#entourage of crows

[yor3cb]

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

Have some studies n local cats

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

Went for another walk today, visited with my friends ❄️🖤

[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.

[bepisbee]

Cottage living vidow fluff mixed with ideas inspired by breannas wingbois (go read! its so good!) Now they have content lives out in the forest, but one of their siblings has some pent up feelings about them.

read on ao3

For context the evil side forced Vaati and Shadow to be hybrid flying creatures, (bat and dragon) and during his time with Shadow he had to as well to stay in cover. him and Shadow broke free from the mirror and them before they all defeated Vaati and Gannon (shadow lives ofc)

Vio is grateful, he thinks. He shuts his eyes face up at the sky, barely clouded with white fluffs. He sat on the roof of a wooden cottage on the outskirts of the Minish Woods. Its border between the darker deep forest and Lake Hylia made the air always have the faint scent of the lake water. Vio found it pleasant most days, especially when rain carried it over on the westward winds. Especially now that he could smell it better. His sleek black wings splayed out behind him, content and warm bathing in the sun. A soft contented hum left his throat, turning into a rumbling coo on instinct. This was a life he says he never deserved and he would thank the Goddesses every day and night for the opportunity to indulge in it. The soft noise rose to a trill and flockcall as the sound of beating leather scaled winged entered his range.

Shadow called back best he could, not exactly made for the trilling bird songs Vio could create. He circled around, enjoying stretching his wings before landing. He swooshed Vio’s hair around his face as he landed on the top next to him.

Shadow leaned down from behind him and pressed his lips to Vio’s. He finally opened his pretty eyes. They were pitch where once was white with stunning colored irises in the middle. One a vibrant purple, matching the element of the earth embedded in his sword. The other the cold ice blue it was during the initial split. Shadow was smiling too big to really call it a kiss anymore.

“Have a good flight, love?” He was in a great mood today, feathers freshly preened by Shadow last night and a sweet slow morning. A nice day off, only watering to tend to and basic needs. He leans into his side when he plops his ass down next to him.

“Very, it’s so warm today! I could sunbathe for hours! We could sunbathe for hours.” he drapes a wing over his body. “Mmm, a long day in the sun. Some of that fresh bread and the apple jelly from that nice lady with the milk cart-”

“Malon,” Vio supplies helpfully.

“Malon! Yeah, her. She’s so nice. Did I ever tell you she was the first townsperson to actually talk to me?” Vio shook his head, meeting his gaze. “I like her.”

He nudged him, grinning at their small audience of crows gathering the branches nearby. “When was that?” Vio is surprised it had taken them that long, he had been out here for hours now. He wonders idly if maybe they were following Shadow the whole time. What a sight that would be. Obviously he scared the townsfolk enough already. Vio grinned cheekily at the thought of the brash old woman on second street seeing it and gasping and clutching her necklace.

“I flew there to grab some stuff while we were building the office room. I couldn’t get any of the vendors to respond to me and Malon came over to help.” Shadow waved his taloned hand through the air as he spoke. He’d developed a habit of talking with his hands as he grew more comfortable in himself. “She talked to them for me and got what I needed and gave me a kinstone piece!” Shadow enthused, a few of the birds tried to copy his tone of speaking. Vio laughed, little tail feathers wiggling up and down.

“Well, you’ll always have me. And our entourage.” He gestures to the flock with his head, smirking. “They really do like you.”

“Oh please, they’re here for you and you know it.” Shadow snorts, laying back and resting his head in his hands, wings out. Vio runs his hand across the exposed underside of the wing. “I don’t blame ‘em of course, so am I.” his eyes light with the teasing. “And I very much like you myself.” He reaches up and cards his fingers through Vio’s secondaries. He shivers, ruffling the feathers in his claws.

“You’re being awfully complimentary, what did you do?” Vio turns to him, knowing glinting in his eyes. “Chaos bringer.” he snickers at Shadow's scandalized look.

“Who? Me??” he puts a hand to his chest over his hearts. “Whatever could you mean!?”

“I knew they followed you for a reason.” Vio chirps and one hops over to join them. “If you don’t spill I’ll ask myself, and you know how much Samantha likes to dramatize.” he pets the alleged ‘Samantha’ crow on the noggin and she bobs happily, vocalizing back.

“Fuck. Fine.” Shadow sat up, “I might have stolen something of Blue’s for saying something in our last argument.” At Vio’s unamused look he elaborates. “I took her pearl earrings and hid them at the lake…”

“You took the pearl earrings!? What did she say!?” Vio’s eyes widened and the crow hops closer making concerned noises. His wings were puffed. Shadow’s hand drops from them.

Shadow was oddly quiet, looking away. “It was a bad fight, okay? She can say what she wants about me but not about you.” his growl is accented with a deep chest rumble. Vio places his palm against it to calm him.

“You two are the worst to fight, both so hot headed and saying shit you don’t mean just to ‘win’ but you both lose.” He scolds, but his voice is too soft and fond to really mean it. He cups his cheek and rubs his thumb across the soft skin. Shadow melts.

“You’re right, you always are. I’ll give them back when she isn’t holding a weapon.” He presses into the touch.

“Here, love.” Vio pulls him back to laying, their knees still hanging off the edge. He unfurls his wing over Shadow’s body. “Just relax. Lay with me awhile.” The birds around them scattered around the yard and trees as usual. After almost an hour he speaks up again.

“You’re really not gonna tell me what she said?” he tried again after the atmosphere settled again.

“... she didn’t mean it.” Shadow warns, “But, she called you a traitor and a monster. And some… other things about us.” he cringes.

Vio is silent for a few minutes, debating bis approach. “I will talk to her. Maybe there are some unsaid feelings she needs to get out, that have propped up within your arguments.”

“You’re awfully mature.” he snorts.

“It is easier to, being on tbe outside out of the situation. I am sure I would not be if she had said it to my face.” Vio threads his fingers with Shadow’s. “But, love. Please. Go get the earrings before tomorrow I’ll give them back when I go to town for my book return and I’ll stop by her at Grandpa’s.”

“Fiiiiiine.”

“Thank you.” He brings his hand up to his face and kisses the back. Shadow half heartedly grumbles.

Vio flew with a bag secured around him, over a shoulder and on his hip. He catches Blue’s attention, who was outside. She must have been having a break from the heat, a glass in hand and tank top on. He landed and steps over.

Her surprise furrows into a scowl at him as he approaches.

“You here to reprimand me for your boyfriend?” Blue snaps out.

“No.” The response clearly catches her off guard. Vio digs into the bag and hands over a small hinged box. “I’m here to apologize for my idiot of a boyfriend.” He lets out a defeated sigh when Blue cautiously takes the box, looking in it.

“...” Vio tries to analyze her expression, but it isn’t something he’s good at.

“Do you have a minute?” 

“I guess.” She stuffs them in her pocket and leans against the house.

“He wouldn’t tell me exactly what it was you said.” Vio does his best to keep his wings from puffing or arching. “But uh, is there anything you wanna say? It is okay whatever it is. I know I am not the greatest at emotions but that does not mean that I do not care how you feel.” Blue peeks up from where she was scuffing her shoes on the ground.

“You make it hard to be mad, being so reasonable. Asshole.” There’s no heat to her words, really. “I just.” she takes a big breath in and exhales out. “You kinda just brushed over the entire fake spy thing and didn’t talk about what really happened.” Blue crossed her arms, ocean eyes intense. “I mean, fuck Vio.” she carded her hand through her hair. “You really scared us. You scared me. You just show up again one day looking like some kind of creature and try to convince us you’re still on our side? And that somehow Shadow is too?? I thought you were being controlled, or not even you anymore!”

Vio steps closer, wings drooping to the ground. “Blue…”

“And the fight! I know why but-” She huffs and takes another breath in and out. “You didn’t talk to us.”

“I am sorry.” His ears are as low as his wings. “I should have. I should have talked to you before making that decision. It did not affect just me, but us, as Link. As… as siblings. As me.” Vio stepped closer. “I… I have not told Red and Green this,” He starts, “It took so long because I did not know what to do. I did have the full intention of killing Shadow from the inside but he was just misunderstood. Forced to do their bidding or die from the mirror.” 

Blue is paying attention, anger melting into concern and that complicated face Vio can’t read.

“I knew I loved him when he asked me for help and I realized I could not imagine my life without him. I panicked. I have never felt anything more than with him and I lose my damn logic so much when it involves Shadow. It was not fair to you guys to keep you in the dark so long. I could say I did not want to risk giving us away, but I was afraid of losing Shadow. I was being selfish.”

Vio held something out in his hand for her.

“I am sorry, Blue. I really mean that.” Blue takes the little sapphire.

“Wha-? But isn’t this…?” She inspects the gem, “From your personal collection??” He had saved a lot of precious gems and stones with Shadow. His hoard, and Vio’s obsession with shiny trinkets. They barely let each other access the pile and it belongs to them both!

“It is for you.” His wings go back up, hopeful. “For whatever you want with it. To keep, to crush, put in a handle or pommel.”

“Thanks.” She put it in the earrings box. “Vio I…” Blue flicks one of his wings. “I’m sorry too, for what I called you. I don’t actually think you’re some ugly bird monster. I actually think it's pretty cool. I’d ask for a flight if it wouldn’t feel mortifying to be held.” Blue lightened up the mood with a joke.

Vio smiled at her and wacked her back with a wing. “Mmhm. I might have to swoop and grab you sometime.” he grins bigger.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” He laughs and turns to fly off.

“I will see you for family dinner on Sunday?” He looks over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. Get outta here you fucking sap.”

“Have a wonderful day, Vio! Tell Shadow I said hello!” They both startle at their Grandpa, who was leaning out the open kitchen window. Both of them flush from the embarrassment of being overheard talking out feelings.

“Y-you too!” He flees at the edge of Blue’s casual banter to their Grandpa about the eavesdropping. His guffaw echoed behind making him smile.

[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.

[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

[x-authorship-x]

Can LOTR Shisui still talk to crows? Because that being the one language he can speak there fluently would be HILARIOUS.

😂😂😂😂 that would absolutely be hilarious but there are ravens who speak common and had alliances with dwarves, the Eagles have a monarchy and everything, so, since Gandalf even goes so far as to whisper at moths and Radagast has his entourage of critters, it's not without some kind of precedent 🤭🤭🤭

However.... Hahaha ... We only get the other wizards talking in their own human-adjacent languages, and the animals either learning these languages or each understands the other but speaks in their own so Shisui WOULD be a freak because-

Some elf: *catches a bird on their arm* hello my friend, what news from the eastern bank?

Bird: *caw caw* (meaning "foul creatures lurk in the night")

Shisui: omg *CAW CAW* "SORRY WHATS A FOUL CREATURE???" *CAW CAW* "CAN YOU BE MORE SPECIFIC PLEASE" *WHEEZE, RASP, SCREECH* "HOW MANY KNIVES??"

Elf: what the FUCK just came out of your throat 👁️👄👁️

😂😂😂

[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.

[owl127]

Could you write another alpha Clarke and omega Lexa chapter in your fic? I think it would be cool to see their first time together

Read on Ao3

Lexa hated Azgeda. 

A necessary headache, Titus would say, to preserve the Coalition. Lexa understood the logic: Azgeda was the largest northern clan, with thousands of seasoned warriors and an established mining operation and wool production. A useful and important ally.

It didn't change the fact that Lexa despised them.

"Heda," mumbled a short boy serving her wine, her personal server for the night's celebration. Her drink was bitter, and she hid her grimace with another gulp. 

With Azgeda, the Coalition—Lexa's dream—was complete. There would be sleepless nights to argue about treaties and new alliances to form, but tonight, under the heavy and humid skies of Polis summer, Lexa's Coalition celebrated the integration of their last, most stubborn, and one of their most powerful members. 

Fucking Azgeda. 

Lexa stared at Nia and her pitiful entourage. Nia gorged herself on wine and salted meats, berry juices running down her pale chin as she called for her son to bring her more wine. Nia was everything Lexa despised in an alpha: public debauchery, loud threats that other people would have to fill for her; a sickening air of forced superiority, as if the world needed to know about her cock.

Lexa hated her.

"Behave," Anya warned from her side, and Lexa could swear her old mentor was teasing her. 

"I'm not doing anything," Lexa complained into her cup, adjusting her seat on her throne. 

"So you were not about to challenge Nia to some stupid party game simply to publicly humiliate her?" Anya eyed the knife on Lexa's hand, knowing her commander had a penchant for throwing it at parties. Mostly for fun.

"In any case, she'd name a champion. The woman never does anything herself." 

"She's their chosen leader, Heda."

Chosen. An old-fashioned way to select a leader. A true leader had intelligence and strength, like Lexa. A true leader proved their way with a blade. 

Lexa would never name a champion if challenged by that pitiful woman. 

Spirits, how she hated them.

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When wine was low in cups and laughter was high on cheeks, Lexa knew it was the moment she could escape the celebration. She waited for that moment and not a second longer, with Anya like a shadow behind her as they headed to her tower. The festivities spilled from the central market to the tower, with most ambassadors hosted on the first floor. Lexa refused the requests for liquor and dancing, thanking Floukru's representative and trying not to laugh at Sankru’s joke about Nia's dick, or lack thereof. 

She made her way around the main lobby, aiming to reach her private elevator, but stopped at the sharp sound of a slap. It came from a dark corridor that led to the ambassador's quarters. Anya touched her knife, but Lexa raised a hand. There would be no bloodshed tonight to honor their new Coalition member. Instead, Lexa headed to the corridor, the unmistakable sound of whimpering filling the air.

Nia's hand was red from the slap, and she shook it ungracefully. On her knees, the woman Lexa knew to be the Azgeda general shook her head, a trickle of blood brimming on her cheek. Nia's ring had left it there.

"Don't you ever question me," Nia hissed, inebriated and angry. Her crow was crooked on her pale curls, and she looked like everything Lexa thought of her: a small, scared woman.

"My queen, she's to be your ambassador. You asked me to appoint her, and she deserves respect," the wounded general said, eyes cast down.

Between them, still whimpering, another woman kneeled, tears overflowing from her lowered chin. Her dress was torn, carelessly so, and the omega in Lexa snarled with recognition.

"Is there anything you need, Queen Nia?" Lexa's voice boomed in the corridor, not matching her serene, small smile. Nia startled, her fury melting in surprise. She stood taller, shaking her head. 

"I appreciate your hospitality, Heda, but my general and ambassador were simply lost. If you may direct them," she said with the easy pride of someone used to giving orders, but her speech was slurred and she was not in a position to give orders to Heda Lexa.

Anya growled from the shadows, but Lexa stopped it with a flick of her wrist. "A guard will assign them a room. Have a good night, Queen Nia."

That was as much as a dismissal would be, and Nia slammed her doors once inside, like the pup she was.

The general stood up and helped the distressed omega, exchanging short and sharp words. The omega bowed her head to Lexa and disappeared at the end of the hallway. 

"I appreciate your kindness, Heda Lexa," the general said, as if her cheek wasn't still bleeding, "but please refrain from interviewing in Azgeda's internal politics."

Anya took a full step out of the shadows to threaten the other woman, who lowered her head and continued, "I mean no disrespect. But Nia is a proud leader and will not take kindly to looking weak."

"You talking to your queen doesn't make her look weak." Lexa pulled a handkerchief from her coat pocket, extending it between them as a peace offering. "Your queen trying to rape her newly appointed ambassador, on the contrary, does make her look weak."

The general, all hard lines on pale skin marked by scars and weather, looked Lexa up and down before accepting the cloth. She placed it on her cheek, and it slowly turned scarlet. It made her eyes darker in that dim hallway. 

"I appreciate your concern," the general said, tilting her head in half a bow, her voice clipped. 

"I haven't seen you at the festivities," Lexa found herself saying, her mind intent on deciphering the puzzle that seemed to be the Azgeda woman. 

"There are other priorities besides celebration."

A hard worker. Maybe Nia had half a brain to have someone like that at her side. 

"Will the ambassador need any more assistance? Or will you be with her through the night?"

Lexa felt the confused look Anya shot at her back.

The general's eyebrows rose to her hairline, and she shook her head. "The ambassador will be taken care of," she said, her hand covering half her face with a bloody cloth, but Lexa saw the beginning of a smile. "Even if not by me."

Lexa nodded and continued on her way to the elevator. 

Anya's smirk showed her teeth as the doors closed in front of them.

"Oh, shut up," Lexa said in their native tongue.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

"Maybe you are the one with a vivid imagination."

There might be something good in Azgeda after all.

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Her name was Clarke. 

Unlike Nia, she acquired her position by personal merit while leading Azgeda's army against invasions from the frozen north.

She was also an unmated alpha, but not like Lexa was paying any attention.

On their month-long visit to Polis, Clarke was the only Azgeda warrior who visited the training grounds every single sunrise. It simply happened that Lexa did the same. And it was because of this coincidence that Lexa found herself able to act on her hatred for Azgeda in her daily combat training with their most revered general. It was almost an even battle.

Clarke's back lifted dust in the training grounds as she fell. She grunted with the effort to roll out of Lexa's wooden spear, jumping to her feet to avoid another blow from the commander's weapon. Her blood mixed with the orange and copper dust as she spit on the ground.

"Again," she asked, and Lexa nodded, her spear fast and accurate.

When they stopped, the sun had risen completely—a new summer morning in the capital of the Coalition. They drank water in silence, with Clarke perched on the training fence while Lexa rested her hips against it. 

"Why do you insist on fighting unarmed?" Lexa voiced the question that had been nagging her since the general had inquired if they could train together.

"It's what I need to develop." Clarke's voice was always low and gravely in the mornings. Not that Lexa talked to her at any other time of the day, but she liked to imagine that voice was for her ears only.

"But you carry a weapon. The Azgeda sling."

Clarke chucked. "Azcaretha. Please don't call it a sling."

"What is it, then?"

"A traditional weapon crafted by Azgeda specialists."

"In the format of a sling," Lexa completed, and Clarke snorted into her cup.

Watching them, Anya squinted her eyes. Lexa was getting very good at ignoring her pointed looks.

Clarke picked up her azcaretha from the side of the training grounds, crossed the dusty arena, leaving her empty cup on a post, and walked back to Lexa. Lexa raised an eyebrow in challenge, and the other woman smirked. Clarke looked at her target, took a deep breath, and raised her left arm in an arch, twisting the soft leather of her weapon in a continuous flow until it spun once, twice, and three times, and a rock Lexa had not even noticed was there flew with surgical precision and hit the metallic cup across the arena. It fell with a loud ring.

For the first time, Lexa saw a side of smug alpha in the general. She was able to control her face with nonchalant approval, but when Clarke smiled triumphantly at Lexa’s silent praise, there was no stopping the heat surging low in her belly. Just a little.

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The Azgueda entourage had a lightness to them without their queen. Laughter bubbled easier and mead went down faster, scarred faces broken into grins around their blonde circle.

Polis welcomed the start of the fall harvest with a festival, which coincided with the Azgeda general's last days in Polis. Lexa would miss their morning training, though she would never admit that. She saw the general put her hand around the Azgeda ambassador's shoulders, the two of them a perfect pair of scars and wheat hair, and whatever she felt about it, it wasn't good. Lexa would not admit to that either. 

"Heda." 

Lexa straightened her shoulders and took another sip of her mulled wine. It tasted sharp and sweet, with a touch of spice that overwhelmed her tongue. It came from Azgeda, and she wondered if everything from there tasted sweet. And that was another thought for the secret box. "What, Anya?" Her own general stared at the Azgeda group with a tilt to her chin that Lexa immediately disliked. 

"It’s the Azgeda general’s last night in Polis," Anya said casually, in a way she didn’t say anything. Anya was not casual; she was purposeful and direct.

"Speak your mind." Lexa took another sip from her cup. Sweet, sweet Azgeda wine.

"You won’t see her again. It won’t be a problem for the coalition."

"Spirits, Anya, what are you—"

"Spend the night with her." Anya shrugged at Lexa’s frown. "It will do you good."

Clarke chose that moment to turn and find Lexa’s eyes, waving from the other side of the Polis Tower room. The candles made her eyes flash darker, giving Lexa a steely focus. Lexa’s cheeks warmed, and she hoped it was the Azgeda wine and not the Azgeda alpha. 

"Do you approve of her?" Lexa challenged, aware of Anya’s overprotectiveness. 

"I said spend the night with her, not join her under the Spirits," Anya mumbled, crossing her arms. That was as close to an approval as Lexa was ever going to get. What had the general done to convince Anya? 

Lexa rose from her honorable table, nodding to the Floukru Ambassador, who had too much of the mulled wine. She glanced back at Clarke and held her gaze. Clarke raised a pale eyebrow, and Lexa nodded. The way the alpha licked her lips was satisfying. Lexa’s commander emblem itched on her forehead as she excused herself to the kitchens, apparently in search of wine. Anya stopped by the door and didn't follow.

Thin layers of dust covered the caskets in the tower's wine cellar, an underground room accessible by a simple hatch with a single window to the lower gardens. The hatch was left unlocked, and no servant would follow the commander. New, clean casks with Azgeda-burned symbols rested next to the entrance, and Lexa lifted a lid to smell the richness of what was becoming her favorite beverage.

A minute passed, then two. Five. Ten. 

Maybe the general wasn't as sagacious as she had expected, or maybe that wasn’t a good idea at all, because flirting on the training grounds was one thing, but acting on her impulses was another. She should, as Heda—

"Bloody chicken hell!" The exclamation was accompanied by a loud thud in the quiet room, the small garden window shaking in its rusty frame. Lexa, a glass of wine in hand, walked to the lump of a warrior on the ground: a mess of blonde tresses and swears.

"There is a door," Lexa pointed to the hatch above them, her lips curling in unsuppressed amusement.

Clarke dusted herself off and stood up with what was left of her dignity. Her cheeks flushed a beautiful pink, a stark contrast to the scars that painted her face. "I was under the impression you wanted me to be discreet."

"Did you accomplish that?" Lexa raised an eyebrow at the ajar window, music and laughter from the celebration invading the cellar. 

Clarke made a small noise at the back of her throat, the pink in her cheeks turning a shade of burgundy. "Well enough."

"And what do you plan to do now that you're here?" Lexa abandoned her glass on top of a forgotten cask. She took a couple steps further into the room, away from the few candles and the only door. 

Clarke seemed to know an invitation when offered one. 

The cold from the stone room vanished when the Azgeda warrior—fully recovered from her window stunt—stepped into Lexa's personal space, close enough for them to share heat. 

"I have an idea or two," Clarke whispered as she took in Lexa's scent, her nose dangerously close to a pulsing neck. Lexa placed her forearms on the general's shoulders, liking how comfortable they felt there. Clarke leaned in, their hips meeting, sharp Azgeda leather and the commander's sash entwining. Lexa's forefinger followed the line of a long scar, a silver drawing that curled on Clarke's temple and climbed down a pink cheek to meet her chin. Lexa shared a breath with Clarke, who closed her eyes and sighed under Lexa’s touch.

"So at least two?" Lexa challenged, and her stomach filled with butterflies at being lifted, a playful growl leaving Clarke’s lips. 

"That’s a promise." 

Lexa nodded, their noses meeting in a feathery touch. "Show me, then. General." It was whispered with reverence. 

The kiss was not what Lexa expected. Azgeda was hard ice, cold, fierce, and unforgiving. But all she found on Clarke's lips was warmth and softness. Lexa welcomed Clarke closer, her legs spreading to allow more heat, more access, and more Clarke.

And who would know that wine wasn’t the only sweet Azgedian export.