost 4 years, you knew where they were by heart.

There was also a small plan that was put into play as a distraction; He always took the smaller, more low key of the cars when visiting the cemetery. In turn, you sent his chef to a store over an hour in the opposite direction of where you were going, in his easy to spot orange car.

It would be hours before he knew you were gone.

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Bakugo entered the house, flopping down on a couch in the den. Immediately a frisson ran through his body and he looked around as anxiety sunk its icy claws into his stomach . Something was *off*. The pitter-patter of Thunder's feet as he ran through the house to greet him was completely absent. He rose from the couch and called your name in confusion.

No answer.

"This again?" He huffed, going upstairs.

A pit formed in his stomach as blood and adrenaline began to course through his veins when he didn't see you or the dog in any of the rooms.

He tried to calm himself, shuffling through his pants pockets with shaking hands to check the surveillance. Other than seeing you go in through the front door and out through the back, they barely caught you and Thunder in range, before going completely out of view. Running sweaty palms through his hair he fumbled through his contacts until he found Midoriya and Iida's names name in the group chat.

He couldn't think straight, barely able to get his words out, typing with fidgeting hands, "She's gone!"

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A few months went by and you were living it up. You had moved 3 times since ghosting Bakugo and never looked back. The night you left, you walked through the woods until you reached a back road, and then continued until you reached a bus stop. Because you couldn't risk using a phone or GPS, you went off of memory to figure out how to get there.

You rode the bus to its farthest stop, and then another to Central Downtown, where you were able to catch the Megabus out of town. Of course you expected to be seen on the cameras on the streets and at intersections, but you did not care. It certainly helped that no one made an issue of Thunder joining you on each bus. Perhaps it was his service vest, or maybe there just weren't enough people around to care, either way it made your escape much easier.

Your life, now 8 hours and hundreds of miles away, consisted of a job doing live-in care for an elderly man named Torino. He still had his mobility, but no longer had the energy to stay on his feet long enough complete tasks such as cleaning or cooking and the person who usually took care of him was currently traveling for work.

In the meantime, you were able to live in the massive basement of the home rent free. It was basically a 'modern' renovated studio apartment, while the first and second floor of the house remained mostly in its outdated state.

When you weren't at home, you worked part time for a juice truck that drove around town. Thunder had to stay at the house for that, but he was a good boy and even knew how to get things for Torino.

Life had become so peaceful..

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Per your new routine, you cooked for Torino early on the weekends and then headed out by bike to your job on the juice truck. This day in particular, he asked if you could cook a bit more than usual because his former caretaker would be stopping over for a visit since he was back in town. You were more than happy to do so, proceeding as normal without a second thought.

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When Toshinori arrived at his former teacher's home, he was stunned to say the least. The trimmed front yard's garden beds were in bloom and the porch was clear of all debris and trash, instead having cute decorative tables and chairs. There were also a few hanging plants that there was certainly no way that Torino could've put up, let alone water every few days.

The inside of the house was now immaculately kept, with scented candles, incense, and more plants. All of the clutter had been thrown out, the dishes cleaned, and the floor shined. "I am Here!!" He called out to Torino and was pleasantly surprised to be greeted with the sound of paws clattering on the polished floors. "Hello there, Thunder!"

"I'm back here!" Torino called out from the kitchen.

Toshinori was beyond impressed. Everything was clean and smelled nice; You'd certainly exceeded expectations. He hired you on Torino's behalf since Midoriya had moved to open his second gym location and would not be able to make the journey regularly to care for the old man.

"Where's the boy?" Torino asked as soon as Toshinori entered the kitchen.

"Way to get to the point." He chuckled in response. "He's running a few minutes behind; I think he stopped by his dad's house first. But, wow everything sure looks nice in here!"

"Yes, indeed! That girl that you hired is very sweet. I asked her to cook some extra food so that you and Midoriya could have some when you got here. She even made tea." He said with a smile.

"It's great to see you in good spirits." Toshinori replied, "It seems like you're feeling better too."

"Yes. Remember that garden I mentioned her planting in the backyard? Turns out it's fruits and veggies instead of flowers! I've actually been feeling well enough to walk down the street and back."

"Wonderful!" Said Toshinori, "Here, let me help you with that." He carefully grabbed 2 of the covered plates from the counter and followed Torino to the living room couch, where folding table stands were waiting. Just as they sat down, Thunder took off towards the front door.

The lock clicked and Midoriya stepped inside, greeted by a perfectly seated gray pooch wagging his tail in the entryway. He stared in confusion for a moment. The dog had blue eyes and only the front paws were white, 'Thunder? I thought Kacchan's girlfriend ran off with him?', he thought to himself.

Of course other dogs could look like that, but a sharp shiver hit him and his heart skipped as alarm bells went off in his head.

"Midoriya, my boy? Is that you?" Toshinori called out.

"It is! Here I come!" He answered back, rushing to the living room to properly greet them.

"Did you get lost on the way in?" Torino joked.

"Oh, no. Sorry about that. This place looks so different than it did a few months ago." Midoriya remarked, sitting on the loveseat, "And the dog surprised me. When did you get it?"

"Oh, he came with the new caretaker." Toshinori interjected.

Midoriya hummed in response, as the cute animal came and placed its muzzle on his knee, looking into his eyes. Thunder would always do exactly this when he went to Kacchan's house and didn't give out pets as soon as he walked in. 'Yeah, this is definitely Kacchan's dog.' he thought to himself, as he finally reached down to give the dog the attention he was asking for. He gave the dog scratches under the chin as it panted happily, now putting both white paws on his leg-- the gesture that he used to beg for treats. Midoriya licked his lips as he thought of all the possibilities. 'She could've sold the dog to hurt Kacchan. Or maybe he got away from her when she was somewhere nearby. Because if he got lost or abandoned before they left town, Thunder probably would've just wandered back home. Or maybe--"

"Young man! Did you hear me?" Torino asked sharply, somewhat annoyed.

"S-Sorry Torino. No, I didn't hear you."

"I asked if you could put the dog bowl out. It's in the kitchen." Torino huffed.

"Sure." Midoriya got up, chuckling to himself. A perfect opportunity to be nosey.

"Where's it at?" He called out, after getting to the kitchen.

"You'd know if you'd been listening!" He heard Torino shout, followed by Toshinori's voice saying; "Bottom cabinet by the fridge!"

He went to the cabinet, pulling out the food bowl and removing the lid, revealing portions of lightly cooked steak (amongst other meats), fish, eggs, and fruit, in some sort of broth, all cold as if it had just finished defrosting.

"Goodness." He remarked, rolling his eyes. There wasn't even a need to snoop around-- this was too obviously Bakugo's dog, and based off of its diet being maintained most certainly you were here...

"Hey Torino, what's the dog's name?" Midoriya yelled to the next room.

"Thunder!" Came the reply

"Come here, Thunder!" Midoriya said, with a smug smile barely able to contain his glee. He sat the bowl down and washed his hands, quickly drying them on his pants to take out his phone and snap a picture of the dog eating. Then, he headed to a hallway in the back of the house where a lone door awaited him. Toshinori had mentioned a renovation overhaul for the basement so that a caretaker could move in right away and he wanted to see the space now that it was yours.

Kacchan had bragged on you for years, promising to share you with him and Iida as they had done all the girls before, but talked about how difficult you were being and how you weren't ready, or wouldn't go for it. He sighed as he walked down the stairs into the massive area of the basement. He'd had the biggest crush on you and was now presented with an incredible opportunity, if he was impetuous enough to take it.

Eyes scanning the room, he spotted a quaint full sized bed that was perfectly made, save for a set of pajamas that was tossed onto it. You were only using maybe 1/4 of the oversized basement, with a few colorful rugs, dog bed in the sleeping area, miscellaneous books and trinkets filling 2 sets of built-in shelves and 3 armoires full of clothes. There was also a couch and a loveseat around a large area rug facing a T.V. mounted on the wall. The kitchen was clean but mostly untouched, likely due to you doing most of your cooking upstairs. Aside from the one room on the opposite side of the basement that was fully closed off with its own door (the bathroom), you hadn't filled any of the other space.

Midoriya skulked over to your bed, flopping down backwards and covering his face with your pillow. He took a deep breath, inhaling the light shea butter and argan oil scent that lingered there from your hair products. "Mmmm..." He hummed, undoing his belt. He was already half hard rubbing the outside of his jeans when he got an idea. Sitting up, he smoothed your sheets over, putting the pillows back in place. He looked straight to the opposite wall of the basement where the washing machine and dryer were, heading over with a spring in his step.

The laundry bin beside it was less than half full, but he rummaged anyway. Amongst the handful of T-shirts and shorts he dug out a pair of your underwear, burying his nose into the crotch area. There was only the faintest hint of pussy, yet his mouth still watered to taste it.

Finally, he undid and dropped his pants with haste, groaning as his erection sprung free. His hand wrapped around it, stroking as he took deep whiffs to inhale the scent of your cunt. There was so much he wanted to do to you and now you were right here in his reach, a sitting duck who didn't know that a she was about to be pounced on. "Oooh, shit..." He moaned, fucking his hand, precum beginning to dribble from the tip. You only got away because Bakugo didn't know what he was doing; Midoriya would've never would've let you escape. He put your panties in the hand that he was stroking himself with, loving the feeling of thrusting his dick across the soft fabric, before tightening his grip. His now free hand went to caress his balls, as his eyes shut tight so that he could picture you. The last time he saw you, you were in a slingshot bikini and playing with yourself on that beach vacation with Bakugo. He'd longed to fuck you so bad then, stuff your pussy while Kacchan fucked your drooling mouth. Aside from Thunder, you two had gone alone that time, but Kacchan certainly took plenty of pics and videos; He was ready to burst just thinking about it. "Such a slut.." growled to himself as he stroked as fast as he could. He wished he could cuff your wrists to the headboard and tie your ankles to them, so that he could devour your pussy until you were overstimulated and incoherent, while Bakugo stroked himself over your tits.

A shiver ran through his body and he moaned as he came hard, shooting his warm load into your panties. He braced himself against the washing machine panting as the last waves of orgasm rolled through his body.

He looked into his palm to see the underwear completely ruined. Taking a deep breath, he buried them back in the dirty clothes hamper and collected himself, stepping into the bathroom to wash his hands and splash cool water over his face.

When he was done cleaning himself up, he went back upstairs to find Toshinori and Torino out in the backyard amidst the flourishing garden that you'd planted.

"...What were you doing?" Toshinori asked suspiciously.

Midoriya cleared his throat, hoping his eyes weren't too glazed over from his massive release. "Well--"

"There you are!" Torino's voice cut through the air from across the yard, "Come! Make yourself useful." He said, gesturing to the wagon he was pulling full of harvested vegetables and fruit.

"Oh--I just,,, used the bathroom." He chuckled nervously in response, quickly shuffling away to help the old man.

Toshinori wasn't buying it, but he would let it got. For now.

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[kanerallels]

Today's @spectre-week prompt is dedicated to @keeper-of-sparkly-things, because it was her genius idea in the first place! Here it is on AO3, but it's also on here! Enjoy!

The Kingdom of Sand was, in a word, hot. Blisteringly hot, in a way that weighed on the scales and seared through the flesh. Zeb had only been there for a few days, and he felt like he was melting, scale by scale.

He hated it with a passionate fury. But he didn’t have a choice. Home… wasn’t an option anymore.

A shudder rippled through him at the memories— Insidious’s guards showing up at his home village. Lady Crystalline facing them, her children Petrel and Tern behind her, curious.

Blue blood, staining the snow bright.

So much death. Too much. Zeb had barely made it out alive. He still wasn’t sure how he’d made it out. He was captain of the guard, by the moons. He shouldn’t have been the one who was still alive.

But he was. And now he was in the Kingdom of Sand, watching himself evaporate drop by drop.

Pulling his wings a little closer in hope that there was some leftover cold in those scales, he squinted at the desert around him. He’d been traveling for five days, switching between flying and walking, and there was officially no sign of the Ice Kingdom behind him. Just sand and cacti, and the odd desert creature.

Luckily, Zeb had always been good at maps. And if he remembered correctly, he was getting closer to his goal. The Scorpion Den was at the heart of the desert, past even the old Sandwing palace, from back when rulers other than Insidious had actually held power. These days, they were just puppets or talonlicking scum who agreed with Insidious’s lies.

The Scorpion Den wasn’t like that. Mostly because it was a haven for criminals— or so Zeb had always heard. There had been times when it was more organized, run by dragons who wanted to help, not to harm. Now, who knew? All Zeb cared about was that it was a place where, hopefully, he could disappear.

After that… he didn’t know what would come next. Pantala wasn’t watched as closely as Pyrrhia was, so maybe he’d travel to the other continent. But once he was there, then what? Just hide away while the Empire continued their atrocities, massacring dragons who dared to stand up to Insidious?

The truth was, he didn’t know where to go next. The only thing he could focus on was putting one talon in front of the other, and the burning heat beating down on his scales.

It was worse down on the sand, though, and he’d been there for a couple hours already. Flaring his wings, it took Zeb a couple tries to get into the air, but once he was there, flying was a relief. It was a repetitive action, giving him something to focus on, and the wind rushing around him cooled him a little.

Time ticked by, but not much had passed before Zeb saw a dark shape looming on the horizon. As he grew closer, he recognized it with a jolt. This was the Sandwing palace. He’d been to once when he was new in the guard, years ago.

If he’d reached the palace, then it couldn’t be long before he reached the Scorpion Den. Beating his wings harder, Zeb pushed onwards. He was close— and he hadn’t had anything to drink in a while. There would be water there, and he could submerge himself in an oceanful.

He thought wistfully of the frigid seas of the Ice Kingdom, and kept flying.

Hours slipped by. The sun sank in the sky, but Zeb didn’t stop. It was smarter for him to fly by night, anyways. Kept him safe from prying eyes, and from the heat of the day.

So he flew through the night, the moons glittering off his wings, the temperature dropping to something far more pleasantly chilly. The night passed in a blur, the sky going dark and then fading into light again.

The sun slowly bled over the horizon, turning the sand below him orange and staining the sky. In the distance, the dark shape of a sprawling city marred the wide expanse of desert.

Zeb had made it to the Scorpion Den.

He landed outside the city limits gracefully. And by gracefully, he meant his wings faltered and his head spun and he wound up in a tangled pile, face down and spitting out sand.

In his defense, he’d been flying all night. And it had been a long time since he last had any water.

Scrambling up, he shook off his wings, waited until his head stopped whirling, and then started towards the city gate.

Zeb only made it a little ways into the city when he realized this wasn’t like any cities he’d ever been to before. The Ice Kingdom, while welcoming to other tribes, was simply too cold for other species. They generally had to leave their home to experience others. That had been more common, before Insidious. Now, with his reign, the Icewings kept to themselves. The idea of a Nightwing king ruling over everyone was just a little too close to certain past events to be anything less than ominous.

So the town where Zeb lived, and most of the others, were just Icewings.

There wasn’t an Icewing in sight here. There were Sandwings, mostly. But also Skywings, their orange and red scales bright against the sand, and duller brown Mudwings. The colors overlapped in an autumnal medley, with an occasional pop of blue from a Seawing or black from a Nightwing.

They were a little unusual. Zeb stuck out like a sore thumb, and everyone around him knew it. A lot of hostile and suspicious glances were being sent his way, and it was getting old. Zeb put on his most aggressive look— which didn’t take much, he was a natural at looking mean— and decided to find the closest oasis or well. If he didn’t get water soon, he was probably going to pass out.

He hadn’t made it far when things started to get interesting.

First, the streets started to get emptier. The dragons around him slipped out of sight or darted down alleyways, and Zeb frowned. Something was wrong.

Second, a squad of Insidious’s armored stormtroopers came barrelling down the street, and Zeb froze. Just the sight of them brought back memories he didn’t care to relive, and he tensed, ready for a fight.

But they went right past him, like he wasn’t even there, charging into a nearby alleyway, bristling with weapons.

What was happening nearby that was more dangerous than him?

Curiosity tugged at him until he found himself heading down the same alleyway, ears pricked. It wasn’t long before he heard… something. Snarls and shouts, clattering weapons. There was the barest hint of smoke, and Zeb slowed a little as he came closer.

Peeking around a corner, he took in the sight before him.

There were six stormtroopers, all carrying swords or spears and clad in white armor that covered their scales. They’d backed their quarry into a corner, and Zeb realized, with a jolt of surprise, that it was a Leafwing.

He hadn’t met too many Pantalan dragons in his time, and he was pretty sure this was the first Leafwing he’d ever seen. His scales were green, with highlights of brown, and his eyes were a surprising shade of blue-green.

More surprising than that, however, was his reaction to the troopers. He didn’t look remotely concerned. In fact, a bit of a smile crossed his face as he bounced on his talons a little, ready for a fight.

Zeb was already pretty sure he liked this guy.

“Surrender, rebel,” one of the troopers barked at him. “You’ve been interfering in Emperor Insidious’s business.”

The Leafwing snorted. “If keeping you from beating up a dragonet is interfering, then I think I’ll keep doing it.”

“Hybrids are outlawed—”

“For existing, yeah. So I’ve heard.” Flexing his talons, the Leafwing glared at them. “Dragons shouldn’t have to justify their right to live.”

“Disrespect like this won’t be tolerated,” the stormtrooper snarled, and the Leafwing grinned.

“Then do something about it.”

The troopers were about to attack. Zeb could see them tensing, ready to move in. And while the Leafwing looked like a warrior, that didn’t mean he could handle six on his own.

Which was good. Because Zeb was about ready for a fight too.

Stepping away from the wall, he inhaled deeply, then exhaled a long blast of frostbreath across the bare wings of the troopers in front of him.

Some of it missed, collecting in frosty spirals across the armor on their back, but it hit the mark well enough. The two dragons recoiled, howling— and the Leafwing moved.

He was fast, almost faster than Zeb as he barrelled into the nearest trooper. Letting out a snarl of satisfaction, Zeb hurled himself into the fray, yanking a spear from one of the trooper’s talons. Grabbing him and one of his companions, he slammed their heads together, and let them drop to the ground.

The Leafwing had already dispatched one of the dragons Zeb had hit with his frostbreath. The other one had collapsed, unmoving, on the ground. Another was fighting the Leafwing. And the sixth—

A blast of fire seared Zeb’s side, and he jerked backwards with a snarl. Swinging the spear at the dragon advancing towards him, he forced him backwards, backing him against the wall. He sent a blast of frostbreath towards him, then, when the trooper was distracted pulling back, slammed the hilt of the spear into his head.

It cracked against the helmet, but it worked. The trooper folded to the ground, unmoving. Dropping the spear, Zeb let out a satisfied grunt. It had been far too long since he’d gotten in a good fight.

“Thanks for the assist.”

Zeb turned to see the Leafwing, eying him curiously. “No problem,” he said.

The Leafwing nodded. “I’m Kanan. We don’t see a lot of Icewings here.”

“Can’t imagine why. Not like it’s a blasted inferno around here,” Zeb said dryly, grimacing. “And it’s Zeb.”

Kanan studied him for a minute, then seemed to come to a decision. “Well, Zeb, I think I can help with some of that. Come on— let’s get some water on those burns.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and ducked down an alley. Zeb hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to follow a clearly proficient warrior down a dark alley— but at this point, he was too thirsty to care. He headed after the Leafwing.

They wound their way down narrow alleys and edged between buildings, keeping away from the main crowds— though Zeb could hear them, calling and arguing and selling things. Finally, they popped out in front of a large white tent, and Kanan led the way inside.

The interior was shady and cooler, and Zeb enjoyed the lack of sun for a minute before taking in his surroundings. There were a few rugs and pillows piled in a corner, along with a wooden chest and a rack of weapons, and an opening at the back, which Kanan was heading towards. “We’ve got access to one of the oases out here,” he called over his shoulder. “You’re lucky— the Empire and the gangs have got all the others.”

Zeb hurried after him, coming out in front of a wide pool, surrounded by palm trees. There were a handful of other dragons, filling waterskins or flasks, but Zeb didn’t pay any attention to them.

Heading straight to the pool, he stuck his head in, gulping down several mouthfuls with a groan of relief. He heard Kanan off to his left talking to someone, but didn’t pay attention to the words as he scooped water out of the pool, dripping it over the burns from his encounter with the troopers. None were too bad, but they did sting, and Zeb wished, more than ever, for a pile of snow. Or at least for a lack of oppressive heat.

He settled for dumping a talonful of water over his head, then drinking a little more, this time slowly. The last thing he wanted was to be sick, and he was pretty sure that was a thing that could happen.

Sitting back on the sand, Zeb glanced towards Kanan. The Leafwing was approaching him, holding something, and at his side was another dragon. At first glance, to Zeb’s surprise, she looked to be a Silkwing.

Silkwings were a little more common than Leafwings— but where they were seen, all too often, they were slaves. Ornaments of society, as pretty as Rainwings but without the magical death spit. Zeb had always hated that practice. Thank the three moons, it was rare in the Ice Kingdom.

And this Silkwing didn’t look like a slave. Her green eyes were steady and calm, not a drop of subservience or fear in them. She held herself like a leader, not a servant. And while her green wings with the silvery lighter green patterns resembled Silkwings closely, the yellow highlights looked decidedly… sandy?

Interesting, Zeb thought. This might explain why Kanan had been picking a fight over a hybrid dragonet.

“Zeb, this is Hera,” Kanan told him, nodding at the Silkwing. “She’s the boss around here. Hera, this is—”

“The reason you’re not dead right now,” Hera finished, and Kanan gave her an offended look.

“I can handle myself.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say, dear.” Oh, they’re totally a thing, Zeb thought as Hera turned her attention to him. “Thank you for helping him out, Zeb. I wish there was some way we could repay you—”

“The water is just fine, ma’am,” Zeb told her.

Grinning, Kanan said, “I think we can do better than that.”

He tossed him the object he’d been holding, and Zeb caught it. It was an armband, made of green leather, and he frowned. “Right. Jewelry. That’s… great? Totally won’t look hideous on me?”

Rolling his eyes, Kanan said, “It was all I had. Put it on— you’ll see.”

Dubiously, Zeb strapped it onto one of his front arms. The minute it clicked shut, he froze.

Literally. A wave of icy cold swept the heat away, bathing him in arctic temperatures. It felt like he was outside on a perfectly cool day at home. “What—” Zeb stared at Kanan. And then he saw the narrow bracelet clasped around Kanan’s wrist, and the matching one on Hera’s. The kind that were generally animus touched communicators.

“Temperature regulator,” Kanan said, looking satisfied. “Removable at any time, and it’ll adjust to any climate. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Zeb said, staring at him. “What— are you—”

“Not that we make that public,” Hera added, her voice quiet. “The less people who know what he can do, the better.”

Nodding, Zeb said, “Got it. Well, thanks. Er— why did you help me?”

Kanan shrugged. “You helped me. It’s the least I could do. Besides… we’ve been hearing rumors about something bad happening in the Ice Kingdom. If you are running from that, you’ll need it.”

A memory of blood and terror flickered through Zeb’s mind, and he shoved it away. “Yeah. You’re not wrong.”

Hera nodded, her gaze sympathetic. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. Do you have any plans?”

“Not yet,” Zeb admitted. “But… I guess I could stick around for a bit.”

“We’re glad to have you,” Kanan told him, and for the first time since Zeb had run, things felt… not quite easier. But he was somewhere safe, with people who he could trust. And that was a step in the right direction.

[esteemed-excellency]

RE: Hiram's lodgings

Lore drop under the cut for everyone who's curious about the Townhouse, this is your chance to snoop around

Hiram coordinates all his affairs from his sanctum at the Brass Embassy and the Bazaar. He officially works for the Foreign Office, meeting diplomats in Wilmot's End, at the Palace, and overzee. He supervises his shady businesses from the Cabinet Noir in Balmoral, and he uses the Rooms above a Gambling Den as a secondary meeting location.

He keeps all his research notes and scientific papers at the university and at the Embassy sanctum, with backup texts in Parabola. There's backups of backups scattered around different lodgings like the Rooms above a Bookshop and a recently acquired Sanguine Château, in case of emergency. He keeps track of every single document and duplicate copy in his possession, never storing all his belongings in one place.

The Townhouse is the only lodging with an aesthetical purpose, other than functional: he needs a place to keep all the items he collected over the years, but almost everything is expendable in case of emergency. All the most important documents and personal items are in his rooms on the second floor, the only place he truly considers home.

The house staff is employed exclusively to look after the house and the guests, and even if the majority of them comes from a shady background they don't do any criminal work. Since Hiram is often out they can do whatever they want, as long as the house and the guests are looked after. The Second Floor is the only part of the house not accessible to guests, and if someone gets too curious the fingerkings can have everyone who gets too close to the mirrors.

Including foyers, bathrooms, facilities, balconies, corridors, store spaces, and other rooms I forgot to account for, the Townhouse consists of:

Basement: kitchen, pantry, scullery, store room, servants' dining room, cellar, vault. Other than the main stairwell, a servants staircase connects the basement to all the other floors. The vault holds some liqueurs, too expensive to be simply kept in the cellar, spirits (the alcoholic kind), spirits (the non-alcoholic kind), and whatever Hiram is smuggling around town on a daily basis. An old additional stairwell connects the basement to the attic but nobody knows about it, and if anyone discovers it they don't remember it for long. Hiram burned all the floor plans years ago (don't worry about it for now).

Ground Floor: porch, entrance hall, parlour, dining room, main library (literature, gothic novels, classics, poetry, theatre, art)

First Floor: drawing room, guest rooms + dressing rooms, budoir/fumoir (depending on the guests), second library (travelogues, naval tales, maps, globes, scientific treatises, penny dreadfuls).

Second Floor: Hiram's rooms + dressing room, private study, private library (law books, trade almanacs, hyper specific scientific treatises, proscribed material of various kinds). The main corridor is full of mirrors, and it's the only floor with mirrors big enough to allow entrance to Parabola. They're always covered when Hiram is at home. The curtains are almost always drawn in every room and the light is dimmer than in the rest of the house. A secret compartment in a bureau desk holds Hiram's infernal contract and an old stash of letters.

??? Room: (ok you can worry about it now) accessible only via mirror. It should be connected to the secret staircase but the door is always locked from the inside, and the outside is walled up and covered by another wall section, the staircase is just beside it. There's no windows. The room holds the Shrine to St Joshua, a weapon rack, a small vault with the Leasehold on all of London, some fragments of the Tragedy Procedures, a bottle of Brandy, and a few other items. The mirror is always covered. A pickaxe guarantees an emergency exit.

Third floor: servants' quarters and offices. Few of them can stand Hiram playing music at ungodly hours and they take turns sleeping at the townhouse. They all have their own lodgings and accomodations.

Attic: the main stairwell ends at the third floor, and the attic is only accessible via the servants staircase. The butler and some urchins are aware of the additional secret staircase, but the butler can't be bothered with it, and the urchins don't like to forget what they were doing every time they go down the stairs. There's no fun in sending someone to steal biscuits from the basement if they forget to bring them back upstairs.

Other than the house staff, the polycule, some urchins, and Hiram himself, the (semi)permanent residents include:

A Hungover Terrier, often out and about with the bohemians.

The Midnight Matriarch: you can pet her in your dreams if you fall asleep in the guest rooms.

A Lamp-Cat: the best bioluminescent bedlight. You can pet it but it will sit on your lap. If you try to sleep it will sit on the bed. Or on you. Pros: very cute. Cons: very humid.

A Bat with Attitude, permanet resident in the attic.

Two Raven Advisors. One white, one black. One always tells the truth, one always lies. Or so they say.

Sugarplum (Hiram's)

Sugarplum (Captain Dargor's)

Sugarplum (Giorgione's)