#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

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[basedonconjecture]

Hello! 8 or 13 for the de Riva prompts, if you want!

Sorry I'm just now getting to this! I couldn't decide between them so I ended up combining the two into one story time whoops. Selora is an impatient storyteller, given to glossing over finer details for the sake of brevity even at the expense of entertainment, and gets a little annoyed when embellishment overtakes fact (but mostly only when it involves herself).

Anyway~ The Comte, the Jester, and The Courtesan

“The Comte, the Jester, and the Courtesan sounds like the title of a bawdy novel—and that’s exactly why it’s a popular story among House de Riva. Every telling of it seems to add something new and particularly tawdry, none of it true. Or…I should say, almost none of it is true. The Comte in the story was an exiled Orlesian noble who’d pissed off someone pretty powerful in Val Royeaux. I was never given the details but it was enough he’d spent a small fortune on buying protection from the Crows. 

One night, there was some big to-do of Fulgeno’s, a birthday or something, and the Crows on the contract requested reinforcement. All I was told was that there was someone within the king’s entourage who wanted the Comte dead. I was planted as a guest—more or less—and told to get as close to the Comte as possible. Don’t think I need to explain where the courtesan comes in at in this story but, to be clear, my only objective was to identify the threat and nothing else. Anything you’ve heard to the contrary is complete fabrication.  

So there I was: masked, trussed up, and hanging onto the Comte’s arm, and doing my best to figure out who had it out for our poor exiled noble. Little did I know the other Crows on the job had intentionally fed intel to flush them out themselves, using me as a distraction of sorts. Whoever had been sent to kill the Comte would have to take me out first, the others who were watching would swoop in to retaliate and get our client to safety. Obviously, that’s not exactly how it went. If ever anyone wanted a plan to go sideways, having me on it was practically a guarantee. 

The Jester’s performance started out normal enough. I’m not particularly fond of clowns or jesters or anything of that nature so I wasn’t paying terribly close attention to it. Not until I noticed the Jester was interacting quite a lot more with the audience than usual. Playing with their clothing and hair, trying to draw them into their act, jeering at them. That sort of thing.

Then the Jester got to me and immediately clocked my ears. I won’t repeat what they said to me but they fully pulled on them. As if they were part of a costume. In my defense, I think my reaction was an entirely normal one. Frankly, I should have done worse but I did still have a job to do. So I grabbed their arm instead and, when I did, their sleeve pulled up just enough to reveal a tattoo on their inner wrist. 

The mark of a member of the House of Repose. 

One thing led to another and, well, let’s just say the Jester better resembled a marotte by the end of it. It was all rather messy in a literal sense. The nobles were scandalized. The Comte went into hiding from the embarrassment but was still alive which was all we’d been hired to do anyway. The king sent a rather strongly worded letter to Viago about our, er, my actions ruining his party.

To my knowledge, we never did find out who’d sent the other assassin *sighing* and now the story’s taken on such a life of its own that my personal involvement has been lost. It did, however, take me off the roster for any future endeavors involving my being bait so I suppose it was good for something.”

[writerinthecrowd]

Flying back and forth to concerts in Seattle, Vancouver and San Diego, the band and their 18-person entourage made frequent pilgrimages to L.A. Nightspots like the Troubadour (for Bobby “Blue” Bland and Kokomo), the Roxy (for Suzi Quatro) and the Greenhouse Restaurant, where Jimmy Page met long time idol Joni Mitchell. Page had been bashful about an introduction, telling acquaintances that “if she’s been hit on half as many times as I’ve been hit on tonight, she doesn’t want to know,” but eventually they enjoyed some small talk together.

Rolling Stone, Issue #187

Cameron Crowe , May 22 1975

[heylavellan]

PLEASE tell me about POV regret prison 👀😈

-inquisimer

AAA yes!! so this started as a post game fic, but then i liked the concept more as a regret prison fic! i had just played through the fade in da:o, and i really liked how they had to realise the 'wrongness' in the scene to escape. i also want it to feel like a counterpart to inner demons, where rook is breaking down barriers to get (back) to lucanis and spite.

here's a little snip from the first regret antonio de riva experiences!

Bright candelabras lit the grand ballroom around them. They stood proudly beside a glamorous woman, with skirts trailing behind her like the many folk trying to ask her for a dance. Merchant Prince Mariella, known for her ruthless cornering of the fisheries. Half the seafood of Antiva was supplied by her or her associates. Any aristocrat worth their salt served seafood from one of her businesses, anyhow.

"Your Excellency, shall I chase off these latest suitors?" they asked, inclining their head to the approaching woman and her entourage.

In the periphery of their vision, they observed Mariella glance at the approaching folk. "No, dear Nil. This is a friend," she replied, waving her hand dismissively. "Leave me alone with her, and return upon the hour."

Antonio would have liked to smirk, but they had a role to play. So they bowed and withdrew, glancing for a time piece. Nil needed to be back at Mariella's side in a half hour. More than enough time to assassinate their target. They swiftly made their way, to where they should be waiting for their mark.

This contract was simple enough. Another Crow had called upon them to distract a close friend of the mark. It was easy enough to figure out their target, Ramon, had a fetish for qunari. Made their job easy.

Unease filled their stomach as they approached the rendezvous. The couldn't quite place their finger on why, though. Hadn't they done countless missions of this sort? Being the exotic lay of the evening for another noble. The sex was usually okay. Then they'd pretend they never knew each other afterward.

[anotherhumanpet]

With massive wings that fold over the group like a cloak, Krobus takes Silas, Jaden, and the others gathered around to the Russian countryside near the Gehenna Gate. Then, in that same amount of time, his previously hulking and overshadowing form shrinks back down to the size of a proper crow, and he sits upon Jaden's shoulder like a good lookout while the group marches onward, unphased by their jump across space and time.

None of them even seem to mind what Krobus had just done for them, and he pays all of them - except Jaden - the same amount of attention in turn. They wouldn't care about how much energy he's just exhausted to get them there anyway. He was a tool in their eyes, and tools are expected to perform at their best at any given time. Which will make for an interesting ride home, but Krobus is hoping that won't come for a while yet so he can sneak in some rest.

That likely won't happen though. With the other familiars of his master's entourage disbanded in the name of conserving Jaden's energy and keeping an element of surprise against their (potential) enemy, Jaden's back is left vulnerable. This was a wise decision on Silas and Jaden's part - in some way - but it still left Jaden exposed because without Pierce at his usual post in the skies above, nobody could keep an eye out or act defensively for Jaden. So, Krobus covered that position by keeping his head turned completely around and eyes wide open for anything that might try to sneak up on them.

He doesn't need to see the Gehenna Gate or Samael's barrier around the atrocity anyway. He senses them long before the humans can step out of the brush and lay their eyes upon the sight. His king's energy resonates throughout the air here and hums with his feathers in ways no words can fully articulate.

He clacks his beak anxiously, however, as they draw nearer to the unholy sight, and Jaden reaches up to offer the demon a soothing pet while Silas assesses their situation. It is a good comfort, one that Krobus can appreciate, but it doesn't quell the demon's anxieties. He doesn't need to turn his head forward to know that there are guards patrolling the area, halting the party's progress for the time being. The True Cross Organization would be unwise to leave such a valuable, hideous asset wide open like that, and they are anything but unwise with their assets.

While everything remains still on the rear front, Krobus hears two of their party rush forward. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, he knows already that they're acting on orders to dispose of the guards currently passing by them. Jaden's pulse both quickens and grows louder within Krobus' ear at the sight and he offers a low, warbling caw as a comfort to his master. This will be Jaden's first show of conflict, and it is never an easy pill to swallow for humans like him. Humans like Silas, however, eat them like candy.

Krobus withholds his judgement though, since killing to him comes as easily as breathing does.

A minute passes, and the party once again begins it's march forward. Krobus' feathers bristle as he is drawn closer to the harmonic energies of Samael's barrier but he doesn't want to get any closer to it. Even the wind itself had come to a complete standstill in that area and he had no desire to be like the other birds frozen in absolute stillness mid-flight, even if it was only temporary.

He clacks his beak again when he spots something moving in the distance, then cries out in alarm when he recognizes that it is another guard approaching from behind, unaware of them for now but not for long. Jaden and the others whirl to see what has the familiar so upset, and Krobus is forced to gaze upon the barrier for the first time. It is a magnificent sight, but one he'd rather not behold. This is not a place of honor.

But what is honor amongst these humans anyway? Certainly not something they trouble themselves with as they find themselves in a scuffle with now-alarmed guards. It is definitely the farthest thing from their minds too when the re-enforcements arrive and threaten to overwhelm them. Silas certainly doesn't make a display of it when he calls for a retreat before immediately siddling right up to Jaden and Krobus. The man only cares for himself and his one-way ticket out of here as he growls at Krobus and his master to get them out of there now.

Krobus doesn't bother to give Jaden a chance to ask about the others who've strayed too far from Krobus' reach. He's too tired to take all of them anyway. He only needs the two of them to live. Any extras who find themselves engulfed by his feathers are just a bonus at this point.

[glyphreader]

Reaper King (Shadowmoor No. 260, Illus. Jim Murray)

Sometimes, a nice creature design is all you need. There is nothing particularly "deep" about the Reaper King, but it just looks creepy and cool. And then you red the flavor text:

It’s harvest time.

Bam. That's it. Just three words, and they multiply the cool factor. I feel like a 12-year old writing about this card, but it has to be among the top 10 (maybe top 5?) portrayals of a scarecrow character in fantasy. There's no real story or lore behind it (afaik), but it's just such a striking image.

Now, to elaborate and speculate a bit: Scarecrows on Shadowmoor are a bit like robots. They're created by Kithkin and then animated to perform simple tasks, like gleaning or patroling a plot of land. They're not very high tech, often cobbled together haphazardly, and then magic does the rest. I really like how the flavor text from another Shadowmoor scarecrow (Watchwing Scarecrow) tells us this in a humorous manner:

The wings are held in place by wicker rods. The rods are held in place by pure faith.

But because they're so crudely thrown together, many scarecrows end up malfunctioning, running off, or doing other things they're not supposed to do. This is where the creepiness comes in: A creature initially designed to reap grain may just reap you. And even if they don't do anything malicious - the idea of a living scarecrow aimlessly hobbling through your garden at night is kind of spooky in itself.

Most scarecrows are mindless, just (trying to) fulfill the task they were given. But the Reaper King seems to have acquired a sense of self somehow. It doesn't seem like he has a fully functioning mind - but maybe a rudimentary, budding consciousness. It creeps through the woods and fields, picking up an entourage of its kin as it goes along, and when it reaches a settlement - it's not only the crows that are going to be scared this time.

Such perfect halloween vibes. It's unlikely, but I do hope that the Reaper King's lore gets expanded upon some day.

[thewolfisawake]

"Aohoku!" the prince called. The Consort did glance from their dalliance with a measured look. The briefest shift of their eyes, he realized he still had to show some decorum. He gave a bow and greetings to the ruler and their entourage. Of course last being the actual person he wanted to talk to.

Seeming to be appeased, a small smile graced their features, "Ach, princeling. You appear to be in good spirits. And the child of the sea is still your watchman."

They looked to Crowe, whom was a small distance away. Close enough to get to the prince immediately. But also far enough away that he wasn't at risk of being snared by the fae. A sharpness that was only accentuated by their fangs only served to keep Crowe's guard.

Kai gave his own deferential show of respect as he bowed and took the fae's gloved hand. He kneeled to be just below them and pressed the hand against his brow. The Consort's hand slipped for his ahnd to gently tip his chin to meet their gaze, "I see you have seen much growth since our last meeting. I do so hope that cleverness and matured with you. How does Ioane fare?"

That made Kai look downward, slightly shamed. He had no idea. As much as he wished he knew. And felt disappointed he didn't have an appropriate answer for his grandfather's friend. He felt nails force his gaze back up, "Rulers, even those yet to be crowned, must hold their head high. Regardless of circumstance."

Their words by structure were scolding. However their tone was tinged with care, "And the festivities are not the time for such morose dealings. Let us revisit this another time, hm? Now, tell me what brings you here-"