#he IS short but not THAT short... that's Scourge height there

[burning-thistles-bt]

I just want to see the sweetest characters be happy, so Fireheart, Spottedleaf, Airleap, Creekflower here’s some chicken/beef to try ❤️💖💕

"You guys!!! We're not supposed to eat Twoleg food! It's disrespectful to the lives of warriors before us!"

"I'M SO SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN TO BUT THEY GAVE IT TO ME AND I COULDN'T SAY NO???"

"Kits, it's alright! A little treat never hurt anyone."

"Haha, yeah, l-listen to Mom! We're totally not breaking the code or anything!"

"WE'RE BREAKING THE CODE!! Oh StarClan! OH STARCLAN! WINDCLAN'S GONNA KICK ME OUT FOR THIS-"

"Calm down, Airleap! It's alright! I-I guess it's fine! I won't tell anyone!"

"Thanks, Fireheart."

"Oh! And thanks for calling us the sweetest, ah, characters? My kits are darlings..."

"Mooooom!!"

"Heh, yeah, thank you... Flamestar? Wait, are you a leader? Are there... other clans out there?"

"Isn't there that scary clan BloodClan...?"

"Yeah, but they're more just a gang of rogues than a clan..."

@flamestar456

[underratedgrapeju1ce]

Day 1: First Kiss (Scourclipse)

@sonicrarepairweek2024

---------

"Green Mobian!"

Scourge jolted at the sudden voice, nearly dropping his cigarette off the balcony. Craning his neck over his shoulder, he saw the taller alien, standing tensely and wringing his tail. The hedgehog turned fully around, leaning back onto the railing and taking a short drag of his cigarette.

"Fuckin' 'ell, Clip, you tryna scare the life out of me?"

Twilight was coating the sky in purple now, the lights of the city below beginning to glow to life. Scourge ignored that Eclipses void black eyes reflected it all.

"I am conducting a very important experiment." Eclipse attempted to speak confidently.

"Yer not injectin' me with nothin', so don't ask."

"I am not going to--!"

Eclipse stomped childishly and groaned.

"I am attempting to," he paused, glancing at the floor, "familiarize myself with Mobian customs."

Scourge cocked an eyebrow, taking another drag of his cigarette and exhaling the smoke slowly. It was odd seeing the normally cocky and theatrical alien almost flustered.

"Whaddaya need me for?" Scourge looked him up and down. He noted that Eclipse's blush matched his own fur.

"Overlanders and Mobians who are involved with one another in a symbiotic relationship often express affection with one another," Eclipse continued, "I wish to experience this in order to collect data."

"...Are ya asking me to kiss you-?"

"For acquiring data on Mobian customs!" Eclipse spoke so fast his words strung together.

Scourge chuckled and shook his head, taking a final drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the cement and crushing it under his heel. He gave Eclipse an amused look as the sky began to blacken with the night.

"Well, we ain't exactly in a 'symbiotic relationship'," he teased.

A soft breeze blew past them, the chill making Scourge's quills stand up.

"...There is no one else I trust to perform this experiment."

He was standing straight as a soldier now, shoulders squared, but his eyes were still on the floor. Scourge was silent for a moment, looking the alien up and down. He had a good few inches on Scourge, height-wise, he honestly could pass as a normal Mobian. If not for his eyes. They drew the hedgehog back in, reflecting this city lights even brighter in the darkness. The glowing irises cast a soft golden glow.

...Eh, what the hell.

Scourge sighed and stepped closer, hands in his jacket pockets. Eclipse looked up, muscles stiffening, as if he didn't expect Scourge to agree. The hedgehog couldn't help but laugh.

"Is the prince of the Black Arms embarrassed?"

Eclipse pouted and folded his arms, finally meeting Scourge's gaze.

"Let's just get this over with."

Scourge would never admit that he had to stand on the tips of his toes (Only a little bit. Not that much.) to be eye-to-eye with the alien.

"So ya just gotta relax, try an' copy what I do.

Scourge wasn't the type for feelings, or emotional attachment in general. His previous relationships were mostly shallow, often ending because of his complete apathy and narcissism. So he wasn't really sure why his stomach was twisting as he leaned in closer.

Their lips met delicately, as if they saw each other as precious breakable artifacts. Eclipse's eyes slowly closed when he saw that Scourge's had done so. It was chaste, careful.

When Eclipse's clawed hand landed on Scourge's clothed upper arm, instinctually looking for support, the hedgehog ignored that his throat burned cold and the star in his ribcage flared.

He pulled away then, in an effort to not take things too far, and to swallow the growing lump in his throat. A bit too late, he realized he'd practically jerked away.

The alien's eyes blinked open, a gentle shock, like a kid seeing a butterfly for the first time: pleasant fascination. Scourge turned away from his eyes to look down at the city below.

"That's sorta the gist," he said distractedly, "I ain't too good at it."

"I believe it was...adequate data for my research."

Scourge swallowed at how quiet the alien's voice was, as if his mind was somewhere else. He grimaced. Clumsily, he pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and fumbled with the busted up lighter.

"...Thank you, Scourge."

It was the first time he'd called the hedgehog by his name since he crashed. Scourge dug his fangs into his tongue.

"Don't mention it," he replied, "Especially not to Stripes, he'll flip his lid."

He chuckled despite himself. Wouldn't that be a hell of a conversation.

Eclipse simply nodded and stepped back into the apartment, taking one last look at the sky, dotted with pinpricks of stars, dimmed by the buzzing neon below. He slid the door shut behind him.

[loonarmuunar]

Warrior Cats headcanons

Firestar is a munchkin-maine coon mix (The maincoon did nothing for him, he’s just a fluffy cat with the physique of a baked bean). He is the itty-bittiest warrior in camp. The only grown cat he knows that’s smaller than him was Scourge.

Squilf got ALL the Firestar genes (it’s why her legs are so short) and Leafpool got all the Sandstorm genes, she’s all sleek and lanky standing next to Shortstack Squirrelflight Mgee. She’s still taller than Firestar mf is shrimp sized

When a leader is given their lives I imagine it’s such an excruciating process they receive a wound from it, and it results in a star shaped scar somewhere on their body. This is how Bluestar got her shoulder scar. Firestar’s is on his chest, stretching onto his throat, but he has too much neck fluff you can’t see it.

Medicine cats and leaders pupil’s are altered to resemble constellations, a mark of their bond with Starclan.

Sandstorm has some windclan in her from a forgotten/unknown affair from some point in her ancestry. Not enough to make much of a difference, but she is decently lankier than her clanmates.

Bluestar is absurdly big. Not the tallest cat around, but almost Tigerstar height. On that, Mothwing is taller than Tigerstar I think she deserves to be Huge. She is perfect and can do no wrong.

Cinderpelt has central heterochromia, her eyes are blue and orange in the middle. She also has ginger spots that resemble freckles :)

The reason Shadowclan eats frogs, lizards, etc, is because of their surplus of cats, from their endurance to sickness and weather. No time to be picky when you have like 70 cats to feed.

[xserpx]

For 50 character asks: Karrin Murphy, #1, 2, 14, 15, 22, 27

1. Canon I outright reject - I mean, her fucking dying that shitty death, of course. But more than that, tbh, any allusions to valkyrieism. I get that valkyries are cool and all, but Murph was established as a Catholic, and IMO her story is way more angelic/Knight of the Cross-esque than Norse-related. It also feels too much like Jim got tired of his old toys and wants to play with his cool new Odin action figure, plus I don't like the way he's gotten rid of every vanilla mortal. I understand power creep means things need to change, but as much as the stakes go up in terms of damage, I think emotionally they fall flat as we lose the sense of Harry standing up for the little guy.

2. A canon or headcanon hill I will die on - Murph deserves that sword way more than Butters. Granted this might be more of a Butters headcanon than a Murph one, but I just think she did nothing wrong in trying to use Fidelacchius the way she did. Butters showed no faith in Harry the entire book, he misused Bob, he was the one who caused the problems in the first place. And just because Karrin loves too much and is emotional, she's the one who looks like an idiot afterwards? No way. Never. Butters is a scourge.

14. Most heroic moment - There are so many to choose from, both the big ones and the quiet moments. The obvious one is in Changes, when she swoops in like a guardian angel and becomes the MVP of the fight. It's a highlight of a book filled with highlights. I also love chainsaw Murph in Summer Knight. Be proud, Murph. You deserve it.

15. Worst thing they’ve ever done - Easily the part in Fool Moon where Karrin goes full cop and assaulted Harry just because she was annoyed he withheld information. I do believe that's the only thing she'd ever done wrong, though.

22. Best physical feature - her height! Not only do I relate to being a short queen, but also the fact that almost every other person in the series is an actual giant, Murphy's petit size makes her extra special.

27. Their guilty pleasure - Kincaid :P. No, but seriously, Murph getting to live her bad boy with a heart of gold fantasy, go on luxury holidays, get chocolate and weapons sometimes as the same gift, and generally live her best life while she's with him is part of why I love both of them so much. She deserves everything, and Kincaid gives it to her. He made her a better fighter, gave her skills and knowledge and equipment to help people with no strings. Obviously the fact he went on to assassinate Dresden made the fallout so much worse for her, but for those years when his targets weren't the people closest to her, it was fun as hell.

[fleetsonourgecentral]

I keep imagining genuinely emotional/serious moments in a crossover between Fleetway and Prime Freedom Fighters, but every time my brain reminds me how short Fleetway!Sonic is compared to practically ever other iteration of him since he's based off of classic lmao

I need short Sonic and tall Scourge and Scourge making fun of his height

HELP FHSFHJSHJD he tiny.... Scourge definitely leans on him all the time and it drives him up the wall. Scourge will rest his arm on Sonic's head and Sonic will elbow him in the ribs as hard as he can, which in his defence does usually remove the arm but does nothing to deter the leaning in the long term. He has also absolutely tackled Scourge to the ground to kiss him because there is no way he is going to ask Scourge to lean down. It's a pride thing. Sonic the Hedgehog does not ask anyone to lean down to him. He will find a way to bring them to his level, especially if he wants kisses

Wait wait wait if Sonic is shorter does that also mean Scourge's jacket is too big for him..... fsdhjsdhj Sonic constantly stealing a jacket that is way too big for him because it smells like his boyfriend to piss Scourge off

[kemendin]

Update - Chapters III-V

Reaching // Remnants // Rescue

Jedi Knight Caspian Serapis is at last reunited with his missing crewmates, Kira Carsen and Lord Scourge, when the two make an unexpected appearance on Corellia to rescue him from the wreckage of the Meridian Complex. As Cas recovers and reconnects with his companions in the quiet aftermath of the battle, it isn’t just his own long-lost yearnings that are pushed to light. Now, after so many years apart, both Cas and Scourge must decide - does the path ahead lie again in their curious bond as allies, or as something more?

MAIN POST | Read from the beginning

Read on AO3 (short excerpt below cut)

Far, far below, at the base of the spire, a bulky, grey-armoured figure hurtles past squads of Republic troops towards the entrance. The soldiers are too startled to do more than fumble with their weapons as the blaze of a scarlet lightsaber flashes past, too disoriented to do more than stare after him and wonder at the idea that they have, somehow, just escaped the wrath of an obvious Sith.

An auburn-haired Jedi is in swift pursuit; but oddly, her double lightsaber is sheathed on her belt, and she makes no move to attack. Her only gestures are frantic flappings of her hands, motioning for anyone nearby to get back, out of the way of the Sith now charging into the body of the spire.

“He won’t hurt you! Let him through, just let him through!”

She is partially correct. The Republic soldiers, the CorSec forces, the Green Jedi - they are not his enemies, and he won’t hurt them - unless they stand in his way.

His chest heaving, his lungs seared with smoke, Scourge barrels out of the corridor linking to the monorail and into the spire’s core. His senses are flinching under the barrage of warning slamming at him through the Force. For three hundred years, he had felt it with the clarity of someone reaching through a sheet of transparisteel - muted, yet immediate, the luxury of drawing on its energies without fearing to be overcome by it. But now there is no such barrier, and the Force is driving at him, churning through his emotions like boots losing their purchase in the mud of a battlefield. Telling him that he must go faster, that there is danger, and he cannot afford to falter for even an instant -

The screech of collapsing metal assaults him the moment he’s inside. He is forced to pull up sharply and dive out of the way as a twisted length of durasteel crashes down near the entrance. Rolling to his feet, he jerks a wild glance upward - and his heart stops.

An immense piece of broken machinery is plummeting from the height of the spire, accompanied by an array of structural debris. And falling in the midst of it all, small and fragile and frighteningly limp, like a child’s toy cast away by an uncaring hand -

“CASPIAN!”

There’s no time to move, no time to act, no time to do anything except bellow the Jedi’s name, before the echoes are lost in the devastating impact of the generator as it crashes into the bottom floor of the spire.

Even within his hastily erected Force shield, Scourge is driven back into the nearest wall as the resulting shockwave slams into him. Smaller, still-significant chunks of the Meridian Complex rain down, crushing a dozen or more unlucky individuals not quick enough to get away. 

The entire structure of the spire trembles violently around Scourge as he struggles to regain his footing. The air is thickening again with smoke, even as the fire suppression systems tamp down on the flames sputtering within the wreckage.

“CASPIAN!” he howls again, clawing at the wall behind him for balance, his throat and his chest tearing as one.

[arc-77]

DOSSIER CHEAT SHEET

LEGAL NAME: Designated ARC-77 by his cloners. Given the mononym Fordo by his trainers. NICKNAME[S]: Captain, Commander, Commodore. The Dark Trooper. The Scourge of Sundari. Ge'tal Kom'rk for his red hand. An assortment of other epithets in Mando'a. Derisively referred to as the "dog" of the more prominent Imperial Officers he has served under, such as Director Orson Krennic and General Rom Mohc. DATE OF BIRTH: ~32BBY. GENDER: Male. PLACE OF BIRTH: Tipoca City, Kamino. CURRENTLY LIVING: Raider-Class Corvette Impetuous, Death Trooper Academy on Scarif. SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Galactic Basic, Mando'a. Learns others according to need, like Huttese and Shyriiwook. EDUCATION: Kaminoan flash-training. Advanced military training by Jango Fett and the Cuy'val Dar. Self-taught in a wide variety of further topics in his free time, and is capable of absorbing and internalizing information like a sponge. Later receives a formal education in the Royal Imperial Academy on Coruscant, graduating with distinction around 14 BBY. HAIR COLOR: Black. Later salt-and-pepper, with greying starting at the temples. Maintains a short, slightly curled hairstyle akin to Jango Fett's for most of his life. EYE COLOR: Brown. Experiments with other colors later in life, favoring piercing colors like the Sith's red-yellow. HEIGHT: 6'0". Later 6'5" post cybernetic modification. WEIGHT: 200+ lbs of muscle. Weight increases post cybernetic modification with the addition of a phrik-alloy skeleton, power cell, organ replacements, etc. However, micro-repulsorlifts allow him to compensate for this and even "reduce" his weight further should the need arise.

FAMILY INFORMATION

SIBLING[S]: His fellow Alpha-Class Advanced Recon Commandos. They are the closest thing he has to family. PARENT[S]: His prime clone/genetic template and mentor, Jango Fett, but this relationship was not familial in nature. Numerous members of the Cuy'val Dar served a similarly influential role in the development of his personality. RELATIVE[S]: None. CHILDREN: None. Served as mentor and trainer for many Clone Officers and later nearly every Death Trooper. PET[S]: None. Utilized several customized ID-series Seeker Droids over the course of his career.

RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Predominantly heterosexual, only incidentally homosexual. Predominantly heteroromantic, no romantic interest in men. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Verse/AU-dependent. SINCE WHEN:

tagged: @mpiremoff

tagging: @holonetnews @majordallows

[the-storykeeper]

Four Minutes

Four minutes ... that is how long a brain can survive without oxygen and the body dies not long after. Five minutes and sixteen seconds is how long the woman was beneath the waves of the North Sea after the sky was shattered by Sylvanas.

The Keeper had been arriving to the frozen wastes to visit the tournament grounds for no reason other than to collect a couple new stories for her new tome, traveling via teleportation no less. She still wasn't a fan of flying creatures. Something about height and gravity being rather unforgiving.

Her form began to materialize upon the stone path outside the main tent before the backlash from the helm being destroyed caused her form to shudder, her scream being whipped away by the freezing winds before she landed some distance away in a snow bank. Coughing and sputtering, the Keeper pushes herself up, "Good thing this broke my tumble..." She muttered beginning to check herself over while rising to her feet to attempt to get her bearings before this thought paused and violet eyes lifted skyward, "What in the...?" She trails off seeing what destruction the Banshee Queen had brought upon their world, her jaw growing a bit slack.

"Hey there, lass!" The words rattled the elf from her thoughts and the sky as a dwarven gryphon rider landed nearby, "Yer lookin' lost. Need a ride?" He offers beneath his bushy beard. "Uhm... yeah. Please. It seems I got a little lost?" She admits with a sheepish shrug as he beckons her over in a grand gesture.

In mere moments her grip tightened on the dwarf before the talons of the gryphon leave the snow in puffs and plumes that danced in the breeze. Soon though a second and then third set of wings began to join the rhythm the gryphon had set as the Keeper peered over her shoulder, eyes growing wide, "What are those?!" Had the Scourge created something new? Was this from what had happened to the sky?

She didn't have time to ponder this the gryphon-rider began moving into defensive formations to elude and escape the monstrosities swiftly gaining speed.

"Hold on!"

Those two words were the last she remembered as the arms of one of them  wound with a vice grip around her waist only to tear her from the back of her the wind whipping away her scream before she fell so very far into the North Sea, the impact cracking bones and wounding flesh. But luck was with her this day, a short distance away was a lone tuskarr fishing before all hell broke loose and imagine his surprise to see a speck fall from the sky with a splash into the waves below.

Down, down, down she went. Fabric flowing behind her, the heavy garments hindering any chance of her rising to the surface now as the fisherman dived into the freezing waters to fetch the bundle, thinking best case he had some treasure to sell for coins and a better fishing pole. Can you imagine his surprise when he grabs a hold of a woman? Or he thought it was a woman? The figures of their strange allies often left him guessing on their genders. As he began dragging her to shore, hoping she wasn't dead. Rewards for being a hero, right?

Darkness swallowed up the Keeper who had the though of, 'I'm dead... This is what death feels like?' She had always, even if unconsciously, imagined dying was going into some light, warmth, seeing those she loved. Part of her was disappointed. Why wasn't *she* there? She supposed the darkness was alright, it felt like a space for a nice nap... Were her eyes even open? Closed? She couldn't tell. But it wasn't long before her rambling thoughts were cut short by an all too familiar and haunting voice that flooded her with dread and a primal fear, filled her mind:

“Y̵̭̰͈̠̥͎͚̮͆͗̒͐̒͘͝ǫ̵̧̣͕͖̲̩̞̼͊͑̀̕͜͝u̶͉͛̈̇̒͠'̶̗̯̬͕͍̱̠̠͑̇̈̓͑̀̋̚r̴̤̼̗͍̮͈̣̤̽̄̃͑͘͜e̵͚̼̦͔̩̥͍͈̓̍̈̊͑͛́̕̕͝ ̸̩͖̪̠̼̩̭̼̍ḧ̶͍̫̹̪̫̥͉̺́̋̇̔̀̆̃̿́̓ǫ̴͈͔̜́͐m̴̹͌͌͗̉̍͛̊͛̚ȅ̵͕̣̗̳̹̊̌̍͗̃̈́͐̇͘”

[the-kreechur-featurr]

So I wrote a short story

It features my newest character who’s a dragon. It’s name is a secret but you can call it Crimson as this story does. You can view this beaut of a dragon here

Crimson uses He/She/It pronouns throughout the story

Said story’s under the cut, I hope you enjoy it!

The Scourge of the Skies

The Crimson Rose was a dragon of what one might think to be of unimaginable height, but to her, everything else was abnormally small. But delightfully so. Like the magnificent castle that stood in the center of an equally magnificent kingdom. To Crimson, however, it was a normal kingdom, with normal looks. When one lives as long as The Crimson Rose of Decimation, one might find that kingdoms and their architecture blur together. Eventually, they hardly stand out amongst any other. The only perceivable difference being their indicators of nationality. Something that long living beings also often find trivial. As nations change so quickly, same as the people in them. Crimson however, while finding the same sense of triviality in such things, was greatly fascinated and amused by it all the same. So much so in fact, that he even gave them the time of day to be recognized by such a great beast like himself. As much time a practically immortal creature can give anyway. After all, Crimson had so much time to utilize, and kingdoms, while they could live for some time, usually came to their end soon enough. Crimson had seen its fair share of kingdoms wither and die. As well as the rise of new kingdoms in their predecessors' place. 

How lucky for Crimson, that the current kingdom it was giving its attention to, was in the middle of what it learned to be called a ‘Civil War’. Which only served to put a great and wicked smile on the dragon's face. Crimson had been watching the chaos from afar on a nearby mountain for some time. Unknowingly to Crimson, she had been watching the chaos much to the humans unease and curiosity for a week now. They had noticed the beast watching, but were too caught up in their chaos to pay her much mind. Draconic beings process time differently than humans after all, a week for a human might as well be a day for draconic creatures. A day with bright and dark periods sprinkled between. Though that wasn’t to say time went by faster for them, their lifespans were just so long that they didn’t normally register how quickly time could go by. Normal conversations between draconic beings can last for days before either tire. Which ended up serving Crimson quite well, as it and its watching had managed to earn the attention of the ruling queen of this unruly nation. A queen who was struggling greatly trying to quell the uprising and desperately needed help, so desperately in fact, that she’d even beg a volatile being such as Crimson, The Grimace of Kingdoms, for help. Luckily, or not so luckily for her, the beast loved desperate people. 

It was around the end of the week, when Crimson noticed a small box with small mammals pulling it moving towards him. A caravan, a rather ornate one at that. Decorated with golds and colors that served to enunciate the importance of the caravan and who was inside. Crimson gave this caravan his full attention, quite intrigued by what purpose such a pretty thing would have visiting such a brutal beast as he. Once the caravan got close enough, the mortals attending to the caravan stepped off, and prepared for the exit of the passenger by setting up a set of small stairs and a long red rug. It was all such an amusing sight that the beast gave a laugh, one that sounded like the earth itself was rumbling. Her laugh had only served to scare the attendees, making them work faster but slightly sloppier. Eventually, after their silly little display, they stepped aside and made room for the passenger who daintily stepped out. The queen was wearing a headdress of gold that had gems of all sorts of colors hanging down from it and resting on her face, her clothing was the royal purple sort with gold accents, and it was in the style of a robe that hung well enough to her frame and dragged a few feet behind her. Her shoes were also gold and had plenty of jewels embedded into them. Crimson found itself intrigued by the queen's copious amount of jewelry. It had never had the time to build up a hoard of gold, or any other sort of hoard for that matter. It never stayed anywhere for long, for it liked to travel. The queen held her head up high, cleared her throat and started to speak, however Crimson promptly cut her off. As cutting off such a self important person sounded quite comical. 

“What have you to say to me, small queen of an equally small kingdom?” 

Crimson’s voice came through telepathically, his voice was an androgynous and deep one. One that oozed of wisdom, secrets, facetiousness, and beguilement. The queen gave an expression of shock, one that Crimson was strongly hinted at to believe, through her overall body language, was because of his telepathic voice, as well as the fact he had cut her off. The dragon was greatly pleased to find its assumptions of her pretentiousness were correct. The queen hid her offense quickly, but not quick enough. It seemed to Crimson she might need something from him, for why else would she tolerate what she would find as ‘disrespect’. The queen held her head up high, no doubt her audaciousness helping hold it up and spoke in a voice that commanded respect and perfection. A voice that held no sway over the dragon, but to give credit where credit was due, it certainly did entertain the large beast.

“Great beast, Crimson Rose of Decimation, Grimace of Kingdoms, and Scourge of the Skies, I have a favor I wish to ask of you”

“Surely you mean a favor you wish to beg of me?” 

“Excuse me?”

The queen recoiled, putting a hand to her chest. An action that showed the offense she took to Crimsons correction quite clearly, The Bane of Civilization merely smiled a wide and villainous grin in response.

“You heard me didn’t you? There’s no way you couldn’t, even the deaf can hear me, for I don’t speak in words that can be ignored or unheard.”

The queen stood proud and tall, a stance that demanded obedience. The dragon scoffed, which to Crimsons delight served to further irritate the queen.

“I am Queen Alvaria the Fifth, of the nation of Aegesanait. As such I do not beg! Even towards you Beastly Caedmon. Howev-” “Well you better start,” The dragon got closer to her, its snout right in front of her very being, blowing out smoke that warned of a fire deep within the dragon that could burn her to non-existence. “This isn’t how you want to start off your case for my help, now is it?” 

The Beast smiled, having put the queen in her place. Truly Crimson has always been incredibly fascinated by how self important mortals can get. One would think that because of how short their lifespans are, and how small they are in comparison to the great beasts they share this world with, they’d be more humble. However mortals had this funny habit of creating a hierarchy within their groups, and Crimson found that it wasn’t uncommon for some mortals in these groups to abuse and make the power they were given by these fragile hierarchical systems their main advantage. They’d even rely and fall back on it in the face of true power. Case in point, this bedazzled fool of a queen. Other draconic beings very well might’ve been insulted by her audacity, perhaps they’d have even been driven to eat, kill, or at the very least mutilate the queen as punishment. Crimson however, had something much more fun in mind.

The dragon brought its face away, leaving the queen to stand gawking at how close she had gotten to what she presumed was her death. Crimson stared at her for a moment, before bringing up a clawed paw and doing a hand gesture he had seen humans do to egg someone one.

“Go on, I’m waiting.” 

Crimson loved watching the woman swallow her enormous pride. 

“I have come to… beg… you.. for your help. My Kingdom has fallen to ruin, for the peasantry have grown non complacent. They put the blame for the economic collapse on me, and if that wasn’t enough, my court has abandoned and rallied together groups of those ludicrous peasants on an idiotic venture for my head. Those ungrateful ingrates-”

The queen continued to drone on and on, which caused the dragon to roll his eyes as he listened to the queens ranting. This wasn’t so much a case for desperately needed help as it was a session of unloading. While Crimson found this all well and good, he wanted to cut to the chase instead of being the queen's personal ear to whine and complain to. 

“As of right now I do not care for how you found yourself in this position mortal,” The queen stood upset, looking up at the dragon and furrowing her brows, while Crimson merely watched the queen with disinterest, “Tell me why I should help you instead. Unless you wish to go back to that mess empty handed.” Crimson smiled in a way that couldn't be described in any other way than beastly. 

The queen swallowed, probably having to push her nervousness and more of her pride down her poor throat. 

“I cannot lose my kingdom, I refuse for this kingdom to end, not if I have anything to say about it. Not during my reign. I still have so much to do, as a queen, as a person. And I will not let those torch happy fools and rebellious mongrels ruin my life and everything I’ve worked for!” She spoke with conviction, dark desire, and an angry desperation. 

Now things were really getting interesting. The dragon leaned back. Studying the queen in her disheveled state. Crimson’s beastly smile only grew. 

“And what will help you keep your life? Your kingdom?”

The queen looked up at the dragon, with a newfound sense of depravity and craze in her eyes. The pressure that had been building up during the rebellion finally getting to her despite her high horse.

“Power. Power enough to make those fools worship me.”

The Dragon raised one of his giant claws and gently pressed the very tip to the queen's golden headdress. 

“Then power, you shall have.”

Crimson’s claw started to glow, and that glow was passed onto the headdress. When Crimson brought his claw back to him, the queen stood in awe of her now enchanted headdress. She nodded in gratitude towards the dragon and bid it farewell, now having no use for the great creature. Crimson only smiled, getting nice and comfortable as the queen entered her caravan and left for her kingdom. 

He couldn’t wait for the aftermath. 

When the queen returned to her kingdom, she wreaked havoc, using the headdress’ new found power to exercise her twisted justice on her poor subjects who tried and failed to fight her influence. She found she could control the very actions of her subjects, or at the very least listen in and guide their thoughts any which was she so desired. She effectively became the center of a hivemind. The queen had those who betrayed her maimed and executed, and reveled in her newfound power. She had them all at her beck and call. She had her power and her kingdom. And true to her word, she had them worship her. But she did not have her life. For the headdress’ power came with a drawback. The more it was used to control others, the more the power of the headdress would seep into the user, slowly killing their mind bit by bit. The queen didn’t know of this, and used this power with reckless abandon. For she forgot the capriciousness of The Crimson Rose, she forgot that its help often did not come without consequence. Eventually, the queen’s consciousness died. In her place, was a headdress that wished to spread itself further, and further still. And from afar, Crimson watched, as the Kingdom of Aegesanait waged war with nearby kingdoms. The Hivemind Headdress grew its power as more kingdoms were absorbed into its ghastly web of captive minds. It was fun for Crimson to watch over as the weeks progressed, as what was once before a kingdom plagued with civil war, turned into a paradise for one, and then a warmonger kingdom with brainwashed and mindless subjects. Many heroes and magic users came to the Kingdom of the Hivemind to try and kill the evil what found root. They either died or became a part of it themselves however. Crimson made sure to hide herself all the while, for she wanted to continue observing and not distract herself fighting heroes who would undoubtedly know this was her wicked doing.  She was ever so curious to see if the mortals could handle such a parasite. But her curiosity was quickly waning. While she needed mortals to keep having her fun, Crimson certainly wasn’t in the business of sparing mortals of such agents of societal collapse and destruction. At least not without being begged, and adding in a fun little twist. Normally, it would rather raise the stakes and see what happens as a result. While watching, the dragon found it would much rather leave and see how the mortals deal with a kingdom of mind slaves from here on out. Crimson wondered how such a kingdom was being received. Obviously as a threat since heroes were being sent in. But what of the societal nuance? How were the common folk handling this? The nobility? the royal families? The other lands must be being forced to function through subtle chaos despite the sheer panic over the fate of the one Crimson had made its personal little project. That, and there were other places Crimson wanted to pay visit to, as well as individuals. Though few there were in the latter. Either way it didn’t want to sit here and watch something that was becoming repetitive.

Eventually Crimson did in fact take its leave, deciding to go find fun elsewhere and leave the Hivemind Kingdom to it’s devices. Crimson was certain the problem would find itself resolved, after all mortals were such persistent things. Even in true despair there would still be those that refused to give in until such awfulness was quelled. And if it turns out it wasn’t resolved as quickly as Crimson thought it’d be, then it’d just lead to all sorts of interesting situations. Either way, Crimson was satisfied. Though the dragon found himself in favor of the latter possibility. One that wouldn’t last too long should it occur. The late queen’s body would eventually fall, leaving the headdress nothing to feed on. Thus becoming dormant. Maybe. If not that then at least weakened enough for it to be easier to retrieve and contain. Which was all well and good for Crimson, while it was entertained by the idea of other kingdoms having to perpetually and proverbially beat way this diseased one, it didn’t want things to remain stagnant. How else were Crimson’s newer passion projects going to get their due attention if an older one was hogging it all? Either way, the dragon would have to wait and see. Which didn’t bother the beast, for it had nothing if not time.

Until then, the beast had other forms of fun to look into, so much more to do during this span of time. 

And even more after that.

[shinyflareon]

I've got a Yugioh GW2 AU rattling around in my head that I might do something more with later but for now I'm getting slapped in the face with the realization that, while ancient Elona is a decent enough analogue for ancient Egypt & the Primeval Kings are a decent enough analogue for Pharaohs, for a Zorc Necrophades analogue, once again the sealed evil in a can causing literally everyone's problems is probably Abbadon.

But Nightfall happened way too historically recently. Which means for this to work Nightfall has to have been Abbadon's second attempt at breaking out, & someone much earlier had to defeat him the first time. Which means...Atem was basically proto-Kormir, but instead of ascending to godhood, he was forgotten entirely.

Dammit Atem

Notable beanpole Seto Kaiba is absolutely a shortstack asura and I find this objectively hilarious. He's definitely an Engineer, probably Holosmith (with a couple Mechanist builds in his other slots bc I bet he'd find jade tech absolutely fascinating). Graduated with honors from the College of Dynamics. He also absolutely gets hung up on his height and hates anyone who calls him short

This means Mokuba is also an asura, & probably either also an Engineer (likely Mechanist) or a Thief (likely Daredevil - little dude can move). He's studying in the College of Dynamics also but is way more chill about the height thing than his bro

Conversely Joey is definitely a norn. I was torn between Warrior & Guardian but I think I'm gonna come down on the side of Guardian. All 3 elite specs would work, & I could see him shifting between them as time goes on & he has Character Development

Tristan's probably a charr & I think he is a Warrior - dedicated banner support Berserker, has probably dipped into banner support Bladesworn. He & Joey have been best buds since forever & used to be quite the terror before they made friends with Yugi & calmed down. Joey was definitely an honorary 'bandmate & Tristan himself was probably either a scrapper or a gladium, former Blood Legion

Ryo Bakura is a sylvari Necromancer, while Yami Bakura was a human Thief - but Y.Bakura has really taken a shine to necromancy as just a vibe & consciously or not over time influenced Ryo to be a Scourge (he was a Reaper before, which he still pulls out on occasion). Ryo runs a healscourge build, much to Y.Bakura's frustration, and whenever Y.Bakura comes out, he switches to a condi dps build. In life, Y.Bakura was probably a Spectre & definitely a follower of Abbadon

Tea's hard to pin down besides human & follower of Dwayna. Druid feels right for some reason even though she's not really super nature-y enough to be a Ranger, but otherwise it gives the right Vibes

Duke's also hard to pin down but again based completely on Vibes I'm gonna go with human Thief (probably Daredevil, partially because of his speedy annoying ninja theme, & partially because of then I can make name puns). Probably a follower of Grenth but like...non-practicing

Yugi himself is also surprisingly hard to pin down beyond human follower of Lyssa. Mesmer feels fitting since his deck's whole vibe is based on magic & illusions, but Revenant also feels fitting because he's literally drawing on the power of an ancient spirit that still has a distinct personality & occasionally both possesses him & chats in his head with him. It could be argued that Yugi is a Revenant & that in life Atem was a Mesmer, since even Yugi says in canon that the whole bond with the Dark Magician is more his "other self's" thing, so I think that's what I'm gonna go with. Plus, Legendary Primeval Stance just sounds badass. In life, Atem was probably a Mirage & follower of Balthazar

[agirlwithmagicpals]

Crash the hedgeskunk bio

Crash the hedgeskunk is a hybrid mobian who just so happens to be somehow related to scourge the hedgehog and his mutant son(no spoilers) and yet he was still raised by tumble(tank).

He is described by locals as a short spikey black and white hedgehog with very obvious skunk like traits especially the long spiked up tail as well as stinking like one too plus they’re flexible, fast, and oddly enough even more cocky than the brothers themselves think rough’s attitude but much more bold and brash.

On one peculiar night in seaside city 🌃 rough(rascal)was just chilling out in his good ole bed 🛏 in old man clutch’s hidden lair it was raining extremely hard on that particular occasion whenever his much larger older albino sibling came walking in with a small yet strange looking sling of a dark red blanket in they’re arms. Of

course the smaller one of the two was very curious so he asked what was up that marked the moment where tank unveiled the blankie and revealed a small skunk with hedgehog like features inside trust me when I say he was both shocked and mad at the same time.

tank was very insistent on raising the kid he even took on a lot of the parental responsibilities himself and that includes enrolling him into the same high school Sonic’s kids would end up going to as well which of course caused a huge family rivalry over the years to the point where people on all sides were trying to ether take advantage or end the rivalry altogether.

rough still has mixed feelings about the kid but soon enough his recent suspicions of the kids heritage will indeed be confirmed.

pronouns:he/him/they

sex:male

sexuality:omisexual

height:5’4

weight:134 pounds

status: alive and well

age:17

[raddifferent]

I'm late but I'm in the middle of switching jobs so who cares! Here's Day Two of @rosemarymonth2021: Fantasy! This is Chapter 1; Chapter 2 will double as the Chapter 4 prompt because I want to finish this fic rather than do medieval with no fantasy elements. It's my writing project and I make the rules!!

Anyways, as usual the link will be in the replies and the fic is below the cut!

The esteemed Duchess Lepidopterina Dolorosa of the House Maryam, Baroness of the Misted Isles, Devotee of the Midnight Spiral, and Serene Lady of the Obsidian Blade, first of her name, was having a bit of a shit day. As some of her many fancy titles would suggest, she was an adept swordswoman, and she had been honored to be invited to the wedding of Duke Egbert’s daughter. She was more familiar with Lady Egbert than her betrothed, another Duchess of the Troll kingdom, despite being a troll herself. That was one of the side effects of spending an inordinate amount of time in the borderlands fighting off the blasted undead, as she found herself doing now.

Her traveling party had been journeying through the Cresting Mountains for a fortnight now, having crossed the mountain peaks worn oddly smooth by some ancient ocean and cracked in half on their tectonic ascent. The scraggly pines of its forests were dense in places and opened into large clearings in others, creating an unpredictable landscape full of pockets of zombies. Three of the party had fallen when the undead felled their horses, and she’d lost sight of the other two of her companions when the pack had separated them. Now, she fought the beasts alone.

Kanaya raised a shining hand, turning some of the undead near herself. She had a moment to catch her breath and assess the situation. A crowd of about fifteen undead humans and trolls had her backed against the base of a thick pine. At her feet lay a pile of bodies twenty-strong. Her black leather boots were shiny with rotting ichor, and splashes of guts, grime, and gore adorned her oiled outerwear. The Duchess twirled her twin blades, each a deep, midnight indigo sparkling with obsidian glitter, and also with a little magic. Her hands were covered with snugly-fit leather gloves, but beneath the animal hide Kanaya knew the sigils of the Church of the Midnight Spiral gleamed on the backs of her hands. Indeed, her skin itself glowed from the inside, although that was more of a side effect of being a Blessed Resurrectionist. Kanaya lived thirty five years, and died, and was brought back by The Bright Light in the Dark Sky to walk again some fifty more years. Those outside the Church would call her another, luckier undead. A vampire.

Her groaning, festering foes began to clamber close enough to swipe at her again. Kanaya whirled and sliced, removing limbs and heads as the undead shuffled within her reach. Eight more fell, leaving seven standing. Kanaya tried to wipe a smear of viscera from her face, but she feared the back of her sleeve only made the mess worse. She was breathing heavily. The dampness on her boots and the height of the bodies was beginning to impede her. She needed to reach high ground, and soon.

Just then, a golden light shone from deeper in the woods surrounding this clearing. Kanaya jumped to the side just as a zombie swiped at her head, leaving her in the perfect position to see a glowing arrow pin her assailant’s head to a tree. There must have only been one archer aiding her, as only one or two arrows came at a time, but they still landed more rapidly than Kanaya’s own battle maidens could achieve. In seconds, the battle had ended.

Still breathing heavily, Kanaya attempted to wipe her blades off on her jacket before sheathing them. She began to walk towards where the arrows had been coming from.

Kanaya was met at the edge of the clearing by a figure in a deep purple cloak. Her skin was a deeper, redder brown than Kanaya’s own, set in sharp contrast to their white-blond hair. Kanaya met her startlingly purple eyes, which were bright, intelligent, and a little mischievous. She had a golden lip ring down the center of her mouth, and a thin golden chain as a choker. Her clothing was modest but fine, Kanaya’s keen eye picking out expensive brocade in the shirt.

“To whom do I owe thanks for such gracious assistance?” Kanaya offered when the stranger did not speak.

The stranger spoke in a slightly raspy voice with a short, clipped affect. “Arrows rained upon your general area moments before, and yet you walk towards a potential source of danger? Moments after your own life was at risk? You must either be assured of your skill, or very stupid.”

“I like to think I am the former, although there is always time to prove the latter.”

The stranger smiled. “You think it is inevitable you will be proven unintelligent?”

“I find it imprudent to assume one will never make a mistake.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards. “Ah, a pragmatist. We may get along yet.”

Kanaya pursed her lips. “I find I get along with people much better if we have something to call each other by.”

“You would still like my name, then.” It wasn’t a question. They seemed to be hesitating. “I suppose you can call me Briar,” she said with a wry smile. “I’m just a traveler in these woods. There’s nothing I have to claim that involves fanfare.”

Politely, Kanaya did not mention the clearly magical bow, or the fine clothing. “I do have a bit of a fancy title, but I think it best not to rattle off the entire thing. Suffice it to say that you can call me Kanaya.” Hopefully, her rescuer would be equally polite about her weaponry and dress.

“May I ask where you’re headed? I wouldn’t mind some company, and you certainly seem like you need the assistance.” The last was delivered with a smirk, which Kanaya bristled a little at.

“I have been traveling with several others, thank you; we just found ourselves separated after that large group of undead descended onto us. I had almost dispatched all of them when you arrived.” She made a sweeping gesture back towards the not-immodest pile of re-deceased zombies surrounding the tree she had been up against.

Briar smirked harder. “So my assistance is not desired?”

“No, that is not-” Kanaya broke off her objection with a huff as Briar began to laugh. “I would, actually, quite like your help locating my companions. However, I would like to know why you would want to help me. You seem to be taking great pleasure in needling me about needing it.”

The other traveler sobered slightly. “I just know what it’s like to be traveling alone, and the drudgery of not having someone to talk to, no stories to tell around the fire or on the road. It can be better to group up, even temporarily, just to kill the boredom.”

“Did you lose a companion recently as well?” Kanaya blurted.

Briar raised a thin eyebrow. “Not recently, as it were. But yes, I have previously parted ways with those whom I enjoyed sharing a story or three.”

“I would be happy to share tales with you, stranger. My companions would likely head towards the closest inn if they were sure they were separated from me, as that was our next destination. Does that align with your path?”

The other woman smiled. “That it does. When last I consulted my map, the next inn was a half-day’s walk up the road. Shall we?”

As they walked up the road, dappled light gently touched the faces of both travelers. Briar hummed an aimless tune, kicking up dead, brown leaves. They traveled in silence for quite some time, neither quite willing to speak up after such an abrupt introduction. About an hour into the walk, Kanaya opened her mouth and was about to begin some sort of small talk about the weather when they reached the top of a hill. Below them, the trees opened up to reveal a path curving down and around a small, ruined stone structure. What had previously been a large castle town now lay in disarray, the abbey wall crumbling and holding nothing at bay. The peasant houses must have been constructed of wood, as all but their foundations had long rotted away. All that remained was a small stone castle with a single, thin spire reaching high into the sky. Small was relative; the property would have held a baron comfortably in his keep with acres of holdings, but from the vantage point it felt like a child’s plaything.

“Well, that certainly looks interesting.” Briar broke the silence with a chuckle.

Kanaya did have to agree. Ruins such as this one, so deep in the woods, were possibly undisturbed, and might have strange and magical treasures hidden within. At the very least, there would be a few monsters to kill, and get some of her frustrations out. “We should explore it. There is still light in the sky.”

Briar’s smile faded slightly. “You know, I grew up not too far from here. When I was a little girl, we were told a tale in whispers. It was the sort of fairy tale that adults would laugh off, but forbid you from speaking about ever again. Would you like to hear it?”

“Right now?” Kanaya asked, the question coming out more incredulously than she intended. “While we’re stopped in the middle of the road?”

The smile was back. “I can walk and weave words, miss.”

“Well then, far be it from me than to stop you.”

“A long, long time ago, a young king killed what he thought was the last dragon in his lands. His fields were free from fiery terror, and his people lived prosperously for three decades. One day, a winged shadow drew over the land again, smaller than the scourge that had last plagued the land, but still enough to wreak havoc. One dragon spawn had survived, and had lived long enough to exact its revenge.”

Briar stopped to hop over a river, holding out an arm to steady Kanaya as she crossed. Her hands were warm, heat thrumming through Kanaya’s thick gear to her palm where she clasped Briar’s. She let go, and they continued. Kanaya’s hand felt cold.

“The dragon landed on the top of the castle of the now-middle-aged king, and told the king that he would leave the lands be, if only the king would offer his daughter. One life in exchange for the kingdom’s safety.”

Kanaya laughed grimly. “I suppose it was an easy deal to make with the dragon staring him down.”

“I suppose it was,” Briar replied. “He brought his daughter to be scooped up in the dragon’s claws and carried away. The kingdom was quiet and safe for another thirty years, until the king’s son had borne an heir and several daughters, and a new ruler was crowned. The dragon once again flew across the land, and once again sat atop the tower and demanded a companion. Every three decades, the dragon would return, larger than before, and more imposing.”

“And how long ago was the last time the dragon came to the land?” Kanaya asked, playing along.

“Well, that’s just the thing.” Briar held a branch up so Kanaya could pass under it. “The dragon hasn’t been sighted in over fifty years.”

“Do you know why?”

The first crumbling pieces of stone that formerly lined the road to the castle began to rise up from the sides of the road. “No one knows. Some of the bravest in our village once described traveling deep into the woods and seeing a castle with a tall tower, a sleeping monster curled around the top.”

Kanaya squinted ahead, trying to spot the castle. “Did you put much stock in their tales?”

“When I was younger? Not really. Now? Also no, not really. I think if a dragon had a castle, he’d sleep inside of it, not on top.”

Involuntarily, Kanaya burst out laughing. “That’s your justification for why they’re wrong? Not that your country doesn’t have a history of missing princesses, or that you happened to live close enough to the dragon’s castle to find it, but not so close that it bothers you?”

Briar put her hands on her hips. “Would you sleep out in the rain and the cold if you had the option not to?”

“I make a habit not to when I have the choice,” Kanaya ceded.

“Then you admit there’s some logic to what I say,” Briar smirked felinely.

Kanaya rolled her eyes, smiling. “Begrudgingly. At any rate, there was no dragon on that tower when we saw it from above.”

“No,” Briar said. “There wasn’t.”

[justanobsessedfangirl]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy - Chapter 3 - The Maze Runner Newt Fic

Request from aw0kenangel: Oh shit oh shit The angst 😳 GIVE ME THE ANGST -also question/kind of a suggestion or idea, maybe Thomas could come up in the box next and he and the reader spark a close friendship; ADDING TO THE ANGST HELL YEAH *ahem* sorry

Are you in my head? How’d you know Thomas was coming up ;))))))) 

Request from Anonymous: i’m not sure if you’re taking requests but part 3 of the cheating newt one? if not sorry to bother. <3

I love receiving requests, don’t ever worry about being a bother!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 |  Chapter 5

Once Bitten, Twice Shy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6k

“Find anything new?”

You slowed to a stop as you came out of the Maze. Swiping at the sweat on your forehead, you shook your head at Minho. Your feet ached, your calves burned, and all you wanted to do was sit down, but you had to play your part in the conversation. “The new Greenie came up today, right?”

Minho nodded. It was strange to see him at this time of day, near sunset, not dirty from hours of running. It had been his day off, so he was clean and refreshed and exactly the opposite of you.

“How is he?” you asked. “Or she?” You felt your chest tighten, so slight it was almost unnoticeable. Is the Greenie another Margaret? Your heart thumped painfully against your ribs. Another Newt?

A month wasn’t enough time to adjust to your new reality. A reality where you didn’t kiss Newt, didn’t touch Newt, didn’t even talk to Newt. A reality where you avoided the only other girl in the Glade because every time you saw her you could imagine her lips on his.

You needed to move. You started for the Runner’s Hut, Minho matching your easy jog.

“He tried to run into the Maze.”

You laughed. “Maybe he’ll replace you.”

Minho snorted. “He’s a Slopper for sure.”

You reached the Hut with a smile on your face. “Does he know his name?” As you opened the door, you glanced back to see Minho shake his head. “He’ll get it eventually. Where is he now?”

Minho hesitated. When he finally spoke, his words were quick, like he was hoping they wouldn’t stick. “With Newt.”

You busied yourself getting paper and a pencil, trying to ignore the way your insides froze at the sound of his name.

“But he’ll be at the bonfire tonight. The Greenie. Not Newt. Newt doesn’t usually go anymore...” Minho trailed off.

Unspoken words hung in the air like a bad smell. He doesn’t go anymore because he’s afraid you’ll be there. You didn’t need anyone to tell you that; it was exactly why you didn’t go either.

With a shrug, you sat down. Relief flooded your legs. “I think I’m gonna call it a night after this. Maybe I’ll meet the Greenie tomorrow.” You started mapping the section of the Maze you ran that day.

Minho sat down next to you. “You haven’t been to a bonfire in a while.”

You shrugged again.

“It’ll be fun.” He paused. “You can still have fun, you know.”

Your teeth clenched. The next couple of lines you drew were dark, and you pressed the pencil tip so hard it almost snapped. “I don’t have time for that.”

Minho leaned back in his chair. “Yes, you do, Y/N, you just don’t want to. I know you want to get out of the Maze, but you need to relax sometimes too.” He stood up, walking behind you. “Your shoulders aren’t supposed to be up by your ears!” He put his hands on your shoulders and gave them a light squeeze.

You managed a small smile. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until Minho brought it up, but now, with his warm touch, you could feel how tight you were. Everything about you was coiled, ready to spring up and bolt if you needed to.

“There you go,” Minho said, rubbing your shoulders. “Much better. You have a neck again.”

You spun around and jabbed his side. Minho danced out of the way, cackling. He strode to the door, leaving you and your map. 

“I’ll see you at the bonfire, Y/N!” he called over his shoulder as he ducked out.

Before you could think of all of the reasons why you shouldn’t go, Newt and Margaret and sleep and escape, you heard yourself agree.

The Runner’s Hut was silent after Minho left. You found yourself mapping faster, a small, hidden part of you eager to be with people, mingling around the fire, maybe indulging in a few sips of Gally’s moonshine. A while later, you were done drawing the path you took that day. You locked your map in the trunk with the others. For a few seconds, you couldn’t walk away. You lingered in the Hut, thinking of the maps, thinking of the Maze, thinking, thinking, thinking. Flames of anger licked at the edge of your mind. There was still so much to do. You were about to crack open the trunk again to see if you could piece anything together when you heard the faint roar of the Gladers at the bonfire. 

Swallowing your feelings, you spun on your heel and left the Runner’s Hut.

Night had come while you were inside. A sliver of moon hung in the sky, thousands and thousands of stars surrounding it. You followed the smoky scent to the bonfire. Some boys sat on logs around it, chatting, but a large group was off to the side, forming a ring so thick you couldn’t see what was going on in the center. Their voices fought, shouts against cheers against insults. You heard, “Get him!” and “Shank!” and “Klunk!” and other, more barbaric jeers.

You spotted the back of Minho’s head and weaved your way around bodies as you approached him. When you got there, you jabbed a finger into his side, making him jump.

“You shank-” he whirled. A smile broke on his face when he saw you.

You mustered up the courage to smile back, despite the anxiety chewing at your nerves. Your eyes darted from Minho to the surrounding boys, hoping not to see Newt or Margaret, while also praying that you would see them, hopefully separate from each other, hopefully sad. Was that a flash of her hair, glowing red in the light of the fire?

Before you could get a better look, Minho looped an arm around your shoulder and steered you to his side. A couple of boys were still in front of you, blocking your way. “The Greenie’s in there with Gally!” Minho yelled over the noise. He forced himself between the pair in front of you, dragging you along.

“Sorry,” you called, ducking around elbows and slipping past long legs. When you finally faced the center of the circle, you were met with a scene of violence.

Gally’s hands were curled into meaty fists, the muscles of his arms on full display. His right hand was bloody, but you weren’t sure if it was his, because, scrambling up from the ground in front of Gally, was a bleeding boy you didn’t recognize. He had short brown hair and a split lip. Where Gally was strong the way Builders are, all mass and height and power, the Greenie was lean muscle, built for speed.

Gally lunged. The Greenie ducked out of the way in the nick of time, giving Gally a swift push in the side that sent him sprawling to the ground. The Greenie had time for a smile, a few seconds to relish in the wild applause, and then Gally, on his back in the dirt, delivered a sharp kick to the Greenie’s legs. The Greenie went down, his head slamming to the ground.

“Cheap shot,” you muttered to Minho. 

Minho’s eyes were alight with excitement. “No one’s knocked Gally down for at least the past three bonfires.”

“Maybe the Greenie won’t be a Slopper after all.” You kept your eyes on the new boy. He was lifting his head, his lips moving, but you were too far and the crowd was too loud for you to hear anything. “What’s he saying?”

Around you, the boys were quieting as the Greenie stood.

“Thomas!” the Greenie said. “My name is Thomas!”

There was a beat of silence. Then, from across the circle, Alby pointed at the Greenie and yelled, “Thomas!”

The people around you took it up as though it was a war cry. “Thomas!” they shouted. “Thomas!” Just like that, the circle broke, a mob converging on Thomas to pat his back and shake his hand and let him know that he was one of you.

The swarm of people lasted only a few minutes, but the connection you felt with the other Gladers seemed like it would exist forever. You were one, welcoming Thomas into the sea. Minho was on your right and a Slicer, maybe Winston, was on your left, and in front of you was Clint holding two glasses of moonshine, and little Chuck was somewhere amongst you all, his high voice sounding a cheer that could be heard above the deeper tones of the other boys. For those few seconds, you were unified.

Eventually, people trickled away. Some went to the fire, others to the food, others to the drinks. Gally had disappeared, maybe going into hiding to nurse his wounded ego. Still standing where his triumph had taken place was Thomas, and next to him, you, Minho, and Chuck lingered.

“I’m Y/N,” you said. Now that you were close to Thomas, you could see he had brown eyes and a few moles dotted across his cheeks. He gave you a shy smile and nodded.

“I’m Thomas. In case you missed it.”

Chuck giggled. His face was red and his smile huge. “How could anyone miss that? I bet we woke all the Grievers!”

In an instant, the atmosphere shifted from cheerful to tense. You and Minho glared at Chuck. Blood drained from the boy’s face. He clapped his hands over his mouth.

“What’s a Griever? People keep mentioning them but they won’t explain,” Thomas said. He waited, but neither you nor Minho said a word. “No one answers any questions here.”

It’s for your own good, you thought, it’s safer this way. Sometimes you wished you didn’t know about Grievers. They were walking nightmares, armed with hundreds of different, painful ways to kill someone. It wasn't enough that you had to risk running into them in the Maze. They infiltrated your dreams. How many nights had you awoken in Newt's arms after seeing him get torn apart over and over again? Even now, when your relationship with him was so messy, you wished you could scourge that image from your mind. You wished you could forget about the Grievers.

But that would make you less aware in the Maze. It might even make you think that staying in the Glade was the right thing to do. So, as a Runner, it was your duty to remember the Grievers. To remember the danger. And, as you looked at Chuck, the youngest boy in the Glade, and Thomas, who was still new enough not to be stripped of his innocence, you recognized that it was also your duty to protect them from that knowledge. 

“It was nice meeting you, Thomas.” You began walking away. Minho nodded at Thomas and joined you.

From behind, you heard Chuck’s voice, eager for redemption. “You should hang out with us on your next day off, Y/N!”

As you were turning around to give Chuck and Thomas a smile and an apology (like hell you were taking a day off any time soon) someone else spoke up.

“That’s a good idea.” Newt was approaching the group. He walked slowly, hesitantly. His shoulders were slumped like he was tired, and there was something about his face that seemed different.

You froze.

“I was looking at the schedule yesterday,” Newt continued. He wouldn’t look at you. His gaze was fixed on the ground, his features hardly visible in the dim light. Half of you wanted to see his eyes, while the other half wanted him to shut up and leave you alone. “You were supposed to rest three days ago.”

Your heart ached at his accent. You gritted your teeth and steeled yourself. “I wasn’t tired.” This was the first time you’d spoken since the time you’d rejected his apology. Pretty weak apology, you thought, remembering his excuse of never seeing another girl and getting “caught up”. In an instant, unresolved rage rushed through your body. You squeezed your fists. You needed to keep this in check. Not in front of the Greenie. Not in front of Chuck and Minho. Not at the bonfire.

“Minho, you know the protocol. She’ll get injured if you let her keep doing this.” Forgotten notes of protectiveness seeped into Newt’s voice. He couldn’t act like this anymore; not after what he’d done.

You opened your mouth.

Minho beat you. “I know.” He looked down at you regretfully. “I’m the Keeper. You need to listen to me if you want to keep your job. And if I want to keep mine.”

You stared at him, lips pursed together. Curses and insults bubbled in your mouth.

“You’re taking tomorrow off,” he said.

“I can’t take tomorrow off! I’m supposed to cover Hank’s section!”

Minho frowned. You wouldn’t look at Newt. You refused to. 

“Fine. After tomorrow you’re taking a day off.” Minho’s tone was firm.

You wanted to argue. You wanted to turn on Newt and tell him off. You wanted to shake some sense into these people. Didn’t they understand how important this was?

“It’ll be fun, Y/N. You’ll like hanging out with us,” Chuck piped up. He sounded genuinely excited, if a little afraid that you’d start yelling at him. Next to him, Thomas stood silently, watching with intelligent brown eyes.

You deflated in a long exhale. “Fine.” You spat the word like it was poison. You gave Minho one last betrayed look, then walked away without a goodbye. Not to Thomas or Chuck, and definitely not to Newt.

The bonfire was over.

You ran angry the next day. With sharp eyes, you scanned every stone on the walls and ground, every patch of dirt, every tangle of vines. Even though you were in a different section, it was all still the same. There was nothing out of the ordinary. You weren’t expecting a glowing exit sign, but you did want something. This couldn’t be a puzzle without a solution.

At one point during the day, when the sun was still high overhead, you thought you heard a scream. It was faint, but it made you stop in your tracks, hold your breath, and wait to hear it again. After nearly a minute had passed with no new noises, you continued running.

Was the scream a sign? Should you try to run towards it? What if it wasn’t a scream, but the screech of metal as a new door opened?

Your legs moved faster. You searched every passage. Every nook and cranny and every dead end. And you found nothing.

You arrived back at the Glade early, sweaty and sore and disappointed. You’d spent the last hour or so trying to tamp down your frustration at your forced rest day tomorrow. You were so angry that you almost ignored Minho when you saw him in the Runner’s Hut. The look on his face made you pause.

“What happened?” you asked.

He was sitting, maps spread in front of him. His eyebrows were scrunched in worry, his mouth twisted in a frown. All of the playfulness had left his expression. Behind you, the sound of the door opening made you turn. Alby walked in. You whipped around to face Minho again as you caught sight of Newt trailing behind your leader.

Just that slight glimpse of him was enough to confirm what you’d thought at the bonfire last night: he was thinner, more somber looking. There were dark circles under his eyes. For a brief second, you let yourself wonder where he was sleeping. Was Margaret not as comfortable to sleep next to as you were? Did he miss the bed you’d shared? Did he miss you?

Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts. “Ben got stung.”

You blinked. “During the day? How?”

Alby and Newt took seats at the table, the latter boy choosing the spot farthest away from where you stood. Alby was the one who answered you. “We don’t know.”

You pulled out a chair and sat. Your hands felt numb. Beneath the table, your legs shook. “Is he still...” you trailed off.

Alby nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “He’s alive in the Slammer. Some Builders are keeping guard.”

Your wide eyes prompted Minho to add, somewhat reluctantly, “He tried to kill Thomas.”

Icy dread flooded your lungs. Your stomach was in your heart, your heart was gone, because instead of a steady pounding you just felt sick. 

You knew Ben. You’d ran with him and laughed with him and lived in this stupid shucking Glade with him, and now, because of a Griever and an unlucky day, he was someone else.

“Y/N-” Newt started, his voice soft.

“Is Thomas okay?” you interrupted. After Minho nodded, you asked, “When is Ben getting banished?” You looked from Minho to Alby, ignoring Newt with every fiber of your being.

“Tonight. Soon,” was Alby’s reply.

You nodded. Clenching and unclenching your hands, you made the numbness go away, replaced with jittery energy. “We’ll have to look in the Maze for any clues tomorrow. Did Ben say where it happened?” You slid one of the maps in front of Minho toward you. “I’ll check out his section tomorrow, we can have someone else cover mine, and-”

“You’re not going, Y/N.” Minho’s voice was hard. When you looked up at him, his face was like stone.

“What?”

“You still need to rest. This doesn’t change that.”

You looked around incredulously. One of them had to see how ridiculous this was. Alby stared back at you, unrelenting. Newt’s eyes were softer. You felt your gaze stop on him. His brown eyes were deep pools of pleading. You could practically hear him in your ear, his accent thick, his words laced with care, as he told you you needed to take a day off.

You forced your eyes back on Minho. “How could this not change everything?” You struggled to keep from shouting. “I’m one of the best Runners! You need me out there.”

"You're wearing yourself out, Y/N. You and I both know that," Minho said.

Your muscles pulsed with soreness in response. You thought of how painful sleeping was, not just because you were alone but because your body never stopped throbbing, and even though every bone in your body ached with exhaustion, your mind could never quiet. "I'm fine," you insisted.

“Minho and I are going to run Ben’s section,” Alby said.

“No offense, Alby, but-”

“Y/N, I think you should leave.” Alby’s tone was more serious than you’d ever heard.

You shook your head. “I still have to draw my map,” you said stubbornly.

Alby rose. “Then we’ll go to the Homestead.”

At his words, Minho and Newt stood up and made for the door, giving you sympathetic looks that you wanted to throw back in their faces. Minho had the gall to pat you on the shoulder. You glared at them.

As he stood in the door, waiting for Minho and Newt to leave, Alby said, in a kinder manner than before, “We’ll tell you everything when we get back tomorrow. We know how good you are. We can’t afford you getting an overuse injury." He stared you directly in your eyes and you saw the smallest shred of fear. "Not right now.”

And then he was gone and you were alone in the Runner’s Hut. The table was clean; you hadn’t noticed Minho take the maps. Moving as if in slow motion, you gathered pencil and paper and began to draw.

So much had happened in one month. How was that possible? You squeezed the pencil tighter, willing your hands to stop shaking. You thought you might cry. You thought you might rip apart the map in front of you. You thought you might shatter into pieces because everything was going wrong and you were no closer to getting out and now your friends were getting hurt and soon you would be even lonelier.

Time passed without you realizing. You must have sketched your section of the Maze five times. Every time you finished, you got another piece of paper. You needed to keep your hands busy. You needed to feel like you were doing something.

Outside, the walls began to rumble. You drew faster. Ben was probably at the entrance right now. Who was pushing him in? Was Ben crying? Was he begging? Was he so damaged from the Griever sting that he was still trying to attack his friends?

Your pencil ripped through the paper and you were drawing on the table and your face was wet and your breath was shaky. The pencil tip snapped. You flung it across the room and dropped your head in your hands and cried.

There wasn’t enough air. Or maybe you just had too many tears. There were tears for Newt and the kiss that felt like it’d happened so long ago, there were tears for Thomas and being attacked in a strange place, there were tears for Chuck for being so young, there were tears for Alby for having to act so old, there were tears for Minho and Ben and all of the other Runners who risked their sanity and their lives and sometimes didn’t get lucky.

You never heard the door open and close. You saw someone set a plate with a sandwich in front of you. You felt their arm settle across your shoulders. You smelled Newt and he smelled like home, and so you pushed away your shame and leaned into him.

He didn’t say anything. He just held you, and when you wrapped your arms around his waist, he let you hold him. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your neck, right by your ear. The ghost of his lips hovered a hair’s length from your skin.

Neither of you said a word.

[dramaticviolincrescendo]

So, I know the prevailing assumption among a lot of people in the fandom for whatever reason is that Mickey will be arrested at some point this season, but I’m noticing that there are far more likely candidates right now:

Ian. Even in a mask, he’s the one who can be visually identified as having stolen, been accomplice to stealing, or witnessed someone stealing the ambulance. (Given that the EMTs would have gotten upstairs to see there is no grandmother or cousin, they’d undoubtedly assume he wasn’t just a witness.) His short, curly red hair, green eyes, freckles, height, and camo cargo pants have definitely been reported to any authorities they called. The cargo pants are neither here nor there beyond confirmation if he’s seen, but his physical description certainly narrows down the database of suspects with priors. And now, he’s so done with feeling like a loser that he’s getting careless—about guns, about crimes, about parole. Those are some big red flags.

Frank. He openly talked about killing a woman to get rid of Terry in the Alibi. He’s spent episodes calling them a scourge, virus, plague, etc. in front of a group of people who don’t particularly like him and haven’t for years. (Kev, Tommy, and Kermit are unlikely to say anything, but everyone else who may have heard him?) Now, Terry has been shot and, from the looks of it, possibly paralyzed—in his front yard, next door to the Gallaghers. This isn’t neighborhood thugs coming for Frank and nobody saying anything. It’s much more serious, and I’m sure no one else wants to get accused of what Frank Gallagher ostensibly did.

Lip. This one presupposes that he does, indeed, go back to Born Free and rob the place, which doesn’t seem like too far of a stretch when he needs the money for a house (preferably not a murder house) and has no job. At this point, that’s obviously speculation, but the detectives in the BTS pictures come to him specifically. (They may go to the rest of the family, but just going off what we have, that’s what we can confirm.) Plus, with how he left things, I’d imagine that if anybody else pulls something at Born Free in the near future, the new owners would put them on Lip’s trail, thinking he did it out of revenge.

[ladyfawkes]

Desiderium by Trekkiehood and LadyFawkes Current word count: 15102 Current Chapter 8 & 9: The Useful Idiots; Eugene's Lament Rated: T for graphic descriptions of violence, wartime, torture, things of a POW nature. ATTENTION/ACHTUNG/ATTENCION: THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! [Nor a repost.] DESI HAS BEEN GIVEN ITS FOOOOURTH UPDATE IN LESS THAN A WEEK. WHOOPWHOOPWHOOP! Chapter 8 (but not 9) also the first chapter in which I've flown entirely solo thus far. Doth my eyes deceive me, or does our hero make a reappearance??? Hold onto your butts, buttercups. You finally get to learn what Regis is all about. Eeeeep!!! This one's intense!! You also get to learn exactly what Eugene wrote to his dearest Rapunzel in the hour or so prior to his capture.

Overall Story Summary: Desiderium: an ardent desire or longing; especially: a feeling of loss or grief for something lost. Eugene and Rapunzel's lives are turned upside down when a war breaks out between Corona and Equis. As Captain of the Guard, Eugene is forced to leave his wife and daughter to fight on the front lines, where a tragic berserker attack leaves Rapunzel a widow.....or so she's been led to believe. Now prisoner to a sadistic megalomaniac, our severely injured Eugene must fight harder than he's ever fought before in order to escape dire circumstances and drag his way back to his family. With battles raging, the enemy advancing, too many fallen troops, dwindling supplies under siege, and especially absent their most trusted strategic leader, the only chance Rapunzel, Corona, and Eugene have is if the kingdom can still somehow pull off the seemingly insurmountable task of winning this forsaken war. Has dusk finally arrived for the kingdom of the sun, or will she rise victorious once more? Chapter 8 Summary: Eugene finds "help" in the most unexpected of places. (Chapter 9 summary & chapter posted beneath Chapter 8.)

Javeen’s men had concussed the enemy captain in outrage and tightly bound his wrists and ankles with ropes for transport. Naturally, nobody amongst them had consciously thought to put pressure on the enemy’s` wounds. On the contrary, most of them had gone out of their way to avoid such a thing…. Their reputation had always been annihilation of all opposition and a literal scorched earth policy. It didn’t leave much room, if any, for compassion or medical training; most of the time, it left even less room for common sense. Before dawn that day, Commander Javeen’s underling had initially volunteered to perform the honor of actually transporting the soon-to-be-captured prisoner, the captain in red. However, by this point, Avila was less than thrilled; Uhlan Avila didn’t want the loathsome enemy captain to leak his blood and other bodily fluids all over his opulent saddle. He’d spent good money on it, after all. This was an unforeseen complication for which the uhlan had definitely not volunteered. However, now….he was stuck with it. Avila sprinted over to a fallen enemy horse nearby, loosened the saddle, and reclaimed the saddle blanket, padding, and two leather straps. Taking the woolen pad and folding it over a few times, he rolled the enemy captain up inside of it with the blanket around the outside, and cinched up everything with the reclaimed leather straps. Uhlan Avila was pleased with himself for being so clever. It was that one action of vanity alone which preserved Eugene’s life to this point; as otherwise short-sighted as these bloodthirsty barbarians were, transporting the wounded -- even their own -- was not something for which they spared much thought or effort. And so Uhlan Avila threw the prepared prisoner over the withers of his horse and ultimately brought the prisoner, retching and puking, all the way back to Javeen’s encampment outside Equisian city walls. Thus the Equisian army had done the enemy commander a secondary favor by attacking before breakfast; one cannot puke out what one has not eaten. And thus we've reached our third unintended positive consequence that the uhlan mistakenly provided the enemy: Avila had rendered him virtually unconscious. It was a profoundly merciful thing, remaining staunchly unable to recall waking memory of being hauled away so inhumanely, bound and profusely bleeding, with no way to brace or prepare oneself for the relentless jarring and jouncing motions on the arduously long journey ahead. The same afternoon Queen Rapunzel of Corona received her husband’s final impassioned missive, the currently defenseless abductee Captain Eugene S. Fitzherbert, Prince Consort of Her Majesty Queen Rapunzel, was presented to His Imperial Majesty King Regis the First and Terrible of Equis. Regis preferred just the one name, as ambitious as he was, wanting to further distinguish himself from anyone else yet in the history books. Fully expectant that his captive should be brought to him on a silver platter, King Regis was royally put-out when he was instead Summoned to Javeen’s encampment due to a quote unquote “slight problem”. However, he was determined nothing would spoil his mood for that day. That day had all gone off without a hitch, apparently, every carefully laid plan thus far. As well it should, Regis congratulated himself internally. Nothing would be better than his moment of being able to gloat in the face of this unworthy thieving interloper who had taken up such a plumb station within the neighboring kingdom. Regis had heard all about Fitzherbert from his cousin before his death. What idiots Corona’s former royal couple must have been, getting duped by the likes of such a wonton common thief. King Regis vowed he would die before he let such an accursed scourge back into his palace. King Trevor had regaled Regis endlessly about his woes with Corona, King Frederic, and ultimately, the insufferable thief Fitzherbert. And Regis….well, Regis was like Trevor multiplied one-thousand-fold. While they were close to the same age, Regis had had a lifetime filled with

having the throne denied him.

His gargantuan height of 6’11” made Regis tower over most everyone around him. Though he was tall, he was also toned and muscular rather than massive; though he could yell louder than most, he also had a silver tongue. His cruelty, selfishness, and vanity knew no bounds -- nor did his taste for ostentation. Unlike Trevor, who had a very pointy pinched look, Regis was exceptionally attractive, broad-chested, and “strong as a bear”, with his close-cropped full beard and once-dark-hair turned a respectable salt-&-pepper. Yet beautiful as he was, every horrible family trait that Trevor had ever possessed -- and then some -- were magnified to abysmal new depths within Regis….which is why lately, he’d been experimenting around with giving himself titles of repute. “King Regis the Great”....no, too generic. “King Regis the Horrible,”...no. Again, too….pedestrian. “King Regis the Terrible”...? Slight improvement but still not good enough. King Regis brushed an invisible piece of lint off his shimmering blue ermine cape, readjusted his most opulent jeweled crown and sauntered through the massive tent flap that had been pulled aside in anticipation of his arrival. He strutted toward the back of the tent, where he saw his 2nd and 3rd in command, Commander Javeen and Commander Thaddeus. Thaddeus backed away at a steady pace upon seeing him, after the commander bowed, saluted, and announced his king’s arrival. Regis picked up on an undercurrent of agitation between his leading men. As he approached Javeen and a heap of old rags on the ground, he learned precisely why. It was not a pile of rags before him. Now abruptly seeing his Big Moment evaporate in front of his eyes, Regis rushed up to see who was this mystery prisoner. Surely this could not be Fitzherbert….?? He’d expected him to be a bit sick and groggy from a pre-planned hellride over horse’s withers but not….. And Regis roughly clutched at the hair of the prone individual and yanked backward on the head so he could see the hidden features. And though this prisoner’s face was filthy, it was just as Regis feared: he was indeed looking at the face that launched a thousand Wanted posters, his avowed newest enemy, thieving “Prince” Fitzherbert. The enemy prisoner showed no outward reaction to him nor anything else whatsoever. He lay still, eye closed and expressionless, his body completely inert. With fury clouding his vision, Regis tore at the saddle blanket wrapped around his prey. The blanket had all but adhered to those once-leaking wounds through Eugene’s torso. By this time, Cmdr. Thaddeus had backed away to a safe distance outside the tent. “What is the MEANING OF THIS!?!?” roared Regis, unclutching his once-intended target’s hair and crossing the tent to Javeen in less than half a second. “GRIEVOUSLY DAMAGING MY CHOSEN PREY BEFORE I CAN EVEN SEE HIM?!?! “My-My Liege,” stuttered Javeen, “I thought you’d be pleased to see him in such dire straits!” At this, even Regis was taken aback. Briefly. “To reiterate….you ‘thought I’d be PLEASED’,” Regis made mocking air-quotes, “to see the very victim I’d been planning personally to accost now for months, suddenly in a position where nothing I can do can possibly torture or make him hurt enough, the way he should be!?!” At this, Regis twitched his wrist and an impossibly sharp filigreed 12-inch-length steel stylus slipped silently out of a concealed pouch in his sleeve. Now, the king was deceptively, eerily calm, ever-so-slowly advancing on Javeen, who was inching away. “Did it ever occur to you,” Regis rapidly whip-sliced in an upward diagonal with the stylus, his impossibly-lengthy arm snaking out from him, “that I might need to play with him first?” And then he whipped the whisper-quiet blade rapidly on an opposing downward diagonal, completing an X pattern across the chest of Javeen’s tunic. His second’s eyes bugged out and he continued to back away from Regis, stumbling, clutching at and trying to press his tunic against the new fresh wounds underneath to staunch the flow. Gritting his teeth and trying desperately

not to cry out, Javeen well knew how screaming and crying to Regis would only encourage him further. “This dirty thief has information I require, you fool,” Regis whispered, with deadly calm, as he threw the stylus at the dirt and it pierced Javeen through his foot. His hapless second screamed in spite of himself and fell backward, his foot still pinned to the earth through his boot. “I pay you to kill, maim, and follow my orders to the letter,” Regis stood over him prior to leaving, “not to do my thinking for me.” After giving his original intended victim Fitzherbert one last longing glance, Mad King Regis knelt down and plucked his stylus out of the shocked man’s pinned foot as slowly and agonizingly as possible, making Javeen yell mightily again as crimson gushed out the new holes in either side of his boot.

Regis then wiped his stylus clean on Javeen’s trouser leg, and said loudly, “Cmdr. Thaddeus, Summon the surgeon or apothecary, whatever he calls himself. Tell him he has a new charge. JUST THE ONE,” he growled menacingly at Javeen, his implications crystal clear although he still addressed Cmdr Thaddeus. And to think, less than five minutes ago, Regis had been having such a fine day. ---------------------TTS------------------------- Chapter 9 Summary: Varian has a visceral reaction after eavesdropping on Timothy's devastating report with Rapunzel. After several key delays, the queen goes down to the stables to speak with Maximus....and receives a letter. ============ Varian gradually pulled away from the door where he’d just been eavesdropping on Timothy and the Queen. His head was shaking side to side involuntarily and his eyes had frozen wide open. Clawed hands raked through his hair until Varian was frantically grasping his fringe in shock and disbelief. Everything had gone numb as he continued backing away. His throat constricted for a time and he struggled to breathe.

“Varian?” Ash approached carefully and lightly touched his arm; he flinched violently at her touch. “Varian, are you okay?”

No. No, he wasn’t. This was impossible. Eugene couldn’t be dead. He just could not!

“I-I have to go!” Varian choked out. And he simply ran. He wasn’t even sure exactly where he was going. He couldn’t go to his dad, as Quirin was one of the few Coronian citizens to have actually seen bonafide combat. Thus his services would be required with Corona’s dwindling army now more than ever….. He couldn't go to Rapunzel, she had enough problems to worry about, and he couldn’t go to Eugene because he was- no. He wasn't. He could not be! Maybe he was only missing, not dead.

Xavier. Xavier would know what to do. Varian needed to find Xavier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TTS~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Max,” Rapunzel smiled a weak watery smile as she gently stroked the horse’s face. “Heard you had quite the run.”

She offered him an apple that he accepted from her hand….but he carefully set it aside and refused to eat it.

“Yeah, I know the feeling, my friend.” Pascal chirruped in agreement and nuzzled a little against Max’s face from the vantage point of Rapunzel’s shoulder.

It still hadn’t completely sunk in…..Eugene’s possibly being gone forever. By the time she had gone down to speak with Max about an hour after first speaking to poor Timothy, about a half dozen of their other soldiers had also beaten a hasty retreat back to Corona proper, as Old Corona was even less safe than ever, due to the out-of-control fire. Sometimes not all of these men arrived in one piece, either. Rapunzel subsequently learned the enemy had started an oversized funeral pyre…..but why?? They also independently corroborated Timothy’s claims of Eugene’s being run-through. And even worse, some said that Eugene’s stricken body had been thrown…..on the top of that funeral pyre. She’d heard the chilling reports corroborated more than once, from soldiers who had little to no idea what their fellow troops had also seen. She had had those tunnel nightmares for ages. And yet...hardly anything felt real. She felt detached from everything. Once the tiny and woefully wounded and bedraggled troop contingent had arrived, however, news had spread throughout the palace grounds faster than the fire that spawned it: Eugene is dead. The Prince is dead. Captain Fitzherbert died in battle.

Maximus let out a soft nickering. Rapunzel allowed a few tears to finally fall for real. It was a stark reality, seeing Max without Eugene. Seeing the blood on the saddle. Seeing the thick bandages on Maximus as he was carefully laid on his side, being cared for in the stable. Seeing everything, everything that she had once thought of as strong and capable and larger-than-life, and practically invincible….all in such precarious states. She just…..couldn’t…..

“I don’t know what I would’ve done had we lost you too, Max,” whispered Rapunzel. This was the only way, she decided, she could hold things together. With Max and Pascal, she could fall apart if needed, without anyone questioning her state of mind or suggesting she should step down from her duties. She just….couldn’t bring herself to give up on him just yet. Rapunzel instinctively knew that she was still the best chance Eugene had for being found. And that chance would diminish severely if she replaced herself with someone else in the highest command position.

Max nuzzled her hand before biting at his saddlebag and pulling out a folded letter with "Wifey" scrawled in hurried font on the back.

She accepted it with shaking hands. It still bore his scent and the official Captain’s watermark. Eugene’s. She could barely contain her trembling as she unfolded the pages.

My Dearest Sunshine and Darling Wifey,

The writing on the parchment here appeared peppered with large drops of clear liquid. Most of the ink was smeared, including the date in the top right corner, as if it were all written in a furious hurry. It’s doubtless the reason why Eugene never had time to seal the letter either.

If you’ve been given this letter, then I can assume I’ve entered a battle from which I will likely not return. Know that I did everything in my power to win for us. I’ve done everything in my power to return to you. I never wanted to leave you or Kleisonne. It was never my choice to stay away….but I’m sorry nonetheless. Not only do I have sworn duty to protect the kingdom and her heirs…..it’s most of all because I want you and our daughter to be as safe as humanly possible. You’ve been the best companion, wife, mother to our child, lover, and life-rescuer this flawed man could have ever hoped for. I’ve been more happy these past 5 years with you than the prior 23 years of my life combined. I’ve never wished more than now that an afterlife truly exists. Because whether in living life or afterlife, I would give absolutely everything I have just to spend even a tiny bit more of my time with you and Kleisonne, even if all I got to give you was a proper goodbye. I love you more than mere words could ever convey.

Also know how much I cherish you and how fortunate I am to have been given a second chance to get things right in my life. That never could’ve happened without you.

I’ll never stop loving you, Sunshine. Death couldn’t stop that before. Perhaps….the odds might smile on me yet again.

In my absence, I need you to be certain and watch that nanny. Please. My paternal instincts are just extra strong right now, I suppose but certainly you of all people can understand why I'm....careful. And in case I can’t return, please make sure Kleisonne knows I love her and that I never wanted to leave her. I didn’t abandon her by choice. Someone stole our time out from under us. Every moment we three are apart, I’m certain desiderium shall overwhelm me. Please….tell my dad how much I appreciate, love, and care for him. I completely understand his delay. I can’t imagine how difficult it would’ve been to pull together a virtual army and make his way back here in about 7 weeks. Two or three days shouldn’t have made much of a difference but in this case….? I fear Edmund will never forgive himself--but I will. Corona will still need him and the Brotherhood though, even if I’m gone. Tell Fred and Arianna thank you for everything…..they were my family at a time when I still had nobody else.

You were my new dream yesterday, you’re my new dream today, and you’ll always be the best dream I could ever seek, Rapunzel. I’ll remain forever your devoted husband.

All my love and more, Eugene

Rapunzel was openly sobbing now. Rivers of pent-up tears flowed as the Queen’s small body was wracked with uncontrolled weeping. She surrendered to the worst pain and emotional loss of her entire life. It just wasn’t right. It’s not fair for me to have saved him once, only for the enemy soldiers to get him just a few short years later.

Maximus whinnied low in his throat and nuzzled in, letting Rapunzel know it was safe for her to come closer, despite his bandages. It was clear the despondent horse didn’t care how much he hurt physically, which….comparably, still wasn’t all that much. The adrenaline still hadn’t worn off from his mad dash earlier, apparently. And it was the least he could do to give his queen a safe space to cry. She clung tightly to his neck, letting her tears soak into his mane. Maximus well knew how difficult it was for her to express herself when she felt vulnerable.

Events and every single independent corroboration thus far all pointed towards Commodore Fitzherbert having been killed. Virtually nobody had seen him alive since before the inferno effectively ended the battle. Several people had even witnessed his being run-through, and a couple of his men had even seen his body on a lighted funeral pyre. Rapunzel was wracked again with more sobs at these thoughts.

How could Eugene have possibly survived? Common sense told her he hadn’t. Yet everything else told her he was still out there, somewhere, needing urgently to be found. Everyone lucky enough to have retreated from the battle said they were certain he had not survived. Though it had been around 4-5 hours since the end of the battle, Rapunzel couldn’t give up just yet.

Most chillingly of all, the idea had finally begun sinking in….mostly due to morale being plunged to abysmal levels.

The whole kingdom had felt noticeably dimmer once everyone began to believe Eugene Fitzherbert was dead.

[talesofnovembria]

Sal and Arthur were on a trip. But then Sal sees someone she recognizes :3

They have no choice but to hide in Azjol-Nerub, where they can avoid them. But there are things in the dark that don't take kindly to strangers. Out of the frying pan, and into a different, spider-shaped frying pan!

Send me a creepy scenario/location and character(s) and I’ll write a drabble for it.

Well this was certainly not the place she would have thought the two of them would end up at. Granted, compared to some of the other zones in Northrend, Dragonblight was one of the more protected regions. It was hard to deny that the home tower and realms of the dragonflights would mean their kind would keep this place, and the surrounding area well guarded. Besides, since the dismantle of much of the Scourge army, there wasn’t much of a threat via the undead here.

So long as the two of them stuck to the path, there wouldn’t be anything to worry about.

Arthur and Salena walked side by side, as if they were equal soldiers. Travel would have been easier if she were to use her vial, but that was not effective when one of the two of them was afraid of heights. Another option would be to resort to using a mount, but unless her friend had some kind of prior riding knowledge, that was also not going to be effective. She didn’t trust having him ride behind her with the risk of him touching her back, and she was shorter than him, making him sitting in front of her pointless.

So walking it was.

They were nearing the border towards the Borean Tundra, another place that was relatively untouched by the Scourge, but had its own problems. Nothing the two of them couldn’t handle, and again, so long as they remained on the path, there shouldn’t be any issue. Besides, there was a relatively small tavern some distance in at a gnome outpost they could take a moment to rest at.

For a majority of the journey, it had simply been the two of them conversing, whether it be about their craft, the whole of Dragonblight, or just them poking at one another. She had taken the opportunity to flick the ponytail Arthur had fashioned himself in before coming here. While a bit strange for someone with such a spiky hair style, and one that always seemed to point up, he did manage to pull it off in her opinion.

Their conversation was interrupted when she stopped short, her ears picking up a sound in the distance. Clopping… the sound of hooves against stone… That was a sound she was familiar with, but who else might be out here in dragonblight? They were getting along the path to Star’s Rest, so perhaps someone from there? Couldn’t be a patrol from the Ebon Blade… and as far as she knew, many of those in the Alliance and the Horde were not too interested in the resources out here anymore.

Arthur seemed to give her a confused look when she turned to him, though that was an expression she also shared. Perhaps it truly was no one more than a resident at the passing outpost.

The sight of the riders though… Paladins…

Ordinarily, she could push aside her resentment of their ‘kind’ in order to be on her way, but she could see the way their helmets were turning towards her. Her ears pinned back… this was bad… It was bad enough when Light users recognized the saronite armor, and the symbol that represented the Knights of the Ebon Blade… but what struck worse was they seemed to recognize her.

And she vaguely recognized them.

It was often hard to tell the people who followed him by their faces when they were usually covered in armor, but certain choices about their designs were able to stand out to her… and these two held that same attention to white and gold like he did.

The clopping sound began to grow louder. She had to make a decision right now. Turning and running down the path was only going to delay the inevitability of them catching up. She could always run and divert them away from Arthur, but despite his knowledge of this place, she didn’t trust him to have all the combative knowledge to survive out here… plus he would be stranded without a way back home. Trying to run past them was not a good option either, and taking off into the woods would have its own risks…

The way she saw it, that left only one option to ensure they would lose the paladins.

Salena spun on her feet, pushing Arthur towards the hill behind them, “Start climbing, and as quick as you can preferably.”

He could see the worry in her face, something that rarely seemed to come out when all of them were together, or hell even when she was alone with one of them. He did as she instructed, but one look up the hill made him question her choice, “But up there is-”

“I’m well aware of what’s up there. Believe me, if there was a smarter choice, I’d have taken it. Just trust me and move.”

The both of them began their fleeing, her ears turned almost completely behind her to listen to the hooves change from stone to snow. Compared to them on the ground, they were going to make more noise. With any luck, her and Arthur could sneak around enough to draw their attention to the paladins. All they would then have to do was lay low long enough to have them leave… or die… and then make their way back out.

The blond seemed to hesitate for a moment once they came to the openings in the ground at the top of the hill. There were a few nerubians standing guard outside, their heads turning at the sound of the fast approaching horses. A low growl rumbled in her throat as she raced ahead, jumping into one of the larger holes. She turned back to the opening, seeing Arthur peer over the edge, “Jump!”

All he had to do was trust her. Please…

He leapt from his spot, her back claws digging into the ground to harden her stance. Her arms reached up, catching the human before he could hit the ground. All that armor was going to make him not only fall faster, but hit harder once he landed. She could handle the weight as well as the initial jump. This was her home world after all. She adjusted him in her arms, holding him bridal style before turning her gaze back to the opening. She could hear the alarm in the horses’ calls, but a few guards were not going to be enough to hold them off… not for too long.

And once they got off the horses… or found the large opening inside, they would be on their trail once again. Her tail lashed behind her as she made another decision. She spun on her feet, carrying her friend towards what looked like an underground mouth of a cave. Deal with the nerubians would be far easier than paladins armed to the teeth and will spells that could cripple her…

Which would leave Arthur trying to deal with zealots who would not listen to reason on his own.

She couldn’t do that to him.

Granted, this option would also be putting him in danger, but the odds were stacked more in their favor so long as she had the ability to fight back. And surely even paladins wouldn’t be stupid enough to follow into a place infested with this species on their own. They probably thought her foolish for making such a choice, and seeing her go so deep would hopefully make them believe she would get them both killed on her own.

She stopped once she came to the end of a slope, and also when protestive wiggling began to increase from her arms. She set her friend down, her head turning back the way they had come. Her body tensed, not exactly keen on the place she’d dropped both of them. With an attack going on outside, and two outsiders at the doors of their underground kingdom, the nerubians were sure to come running for them.

And just as much, she had to make sure their pursuers were not still chasing them.

It wasn’t hard to pick up on the sound of them climbing along the stone walls and coming up the pathway behind the two of them. Her fur stood up, Arthur moving closer to her. Neither one of them were afraid for themselves… but rather for each other. Predictable.

She managed to get her hands on her blades, pulling them out, her friend following similarly. Webs began to shoot from their mouths, aiming for both of them. Her experience and reflexes made dodging and slicing the material easier… but the same could not be said for Arthur. She didn’t know just how well he’d do in this kind of situation, against an enemy he had only seen so long ago. This was not a game anymore.

Web stuck to his armor, pulling him away from his friend. He raised his sword to slice it off him, but another stuck to the blade. He tugged on it, but the more web that piled in that one spot made it harder and harder to get free. Her head turned over to him, ears falling down. Of course he would get caught, and he wouldn’t distract her by trying to call for help. He acted… just like she did…

Her attention left their attackers temporarily, closing the space between the two of them. Her blade began making work of the individual strands of web attached to Arthur’s blade, working to get him free. As she was, she felt a tug on her own blade, one of them snagged like his own was. Her growl turned into a snarl, both of them starting to fight the webs to get free, more seeming to pile on with each new addition. She could feel more tugging on her end, turning her head around to see them pulling her away from Arthur.

And it was the opportunity they were waiting for to get some web around her jaws.

They were coming closer and closer… Deep, yet scratchy, voices echoing around them.

“What do we have here? A beast and a human?”

“Not just any beast. A little scourge soldier.”

“Scourge? After all of them being wiped out?”

“It would seem there are still a few stragglers left.”

Curse this miserable existence… why did the Lich King have to make so many damn enemies in Northrend…?

Her head turned to the side, Arthur still putting up a fight even as the webs started to encase him, his weapon laying on the ground. No… not him… she would not fail him… not anyone… not again…!

Her eyes glowed, her unbound feet stomping to the dirt. She had to be extremely careful with this. The wrong spot for any of these, and she could end up doing more harm than good. Her eyes sparked with more power, feeling the webs around her growing tighter. Guess the sight of a death knight’s defining feature made them more than a little terrified. She focused on him, the ground around Arthur starting to freeze. Spikes of ice began to rise up from the ground, two at the sides to slice the web, and the rest to bathe in nerubian blood.

The ice, thankfully, only managed to tear along her friend’s armor, leaving him unharmed. All he had to do now was pull himself out from his binds.

Which left her to struggle with her own situation. Guess now that she was labeled a threat, binding her was the smarter option. Bright blue her eyes glowed, what movement she had left stretching her arms for the others, attacking their inner systems… and while it was able to slow them down, it was not enough to make the remaining stop, nor more from coming to their aid.

Fine… so long as she could get Arthur out…

But then again, that never was his style.

She felt her own bonds loosen, a normal blade coming down on the sticky material. She had freed him… and he had freed her. The two exchanged a glance before cleaning off their weapons while they had a chance. They stood back to back, but enough space that Arthur was not pressed against her back. The stance itself brought back a feeling of nostalgia…

They could survive this.