#entourage of crows

[yor3cb]

Theres suddenly an onrush of activity that reminded me i have a tumblr

Have some studies n local cats

[helaenarts]

‘Such a restless girl, our little queen. She seldom let more than three days pass without going off for a ride. Some days they would ride along the Rosby road to hunt for shells and eat beside the sea. Other times she would take her entourage across the river for an afternoon of hawking.’

Cersei VI A Feast For Crows

[diejager]

omegaverse anon here, could you do the cod group with a beta reader? Like, they stay really out of the way, not really used to getting any attention from alphas or omegas

Unusual Attraction Cw: omegaverse, awkward!reader, ell me if I missed any.

You were an oddity of a beta, your stronger nose made interacting with people harder than other betas, it made you stand out from your peers, they deemed you a beta stronger than the usual beta and that made you feel isolated and alone. You were used to alphas ordering you around and moving you from team to team for your nose and clear mind, you were a asset to have on certain teams where they needed a buffer that wasn’t an heat-prone omega. And despite your constant entourage of omegas and alphas, you never stopped flinching or wincing when someone’s scent became too strong, the musk burning your nose in an enclosed area like the mess hall, the training areas, or even public spaces. 

You preferred keeping to yourself, to alleviate the growing headache pounding at your head, to find a calmer corner of the base you were permanently moved to. You knew the people you worked with from prior assignments, a few times on month long covert operation and others on week long clandestine missions offshore, but you liked your silence when you could afford to find it. Even outside, their scents clung to your clothes, the strong smell of Price’s smoke and Ghost’s bourbon, the distinct notes of strength and dominance that screamed Alpha, Soap’s sweeter and softer citrus that you could pick up despite the scent blockers and Gaz’s gentle vanilla, a soothing calmness that reminded you that you weren’t the only buffer to the team, that you were the only beta.

“Found ye, Hound!” You liked the way Soap said your callsign, his accent coming into play to make it sound different —special. 

He swung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you to his side, your nose twitching from how close you were to his scent glands. You felt like he did it with intention, always finding a way to have you smelling like him and filling your mind with his scent, it was near addictive —so much so that you would’ve succumbed to it if you were an alpha, mind shutting off and body acting on it’s own volition. You wouldn’t blame anyone for it, Soap smelled so good, a sinful delight that people were deprived of, and when he wasn’t using the patches, it numbed your mind, made you slow and sloppy with your thoughts and acts. He knew the effect he had on you and he loved it from his constant hazing, flashing his gland in your face and drowning you in it whenever he could. Perhaps it was his claim on you, you never truly understood the whole dynamic, you were a buffer with a better nose, nothing more and nothing less.

“We were lookin’ fer ye,” he walked back in, still holding you in his grasp, “We’re going tae the pub. Thought ah’d come and get ye.”

They, on multiple occasions, had invited you to go drink with them, extending that olive branch your way with smiles and encouraging nods. You were tempted to accept, but you didn’t do well in enclosed and crowed spaces, so you declined over and over, but they never stopped asking you. It got to a point where you were waiting for them to stop asking, to tire themselves of befriended you, and yet, they never did, going so far as to pull you along despite your grumbling and exhaustion, promising a night of rest and relaxation at the pub. 

And fortunately, their words rang true, it was a blessing to your nose that the owners burned an overpowering but gentle incense that blocked all types of scents, a relief you rarely got. The only thing you could smell was the comforting scents of your new pack, the oil-packed burgers and fries, and the strong burn of alcohol, all thing that you didn’t mind as long as it came in moderation to your nose. After your first drunken and giggling visit to the pub with them, basking in their attention, Soap throwing himself over Ghost’s lap and grinning at you cheekily, Gaz leaning against your side, nuzzling the crook of your shoulder, Ghost’s big and warm hand grasping your thigh and Price looking on with so much pride. 

“The occasion?” You followed him blindly, blinking lazily at him.

“Yer third month with us,” he smiled widely, something carnal and wild, befitting more an alpha than the omega he was. Maybe that’s why he could easily pass as an alpha, with all his bravado and broadness, either way, he was a dangerous man alone, but as a Task Force, they were a menace.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry

[belit0]

Can you do a tobirama x reader but the reader is like Marilyn Monroe, like everyone is in love with her, known as the most beautiful, people always crowed her whenever she goes out, tried to ask questions, etc. She also had the same sweet yet seductive attitude like Marilyn and she is caring for other like she is.

I just imagine a cold man like tobirama who probably hates any kind of attention to himself form many people with like a celebrity s/o

Kay

The first time Tobirama saw her, she was laughing.

Not the poised, polite kind of laugh that women of her beauty usually performed when the world watched—this one was different.

Full-bodied and bright, head tipped slightly back, lips painted like blood and sunshine.

It slipped from her like water and rolled through the air like a siren’s call.

And of course, everyone looked.

Especially him.

She stood in the middle of the market street like she belonged to the earth and the sky and every breath in between.

Flowers braided into her hair by a child she didn’t even know.

Her hands full of sweets she hadn’t paid for—gifts, apparently.

Men stumbled over their feet just to hand her ribbons, ask her name, brush her fingertips.

Women adored her just as much, reaching out to straighten the bow at her waist or compliment the way her perfume lingered in her wake.

The air around her shimmered.

It was a nightmare.

Tobirama gritted his teeth and turned on his heel to walk in the opposite direction.

Unfortunately, she noticed.

He should’ve known she would.

//

The second time, she caught him.

Literally.

He was passing through the village’s southern border, post-mission, bloodied and uninterested in socializing, when she came gliding around a corner with her usual entourage of admirers trailing behind her like ducklings.

Her eyes lit up the moment they met his, and before he could turn to vanish like a sane man would, she called out—sweet, honeyed, obnoxiously cheerful:

-Senju Tobirama! I’ve been waiting to meet you properly~.

He stopped like she’d cast a genjutsu on him.

He hated that.

He hated that she moved like water and light and warm fingertips brushing over skin.

He hated that when she smiled at him, it felt less like flattery and more like exposure.

Like she knew him.

Like she could see right through all his silences and sharp words.

He hated that he didn’t hate it at all.

//

They started seeing each other in secret.

Not because she asked—she never would.

She was too open, too public, too drenched in stardust.

But because he needed it.

He needed silence.

Darkness.

Something soft and unobserved.

She gave him that without asking why.

In private, she was slower.

Calmer.

Still radiant, but in a way that didn’t burn.

She curled into his futon like she’d always belonged there, kissed him like she was promising not to ruin him with attention.

And maybe that’s what truly undid him—not the way she looked, or the way others worshipped her, but the way she saw through the cold man and still stayed.

Still stayed, when he pushed.

Still stayed, when he glared.

Still stayed, when he offered her nothing but quiet company and calloused hands.

//

But even Tobirama had limits.

He found her one afternoon surrounded—again—by at least seven men and three women, all talking at once.

Complimenting her hair, her voice, the way her dress hugged her waist.

She smiled kindly, even thanked one of them for the flowers they’d tried to sneak into her basket.

Tobirama watched this from the edge of the crowd like a storm held back by sheer restraint.

And when their eyes met across the market—hers twinkling, his glacial—something passed between them.

He didn’t approach.

He didn’t have to.

Because ten minutes later, she was at his side in the quiet shade of the woods, brushing imaginary dirt from his sleeve with one hand and sighing sweetly.

-Are you jealous, Tobirama?

-No,- he said, flatly. -You can’t be jealous of flies buzzing around a flame.-

She laughed, soft and knowing, and tucked her hand into his.

-I don’t want to be worshipped,- she whispered, tilting her head so her lips brushed just under his jaw. -I want to be kept. You do that better than anyone.-

And for the first time in his life, Tobirama thought that maybe—just maybe—attention wasn’t so unbearable…

As long as it was hers.

[mmgwritings]

RUIN ME, RUIN US

Characters: Kaz Brekker / Dreg ! Reader

Prompts: “I… I want you to touch me,” Kaz admits, while staring up at the ceiling, "There" cheeks reddening in an increasing show of embarrassment. (prompt created by @dumplingsjinson)

Warnings: Smut; Canon divergence; Obviously, I didn't proofread again; Masturbation; Oral Sex; NSFW; Really Long Text Sorry!

The streets were packed with people. Dazzled tourists, ravkan peasants, privileged and neglected children fought for space in the alleys with merchants, prostitutes and pickpockets - all the same, all too happy with the promises of the holiday. Nachtspel was an event during the Kerch year, in Ketterdam the party lasted for more than a week if you looked for the right club to spend money on frivolous pleasures.

This year people commented that the festival would last a month due to the visit of King Nikolai of Ravka, a tall man with a sarcastic smile who every now and then Y/N would bump into in the Slat - a place where kings didn't belong, that much she knew... at least not kings with a good reputation. The visit of the Ravkans was a promise of prosperity, King Nikolai and his entourage were in Ketterdam to bargain a spice trade line with the Council of Tides, a way of linking Ravka, Kerch and Shu Han in a triple alliance.

But it's interesting to think that King Nikolai is smart enough to also bargain with the real monarch of Kerch: Kaz Brekker. Y/N had not yet been in Ketterdam years ago when the Fold was destroyed, when a certain Ravkan prince needed the help of a small gang of thieves. But she heard about all this from Jesper, the Dregs' sharpshooter and part of Kaz's small retinue: the Crows. She also heard about the former king of Ketterdam, Pekka Rollins, and how Kaz made him beg, how he took everything from Rollins: clubs, indentures, friends in politics. Everything.

Well, almost everything. Kaz Brekker remains a mystery.

Y/N met Kaz a few days after arriving in Ketterdam, when he walked into the teashop she tended to. He needed a new waitress for the Crow Club, a seemingly simple job if the additional skill of the position wasn't listening to the conversations of some customers. She accepted, and here she is three years later. And she's dangerously involved with Kaz.

It all started very simply, they barely realized that they were spending too much time together. Y/N in the lounge, taking care of drinks or delivering envelopes to Kaz's office, or sharing a quiet living room in the Slat after everyone went to sleep.

One thing led to another over the years. A whispered conversation after the two drank too much, a longing look exchanged as they left for their posts at the Crow Club, a sleepless night on the building's terrace. But the moment they really realized, admitted, actually, having feelings for each other was when they realized that they needed each other.

For Y/N, their relationship was experienced at two peaks: the calm and comfort of knowing that they both loved each other and the turbulence and insecurity when dealing with Kaz's traumas. Y/N saw the way Jesper and Wylan, Nina and Matthias' relationship bothered Kaz, he wanted to be able to offer Y/N the same level of intimacy.

And that's why they've fought countless times. Silent wars where Kaz reluctantly tried to break up and Y/N pretended not to hear her boyfriend's stupid arguments. When Kaz tried to get away from her in vain, because Y/N always found a way to bother his heart with smiles, jokes and words of affection.

Kaz knew Y/N was patient. She was the best in his world. But, he knew that he needed to become a better man for her. What kind of relationship is this where he couldn't touch her without almost throwing up, fainting?

Y/N realized, just like she notices all the little things that make Kaz human, that he was trying to be more physical. Sometimes he would touch her hand gently, his fingertips gliding across her palm as if she were made of the most fragile glass. Other times he sat next to her on the window sill, too close that she felt his heat. Or when he suddenly decided that they would share the room, the same bed.

That was a difficult moment: Kaz gradually tried to stay close to her, until finally he managed to rest his arm on her throughout the night. But, all of this was done when he was fully dressed. Long-sleeved shirt, thick pants.

The kisses? Impossible. These took longer to go from merely touching lips to touching tongues. Let alone get lost in the moment. A kiss from Y/N would leave Kaz feverish, on the precipice between fainting from anxiety or lust. Sometimes he didn't even know if his trembling hands were a good or bad thing.

But it's over. Kaz, when properly warned, could get carried away. Y/N and Kaz occasionally had make-out sessions, one that left them panting, sweaty and craving for more. Wishing they were like all the other normal people, the ones they heard sighing in the dark alleys when they came back late at night from some mission. Those who occasionally locked themselves in the Crow Club bathroom and came out with a flushed face.

Would today be anything different? Y/N wondered as she went up to her room. Earlier, when she was still in stock at the Crow Club, Kaz spent time with her keeping her company while she counted the products. Y/N could tell he was a little nervous, but she didn't pressure him into saying anything.

So, he finally said a curt "Meet me in the bedroom later" and left for the office before Y/N could ask anything. And here she was, walking into the room and finding the sight of a Kaz Brekker sitting by the window, his eyes vacant into the night.

"Hey, how are you? Where's everyone?" Y/N said, taking off her coat and placing it on the trunk at the foot of the bed. When she arrived at Slat she noticed that it was strangely empty, even for a festival the house always had one or two people in the common rooms.

"Out" muttered Kaz "I gave them the night off." Then he finally looked at Y/N and there was something strange, it was as if he had never seen her in his life, as if he didn't know how to approach her.

"Cool… But, what happened to you? Did you want to tell me something?" Y/N said, approaching him slowly. Kaz sighed and held out his arms, an invitation for her to touch him, to hug him.

Y/N smiled, a gesture mirrored by Kaz, before surrendering to her arms. She was a little shorter than him, barely reaching her shoulders, the perfect height to fit in. Kaz placed a small kiss above her ear, a kiss that ended up trailing to her temple, her cheek, her jaw, the corners of her lips.

And then the famine came. The desire for more, much more. Kaz kissed Y/N's lips, a warm touch. Her hands, which had been clasped behind Kaz's back, moved up to his arms.

And then Kaz's tongue touched Y/N's parted lips strongly, a request, a promise. His tongue was everywhere: first sliding tentatively across her lips, then massaging, then sucking. It was so much more than they'd tried before, Y/N thought, as he nibbled on her bottom lip, pulling her closer into his arms, squeezing as if to make sure she was real.

Y/N didn't need to think much, she didn't want to stop and ask Kaz if everything was okay because, a second later, she felt one of his hands on her ass, groping. They had too many clothes on. Kaz wore a dark, velvety green vest over a white shirt with long sleeves buttoned over the wrist. The pants were black and made of thick material, the ones he usually wears in the invention. Y/N was already wearing a long blouse, the pants she wore were masculine enough to not receive more than two glances from Crow Club customers. But now, she wished there weren't so many layers between them, that the cloths would disappear.

Y/N's hands came up to Kaz's face with a caress, she wanted more than anything to slide her fingers through his hair… so she did, and he allowed it. His kisses were making her dizzy, fervent.

"Kaz," she whispered as he occupied his lips with a new target, her neck. The hands on her ass tensing in search of more, more closeness. "Slow down, Kaz," she protested.

Kaz listened and then stopped, looked at her with dark eyes, his face flushed and his lips red… lips that Y/N would never get tired of kissing. "I want you" he said "I want you to kiss me until you're sick of it, I want everything… more"

Y/N's heart lost a beat and then pulsed quickly. That was the kind of thing he said in her delirium, when she dreamed and woke up wishing she could just embrace the man who slept next to her. What else could she do upon hearing this request? She kissed him like she had never kissed him before, her fingers threading through his hair, down his neck, to his face.

A sloppy kiss because they've never done it before. Hands roaming each other's bodies more than they dared before. Kaz was all hands. Tightly squeezing her ass or reaching up to her waist, pulling her closer.

Then, one of Kaz's hands went to Y/N's hair, deftly removing the ribbon that held the curls in a messy braid, while his other hand went down to her right thigh, lifting her leg slightly so that he could get closer... Saints, she wanted to be able to melt and merge with Kaz.

Y/N could barely breathe between the kisses, Kaz's lips were all she wanted, she wanted them all over her body, for him to mark her. Then he pulled her towards the bed, bumping into the table, tripping over the carpet and laughing a little at his clumsiness.

She sat on the bed and looked at Kaz, her face flushed and a slight smile on her face. The street light that entered the room bathed him in a warm, golden light, Kaz had never seemed more alive than at that moment. He was the most beautiful person Y/N had ever seen in her life. He looked so carefree as he rested one of his knees between Y/N's legs, his hand tenderly caressing her face and brushing away stray strands of hair from the front of her forehead.

"You're so beautiful", Kaz murmured, his lips resting a soft peck on the tip of Y/N's nose.

"I can say the same", said Y/N. Pulling him to the middle of the bed so he was on top of her. "There are so many beautiful things I can tell you now. But none of them compare to you, Kaz Rietveld."

She kissed his cheek, then his nose, his chin, his mouth. Her hand, the one that wasn't busy cupping Kaz's face, slid down his back, feeling the muscles beneath his clothes tense slightly, then, at the base of his spine, she pushed him slowly until their body was pressed together. Too many clothes, Y/N thought.

Kaz must have had the same thought, because he deftly slipped his fingers between the top buttons of Y/N's blouse. Beneath it there was nothing but skin flushed with desire.

Well, they've seen a bit of each other's nudity over the years they've shared a room, but it's never been this explicit. So raw. Kaz's eyes slid over Y/N's breasts, his fingers following his gaze to her nipples, touching tentatively, seeing how far they could both go. When her only response was a sigh of pleasure, Kaz opened the rest of her blouse and clumsily pulled the fabric from her body.

Mouths, hands, sighs, moans. Kaz offered and received caresses as he rested his mouth on Y/N's nipples, his warm tongue sliding, sucking and nibbling mercilessly. Y/N's hands didn't know where to hold on in the material world, they were in his hair, keeping him as close as possible, on his shoulders, on his arms, pulling him for more.

Kaz realized that his favorite sound was her moans. It was a sound that reverberated through his body like an overwhelming storm that made his heart palpitate heavily, that made his brain melt and that somehow, caused a pleasant pressure to rest in his groin.

Y/N was lost, she didn't know she was so sensitive there. Or maybe this is just Kaz's effect, his talent. When his mouth was on her nipples everything was perfect and horrible, she felt out of control, completely at Kaz's mercy.

When he stopped kissing her was the moment she hated him, but when he looked at her with a shy look on her face, Y/N loved him more than anything. What happened? Y/N wanted to ask, but there was no time, Kaz let out a low, guttural sound when he moved over Y/N, she felt, through all the layers of clothes that still separated them, Kaz's cock pressed against her.

A shiver ran up her spine. Y/N kissed him hard, tongue lashing over Kaz's lips, her nails scratching his arms, pulling him, feeling him. A wave of pleasure coursed through her body as her sensitive nipples came into contact with the raised embroidery of Kaz's vest. She opened her legs wider to accommodate him between her and Kaz's hand went to her ass, pulling her towards his crotch.

Suddenly, Y/N pushed Kaz away. Turning his body so she was on top, she then quickly took off her pants. She's sick of so many clothes.

Kaz was in awe, looking at her body as if it were some kind of miracle, as if some saint was descending from heaven with an offer too good to be true. Or like a demon, leading him to a path of no return. For the first time in his life he felt nothing bad happening, no repulsion, no aversion at the thought of touching someone. He just wanted more from her, wanted to take everything from her, touch her everywhere, but more than anything, he wanted her to touch him.

Their relationship was always smooth, they never talked about sex or about anything other than kisses, but they both wanted the same feeling of fulfillment that all other couples had. So, it was not without shyness that Kaz, completely vulnerable to Y/N, looked at her with pious eyes and pleaded.

"I... I want you to touch me," Kaz admits, while staring up at the ceiling, "There" cheeks reddening in an increasing show of embarrassment.

It was selfish of him to ask that. It was malicious, negligent, narcissistic, asking for pleasure when she was the one who should be adored. But Kaz was never much for bending, he was never pious.

Little did he know that it was what Y/N wanted most.

She smiled and kissed Kaz, her light fingers opening the buttons of his pants, slipping down to his cock. The feeling was very different from what she had imagined, Kaz was warm, soft, firm and… big. Very.

Kaz let out a strangled sound, his hands that rested on her waist fluttered slightly. "Everything is fine?" she asked, the movements of her hand stopped completely, but she didn't remove it.

"Yes," he sighed, closing his eyes in pleasure.

Y/N then moved her hand slightly up and down, gently squeezing the base, sliding the tip of her thumb over the tip of his dick. Feeling the cum spread in his hand. Kaz was discreet, he was trying not to get carried away, she realized, but she could hear the light moans that escaped his lips, she could tell that he was really enjoying it when he tensed his jaw, when he squeezed her ass.

Daring the limits, Y/N lowered Kaz's pants further, finally seeing him completely. It was definitely not what she had imagined. Kaz was very thick, the tip was a dark pink color that glistened with cum and had some prominent veins. She wondered what it would feel like in her mouth.

When Y/N gave Kaz a peck on the crotch, just above the pubic hair line, she looked at him as if asking if she could continue. His eyes were moist, as if it was a difficult task to contain all of his impulses.

“Please,” he begged, one hand caressing Y/N’s cheek. "Please don't stop" he moaned.

She then tried putting just the tip of his dick in her mouth, her tongue testing the taste of his cum, then, tentatively, she saw how much it all fit.

It wasn't much. She didn't have that much experience, she couldn't take his entire dick in her mouth without feeling like she might choke. So, she took turns sucking and licking, from the base to the tip, then, when she saw that he liked it, she held his balls and massaged them lightly. But she never stopped moving her hand in a tempting gesture.

Kaz was getting carried away. When he became very impatient with Y/n's slow movements he begged to be rough, when he felt her tongue passing over the tip, sucking, and looking at him, he let the moans, previously low, sound at ease. Damn anyone who listens.

Please, please, please, he said. Hip thrusting, his dick entering her mouth even more. Beg, Y/N wanted to say, beg for more and maybe I'll let you cum, fill my mouth with it, let you see how you ruin me.

So, when she felt his hip thrusts become more sloppy, when his moans were lost between his panting, Y/N sucked hard on Kaz's cock and felt, in the back of her throat, his cum pooling on her tongue, sliding down her chin.

When his orgasm ended, he was panting and feverish, his hair messy, beads of sweat sliding down his forehead, his cheeks pink. He was a beautiful sight. He was a beautiful mess.

As for Y/N, she was strangely shy under Kaz's longing gaze, feeling cum slide down her chin and drip onto her breasts. "Beautiful" Kaz said, standing up and placing a sloppy kiss on her lips, his tempting tongue lashing into her mouth, both of them tasting him.

"All mine", he whispered, as he pulled her to saddle him. Y/N felt his dick brush against her pussy. "And I want all of you. I want you to ruin me, ruin us."

[shattering-connections]

Laertes tumbles out of the theater, laughing. God, what a wonderful, warped place. He could stay there forever. He doesn’t think so much about where he’s going as much as deciding to blip somewhere out.

Casi, for its part, immediately spots something off about the stranger who comes barreling out of nowhere, clutching his sides and crowing delightedly. And it isn’t just their odd manner of appearance, the uncanny flash of their smile.

This person(?) is covered in strings. Most go nowhere, trailing behind like an entourage- and yet never tangling, never tearing. They are in pristine condition for whoever would like to pick them up next.

Where most strings are connected to a person, a thing, a compulsion, these just seem to wait. They aren’t stuck to anything. It’s like they’re left out on purpose for the sake of any weaver who wants them.

The Web quickly invites Casi to give it a try, if it would like.

@laertesthelocalstranger

Casi is very surprised to see someone tumble into its corridors. Really, it shouldn't be, with so many doors, someone's bound to stumble through one. But this one didn't! This one just showed up! Right in the middle of its web!

"Hello!"

It calls, unfolding eight limbs to clamber down from a hammock like web in the corner of the ceiling. It almost delightedly picks up the strings, not quite doing anything with them yet. It has to figure out how they work first! It just barely tugs on one, just in case this one decides to run. That would be very anticlimactic, this one just got here!

[foldingfittedsheets]

I have always earnestly wanted to befriend local crows. To that end I recently purchased raw unshelled peanuts to use as offerings.

The last two times we’ve gone to the dog park I’ve dispensed some peanuts and attracted a murder of crows much to the disapproval of stick in the mud older folks.

Today we proceeded into the park assuming the crows wouldn’t follow, but they swooped along like a goth entourage. One of them proceeded us through the park like a little herald. Then it stopped and turned around to stare at me, unmoving.

I dispensed the peanut for services rendered.

Then the dogs came barreling up and the crows took their leave, heavy with peanut spoils.

[theoriginalladya]

The Dragon, The Viper & The Crow - Chapter Update

Chapter: Portents

Series: Paulo Draco

Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard

Summary: Minrathous, the capital city of Tevinter, and home of the Dragon. It is also the home of the Dragon's heart; the Viper. By day they protect the city and its people, by night they protect one another. Until the Dragon, a man used to making decisions and living with the consequences, is sent away and has his heart stolen by an Antivan Crow…

Relationships: Male Human Mercar/Ashur | the Viper, Male Human Mercar/Lucanis Dellamorte, eventually Ashur | The Viper/Rook/Lucanis Dellamorte, Rook/Ashur | The Viper, Rook/Lucanis Dellamorte, eventually Ashur | The Viper/Rook/Lucanis Dellamorte

Characters: Male Human Mercar, Ashur|the Viper, Lucanis Dellamorte, Spite, Charon Mercar, Dorian Pavus

Tags: angst, drama, pre-game background development, romance, idiots in love, developing relationship, established relationship, past relationship, Lucerni, Divine intervention, Fade to black, eventual poly relationship

[tags will be adjusted as the story moves forward]

Excerpt:

Rook took one step out of Lucerni headquarters and sighed as he fought to recall the old saying his mother used to tell him as a child.  It never rains but it pours.  Not meant, perhaps, so literally, but he could be forgiven.  So far this year, the rain in Minrathous never seemed to stop.  He’d lost count the number of days straight spent dodging raindrops and puddles as he moved about the city only to have the Watch or some magister’s entourage go marching by – said magister conveniently safe and dry inside their palanquin – to splash him yet again.  The capital had been left a far damper and more dismal place than usual.  With a soft snort to mask the heavy sigh, he flicked up the collar of his cloak, resettled his hat atop his head, and stepped outside.  The Chantry bell was ringing the hour as he turned towards home.  Today’s forecast had been no better; the skies were as dark now as when he and Ashur had arrived that morning.  Dark, overcast, and lightning dancing across skies over the Nocen Sea.  It made for a spectacular display, if a somewhat damp one. Reaching the main street, he paused.  He glanced right then left to make certain he wasn’t about to get splashed; but before moving, he lifted his head toward the sky.  Just a quick peek, to for any sign of hope – a break in the clouds, a stray sunbeam, no matter how weak, even a light, airy mist would be better than the continuous buckets that had been tipping down... A few fat droplets landed on his left cheek... 

~~~~~~~~~

So excited to start sharing some of the background story for Nicias Mercar!!! For reference, this Rook is a Shadow Dragon mage who will romance both Ashur | the Viper and Lucanis Dellamorte.

Read Chapter | Read Story | Read Series

[grasshopperdoingdogpaddle]

Unlike the jungle cat army entourage, Chase is actually pretty coy about the crows under his command. They're meant for espionage and reconnaissance, so it's better for Chase if he's not publicly known as having an association with crows at all.

And fittingly, he's never actually seen in public with them.

Chase convenes with the crows at his lair. But outside, they're always left to handle themselves alone.

It's not even entirely clear whether most of the other characters are aware Chase commands crows. No one seems to be wary of crows in general or pay them much mind the way they would if they saw a jungle cat prowling.

Wuya's aware, because she lives at Chase's lair (or at least stays there pretty often?), and Chase wanted to use them to bait her into a false sense of security to make her reveal something she wouldn't show directly in front of Chase.

But aside from that, he really only ever let himself be seen using the crows when he needed to have one help him show Omi what was happening during Omi Town.

He even let Omi look into the crow's eyes and see how it could replay anything it witnessed.

[ohsoromanov]

Tsar Nicholas II and members of the imperial family and entourage enjoying refreshments outdoors. Alupka Palace. 1898.

From Nicholas II's diary:

September 22 (September 10). Thursday. In the morning I took a small French shotgun with me, unsuccessfully shot once at a crow. Upon returning home, I received Frederiks. After breakfast, I went with Meindorf to Simeiz to Count Milyutin's place. From there we drove to Alupka, where everyone had already gathered and were preparing tea in the open hall facing the sea. Xenia and Sandro were also there. The evening was wonderful, the sea was calm. I went back on horseback; from Alupka to Livadia we rode in 1 ¼ hours. We returned by moonlight. Hesse and Baroness Meindorf dined with us. Golitsyn read a French play remarkably.

22 сентября (10 сентября). Четверг. Утром взял с собой маленький французский штуцер, неудачно стрелял раз по вороне. Придя домой, принял Фредерикса. После завтрака поехал с Мейндорфом в Симеиз к графу Милютину. Оттуда доехали до Алупки, где все уже были в сборе и готовили чай в открытой зале, обращенной к морю. Ксения и Сандро тоже были. Вечер стоял чудный, в море штиль. Назад отправился верхом; от Алупки до Ливадии проехали в 1 ¼. Вернулись при лунном освещении. Обедали: Гессе и баронесса Мейндорф. Голицын читал франц. пьесу замечательно.

[mariamakeslemons]

Spooktober 2024: Day 31 Black Comedy

Warning: Reader is gender neutral (same reader from day 11), mild gore due to zombies albeit for comedic effect

You watch from the wall as a zombie lumbers into a trap, getting split in half and keeps walking. The upper body crawls along while the legs wobble in a different direction.

“Oh my God,” you wheeze, shaking Gaz’s shoulder, “Look, over by the pits.”

“What?” he asks, lifting his own binoculars to his eyes, before choking on a laugh, “Is that fucker walking away from itself?”

“Yesss,” you keen, “Just split because of the garrote strung by the tree line.”

“Fuckin’ superb,” Gaz snickers, before both of you jump at his walkie talkie crackling to life.

“Focus, you two,” Price orders fondly over the line. You giggle as Gaz assures him that you both are. A month or two ago, when you had been brought to the encampment with Ben, Price would have been harsher, more stressed with protecting the camp. Now, with a vaccine and cure created, Soap and Ghost both cured and human once more, and everyone else in the camp now immune to the zombies, there’s a little less to worry about with zombies. The only time to call an alarm now is if a horde is too close to camp. As time has gone on, it’s become rarer and rarer to see groups of zombies, let alone an actual horde of over twenty.

“There’s a idiot kickin’ ‘is ‘ead over ‘ere,” Ghost pipes in on the talkie, Soap cackling away in the background.

“Shut up!” you crow in delight.

“Please tell me the camera’s recordin’, please,” Gaz pleads with a giant grin.

“Gaz, Ghost,” Price intones, even as you hear the laughter in his voice.

“Sorry Captain,” Gaz apologizes.

“Price,” Ghost intones back, making you laugh again. Gaz snickers as well while Price lets out the most disappointed sigh over the talkie. Still giggling, you look back out at the field for any threat only to pause.

“Gaz, there’s a big truck, with two smaller cars following,” you declare. Gaz looks back through his binoculars, frowning before letting out a series of curses.

“Captain, Graves is coming with people,” Gaz reports, a frown marring his pretty face. You pull away from your own binoculars to look at him in confusion.

“Get down here now. You too, Love,” Price orders. Gaz immediately climbs down the wall, leaving you with no choice but to follow.

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

There weren’t many people that Price could say he never wanted to deal with again, but Phillip Graves is very high on that list. Unfortunately, the apocalypse doesn’t give Price the option to turn help away, especially when the man is driving in front of Farah, Alex, Ale, and Rudy.

“Well, this is a nice little camp you’ve got goin’ here, Price,” Graves comments as a handful of his mercs hop out of the back of the truck. Price grits his teeth as a tall bastard, a covered bastard, and an all too familiar masked man file behind Graves. Ale and Rudy walk around him, glaring at Graves with a scowl on Ale’s face.

“It’d be nicer ‘f yeh weren’ here,” Soap snaps, shifting to prevent Graves from seeing you as you trot behind Gaz and Ghost. Price watches as all the new comers take a step back in surprise. He knows that Laswell had sent out a warning that Soap and Ghost had been infected, but not aggressive. Of course, the new comers would be expecting Soap to be decaying as he had been a few months back, before you came like a fucking miracle.

“Well, this is interesting,” Graves rumbles, smirking.

“No’ really,” Ghost intones, standing squarely in front of you with Gaz and Soap keeping you blocked from the American’s vision, “Y’r just too stupid t’ think otherwise.”

“Don’t speak to Graves like that,” the behemoth scolds, his voice higher than Price would have thought.

“But it’s true,” Ale cuts in, “Too busy kissing asses to actually be thinking.” The completely covered man draws a weapon, an obvious threat. Farah clicks her tongue at them while Alex shifts, frowning at Graves’ entourage. Suddenly, a series of barks sound from the wall, catching everyone’s attention. Ben comes bounding over, the rottweiler barking and his tongue flopping around as he rushes over to jump on you. Price huffs in amusement as you coo at the 60 kilo mass of muscle like he’s a puppy, while Soap and Gaz immediately turn to coo with you.

“Well, who’s this?” Graves asks, trying to peer around Ghost to you. Ghost doesn’t shift, but he straightens his spine more, making himself bigger. Price clicks his tongue.

“Who is and isn’t here is none of your business,” Price tells him, “You lot are going to be working with the defense of the camp while we figure out how you can work with the civilians. Everyone works together for survival and we all pull our weight beyond protection.”

“Come now,” Graves scoffs, “You know soldiers should focus on being soldiers. Keeps us sharp and all.”

“Ghost helps cook, Soap works with the cattle and farms, Gaz helps with any fiber work while Price works carpentry,” you throw out, obviously uncaring about hiding even as you stay where you can’t be seen. Graves blinks, almost taken aback.

“I can help with animals,” the big bastard behind Graves offers. The other two shrug, seeming to be willing to help around the camp as well.

“Rudy and I can handle farming and animal rearing,” Ale offers with a grin.

“Can I work in the kitchen instead?” Rudy jokes, snickering when Ale whips his head around to look at him, affronted.

“I’ll help with fiber work,” Farah offers while Alex leans against her.

“I’ll take the kitchens,” he throws in. Price snorts and shakes his head.

“No offence meant, but we’ll just have to see where you work best,” he explains. His group nods in understanding while Graves’ little group hesitates. He doesn’t really blame them, especially with what Kate found about most of Graves’ little shadows. Men who couldn’t really return to civilian life, searching for fights.

“Don’t we need hunting parties?” you offer and Price can’t stop himself from turning and kissing you.

“Brilliant, Love,” he praises you softly, smiling as you fluster and shy at his affection. He turns back and says, “If you can’t work well with civilians or you need to fight, we can make hunting parties to scavenge further out or hunt wild animals.” Immediately, Graves and his boys relax, letting Price know that Graves wasn’t trying to get out of work, just needed a different job that had nothing to do with civilians.

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

Two weeks have passed since the new group joined and the camp has settled with them. You work beside Kate and a few others, having some of the best notes she’s ever seen, and now one of the completely covered guys, Nikto has joined you two. His knowledge of language and his knack for observation help Kate sort through the radio chatter to find actual camps to offer trade or provide help, versus the cults and compounds that have cropped up during the apocalypse, ones trying to force an idea on people to suppress them.

The big guy, König, works between Soap and Price as muscle while Graves offers ideas for irrigation, often arguing with Ale. Rudy, Farah, and Velikan help Ghost in the kitchen, while Alex ended up helping Gaz with fiber works. Occasionally, everyone swaps around to try other things, but their jobs are pretty much settled. Of course, all the military and survivalists have a few hours of watch.

“Zombie just walked into a spike,” Ale reports, laughter lacing his words, “I don’t think it knows that it can walk around. It just keeps walking into the spike, stepping back, then doing it again.”

“Oh my Gooooood,” you wheeze, Gaz snickering beside you as you both try to focus on your side of the camp.

“Ah go’ one be’er,” Soap cuts in, “Fucker has ‘is head impaled an’ ‘s tryin’ tae walk ‘way.”

“Is it the swinging spike?” Gaz asks.

“Yep!” Soap chirps, making you cackle at the image of a zombie trying to walk out of the treeline, only to be stuck due to the rope tied to the spike now stuck in its head.

“Behave,” Price scolds, even as you hear the chuckle in his voice.

[trashmenace]

Crow 4: The Black Trail by James W. Marvin

Crow 4 The Black Trail by James W. Marvin (Laurence James)

Crow becomes the guide and bodyguard of Zulu Prince Mavulamanzi, who is touring America with his entourage of slaves, which includes a White woman who Crow, of course, has sex with. They run afoul of the local Apaches, and the two make a move to rescue their captive servants.

A step down in the action and sleaze, replaced with casual racism. I didn't get the sense that Crow hates Black people any more than he hates everyone else, but that doesn't stop him from using slurs just to be a dick.

From Amazon

[princess-leaorgana]

Fluffy de Riva

Fandom: Dragon Age The Veilguard

Pairing: None, Lore Drop on my Rook Leo and my friend's Rook Ewan (Evora) ( @logan-png ) Ewan x Lucanis mention. Other named Rooks are original creation of my friend Sighbrarian <3 Thank you for letting me babysit your baby Fledglings <3

Summary: A quick story of two brothers meeting for the first time. Early depiction of a Trans male character, birth gender and name used in the beginning of fic.

“Go fetch Leo!”

In the entrance hall of the de Riva Manor was the twenty-year-old Fifth Talon, Viago de Riva. His birthright gave him the honor of head of house de Riva, the son of the king. He stood in a crowded room, drenched from the pouring rain. Next to him, hiding under his cape was a young elven girl, freezing and soaked to the bone.

Without missing a beat, a young Qunari woman dashed upstairs to obey her Talon’s command. Others looked on at Viago, who seemed irritated, and others stared at the young girl. It wouldn’t be the first time a young orphan was brought into the house unexpectedly. Bastards of the Royal family were plenty, House de Riva was never lacking in little Fledglings.

A whisper around Viago began, who was this little elf? What did she have to do with Leo? Leo was younger than Viago, only sixteen. The cousins were rather close, but he wasn’t a Crow yet. Leo was a loud mouth cocky bastard. He was certainly not going to be in charge of a new Fledgling, he was no role model.

But Viago waited, his eyes on the stairs, the little one shaking, holding herself and holding back tears. Down from the East Wing came Leo and his normal entourage. Leo never went anywhere without a gaggle of friends. Viago was sure the teen would pass away if he didn’t have a group of people giving him constant attention. Behind him were four more Fledglings, a human, an elf and two Qunari, including the one who fetched Leo for Viago. 

Leo was a tall, lanky teenager, his wavy dark hair kept long enough to give himself a windswept look. He wore gold eyeliner to match the chains around his neck. He was a ridiculous show of riches before he deserved any of it. Leo and his troupe got to the top of the stairs and Leo raised an eyebrow, taking in the scene at the entranceway. 

“What do you have there, Viago?” Leo asked, nodding at the child. Viago smirked.

“A mocha from Cafe Pietra,” Viago said sarcastically and walked towards the staircase, guiding the little one. Leo rolled his eyes. “This is your mother’s, take care of her while I contact Heir. She’s in Orlais still, wasn’t expecting a new arrival,” he explained and Leo’s face fell. Having a deadbeat parent was incredibly common for all Crows, but it didn’t mean Leo wasn’t affected anytime his mother was brought up. His eyes dropped to the child and the instant annoyance he had to take care of a kid was washed over with guilt. Guilt that this little one had been raised by Alvara. 

Leo looked to his right to the Qunari who had called for him, Zea. She gave him a small, sympathetic little look and Leo looked back at the shivering child. She looked terrified, cold, devastated, and she was looking at the floor, holding herself. 

“Come on, let’s get you out of those wet things,” Leo said, and the little one looked up at him with piercing blue eyes. She was a skinny little thing and it was clear from her face that she was, indeed, his mother’s child.

Viago tapped the little one’s back and she slowly walked towards Leo. Zea pushed Leo forward a bit and Leo met the little one halfway down the stairs. Leo reached out his hand for the little one and she took his hand after a beat or two. She was freezing. He walked her back up the steps. Leo could hear his sniffing. Whether she was crying or just shivering, he didn’t know. He walked back to his group of friends. The other Qunari teen, Filip, gave the little one a small wave.

“What’s your name?” Leo asked, kneeling down in front of the little one.

“Leo, we should get her warm and dry,” Zea insisted and Leo glanced at her, but looked back at the little one. She had her fingers in her mouth.

“Come on, I know you have a name. What is it?”

“Maybe she only speaks Antivan?” Filip tried. “¿Cuál es tu nombre?” The little one kept her eyes locked on Leo, however.

“E-Evora,” she finally said in the smallest voice. Leo gave her a small smile.

“Me llamo Leo, preciosa,” Leo said and Evora tilted her head. No Antivan then. “I’m Leo, I’m your brother, sweetheart,” he said and Evora sniffed.

“Come on, let’s get you dry,” Zea said and led the little one down the hall to the washroom. Leo followed behind, leaning on the wall outside while Zea helped Evora change. He chewed on his bottom lip and played with the growing blue nail polish on his fingers. Evora wasn’t the first little kid Leo had ever had dumped on him. But it was usually just for a little while. Maybe a week, maybe just a chore. This was different. ‘This is your mother’s.’ That’s what Viago said. It was clear that Viago meant that Evora was now the sixteen year old’s responsibility. 

Filip walked over to Leo and leaned up against the wall with him. Leo sighed and looked down at the floor, a little pout on his face. 

“Could be worse,” Filip said and Leo looked up at him. Filip was always incredibly positive for an assassin to be. He was a sweet boy, and Leo had always liked that, but he didn’t want the positivity. He wanted pity or something. “Besides, you’d be great at it, little one’s lucky to have you to look up to.” Leo smiled a little and looked up at the tall Fledgling next to him.

The evening was rough. Little Evora was incredibly shy. She was nothing like her Crow siblings. Leo hadn’t gotten any sleep that night. Listening to a little girl cry all night was a new experience for him. As much as Leo was angry, he pitied the little one. A lot. 

Leo and his friends took Evora out to the market after a large breakfast. She didn’t seem to really want to eat much. Leo chalked it up to nerves. Zea tried her best to encourage the little one, but the food got cold and the day continued. It was clear when the Fledglings all went outside, Evora was hungry.

“I know you’re hungry, what do you want to eat?” Leo asked the little one as they walked through the market stall. Filip and Saylinne were drooling over sweets nearby. Evora looked up at her brother and shook her head timidly.

“I don’t think she can even see what’s for sale,” Zea attempted and Leo looked back down at Evora. He knelt down and sighed.

“Climb up on my back and tell me what you want to eat.” Slowly, Evora climbed up on Leo's back, holding her arms across his chest and he held onto her legs. “You want something sweet? Some beef? We’ll find you good beef,” Leo said and Evora looked around the stalls. She was hungry. 

Suddenly she did find something that made her gasp.

“Oh? Fried eggplant? Good choice,” Leo said and Evora shook her head. She pointed at a stall not selling food at all. Fabrics and pillows instead. Leo walked over to it. “Oh…”

That night, Leo presented little Evora with her first present as a de Riva, a stuffed black bird. His first act as a big brother, his first act of love to the little one, ten years younger than him. 

For the rest of his life, Ewan de Riva, who had left Evora behind ten years later, kept a little stuffed crow with him at night. He named it fluffy after Leo gave it to him the second night he stayed at the de Riva Manor. It was a tattered old thing, but Ewan treasured it. Even though he was in his late twenties, the events of his childhood still scarred him. He relied on the stuffed crow so much, he was even brought to Ewan’s wedding ceremony, twenty years later.

Ewan was getting ready in his room with Leo. Leo was lounging on a chaise, popping olives in his mouth obsessively. Of course Ewan was nervous, he was going to be married. Leo was more nervous. He felt like he was losing his baby brother. Leo had, about six months ago, left Antiva for Nevarra, but all of this felt more permanent. Although Ewan would keep his name, he would be a Dellamorte, he could hardly marry the First Talon and still take orders from the Fifth. Though, knowing Ewan, he might do both. 

“Is everything on right?” Ewan asked, walking out from behind a screen to show Leo his suit. Leo had seen some of this suit, mostly it still being in the tailoring stages. It was ivory with deep blue accents. The doublet came down low past Ewan’s chest and Leo grinned. He walked over to Ewan and pulled a matching cape from the screen. 

“He better know how much better you are than him,” Leo said, attaching the cape to Ewan’s lapels. Ewan’s blue eyes met Leo’s brown ones.

“Could you try to not be an asshole today?” He asked and grinned. Leo sighed and fixed Ewan’s buttons.

“I have to get it all out so I can behave out there,” Leo said and smirked. Ewan chuckled and shook his head. Leo ran a few fingers through Ewan’s hair and sighed. “You looked wonderful, Ewan,” he said and Ewan gave him a sad little smile. “I know you have dreamt about this day for a long, long while. But there is one thing missing,” he said and Ewan’s eyebrows rose a little.

Leo walked over to Ewan’s bed and unwrapped a small package he had left. He walked back over to Ewan. Fluffy the crow, now grey and tattered, had a new silver chain. It attached from Fluffy’s head to his tail, just long enough to be attached to Ewan’s belt. 

“Since I’m not allowed up there with you today,” he said and Ewan looked down at his precious keepsake, hanging off of his hip. 

“Leo…”

“Te amo, precioso.” “Te amo mucho, culero.”

[steveinscarlet]

One for the Joe Hoes methinks!

Full text under the cut

"WE'RE THE LEAST OFFENSIVE BAND AROUND!"

Reckons all-round nice guy JOE ELLIOTT, but that doesn't stop the hugely successful DEF LEPPARD getting a slagging from the likes of Black Crowe Chris Robinson. Is it jealousy cos the Leps were the first band ever to sell seven million albums back- to-back, or do even the band themselves think they've wrung and sung themselves dry with their latest multi-million seller, 'Adrenalize', and the mammoth tour that's accompanied it? ALISON JOY stowed away aboard the band's mini-bus (no limos here!) to try to discover the way the land lies...

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 6, 1992 will not be remembered as one of the greatest days in the lives of Def Leppard- especially vocalist Joe Elliott. Still not completely recovered from the bout of pleurisy which caused him so much trouble a couple of months ago (and still knocking back eight tablets a day to keep it under control), Joe has also been struck down with every singer's nightmare - the sore throat.

Despite half-hearted attempts not to talk too much (difficult for one so vocal) and several visits to a flight case stocked full of everything from plasters to paracetamol, tonight's show in Champaign, Illinois is a bit of a duffer. The rest of the band play a blinder, but Elliott's below-par performance results in the set being cut short to try and save his voice.

Post-show, Joe pours himself about a quarter of a pint of whisky and states an intention to get "bolloxed drunk" and forget all about it. The problem is, with Leppard's inflexible touring schedule, there's just no recovery time when you're below par.

As Joe explains, "When we do two gigs in a row, I have no problem. When we do three, it's a lot harder. I'm not singing Billy Idol vocal lines that are dead easy - I'm singing demanding stuff, and it takes a lot of breath. When your throat gets screwed up it swells, which means less air gets in, which means you have to use your lungs more; it's very tiring."

Add to this the many hours Joe spends doing interviews, local radio, warming up and travelling, and it's easy to see why he can't just tuck himself up in bed with a Lemsip and sleep it off. It pisses him off that the audience pay part of the price for his illness, in paying to see a sub-standard Def Leppard performance. Fortunately, the crowd at Champaign's Assembly Hall are sympathetic, and respond by singing even louder to help him through.

ACTUALLY CANCELLING a show, however, is out of tha question.

"We've never cancelled a gig on the day," explains Elliott, "it's always been 48 hours notice. We've only ever cancelled two gigs because of me: Nottingham in '83, and on the last tour I dislocated a rib in Belfast and spent two nights in hospital. I had to have an epidural after the Nottingham show, it was so bad, and I had this big Velcro waistband holding my ribs in place. I did the next six or seven shows like that, and had to go to the doctor every day for injections."

Apart from that, there've only been a couple of other health disasters meriting cancellations; one when drummer Rick Allen had tendonitis in his arm, and another when guitarist Phil Collen was suffering from glandular fever. At that second show, two people returned their tickets and 500 turned up to try and buy spares.

As Joe explains, "You've got 58 people on the road for 18 months. It's a physical impossibility for nothing to go wrong. When it's the singer who's ill, though, it's just so much more highlighted." Suddenly laughing, he adds, "Mind you, it'll probably do us a bit of good to sound out of tune now and again, cos everybody thinks we've got everything on tape! At least Champaign proved we do f**k up!"

LEAVING THE ASSEMBLY Hall, the band and entourage surprise the fans waiting outside by getting not into a fleet of limos, but squashing into a small mini-bus. Def Leppard do not fart around in limousines, instead preferring the friendly banter of the small bus, and tonight talk is of the show, Joe's voice and, natch, football.

I'm perched at the back next to guitarist Viv Campbell, who offstage wears his hair in a very interesting ponytail which sits right on the top of his head. It is, he reckons, "convenient". Viv's planning to move back to Ireland soon, after a few years' exile in Los Angeles, meaning he'll be much nearer to Joe's home studio.

Up front, Joe turns round, points at Viv and laughs, "He's worked with Lou Gramm, David Coverdale and Ronnie Dio and now he's lumbered with me!" Self- deprecation? They got it!

When the mini-bus pulls up at Champaign Airport, Def Leppard's plane is waiting in the snow. The small plane - certainly more functional than glamorous - is what enables the band to play every corner of America in a very short space of time. The flight is a short hop to Green Bay, Wisconsin, where the temperature is hovering at around minus 10. Although the next day is a day off, the band turn straight into bed for some well-earned rest most likely in preparation for the five-a-side football match that's been arranged!

DESPITE THE fact that Def Leppard are successful, down-to-earth blokes, some people just can't resist putting the knife in, and as Joe Elliott himself admits, "I don't know one person in the music business, apart from Brian May, who actually likes us". Indeed, The Black Crowes' Chris Robinson made a completely unprovoked attack on the Leps in Kerrang! recently: how does that kind of thing make Joe feel?

"Well," he ponders, "I've got to look at it from two points of view. There's a part of me that says it's unprofessional, but this is the most unprofessional business in the world anyway. Everybody knows that controversy sells. We've slagged bands off in the past, when we were about the same age as Chris is, so I can't really have a go at him for it.

"If Chris Robinson doesn't like Def Leppard, fine; I still like The Black Crowes, and I'm not gonna not like them just because he doesn't like us. They're retrospective, trying to go back and be The Rolling Stones, while we've been criticised for trying to push things into the future. As much as I like them, though, if I was in that kind of mood, I'd put 'Exile On Main Street' on instead, because it's much better. "The only people who like us are kids that come to concerts and buy records, and that suits me fine. I'd much rather do a show in front of 16,000 screaming kids with no musicians ligging than be one of those bands who everybody in the business likes. I remember when everybody was sucking up Lenny Kravitz' arse so much it was like they all wanted to give him an enema! Yet the guy couldn't fill the Marquee! I'd much rather have it the other way round."

STAYING WITH all things critical, what would be your response to people who label you as sexist because of songs like 'Make Love Like A Man' and 'Personal Property'?

Joe sighs a long, hard sigh, then finally says, "The way I look at it is that you're portraying a role on every song you sing. Phil Collen wrote 'Miss You In A Heartbeat', and when I sing it, it might be a song he wrote about his wife, but I don't sing it to his wife, I sing it on his behalf to his wife, and to anybody else that wants to hear it.

"When I do 'Let's Get Rocked', I'm pretending to be Bart Simpson, but when I did it I was 32 years old. Warren Mitchell is not Alf Garnett; Alf Garnett is a sexist, Warren Mitchell is an actor playing a sexist. When we do those songs, we're just portraying a vibe. 'Personal Property' is not sexist, I don't see how anybody could think it is. All it's doing is putting a woman on a pedestal, and you just end up with these typical skinhead, dungaree-wearing women saying, 'Sexist crap'. Get a life! It's just four minutes of rock 'n' roll - and we're the least offensive band around!

"We would never sing 'Back Off Bitch', but did anybody have a go at Axl? No, because they're too busy trying to figure out his personality. With us, I guess there's nothing else to look at..."

THE FOLLOWING day's show at Brown County Arena, Green Bay presents a different band to the one who limped home in Champaign, and their relief is evident. Everything runs according to plan and the crowd are, to quote that song, hysterical.

Fan hysteria is something Def Leppard have had to deal with for a few years now, and there are plenty of tales to tell about band members arriving at hotels to find naked women in their beds, or people who barge into their rooms and refuse to leave. Just what, to Joe Elliott, is the price of fame?

"No throat most days!" he laughs, before continuing, "No, I can live with 98 per cent of it, because this is what I want. The most painful thing about this whole situation is that all your friends become phone friends, I don't get to see United (Sheffield, that is), and because this is an expensive tour and we have to do five shows a week, I occasionally suffer from throat problems.

"We have never had bodyguards, because the way that you project yourself is the way you are responded to. We've always tried to project ourselves as a bunch of normal guys who can prove that you can sell 15 million albums and not have to vomit on a preacher man, beat people up, piss in aeroplane seats, rape women... whatever you've got to do to prove your 'macho-ness' and get publicity.

"The reason Guns N' Roses are so big is that they've got good songs and a bad boy image. What small amount of bad boy image we had died with Steve, and he'd be the first to admit that he didn't sell one record with his image as a bad boy.

"As for the privacy thing, well, I could walk through a shopping mall tomorrow and maybe six people would stop me. So I sign six autographs - big deal! If somebody's following me, though, I get pissed off. I don't like upsetting fans, but some people are so fanatical you can tell them to f**k off and they'll still buy your next LP!"

AND DEF Leppard have sold more than a few. With every album from 'High And Dry' onwards selling on a multi-million scale, sceptics might wonder just how much longer the band can keep up their astonishing success. So how many more albums will Def Leppard make, and can they keep producing those multi-million sellers?

Joe: "Well, if we've got 10 more years in our career, that means two albums! No, I don't know. This one's ('Adrenalize') not gonna sell as many as 'Hysteria', though, I can tell you that now. That one was a phenomenon; it happens once in a lifetime.

"I'd be happy if we sold three million every time. Sales don't bother me much; I'm financially secure, so I'm not motivated by money - I'm motivated by being a better singer than I was on the last album. The challenge on the next record is to see how Viv's songwriting fits in with ours."

So you're not planning a sudden retirement?

"No - though I would hate to see happening to us what happened to bands like Uriah Heep or individuals like Billy Squier, who just disappeared off the face of the earth, because I think we're better than that. I'm not too happy about the fact that we put an album out every four but if somebody said, 'Would you go back and change the way things have gone?', then other than Steve dying, no, I wouldn't. We were the first band ever to do seven million albums back-to-back (with 'Pyromania' and 'Hysteria') and if this one does it, we'll be the first to do three."

AND WITH 'Adrenalize' getting close to six million sales right now, Leppard look poised to break another record and once more rubbish the cynics who say they should pack it in.

An' for Leo fans in Britain, this year still holds a bit of promise. January 18 saw the release of 'Heaven is' as a single, and word has it that the band will also headline an outdoor gig at Don Valley Stadium, Sheffield in September. The latter has yet to be confirmed, but you can guarantee that if Def Leppard are the hosts it's sure to be one hell of a party...

[apritellointeractive]

Sworn to Devotion: Chapter 1 - Part 4

>> Without hesitation, Donnie sucker-punches the assailant in the stomach.

(Art by @lovelyladylavie)

Could this day get any worse?

It had been a pleasant day outside. April had watched the dense foliage of the forest—familiar and comforting—pass by within the safety of her royal carriage. And while it was nice to hear the familiar chirps and songs of the birds native to her kingdom, it could not distract her from her tumultuous thoughts.

No, all she could focus on were thoughts of her future. How this might be one of the last times she would see the familiar forest and mountains of her home. How she was being married off—for her kingdom—to the Crown Prince of Terrapathia, whom her people have had on-and-off wars with for decades.

But her father desperately wanted peace and stability. The Hamatos—the royal family of Terrapathia—seemed to have similar goals as well. So a marriage between her and the Crown Prince was arranged to symbolize peace and prosperity for the kingdoms and their people.

Of course, there would not be any peace or prosperity for her.

April’s stomach churned as she remembered the conversation she had with her father about the marriage—she had very little input on the matter. She was to be married off, a mere pawn on the political chessboard, whether she liked it or not.

At least Prince Raphael was kind. 

She'd spent a little over a week in the foreign kingdom, meeting with her husband-to-be, his father, and a few other lords and ladies April couldn’t bother to remember the names of. While Prince Raphael was a towering beast of a yokai—a snapping turtle close to eight feet in height—he was surprisingly gentle and respectful of her.

He listened to her far more than her own father, though that was not a high bar to pass. It was still surprising, considering their kingdoms’ history.

But still, how would she be treated after she was married and stuck with the Crown Prince? Was he just putting on an act in front of everyone?

Would he–

She didn’t have the time to finish the next question plaguing her mind when the sound of crows surrounded the carriage, halting her entourage in its place. There was some shouting, and one of the yokai guards announced they would investigate the disturbance. When she had peaked her head closer to the window, she noticed that the turtle yokai dressed in purple—the one who had glared at her from behind Raph during important meetings—had ventured off into the forest. The other yokai guards looked on alert as well, some watching their brother-in-arms while others looked around the carriage for signs of mischief.

Well, at least the yokai guards were committed to fulfilling their sworn duty to defend her, even if she wasn’t their queen yet.

It was probably nothing…

But then all hell broke loose.

The next moments are a blur, but April quickly finds herself being ripped from her carriage by black-robed assailants. She puts up a fight, kicking and punching at anyone who gets close to her. But she can’t fight in these foofy royal dresses she has to wear, so it’s all in vain. One of the kidnappers manages to get a firm grip on her and rips her from the carriage—no amount of continued struggle weakens his hold. 

As fear truly starts to grip April’s heart, she notices a yokai guard—the same one as before—racing toward her. For a brief second, April feels a brief sense of relief that someone armed and ready is coming to her defense.

That is until the purple-clad idiot decides to sucker-punch one of her kidnappers in the stomach rather than use his katana.

“Idiot! You have a sword!” April screams, bewildered that this is the choice that the yokai guard thought to be appropriate.

But neither of them has time to consider the tactical blunder. The yokai guard grabs her arm just as a red glass orb drops from the hand of the winded kidnapper. No one has time to catch the object, and it shatters upon impact with the ground, surrounding them in red smoke.

Despite not moving, April’s stomach drops as the sensation of falling overwhelms her. She grips her kidnappers, if only for some stability, as the smoke swirls around them. The smoke dissipates, disappearing in whisp-like patterns to reveal they’re in some sort of cave. Daylight is filtering in behind them, so the entrance must be close by.

“Dude! This ain’t headquarters!” One of the kidnappers shouts. 

“Well, I didn’t exactly have time to–ahh!!!”

The other black-clothed assailant is unable to finish his retort before a katana plunges straight into his chest. He lets go of April and falls to the ground, mortally wounded. The other kidnapper pulls her away from the yokai guard, his arm firmly around April’s midsection as his other hand fishes for something in his pocket.

“Shit! Wrong thing!”

April watches as something neon green enters her peripheral vision and sails through the air toward the yokai guard. He blocks, but whatever it is breaks and spreads on the blade, consuming the metal rapidly. He curses and drops the handle of the katana, as that is all that remains.

Before April can say something snarky about how the kidnapper is bad at his job, the steel of a small dagger appears in front of her, its tip pointed at her throat.

“D-don’t move! Or the princess gets it!”

The guard halts in his tracks, eyes fixed on the man behind her. As the guard and black-clad assailant begin their staring contest, it gives April enough time to reassess her situation.

Then April decides to… >> Bite the arm of the kidnapper.

[duelblades]

a kiss while being reunited after a long time. — laurien

diplomacy is a word that's seldom said in the same sentence as antivan crow ---- at least not in the generally agreed upon sense. their particular style of diplomacy had far fewer words to it --- if any at all; and more often than not, much bloodier ends. so if viago being present anywhere that gave precedent to the non - crow definition of the word could be seen as odd, emilia’s insistence on coming along with him might just as well be seen as even odder.

a gathering like this was an opportunity, she’d argued; a chance to sharpen her skills in a bustling room. ( at the very least, it was a chance for the two of them to spend a little time together and catch up now that she was back after spending the last week in salle on his orders. and if that little tug on his brotherly heartstrings wasn’t enough, she was prepared to frame her coming along as a favor ---- one she would owe and he would have to call upon whenever he saw fit. )

and while the evening had started out with the two of them having a moment to actually reconnect over her comings and goings of the last week, it wasn’t to last — diplomats, a merchant prince here and there, big names and bigger personalities amongst them — even some old employers that would pass viago with a knowing glance or a nod — and surely some potentially new ones too before the night was even over. essentially, more than enough faces to keep viago otherwise occupied with the goings on in the room.

then of course, there's the entrance of josephine montilyet. it had certainly not gone unnoticed by either of them, or the room at large — viago quickly excusing himself from emilia’s side with an apology and an explanation about something he’d been meaning to speak to josephine about before the rest of the room demanded too much of her attention. 'go go go.' she understands without his needing to explain himself; cheekily waving her brother off while almost immediately turning her eyes back towards the entourage that had filtered in behind the ambassador to --- hopefully — seek out a montilyet of her own.

it doesn’t take her long to find laurien; a skill she’s certain neither viago nor josephine would be thrilled to know she’s gotten rather good at. ( and one she can’t even credit her crow training for — they have a tendency to gravitate towards one another with ease now. ) the grin she offers him is far more playful than proper as she curls her arm around his while coming up from behind; the fact they’re in the middle of a room full of antivans reminding her to mind her manners. as best she can.

“ciao tesoro, it’s been too long again,” up now on the toes of her boots she purposely fails brushing a brief kiss to his cheek, the gesture landing closer to the corner of his mouth, misplaced just like those aforementioned ( and now fully abandoned ) manners.

she stays up on tip toe, making it easier to have his ear — a closeness she takes advantage of further with a brush of her lips against his cheek, just below his ear. “can i convince you to come with me?” a quiet coo despite the noise of the conversations around them, a gentle tug at the silk of his sleeve. “i think i saw some doors to a little balcony earlier. down the hall. might be nice,” nice being just about the worst way to describe her intentions behind getting him alone, “and then i can say hello properly.”

@hemerasiae / KISS AND TELL for laurien 💜