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rune-writes · 1 year

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The Stranger

Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI

Word Count: 2546

Rating: G

Pairing: Clive Rosfield & Jill Warrick

Summary: When Jill first arrived in Rosaria, fear had been the only thing occupying her mind. That is, until a friendly face decided to appear before her.

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

I was six when I first saw him. He was leaning over the parapet above the city gates along with several men on guard. He had jet-black hair and wore a simple black and white tunic with a red shirt peeking underneath. They all wore red, as did the flag flapping beside them.

Rosalith, I thought. One week’s ride from the capital. One week since Archduke Elwin took me from my home. It is your duty, Father had said, as it is mine to obey the terms of our agreement. I’d wanted to cry, but all I’d done was nod. There had been nothing to be done. Father had looked so sad—even sadder when we finally had to part. His only gift was a silver pendant that now rested over my chest. Something to keep with me, he’d said, to remind me of home.

The shadow of the gate loomed closer. I could hear the horns now, blaring loud and clear in a rhythm I now knew was the Rosarian anthem. I’d heard it enough times in the North, heard the guards singing phrases to the tune around campfires. A movement drew my eyes upward and I saw the boy staring right at me. He pointed. I didn’t catch what he did afterwards, because I’d shut the curtains close and ducked beneath the window sill.

Before I could process what I just did or whom I just saw, shouts were hollered to open the gates and then shadows slid past. Then light came, and with it were the cheers of a thousand upon thousand voices. People hooted and cried and clapped and sang, their voices rising as one like the high tides against the northwestern cliffs. I suddenly felt trapped.

Father had said that I was to be a ward, that I was no prisoner taken hostage after the fall of my homeland. I’d like to believe it so, what with the rich red velvet cushions in the carriage and the gentle ways the soldiers had treated me during our travel. But the wood now felt pressing; the bolted door was the only thing keeping me safe from the showers of praise and exclamations of triumph—triumph over a war that had lasted for several years before I could even remember.

And then the cheerings stopped, as did the carriage. Horses huffed and neighed and all around, mailed feet dropped onto the hard ground. I pulled away from the door, fighting against fear and trying to remember what Father had told me. “Your Grace,” I heard someone say. “Welcome home.” And then locks clicked. The door swung open. Blinding light entered the doorway and for a split moment, I could not see anything. Then my eyes found a hand, outstretched and not frightening at all, followed by a grizzled face I recognized who’d never strayed far from the Archduke’s side.

“My lady,” he called me, a quiet prompt to take his hand. After another heartbeat, I took it and stepped into the light.

***

The boy stood next to a woman with eyes as cold as the northernmost reaches of home. Blonde hair tied to a perfect bun, back straight, her posture spoke of nothing but regal pride. My heart quivered but I refused to let my shoulders droop. Head tilted just at the right angle. Meek. Just like what Father had told me. When the Archduke called me forward, my feet moved by themselves. I curtsied and murmured, “My lady.” Her disdain was plain in her upturned nose and refusal to acknowledge my greeting. And then I turned to the boy and murmured, “My lord.” I took a quick peek and found his eyes—the richest blue like blazing sapphire—locked into mine. It was impossible to look away, but I did so anyway, though not before I caught his smile blooming like an unfurling lily from ear to ear.

His name was Clive—Clive Rosfield—first born son of the duke, and he was nine. The grin didn’t last; a glare from the duchess cut it short. They then directed my gaze to the other boy on the duchess’ other side. Blonde fluffy hair unlike his brother’s jet-black strands; but his eyes were alike, albeit brighter like the sky.

“And this is Joshua,” the Duke went on.

Joshua’s smile was a shy curl around the edges. I’d barely offered my greeting before the duchess pulled him aside and called for the maidservants to take me to my room. “Dress her in a more…proper attire, if you please,” she said before turning in a swath of layered dress up the leftwing staircase with Joshua in tow. I heard a groan and realized it came from the Duke. The Duchess reappeared soon on the second floor, before disappearing again behind the first door. I caught a glimpse of Joshua’s bright blue eyes looking back at me before the door shut behind them.

“Well,” the Duke broke the silence. He turned toward me; I tried not to cower in front of him. “Welcome to Rosalith, the proud capital of Rosaria. This will be your home from now on.”

I kept my eyes downturned—it was not good to meet the eyes of your liege, as Father said—but I noticed the change in tone.

“Lift your head, girl.”

And I did. And whom I saw was not the sovereign who’d crushed my father's army, but a father.

He gestured for one of the maidservants. One stepped forward.

“Show her to her room and attend to her needs,” he said.

The maidservant bowed her head. “Right away, Your Grace.”

***

Perhaps somewhere in the back of my mind, I had imagined a lone room at the top of a tower, small and cramped, with furnishments barely enough to suit my needs, and I would need to call on a maidservant every time I would like to go to the washroom. Instead, what I found was a space big enough to possibly hold a host of ladies for an afternoon party. A draped bed to one side, a dressing room on the other, then a fireplace and a set of couches and coffee table along with several shelves of books lined one corner. I even had my own washroom, where hot water had been prepared in time for my arrival. She had me shed my clothes. My skin tingled as I stood naked amidst the unfamiliar stone. The light was bright enough that I noticed how pale I looked compared to my maidservant’s southern skin.

She was gathering my dress from the floor when I remembered what the duchess had said and immediately asked her not to throw my clothes away. She looked surprised, though a gentle crinkle quickly took over her hazel eyes.

“Of course, my lady,” she said. “I’ll just have these washed. For the time being, I’ll lay out a dress for you on the bed.”

She couldn’t have been more than ten years my age, I thought as I gingerly stepped into the water. My skin hissed, but after the coldness of the North and the long trek hither, the warmth was welcome to the touch. I eased into the tub and settled in the corner. My necklace, still attached to my neck, floated in the water.

The Silvermane, they’d called my father, for the unruly silver hair that ran down his shoulders akin to a lion’s mane. The necklace he gifted used to belong to Mother. A light blue crystal hung from its diamond-shaped pendant, upon which was fastened a black-indigo jewel. It looked icy cold yet somehow felt warm on my palm. When Mother was still here, I would look upon the jewel hanging around her neck with awe. I’d heard tales of Shiva the Ice Queen and had once entertained the idea that the pendant carried her essence. Mother had laughed, of course, but she’d told me afterwards that, with the right bearer, the pendant held enough magick to freeze an entire kingdom—or so her family had said, at least. She’d told me that it brought her comfort, that wherever she’d gone, home would always be with her. I felt no such comfort now. No matter how I thought about it, home was thousands of malms away, and the only thing left of it was probably already burning away in the furnace somewhere in the depths of the castle.

A heavy sigh lay over me. I let the pendant go, leaned further against the tub, hugging my knees close and submerging myself until all anyone could see were the bubbles rising up to the surface.

***

I didn’t stay long in the water—only long enough until my skin grew pink and my head hazy from the heat. When the maidservant returned, I’d finished my bath and was reaching for a towel. She fussed over me, said I should’ve stayed in the water longer. It felt odd, yet familiar, to be fussed over, so I let her.

She helped me dry myself and led me back to my chambers. A white dress made of soft silk lay on the bed. It reached my shins, the light fabric hugging my body loosely. It was a bit too big, which the maidservant also noticed, and the high neck felt rather stuffy. She promised she’d get the measurements right for my other dresses and it surprised me that I would have other dresses.

“Shall I bring some food, my lady?” she later asked. “Supper wouldn’t be until another three bells.”

I would’ve said no—I could wait another three bells—but exhaustion seemed to finally take its toll and my stomach grumbled before I could answer. The maidservant let out a chuckle, which she quickly disguised as a cough.

“I’ll see what the Cook has ready in the kitchens.”

She backed away and the door clicked shut behind her. The silence that followed, somehow, felt deafening, much more so than the crowd that had flocked our carriage on our coming. The walls loomed around me, dark and foreboding. A single fire lit the entire room, no doubt powered by the same crystal from the bath chamber. Yet despite it, I shivered. I blamed the light fabric; wished I had my old clothes back. I hoped the maidservant hadn’t really burned them in the furnace somewhere. I longed for the fur-lined cloak, the emblem of my father’s house, the way it snugly ensconced me throughout my long trek.

I longed for my father, and my mother, and the mountain peaks and the snow.

A sob threatened to burst through my tightened throat when a knock suddenly broke the silence.

“Y–Yes?” I managed.

I figured the maidservant would’ve opened the door by herself then, but the knock came again, so I wiped my tears and took deep breaths. It wasn’t the maidservant waiting for me on the other side of the door. It was the boy, first son of the Duke who, for some reason, was not the inheritor of Phoenix’s flame.

Clive Rosfield stood agape with his eyes slightly wide, and for several heartbeats we stood in silence. He spoke first, his voice sounding uncharacteristically high-pitched to me who had been surrounded by gruff old men for a week.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

And that was when I regained myself, realizing where I was and whom I was addressing. I dropped into a curtsy and stammered a “m–my lord.”

He disregarded it, taking a step forward and leaning down to peek through my bangs. I instinctively dipped my head and shuffled back several feet.

“Is there something you need?” I asked, then hastily added, “my lord.”

I felt his scrutiny and wished the walls would swallow me whole. But he didn’t push. Instead, his shadow receded, and I dared myself to look up.

He was looking at the hallway for whatever reason I didn’t know, his finger reaching up to scratch his cheek. I had half a mind to follow his gaze, to see if maybe my maidservant was back, but before I could, he caught my eyes, and I averted my gaze on instinct once again. His following chuckle was not something I’d expected to hear. It was light and breathy and…free somehow, like the way the winds on the mountain peaks felt free. Cool and comforting. It pulled me in. Propriety be damned. I looked at him and found him smiling—not the ear to ear grin he’d shown me before, but a small smile, restrained yet gentle, and it made my own lips waver.

“I’m sorry if I surprised you,” he said. “I saw Lady Ada step out of your room, and I wanted to see how you were holding.”

So that was her name. I hadn’t asked.

I cleared my throat. “Lady Ada said she would fetch me something from the kitchens.”

“Are you hungry? I can bring you to the kitchens if you like.”

“Is…is that all right?”

“The Cook wouldn’t mind,” he said, but he seemed to remember something, because then he added, “My mother probably would, though. Decorum and such.”

“Are princes not allowed in the kitchens?” I asked, because back home, they never minded my presence. I even sometimes helped the kitchen hands.

“It’s more about the proper way of things, I would say,” Clive said.

He sighed, then looked around the hall again. He never crossed the threshold. Another proper way of things, probably. This might have been a guest room before, but it’d be my chambers from now on. This would be the place I called home. My heart lay heavy at the thought. Then Clive spoke again:

“Would you like to see more of the castle? Lady Ada wouldn’t be for a while. I’ll show you the garden or the library or maybe if Joshua manages to escape Mother’s grasp, we can meet him, too. Though, maybe we could make a quick visit to the kitchens so Lady Ada will know where you’ve gone to lest she panics when she finds the room devoid of its resident. As long as Mother doesn’t know, I think it’ll be alright.”

“What if she finds out?”

“Then I’ll say it was all my idea.”

“My lord—” I began in protest, but he shook his head.

“Please, just Clive.”

“Then—Clive—” The name rolled easy on my tongue. Clive’s face brightened at the sound. I resisted the urge to look away. Looking at his face had been making my stomach knot in odd ways. “I will not have you take the blame for something I did.”

“It won’t be something you did but something I prompted you to do.” He then held out a hand, and with a little smirk to his smile, said, “Well, my lady?”

A part of me would rather stay and wait for Lady Ada carrying a steamed bun or whatever it was these Southerners serve for supper. Yet being alone in the room, with the pressing walls and distant shouts and hollers drifting in through the window would only emphasize my solitude. Mother's pendant lay heavy over my chest. Home would always follow me, Mother had said. Rosalith would be my home now.

I dispelled all unwelcome thoughts with a shake of my head and took Clive’s outstretched hand. “Alright, then,” I said, and attempted a smile.

~ END ~

#final fantasy xvi #ffxvi #cliji #jill warrick #clive rosfield #final fantasy 16 #ff16 #fanfiction #ff fanfic #ff16 fanfic

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rainarainbows · 7 months

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Driving Blindly Book 1

Chapter 2

Scotty

Scotty McMurthy had awoken to the sound of his alarm from his phone, he then had awoken to feel the cold fall air coming through. Scotty shivered as he sat up while turning off the alarm.

“Bloody hell!” Groan Scotty.

Scotty then had grab his pillow while laying back down and scream through it, shushing his muffle screams.

Scotty then had sat back up and his eye was twitching as a fake smile appeared on his face.

“Bloody hell to nursing school!” Whimper Scotty.

Scotty then had move his red flannel duvet covers off until they kept him while getting up and made him fall on the floor as a huge bang could be heard.

“BLOODY HELL!” Yelled Scotty as he rub his bum with his hand.

The door then had open, to see two men, one with dark skin, curly dark brown afro with a neon blue streak in his hair as he wore a bisexual color theme hoodie with a anime girl on it with big baggy blue ripped jeans who was Nick. The other man was name Jin with tan skin, black short straight hair with a strong build while wearing a grey jacket with blue jeans.

“You okay?!” Question Jin as he help Scotty up.

“Bro your in your boxers?!” Question Nick as he chuckles.

“Well I wasn’t bloody expect to fall off on my bum!” Hiss Scotty as a red hue came onto his face.

“Anyways huff up and get ready there coffee for you two nurses!” Say Nick as the two then had left.

Scotty yawn as he look through his window to smell the cold fair morning air.

Scotty then had look himself in the mirror staring at his pale face with his small facial hair showing, his fluff curly dark brown hair being a mess.

Scotty then had headed to his closet while placing a red flannel button up on with black ripped jeans while placing on black combat boots. Scotty then had grab his black backpack which had many buttons on it which some had the aseuxal flag on it. Scotty then had headed out of his bedroom and smelled the kitchen air where coffee could be smell.

Nick then had handed Scotty a to go coffee mug, Scotty then had taken a sip.

“Bloody good coffee!” Say Scotty as his eyes lit with joy.

Scotty then had wiggled his bum as he was trying to do a happy dance.

“Time to start the bloody day!” Sang Scotty as he taken another sip of coffee.

The two then had giggled and snorted as they saw Scotty do the walking dance.

For the longest time Scotty had felt pressure and if he could make his friends giggle that all that mattered to

him.

P.s. if you guys really enjoy my writing and stories I will post more because I have no clue if I will ever publish these stories or be able to but for now take chapter 1 and 2 of a romance novel series of Driving Blindly.

#Driving blindly #Writer #my novel

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magnumversumplus · 1 year

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Petra Red

A Fractured Fairy Tale Retelling Of: Peter Pan

Written By Joseph M.

A large wooden ship sailed through the vast seas of blue, a carved up tree basically floating down the infinite dimension that was the ocean. Every now and then, gray fins would surface, packs of dolphins emerging, lured by the scent of the food on board. But, they quickly scattered when a mako shark circled the perimeter of the ship.

The pirates aboard were not dressed in the contemporary habiliment one would come to expect from a pirate; they wore ragged, striped polo shirts and white tees underneath, and they had blue jeans and black shoes. All of the pirates sang and danced drunkenly around a campfire perhaps more fitting on land, but one that was started on the ship anyway. The pirates all sang the ballad of Peter Pan, a flying elf that defeated a plundering pirate in red habiliment with a hook for a hand.

Their vessel didn’t have a wide-spanning, crudely stitched black flag with a white skull–it had a neatly woven white flag with a shield crest. This shield was divided into four areas. One had the image of a pirate thief with a black ski mask stealing a bag of money from a home, a cartoonish illustration; another had an image of a village in flames, the houses in both images looking like they had both been drawn by children; the third image displayed a group of pirates in more contemporary gowns, holding their cutlasses into the air in unison and cheering and holding jugs of beer in their other hands; the fourth image displayed the image of their pirate ship sailing through the endless ocean.

Their captain was a man with a gray beard and a gray, scraggy head of hair. Like Captain Hook, he and his crew were plunderers. Their ship stormed the shores of cities and looted homes, and law enforcement never dared to interfere. They bossed around the people they saw with no regard for their celebrity status or political influence.

Their tyranny reigned the beaches of small cities and big cities until they stumbled upon the grand country of Nhamat. Not knowing who resided here, they picked up their rotten cutlasses–which had corroded and whose surfaces had become infected by corrosion–and stormed a giant outlet. They raided jewelry shops and clothing stores while the security guards–who hadn’t seen them before and didn’t recognize them–stood back and watched helplessly as these seemingly invincible pirates took everything they wanted and stole everything they saw. Alas, they seemed unstoppable.

Little did these pirates know, however, that they weren’t unstoppable, and they weren’t invincible to the consequences of justice. A man wearing motorcycle gear red from helmet to biking boots walked in. Even the gloves that masked his hands were scarlet in hue. He called out the pirates by their name as if they were old rivals–the Moonslaught–and pulled one glove off his sleeve, revealing that there was no hand underneath to begin with.

From his empty sleeve extended a cutlass, one not too dissimilar from the blades the pirates wielded. Quickly, the pirates swarmed him, and, not aided by his own visor, his vision was blinded by a flurry of needles trying to slash at him. From an outsider’s perspective, he was seemingly buried in the cluster of pirates attacking him, and if the pirates cleared they would have found the man in scarlet armor crumpled on the floor.

But, drowning in the scrappy men with rugged beards and sharp noses, the man dashed in crimson gear parried, swiped and slashed, holding the horde back, a one-man army. His saber glided smoothly across the curved blades of the cutlasses, his figure dancing around in the swarm like a ballerina in a bee’s nest.

The leader of the pirates, a man named Captain James Sparrings, cleared out the other pirates and began to parry with the crimson geared man. He grunted as the man drove him to exhaustion, his groans deep and nasally. With a quick series of blows, the crimson man had Captain Sparrings disarmed and on the floor. Suffering from this demoralizing beatdown, him and the rest of the pirates fled, physically and emotionally bruised.

There was a large mansion buried within the skyscrapers in New York, and living in that apartment was a man named Vitnya. He lived with his gray, white and young husky Niney, and also lived with an orange cat named Lino. Vitnya was a man with a great job as the NYPD’s chief detective, a great family that lived nearby, a great career and a grand mansion, one with a pool the size of a two story suburban house owned by a middle class American.

This was a thief magnet, and this was why the morning Vitnya noticed that the windows by the entrance had been shattered and that some of his things had been stolen, Vitnya had decided to investigate on his own, following what he perceived to be the shadows of two men running through unlit New York alleyways and towards the massive shipping docks in the Financial District. What he saw was shocking.

There was a massive wooden vessel, one the size of a four story building bobbing up and down at the pier. It had several masts flying through the air, moving despite there being no wind. On the very top was the flag with detailed illustrations, and moving up and down a ramp, in and out of the ship were pirates.

Vitnya called the police, but the police did not arrive. Instead, he was met by the man of crimson hues, the man drowning in his own red clothes, shrouded in scarlet light, some of whose limbs had been replaced by cybernetic parts. This was Petra L’Homme Rouge, known as Petra Red in America.

He was here–standing in all of his crimson glory as news choppers swiveled above him, shining bright search lights down like lightning bolts falling from the sky, lights flashing and swirling until they were perfectly positioned to capture his glorious, heroic battle stance–to stop this madness. He was tired of pirates, and so was Vitnya. Vitnya had called in the police, and the police cars had barricaded off the docks. Petra, who stood in front of the police cars, and whose crimson visor faced off against the side of the ship and the several barrels of the cannons, charged forward, and a fight ensued on the docks.

There were whispers in the compact roads of the neighborhood, people rushing over to each other’s doors, still dressed in bath robes and nightgowns; people running to their cars and taking off in a hurry. When Adavi and her brothers checked the news, they were surprised by what they saw. It was Petra Red–their childhood hero–fighting pirates on a pirate ship. The news footage showed multiple angles; it was an exhilarating battle, explosions booming everywhere, one nearly sending the news reporter and his accompanying cameraman flying out of the chopper.

Adavi and her brothers ran to their parents’ basement and reemerged with flashlights and biking gear. They climbed on their bikes and raced over to the docks, noting that the wooden planks that were once a fresh wooden brown were now burnt gray and smelled of burnt toast.

Adavi’s brothers, David and Andres, followed Adavi as they got close to the pirate ship, but didn’t cross the police tape. They ducked out of the sights of the bright, glowing beacons cast by the helicopters, careful to not draw any attention to themselves. They watched Petra Red send the pirates retreating back to sea, amazed still at his feats.

Their fun was interrupted, however, as suddenly all three children felt metal hooks curl around their arms. These children were dragged off the port, their faces spitting out the salty ocean water, their arms flailing around as sharks chased the ship. They suddenly found themselves being taken hostage by nasty pirates.

Petra noticed this, and so did the tall silhouette standing next to him. She was cast in yellow light, and she wore yellow motorcycle gear with gilded wings. She wore a shimmering, golden motorcycle helmet that–unlike Petra’s crimson helmet, which reflected the light–absorbed the splinters of light shone by the choppers and used them to illuminate her helmet and wings. This was Vasandi T. Bell, the legendary “Savior Of Gallic Straits”, the master of the lost martial art of Davanthay and the mentor of Petra Red. She took off into the sky, following the pirate ship, soaring into the bright light of the Moon.

There was nothing, and then there was everything. Then, there was a glaring yellow light, and then Adavi and her brothers found themselves nestled inside of a nest, one woven together by prickly pine tree branches and long, thin weeds tying together all of the branches; Vasandi stood over the siblings and next to a group of young people, whose looks seemed as confused and as shocked as the expression on Adavi, Andres and David’s faces.

Adavi and her brothers followed Vasandi towards a campfire, and over s’mores and mugs of coffee, she explained herself.

She and Petra had stumbled upon a youthful group of lost souls who claimed to be called “The Lonely.” These shipwrecked travelers had supposedly approached the Bermuda Triangle and had been sucked into a whirlpool, waking up on this island after a five year coma. Vasandi, being an adventurer herself, discovered this island the same way–whilst she patrolled the skies above neutral airspace, a hurricane swept by and she got sucked into the same water vortex as the others. The only way out of the island without compromising the secrecy of this hidden paradise–this island of beautiful mansions with foliage growing in and out of the roofs and roads covered in flowers; the place where its constituents could live peacefully until they were ready to return to the normal world, or choose to stay for the rest of their lives–was to leave the same way they entered, and that was through the vicious, swirling whirlpool that mysteriously transported people to this safe haven; the only way out was through the water vortex no pirate, not even Captain James Sparrings, would dare approach.

Captain James Sparrings couldn’t approach this vortex because he was preoccupied, engaging in a violent duel of sabers against Petra Red. Petra Red’s crimson jet boosters activated beneath his red crimson sneakers, and he rocketed into the air, sending a blast of heat into the rusty captain’s face, sending him backwards.

Captain Sparrings sloppily swung his cutlass around, Petra Red dodging every single blow whilst also dealing fatal hits of his own. Petra’s sword–a glimmering, furiously dashing line of silver resembling a knight’s longsword more than a veteran pirate’s blade–expertly refuted every single stroke of the cutlass.

The fight continued, Petra and Sparrings dueling each other until they had reached the starboard, and were fighting each other next to the spruce steering wheel. Petra grabbed the rotting wheel, the gargantuan vessel steering out of control, knocking the waves and the musty scent of salt water into the air and onto the front deck.

And finally, as the ship veered towards land and the salt waters within it, Petra disarmed Sparrings and cut off his left hand. Weirdly, it fell off with ease, and there didn’t seem to be any remaining bone. Crawling out from where the hand once was, a silver hook emerged, and the clay hand fell into the mouth of a crocodile.

Petra tackled Sparrings, Vasandi returned Adavi and her brothers back home, The Lonely continued to foster lost souls, Captain Sparrings and his pirate crew went into hiding and became fugitives, and their ship was gifted to Vitnya as payment for the damages caused to his property.

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bigmacdaddio · 1 year

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The Clash - Spanish Bombs

Spanish Bombs by The Clash

They sang the red flag They wore the black one But after they died It was Mockingbird HillRead full LyricsWhen The Clash released their double album London Calling in 1979, they served notice that "the only band that mattered" - as some true believers referred to the group - was more than just a quartet of snotty punk rockers. While The Sex Pistols were imploding from within and berating anything and everything in the outside world, The Clash were pushing the envelope and pressing forward. "Spanish Bombs" wasn't even a punk rock song - at least not musically. Instead, it featured a stirring melody, Mick Jones harmonizing with lead vocalist on the song, Joe Strummer, and a shuffling beat featuring an organ part. It was melodic rock, instead. Lyrically, this song acted as a preview to the group's follow-up album, Sandinista!, which brought attention to revolutionary politics in Nicaragua and other Latin American countries. On it Strummer sings, "The hillsides ring with 'Free the people'/Or can I hear the echo from the days of '39?" Yes, the Spanish Civil War took its toll on Spain between 1936 and 1939, but when Strummer claims to hear the echo from the days of '39, he's clearly talking about other similar modern situations. He also says he's "hearing music from another time." Later, as Strummer sings how "Federico Lorca is dead and gone," he's referring to a famed Spanish poet that is believed to have been executed by an anti-communist death squad, in much the same manner Leftists were killed in the Santiago Stadium in '70s Chile. Lorca had gained international fame as a part of the Generation of '27. It is believed the Nationalist militia shot him to death in August of 1936. Andalusia, Spain CommonsThis song doesn't so much take sides as it details history, much as a TV news reporter might. "Spanish bombs shatter the hotels," Strummer notes, expressing himself similar to a reporter on the scene. Strummer throws in bits and pieces from these times that strike a nerve with him, in a sort of cut-and-paste approach. He assumes, for example, that his listeners already know who poet Federico Lorca was, so he doesn't really tell us a lot about the man's life in the song. Ultimately, The Clash are praising Spanish Republican heroism, a wide-ranging group of warriors fighting the Spanish Civil War, a collective that included anarchists, communists and centrists. These fighters ultimately lost the war, which led to the rise of Francisco Franco, a much-despised ruler that lorded over Spain for the next 36 years. Spain, the nation, is the central focus of this song, but The Clash also name-drop a number of its cities during the song. These include Andalusia, just south of the Iberian Peninsula, which was one of the early regions to fall prey to the Fascists. Andalusia's name has Arabic roots. Its culture has been influenced by the Greeks, the Roman Empire and the Vandals. Much that we see as typically Spanish derives from this region, such as bullfighting. They also sing about Costa Brava, a Republican stronghold with strategic ports. Costa Brava may be a beautiful tourist stop now, but its name, Costa, the Catalan and Spanish word for "coast," and Brava, which means "rugged" or "wild," reminds us it was a tough environment once upon a time. You may also notice the way The Clash sings some of these verses in Spanish. This is a trick they turned to again with great success for "Should I Stay or Should I Go," which utilized an English call and a Spanish response approach in one section. It echoed a familiar gospel music approach. Strummer's command of the Spanish language is not very strong, but his line, "yo te quiero y finito yo te querda o mi corazon" most likely means, "I love you infinitely, I love you, oh my heart." This lingual artistic tactic contrasted with the oftentimes thuggish, anti-intellectual approach of some early punk bands. Singing bilingually certainly revealed a culturally diverse group of musicians. Listening to The Clash's "Spanish Bombs" is a reminder that they just don't seem to make bands like that anymore. Unlike the recent emo trend in rock, along with all the bragging rappers, music appears to be getting more and more self-centered all the time. However, The Clash were able to look outside their own circumstances, reach back to a pivotal place and time in history, and think about those that struggled against the curse of fascism. So if you take a Spanish vacation one day, think about The Clash's historical references to Andalusia and Costa Brava, as well as all the beautiful sights and sounds. History lessons through rock music: Now what could be more punk rock than that? Dan MacIntosh March 6, 2013

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deetvar-moved · 6 years

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Since Kaga’s HC is that Thracia is Spain, I am legally allowed to associate Spanish Bombs when writing about Thracia.

#Deet'var speaks #Thracia Bias #THEY SANG THE RED FLAG THEY WORE THE BLACK ONE

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so-idialed-9 · 3 years

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Louis' Dallas concert high points

"Last time I did a show in America was 6 years ago. Thanks for fucking having my back." -Louis, Dallas 2.1.2022

This performance of Only the Brave is something special. After he finished he turned and wiped his eyes.

He was so happy all concert:

Louis wore a custom black mock turtleneck jersey with roses on, like the AFHF, but these are red instead of white:

Dallas concert kickoff was a karaoke rainbow fest and Charlie Lightening filmed all of it. Apparently he gave some hints about Faith in the Future.

Zoom in here - those are all mini pride flags.

A venue staffer was so inspired he grabbed a flag and came out.

Louis got loose and danced by the end of the concert - from standing still in the center for the first songs.

He covered 7, which starts out with, "Larry call a load of smoke in" pretty early in the set.

Audience members sang No Control waiting for Louis to come back out.

They sang Miss You as they queued to get in the door.

Only the Brave was magical and reverent- a sea of 🌈 and hushed voices. Immediately after, Louis sat on the edge of the stage to talk to the audience and get closer to them.

COACOAC was intense.

Louis' merch is fantastic and the labyrinth eye - checkerboard make a reappearance.

The venue holds 4K people but it's estimated 300K people watched on live stream. In addition to the ones below, there were other Twitter and Insta livestreams, too, with 30k and up people each.

#louis tomlinson world tour 2022 #ltwt dallas #2.1.22 #2022 #rainbow Louis #pride flag #solo louis #solo lt #louis tomlinson

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wagner-fell · 3 years

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I am still very new to this website and I don’t know how link a post but this fic is based on a post by @sandersgrey

(If someone reading this knows how to link a post please either explain it to me or link it in the comments because that post is *amazing*)

“Hmmm,” said Tessa, depositing Mina into Kit’s waiting arms and examining her buzzing phone critically. She shot a quizzical look in his direction.

Jem looked up from his novel. “What is ‘hmmm’, my love?”

Kit mimed vomiting but stopped dead in his tracks when she replied, “it’s Astrid’s mother. You remember her from parent teacher night, don’t you, my darling?” Kit swears they were being extra insufferable just to mess with him but he didn’t have the time to be annoyed when Astrid’s. Mom. Was. Calling. Tessa.

To understand why Kit was panicking as much as he was, you must know that Astrid’s mom was incredibly chill. She never got mad. The worst punishment she’d ever given her daughter was taking away her iPod for a week so she couldn’t listen to Mitski.

Was she calling about last night when Astrid, Mari and Kit threw eggs at the Shadowhunter’s that were giving Mari’s pack a hard time for no reason? No, that couldn’t be it. She’d given them the eggs.

Could the call be about the day before yesterday when Kit and Astrid got distracted doing homework and ended up snapping the coffee table clean in half while battling gladiator style with pool noodles? No, that wasn’t it. She’d just handed Astrid a twenty and told them to go to Kevin’s parents' shop and get a new one. Was she pissed because they ended up spending the money on ice cream instead? No, they ended up finding a table for free in the rubbing bin outside a fancy hotel.

Kit clutched his sister to his chest and prepared for the worst.

“Seo-yoon! What can I do for- Oh, hello Astrid!” Tessa paused briefly, presumably to listen to Astrid speak, and Kit sighed in relief.

“Kit is occupied at the moment but I can relay the message.” Another pause. “Oh don’t be frightened of me. I’m a tots rad mom. Your secret is safe with me.” Kit felt his face flush red as he heard his best friend’s laughter echo across the living room. “Okay! I’ll let him know. He has to get Mina to sleep before he can leave though. Lord knows he’s the only one who can these days.” Tessa chuckled at something Astrid said before wishing her good luck in her endeavour and ending the call.

She turned her attention back to Kit. “Astrid needs your help breaking into your teacher’s home to retrieve her cell phone.”

Kit blinked at her, dumbfounded. “You aren’t mad I’m going to go break the law?”

Because of course he was doing it. Astrid’s dad had bought it for her and he was extremely cautious about money. That was one of three things Kit knew about her dad. He was cheap, he lived in America and he loved the movie Fight Club.

Tessa ruffled Kit’s hair affectionately. “Please. I’ve raised two other Herondales. At least I know about this particular adventure beforehand.”

Mina began snoring softly and Kit handed her back to her mother. He grabbed his bag and started his journey to the door when Tessa added, “she also told me to say hi to a ‘daddy Kit’. Are you ‘daddy Kit?’”

‘Daddy Kit’ closed his eyes and wished for the sweet release of death.

“Why is Kit a daddy,” Jem asked, genuinely confused. “Aren’t I the daddy?”

Kit swung the door open so fast not even a speed rune could have aided him. But not before I heard Tessa reply, “Lily Chen certainly thinks so.”

Mrs. MacNamara clapped her hands together. “Why don’t we all go around and say a few things about ourselves?”

Kit buried his face into his hands. He’d been relieved when no other teacher had fulfilled the Disney channel stereotype of making every student introduce themselves to the new kid. But Mrs. MacNamara didn’t even seem to realize what she was doing.

All Kit’s fellow classmates groan. Expect one. Her hand shot up immediately. She was short, like smaller than Clary short. She wore a baggy pink shirt with the words ‘Queen Glimmer of Etheria’ sewed on with purple sequins and tight black jeans. Her colourful, choppy hair was in a low ponytail and she flew a few strands out of her eyes as her hand wiggled in the hair.

Mrs. MacNamara pointed at her. She stood up and smiled at Kit. “Hi. My name is Astrid. My hobbies include making my little cousin’s girl Barbies kiss, as it should be, and watching television shows where everyone is a terrible person so you can love all of them!”

“And what shows might that be?” asked Kit, already in the process of pulling out his phone and opening the Notes app.

“Grey’s Anatomy, Glee, Grey’s Anatomy again because it’s seventeen seasons as of right now. And to be fair it practically became a different show when they killed off Mark Sloan.”

“That’s enough, Miss Yang,” said Mrs. MacNamara. Astrid sat down and winked at Kit. Then she took out her phone and airdropped him a complete list of all her favorite shows, along with her number.

After Blessica’s pre-birthday birthday party, they went to Cirenworth and stayed up till four A.M. binging them.

They met outside a queer dry bar called Aries Not Welcome, the unspoken gathering place of the Merry Hoes. It was run by a poly lesbian couple in their mid-thirties. Quinn, Sydney and Aliyah may not have served alcohol but at least they were open 24/7.

“Did you bring the shit?”

Kit gave her a look. “The shit? How conclusive.”

“Shut up. You know, the shadowhunter thing.”

“The shadowhunter thing?”

“The, the, the glow stick that you draw with.”

“The glow stick that I draw wi-“ Kit closed his eyes briefly. “Do you mean a stele?”

Astrid snapped her fingers. “That’s it!” Kit shook his head in exasperation, smiling fondly. “I borrowed a torch from Quinn, let’s move.”

“Should I be worried that you know where Mr. Smith lives?” questioned Kit as he followed Astrid’s lead through the park.

“Should I be worried that your mom was fine with us breaking and entering?” she shot back playfully. Kit pushed Astrid and she fell off the path, laughing all the way.

“You called me ‘daddy’ to my mom’s face.”

She just laughed harder, slinging her arm around Kit’s shoulder. “It was over the phone, Christopher. And as I should.”

“Pffffttt. Why did you get your phone taken anyway?” She put her hands into her jumper pocket and looked at the ground. “Astrid.” She remained silent. “Astrid?”

She mumbled something under her breath. “What?” asked Kit.

“I WAS READING NINEJ FANFICTION!” she shouted.

Kit gasped. “I thought you were a die hard Kanej shipper,” he whispered.

“I’m a multishipper, okay?!” she replied, equally quiet.

“Does Blessica know?”

She shook her head. “And she will never find out.”

Kit saw the opportunity and he seized it. “She’ll never find out as long as you never call me daddy in front of either of my parents.”

She removed her arm from his shoulder and guided them out of the park, in the direction of the many apartments that lined this side of town. “I hate you.”

“Well, so does Mari. You're not special, Ast.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know Mari doesn’t actually hate you, right?! They’re just still in the enemy phase of your enemies-to-lovers romance. She only dislikes you because they feel something for you but they don’t know what so she interrupts it as loathing. In reality, her inner soul knows you’re hot and shmexie.”

Kit didn’t know how to process this so he just nodded and follow Astrid in silence to Mr. Smith’s house. (Plus, he was kinda glad that, according to his best friend, he had a little more time for Mari to ‘discover their true feelings’. If Kit screwed this up, he was out of countries to run off to.)

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What,” asked Kit, turning around to face Astrid and closing the drawer he was rifling through. “Did you find your phone?”

“Yeah. But I also found Blessica’s. She was Snapping Kevin. Platonic my ass. But he took the fucking trans flag out of her phone!”

Kit snatched Blessica’s phone out of her hand to examine it for herself. She was telling the truth. Where the glitter pride flag usually rested was just a clear purple case. Kit couldn’t believe his eyes.

“It’s one thing to misgender her every day.” Blessica had forced all four of the other Merry Hoes to sign a contract saying they wouldn’t do anything to harm him because of it. “But this is the last straw. You know what we have to do.” Oops.

“Yeah, but we don’t have any spray paint.”

Kit eyed Mr. Smith’s pink sofa, blue bar stool covers and white picture frames. “I think I have something better in mind.”

It would have been easier for both parties to just zip off the sofa cushions and tape them to the wall but by ripping them off in strips, they ensured he would have to buy new ones. And judging by the car he drove and the fiji water in his fridge, Mr. Smith could definitely afford it.

That reminded him, “I’ll finish up with this. Go put all his fiji water into my bag.” Astrid saluted him and ran off. “Wait.” She stopped and looked at him. “Steal all the remotes you can find.”

“How is he not awake?,” asked Astrid as they ripped the fabric of his seating from the stool.

He shrugged. “Don’t question it.” He shoved the bundle of cloth into her arms. “Glue this above the pink. I’ll handle the frames.”

“Say the magic word,” she sang.

“Please?”

“No. Lesbian. Come on, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Kit laughed quietly. “Can you lesbian glue this above the pink?”

She grinned at Kit. “It would be my pleasure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hello! Sorry I haven’t written anything in so long. School just restarted and it has been…a lot.

@adoravel-fenomeno @thechangeling @the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @noah-herondale-lightwood @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @maxboythedog @book-dragon-not-worm @hardlymatters

Very sorry if I forgot anyone. Lmk if you want to be addEd/removEd from the tag list.

#mari the werewolf #mari machado sotomayor #mari machado #kit rook #kit herondale #astrid yang #blessica reyes #Kevin chu #tessa grey #jem carstairs #lily chen #mina carstairs

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luca-ercolani · 2 years

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The Clash - Spanish Bombs

Martin Scorsese and The Clash (Via @jedivoodoochile )

Spanish Bombs Testo

Spanish songs in Andalucía

The shooting sites in the days of '39

Oh, please, leave the vendanna open

Federico Lorca is dead and gone

Bullet holes in the cemetery walls

The black cars of the Guardia Civil

Spanish bombs on the Costa Rica

I'm flying in a DC 10 tonight

Spanish bombs, yo te quiero infinito

Yo te quiero, oh mi corazón

Spanish bombs, yo te quiero infinito

Yo te quiero, oh mi corazón

Spanish weeks in my disco casino

The freedom fighters died upon the hill

They sang the red flag

They wore the black one

But after they died it was Mockingbird Hill

Back home the buses went up in flashes

The Irish tomb was drenched in blood

Spanish bombs shatter the hotels

My senorita's rose was nipped in the bud

Spanish bombs, yo te quiero infinito

Yo te quiero, oh mi corazón

Spanish bombs, yo te quiero infinito

Yo te quiero, oh mi corazón

The hillsides ring with "Free the people"

Or can I hear the echo from the days of '39?

With trenches full of poets

The ragged army, fixin' bayonets to fight the other line

Spanish bombs rock the province

I'm hearing music from another time

Spanish bombs on the Costa Brava

I'm flying in on a DC 10 tonight

Spanish bombs, yo te quiero infinito

Yo te quiero, oh mi corazón

Spanish bombs, yo te quiero infinito

Yo te quiero, oh mi corazón

Oh mi corazón, oh mi corazón

Spanish songs in Andalucía, Mandolina, oh mi corazón

Spanish songs in Granada, oh mi corazón

Oh mi corazón, oh mi corazón

Oh mi corazón

#Spotify #musica #music #the clash #cinema #martin scorsese #movie #film #pop culture

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dearestaeneas · 3 years

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Lighthouse

Huf. Huf. Huf.

He bounded along the rough cobblestone path. Sharp pebbles found themselves lodged into the soft arch of his feet, etching lines that leaked a warm red ooze. The lighthouse was finally in his sights. Nearly 100 yards away, he could see water lapping up at its pale walls, tasting the monument’s natural saltiness. For a moment, he tricked himself. For a moment, he became a child again.

Clark was 5 years old. His father, a man as wide as he was tall, carried him on his shoulders. The lighthouse sat in the distance, bathing in sun beams. The water was calm, gentle waves flicking the sand lazily. His father wore brown trousers, held up by tattered brown suspenders. On his feet were thick black boots. The cobblestones were always unforgiving: No amount of foot traffic over the long years had smoothed them. Once the pair was safely seated on the low wall that separated the lighthouse’s stone path from the beach, the boots were popped off, and thus began the task of digging out pointy travellers from the soles.

“Your mother hates the water.”

Clark looked up at the tower of a man. His thick beard swallowed a long ago sharp jawline, meeting dark curls at his ears. Lines point like arrows to the corners of gray eyes, earned from years of laughter. “I’ve always loved it.” Now looking at his small son, he smiled. The boy would look just like him once he was a man. It was a good feeling.

Only a few yards left. Only a handful of steps before the heavy wooden door of the lighthouse could be slammed behind him, and the pain in his feet would finally be felt. The noises ever at his heels were consistent, showing no signs of anything close to exhaustion. You can’t hide, a voice sang in his head. We still have to play. Clark bit down, closed his eyes hard, and willed himself one last burst of speed. That was all he needed, one last push. When his eyes opened, his outstretched fingertips were within reach of the door’s cold metal handle. In one swift movement, he flung the door open and quickly slammed it shut once more. The locks clicked, and Clark quickly began to pile crates in the entryway, adding as many layers of protection as he could.

The creature outside slammed against the door, but it was no use. The lighthouse was safe. No fun, it pouted. No fun at all. He heard the sounds of retreat, standing as still as the grave for several minutes before he assured himself that he really was protected here. With that, he flopped onto the cool, concrete floor. Once his breathing returned to a normal pace, he struggled into a sitting position and winced at the sight of his own blood. Slowly, he thumbed the shards out of his poor arches, and held them tight until the bleeding fully stopped. A sigh. He craned his neck around in search of something to be used as a makeshift wrap, stopping on tattered fabric hanging from the walls, supposedly the remains of old sea wrecked flags.

Slowly standing, he limped toward the wall, choosing an old black sheet. Slowly, he tore it into strips, winding each strip securely around his feet. It would do for now.

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twistedtummies2 · 4 years

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A Feline Valentine (Che’NyaXReader; Stuffing)

HUZZAH! It took me writing well into the night last night, but I was able to complete my Valentine’s Day Special after all! Hope you all enjoy! :D

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Six o’ clock. Tea Time. You really wondered (with a sigh) how Riddle got along so well with your boyfriend at times like this. Granted, you loved the fluffy-eared gremlin to bits, but if there was one thing he never seemed to care about… …Well…actually…he cared about very little. It was probably part of why Riddle didn’t dislike him for going to Royal Sword instead of Night Raven; the Cheshire Cat was by no means a hero…but he was also by no means a villain. And he was certainly by no means punctual. You paced around the table you had set up in the Tea Garden of Heartslabyul. In the light of the golden afternoon, you paused to look around. You had to admit, you’d always found Heartslabyul to be one of the most beautiful dorms; if the historic Rose Garden owned by the Queen of Hearts was even half as beautiful as the one Riddle Rosehearts and his pack maintained, it still would have been perfectly enchanting. It was an unseasonably warm afternoon, but with a light breeze that whistled through and cooled it pleasantly to a perfect temperature. The heart-shaped topiary sculptures and vibrant red roses that poked from the great green hedge rows were the perfect natural decoration for a day like today…only helped by the special scarlet paper lanterns that had been strung up, in place of the usual blue and yellow. The paper was patterned with images of hearts. Similarly, instead of the black, red, and white bunting that was usually set out, you had purposefully selected pink and purple flag streamers, which lightly fluttered and flapped in the delicate wind. You frowned as you looked back to the table; you were actually starting to feel a little worried. You’d taken a lot of time to prepare this occasion. Riddle had even allowed you to make use of his personal table; he claimed it was due to Rule 214, but he never explained WHAT Rule 214 was, so you didn’t know why that was. You checked your cell phone to see the time; it was now a couple minutes past six, you still found no sign of hide nor hair from him. You bit your lip as you stuffed your phone back in your pocket; had something happened to him? Even on a day like today, when everyone was spending time with their special someone (presuming they had one), Night Raven had plenty of troublemakers out and about…and while your beau was no pushover, especially for the “pompous, pampered little princes” who stayed in the Dorms of Royal Sword Academy, you didn’t want to risk he’d run into beasts somewhat fiercer than himself. He only had eight lives left, after all. “Come on, kitten,” you mumbled to yourself, tapping your foot with impatient nervousness. “Where are you…?” “Twaaaas brillig, and the slithy Toves did gyre and gimble in the waaabe. All mimzyyyy were the Borogoves, and the Mome Raths outgraaabe!”

You knew that strange, up-and-down, melodic voice, naturally. You knew that song, too, and therefore knew who was singing it. You glanced about curiously, but you saw nothing; this wasn’t surprising, however. Your boyfriend from Night Raven’s rival college had a habit of being non-corporeal. “Che’Nya?” you called out, then smirked. “You might as well show yourself, that ‘ghostly singing’ thing isn’t as impressive as you think it is.” A pouting meow was heard, from seemingly everywhere at all. “I thought you liked my singing. In fact, I thought you said it was The Cat’s Meow!” You blinked dully. “Those puns are going to get you in trouble, you know that, don’t you?” you droned. “I suppose it ‘hiss’ possible.” “That one,” you snapped out, lifting a finger in emphasis. “That one was ‘Meowsy.’” “Awwww, my little bunny is making cat puns now, too!” crooned the voice of the Cheshire neko. “I’m so proud!” You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I learned from the best,” you drawled, waving a hand dismissively. “Now come on out!” A pause. No response. “I’m waiting!” you called out, louder. Right on cue, you felt a tap on your right shoulder. You turned…and spotted nothing. Then came a tap on your left shoulder. You rolled your eyes, turned again…and once more spotted nothing. Then you started to turn around…and found yourself almost eyeball-to-eyeball with two large, glowing, golden eyes. “BOO!” “GYAH!” You yelped and jumped about six inches into the air, catching yourself on a nearby chair as you stared up at the disembodied head floating before you, a few feet above the surface of an empty table. The head giggled in a high-pitched, half-hysterical way; an unhinged but not necessarily dangerous sort of laugh, followed by a teasing grin filled with many large, sharp white teeth. “Gotcha! Nya!” sing-songed the fair-skinned face of your beau, his purple ears twitching where they sprouted from under his equally purple-haired head. A faint jingle came from the ears, courtesy of the little brass piercings shaped like signposts in each. You blinked…then frowned, blushing a bit at being caught off guard so easily. “Very funny,” you grumbled. “I thought it was!” chirruped the Cheshire Cat-Boy, his head spinning in place a full three-hundred-sixty degrees. You quivered. “How do you do that?” you muttered. “A good meow-gician never reveals his secrets!” “A GOOD magician,” you responded dryly, “Would be on time and not make such terrible jokes.” “Well, then it’s a good thing I’m not one of those!” “…Yet you won’t reveal your secrets anyway.” “Nya-ope!” “…Your jokes just get worse from here, don’t they?” Your boyfriend giggled and rolled his eyes, then his head swooped forward. You went stiff as he sniffed at your hair, and his head began to orbit around your own. It was an unsettling feeling, and you squirmed a bit, blushing as he meowed and leaned close, the lone head nuzzling your cheek as you heard the big kitty purr. “Awww…no need to be so mean, my little bun-bun,” he crooned…then licked your cheek and rumbled as he added in a whisper: “It makes you taste less sweet, you know.” You blushed bright red, and he giggled more. “Awww, bunny-bun is so cuuute when they’re flustered!” he mewed, and once again came around to your front. “Don’t worry, my little rabbit! This big kitty won’t gobble you up! Today, anyway.” “That’s a shame…” “Hm? Nya? What was that?” “Nothing, nothing,” you said, shaking your head, then tilted it as you added: “Can you make your whole self visible? It’s…weird chatting with a talking head.” You had a feeling your significant other shrugged, but since you couldn’t see his shoulders at that point, you weren’t sure. In any event, slowly but surely, the physical body of Alchemi Alchemivich Pinka – alias, Che’Nya the Cheshire Cat – finally began to fade into view. He looked the same as he always did: dressed in a white dress shirt that was several sizes two big, under which he wore a pink-and-purple-striped t-shirt. A ring with the image of a smiling cat’s head was on one of his fingers, each of which ended in short-but-sharp claws, painted the same shade of purple as his hair. A matching purple belt held up the blue jeans he wore; it bore a silver buckle, and the words “Can You Stand on Your Head?” stitched into it with silver thread. All over the legs of his blue jeans were various colored patches, resembling mushrooms, trees, and Mome Raths – strange creatures that inhabited the realm of the Queen of Hearts. Purple boots with black laces were on his feet; they were decorated in gold chains with pendants that spelled the phrases “This Way” and “That Way.” Your boyfriend smiled and blinked his huge yellow eyes. His two canine teeth stuck out from his mouth, and with his large eyes and the way he cocked his head, you couldn’t help but smile; he really did look so much like a big, curious kitten, bushy purple-and-pink-striped tail swishing behind him and all. “Can I ask you a question, Bunny?” he mewed, as he hopped down and sat the wrong way on a chair. “Sure,” you nodded. “Oh, good!” grinned Che’Nya. A pause. “…So?” “So what?” “What was it?” “What was what?” “The question!” “What question?” “The one you just asked!” “I asked a question?” “Yes, you asked if you could ask a question!” “Well, then I already asked you a question, didn’t I? In fact, I think I just asked…” He tilted his head and counted on his fingers. “…Six! A half dozen questions! Now, isn’t that great? OOH! That one makes lucky number seven!” “But…that…that doesn’t…!” Che’Nya grinned and placed his head in his hands, his chin against the back of the chair, eyes half-lidded. Try me, bunny, his smile seemed to say. Go ahead. You blinked…then grumbled and reached out, booping him on the nose. Che’Nya’s smile fell. He blinked…then sneezed, and pouted as he covered his nose. “Heeeey, no booping!” he meowed, childishly. “Then stop talking in circles.” “I don’t talk in circles,” he smirked. “I talk in squares, triangles, occasionally hexagons, and even a few parallelograms, but NEVER circles!” “You’re impossible.” “Hardly,” Che’Nya chuckled. “I do believe in Six Impossible Things before breakfast each morning, though…then I usually go out and eat them.” He winked and licked his lips as he added: “For instance…Thing Number Five this morning was believing I had the best little human in the world as my S-O. Now, doesn’t that seem impossible?” You blinked. “…I can’t tell if that was a compliment or not.” “Then I have done my job,” Che’Nya said. So saying, the Cheshire Cat got up from the chair and hugged you close. You froze up, not expecting the sudden show of affection…but when he started nuzzling your neck and purring, you smiled and returned the hug. “You may be impossible…but you’re MY kind of impossible,” you whispered. “Awww…bunnyyyyy, you’ll make me blush,” mumbled Che’Nya. “Then I’ll have done MY job,” you teased. Che’Nya giggled. “Touche! Nya!” he sang out, then pulled back and grinned at you excitedly, tail twitching as he clapped his hands. “Oh! Oh! I almost forgot! I wanna show you a trick! Can I, can I? Huh?” You chuckled and smiled; his exuberance never ceased to make you grin almost as widely as he could. Almost. Aside from maybe the Leech Twins, no one could smile as wide as the Cheshire Cat…and certainly no one could do so and NOT make it absolutely mortifying to behold. “Sure,” you said, and sat down on a chair, figuring the big event could wait till after he’d gotten it out of his system. “Go ahead, kitty.” Che’Nya let out a “squee” of delight, then made a show of clearing his throat. He then adopted a dramatic pose and waggled his fingers as he tugged on his baggy white sleeves. “Nothing up my sleeves!” he declared…then reached out with one hand. “But something back here…” You smirked and rolled your eyes as he reached behind your ear; this was an old trick, you knew how it- “Boop!” You let out a mousey squeak as suddenly something bopped your nose…then blinked as you realized, instead of a coin, he had pulled what appeared to be a golden pocket watch, tied to a matching gold chain, and had gently tapped your nose with it. Che’Nya grinned as he then lowered the watch into your waiting hands. You blinked as you looked at the gold watch; the outside was etched with your name, and when you flipped it open, the ticking watch hands inside were designed to look like Che’Nya himself (as the minute hand), with you as the hour hand…chasing him with a newspaper. You blinked…then looked up. The catboy’s eyes were very wide, and he was fidgeting anxiously. “Nya? Do you like it?” he meowed, sounding more nervous than you felt he wanted to show. “I…I do! It’s…it’s lovely!” you chuckled, and chastised yourself for using a word like “lovely,” before going on: “How did you get it? Did you…make it?” “Nope. But I have a friend who actually makes clocks and watches. He’s a bunny – actual bunny, not just cute-bunny-like-human, the way you are.” He took a moment to smirk at your blush before going on. “He gave me a discount, so I asked him to make that for me, custom. Oh! And there’s more!” Che’Nya added, and reached into the pocket of his jeans, sticking out his tongue as he focused on trying to fish something out. It took him several tries; he pulled out a yo-yo, a bag of jelly beans, a teacup, and a kitchen sink (you were NOT going to ask), before finally finding what he was looking for. “Aha! Purr-fect!” he exclaimed, and smiled as he handed over a large paper card. It looked like an oversized Ace of Hearts. Curious, you took the card, and realized it opened up; a greeting card. You looked at the words written inside; they were written over an image of a huge, cat-toothed smile. You read them aloud. “Keep Smiling, Bunny. Happy Valentine’s Day.” You looked up; Che’Nya’s eyes were very, very wide again, once again looking anxious and eager. You smiled and stood on tip-toe, kissing him on the nose. He mewed and you chuckled. “Thanks, kitty. I appreciate it a lot.” “Hey, it’s Valentine’s Day,” Che’Nya smiled back, swishing his tail happily as his ears twitched again, once again making the piercings tingle like little bells. “I would be a pretty meow-sy boyfriend if I didn’t get you a gift and a card.” “Now you’re just stealing MY puns, that’s plagiarism.” “I think you mean…” Che’Nya paused…then blinked…and tilted his head. He mouthed a few silent nothings to himself…then shrugged. “Never mind. I can’t think of a pun with that. There’s glory for you!” You crinkled your nose, and remarked, “I don’t know what you mean by glory.” “Of course you don’t, till I tell you,” Che’Nya sniffed, and explained: “When I said ‘glory,’ I meant ‘there’s a tough puzzle for you.’” “…Um…glory doesn’t mean ‘a tough puzzle’ though.” “When I choose a word,” Che’Nya responded, sagely, “It means precisely what I choose it to mean. Neither more nor less.” “Yeah, but the question is whether or not you can make a word mean-” You were stopped by Che’Nya placing a finger on your lips. His smile was indulgent, as if he were talking to a child. “The question,” he said, gently, “Is which is to be the Master. That’s all.” You were much too puzzled to respond to that properly…so you instead reached out and gave the mischievous kitten a tickling poke in the tummy. Che’Nya mewed and giggled backing up and placing his hands on his belly to protect it. “H-Hey! No! No tickling!” he meowed, blushing a bit. You smirked triumphantly…but your triumph was short lived, as the moment was broken by a deep, gurgling rumble from the belly you had just poked. GRRROOORRRLLLLBG… “Oooh,” murmured Che’Nya, wincing a bit and giving a more strained sort of smile as he scratched the back of his head with one hand, the other clutching his belly more tightly. “H-Heh…I think you woke up my tummy. I, um…I might have skipped lunch today…” “Awww, poor kitty,” you cooed, teasingly, then grinned back. “Well, thankfully, I asked you over here because I have my own Valentine’s Day gift for you.” Che’Nya’s ears perked up and he smiled wider, yellow eyes brightening. “Nya? You did? How purr-fectly wonderful of you, bunny-bun!” he sang, clapping his hands together in joy, and looking around. “Where is it? What is it? Show me, show me!” A twinkle was in your eye that might have made the Cheshire Cat proud as you stepped aside and gestured to the long table under a tree in the Tea Garden. Che’Nya stepped forward to inspect the table…then stopped in place, eyes widening all the more at what he saw. You chuckled as you looked to the fruits of your labors: with help from Trey, you’d gotten quite the little feast prepared. Half of it was store bought, the other half homemade. Given the spirit of Valentine’s Day, it was a feast that was sugar saturated: the only things not involving a great deal of saccharine sweetness were a basket of chicken tenders from Che’Nya’s favorite restaurant, and a Salmon Filet that you had gotten from the Mostro Lounge. Of course, Che’Nya’s love of tuna was renowned (right on par with Grim’s taste for it), so you had to have tuna at the table…but in the spirit of the holiday, you’d taken a different route than usual. Trey and yourself had looked up a recipe for CANDIED tuna: strips of the fish cured with salt, pepper, and maple sugar. From that point on, everything was sugary: a box of gourmet chocolates and a vase of chocolate roses were obvious must-haves for a Valentine’s meal. Vanilla cupcakes with purple hearts made in icing were also prepared, set beside a box of marshmallow bluebirds. A carton of Neopolitan ice cream was on the opposite side of the cupcakes…and last, but certainly not least, the favorite food of EVERYONE in Heartslabyul, and second only to fish and poultry for Che’Nya’s tastes: strawberry tarts, crisply cooked, and so fresh they were still steaming. You looked back to Che’Nya; his expression reminded you of a meme of a kitten looking at Christmas Tree lights for the first time, and you couldn’t keep the soft “d’awww” that escaped from you. “Like what you see?” you checked. Che’Nya blinked…then looked back at you. “You do know all that sugar is going to go to my hips, right?” “You say that as if it would discourage me.” Che’Nya smirked, and this time HE tapped YOUR nose. “Naughty-naughty, funny bunny,” he sing-songed. You blushed and grumbled to yourself as you brushed his hand away. Che’Nya sniggered, then made a show of cracking his knuckles and neck as he strutted towards the table, big bushy tail whisking about behind him. “Well…you know what they say: time to take the tiger by the horns.” You started to agree…then paused when you actually digested (no pun intended) that saying. “Wait…that’s not-” “ITADAKIMASU!” meowed Che’Nya, as he hopped into his seat at the table…and without so much as another word, grabbed hold of the cupcakes and began to eat. Ten cupcakes had been placed upon a plate, organized into a heart shape. The Cheshire Neko snatched up one of them and, without even the slightest ado (nor any sense of decorum) stuffed the entire cupcake into his mouth. NOMPH! You watched, wide-eyed and very still, as Che’Nya’s cheeks bulged with the cupcake inside his mouth; his eyes closed as he chewed slowly – GRUM, GRUM, GRUM – tail swishing, the look on his face like that of a very happy kitten as he purred softly at the flavor…then – GRULPH! – swallowed the cupcake whole. He licked some crumbs off his cheeks…then, his jaws opened wide again – wider than many would think should be physically possible – fangs parting as he began to shovel the remaining nine cupcakes into his mouth at record-breaking speed. CHOMPH-NOMPH-GROMPH-HROMPH…! You slowly began to approach the table, watching with something approaching awe as the half-cat tore through the pastries like famine was fast approaching. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen your kitty eat so much and so fast, and you knew it was only the beginning…but that never made it any less phenomenal. Between himself and some in Savanaclaw, you wondered if it was just a cat thing to be a living bottomless pit…though while some in that dorm preferred tons and tons of meat, Che’Nya was more well-known for his sweet tooth, when it came to his appetite. The cupcakes had soon been guzzled; Che’Nya next turned his attention to the chocolate roses, there were three in the vase. He plucked one free, and began to untie the wrapping around the chocolate bulb in thin strips… “Hmmm…my bunny loves me…he hates me not…he loves me…he hates me not…” You smiled as you pulled up a seat beside him and kissed the hand holding the rose playfully. “Either one works,” you shrugged cheerily. Che’Nya let out a giggle, and finished unwrapping the rose…before popping the chocolate into his mouth. He smirked around his closed mouth, winked…and then – SCHLUPK! – pulled the rose free. Only the plastic stem, wrapped in green paper, came out…he had managed to ingest the entire piece of chocolate. Che’Nya rumbled and moaned around a closed mouth; you watched as his right cheek bulged, and then his left, as he swirled the chocolate around, letting it melt in his mouth for a few moments…then, he swallowed faintly – GLURK – and you watched as his throat rippled every so slightly, Adam’s Apple rising and falling subtly, as he let the melted chocolate trickle down his throat. “Mmmmm,” he murmured, as he plucked a second rose up. “Roses are red, violets are blue, chocolate is tasty…” He paused…then you let out an “eep!” of surprise as he leaned forward and licked the very tip of your nose. “…And so are yooouuu,” he sang, with a big, teasing smile. You blushed and half-heartedly swiped at his ears. He cackled and dodged, then chomped down on the second rose. You heard his teeth saw through the chocolate before he swallowed, then treated the third and final rose in much the same manner. This was evidently enough sweetness for the catboy, at least for the start, because the next item he selected was the salmon filet. As he pulled it closer, you reached to helpfully grab a couple of plastic utensils from a box you’d provided… …Then stopped short as the cat tilted his head back, and lifted the entire filet up over his head. His jaws fell wide open, tongue rolling out like a red carpet…before he dropped the pinkish-red fish meat in and slurped it up noisily before swallowing it all in one bite. SCHLUGULP! You watched, eyes tracing the bulge the salmon made in the Cheshire Cat’s throat as it slithered down his esophagus, before dropping past his chest, and vanishing into the belly behind his shirt. The shirt fit very loosely, so you couldn’t tell what it was like behind the garment…which only made you feel a bit disappointed… …No matter. Very soon, that would be changing. “Ahhhhh…tasty fishy!” chirruped Che’Nya, and blinked his big yellow eyes at you, one ear flicking as he asked: “Did you get anything to drink?” You nodded and held up a finger in a “one moment” gesture, before reaching under the table; you pulled out three large bottles, each containing three liters of cherry soda. Che’Nya clapped his knuckles together his grin widening and eyes all but sparkling at the sight. “Oh, YAY! My favorite flavor! Thank you, bunny-bun!” “Don’t mention it,” you chuckled, and cracked open the bottle for him. The playful feline made grabby-hands at you as you offered him the bottle, which he wasted no time in placing to his lips as he began to chug down the bubbling, fizzing, dark red liquid within. GLUG, GLUG, GLUG… With every swallow Che’Nya took, his neck bobbed and pulsed, the super-sweet, tangy soda pop gushing down his gullet almost by the cup-full. You admitted it was slightly surprising that cherry was Che’Nya’s favorite soft drink; based on color, you would have presumed he’d prefer grape. But then again, the Cheshire Cat was nothing if not frequently surprising. As the soda sloshed down his throat, your eye fell towards the feline’s abdomen again; you could actually hear the fruity beverage dropping down, cascading like a waterfall into his burbling belly. Finally, you saw a sight that made your heart sing and brought pinkness to your cheeks once more: that baggy, ill-fitting white shirt began to became more taut and stretched around the middle of the Cheshire Cat’s lean, lithe midsection. It was finally starting to press out… …And it must have been by quite an amount, because as soon as he finished off the bottle, pulling it away with a somewhat dramatic “Pah!” and tossing it away (one of you would pick it up later; littering was against Rule Thirty-One), he grunted and reached down, adjusting his belt and loosening his waistband, sighing as his stomach no doubt sagged from the weight within… …If that knowledge didn’t make you blush enough, what happened next as the pressure was released slightly did. “BRRRRRUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRP!” the Cheshire catboy burped, surprisingly long and loud for such a slippery creature. He blinked, seemingly surprised at the volume and power of the eruption, one ear flicking…then laughed childishly. “Hoo hoo hoo! I think my tummy’s getting a little bit bubbly,” he cooed, then smirked at you and reached out, taking one of your wrists. “Hmmm…c’mere…feel.” Even if you had wanted to resist, the firm grasp on your wrist denied you that privilege. So, instead, you scooted closer…and blushed more than ever as Che’Nya managed to lift up the veritable blanket of his oversized white shirt…revealing to you the pale, silky skin of his normally concave belly, now swollen by a few solid inches till it looked like he had swallowed a small melon or some sort of ball. The Cheshire Cat meowed softly as he guided your hand to his belly…and then released your wrist as your fingertips, and then your palm, rested over the curve of his midsection. His belly was textured softer than velvet, warm as a heated pillow. When you pressed upon it, it gave ever so slightly under your pressure. Che’Nya hiccuped and then stifled another burp, catching it in his cheeks… “HIC-MMMRRRRRLLLLPH…phoosh.” …Before teasingly blowing the gas right in your face. You coughed and blushed, tears springing to your eyes as Che’Nya smirked lazily at you. “…C-Cat Breath,” you gasped out. “You know you love it,” cooed Che’Nya, licking his fangs and winking…then giggled as he lifted one arm. “Hey, check this out…” He waggled his fingers…and, before your very eyes, the hand that had been there wasn’t there any more. There was no flash of light, no puff of smoke; one second the hand was there, the next, it wasn’t. “Nothing up my sleeves again!” he sang out. You rolled your eyes…then yelped, momentarily allowing your hand to leave his belly (which you instantly regretted, perhaps more than you cared to admit aloud), as the hand reappeared, floating in mid-air, and holding the basket of chicken strips. You looked from the hand and the basket, and back up to Che’Nya…who, with his one remaining hand, gave you the biggest, widest “kitty eyes” he could…and then pointed into his mouth. “Feed me?” he meowed, innocently. …You couldn’t decide if that was cute, attractive, or both. You decided on both, and nodded with a wide smile, taking the basket from Che’Nya’s…disembodied…floating…hand (yeah, having the Cheshire Cat for a boyfriend was WEIRD sometimes), and placed it in your lap as you adjusted your chair. Che’Nya “recalled” his hand (it vanished from thin air and reappeared back in place at the end of his arm), and happily wiggled as he reclined slightly in the well-padded throne Riddle usually occupied. You dimly imagined Riddle complaining about cat shedding all over his cushions, and couldn’t help but snicker as you lifted one of the crispy, perfectly seasoned tenders from the basket. “Open wide,” you said. Che’Nya was only too happy to oblige, closing his eyes and letting his mouth fall open expectantly. You could have sworn a puff of steam came from his salivating jaws as he did so…you opted not to comment on it, for numerous reasons. You blushed as you had a very good look at the deep red, saliva-dripping interior of his maw, framed by pointed white fangs, including those two elongated canines that had a tendency to stick out in an (adorable) overbite…fangs that were primed to cut and rip into anything that got too close and tasted delicious… You quivered, suddenly imagining yourself being dangled over that wide maw like a mouse…and shook your head quickly to clear it before holding the chicken strip over his mouth. Your lips quirked as you saw his nose twitch in a decidedly catlike way, ears pricking up happily as he no doubt smelled the spices and seasonings used in the batter to bread the tenders. Without any further ceremony, you let the chicken tender drop…and Che’Nya quickly scarfed it up in three fast bites, like a cat snarfing down a very fat rodent. He rumbled pleasantly, sighing through his nose as he chewed, teeth piercing into the juicy white meat…before – GRULP! – swallowing it down in one bite. Your eyes followed the lump in Che’Nya’s throat as it vanished…and you let out a soft squeak as the cat let out a low, rumbling burp, once again right in your face. “Uuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrp…hoo-hoo, excuse me…more, please!” You didn’t have to be told twice. One by one, you fed the boy with the catlike ears all of the chicken tenders. There were eight in total; the first four, Che’Nya chewed up happily…but with the last rest, he didn’t seem to chew at all, wolfing them down (ironically for a big cat) and swallowing them whole. Hot, moist breath pelted your face, steadily smelling more and more strong as you added food to the organic cauldron deep within the catboy’s core. As you watched him scarf down the last chicken strip, and put away the empty basket, the purple-and-pink tail of the felid hybrid swirled out and swept up the heart-shaped box of gourmet chocolates you had chosen, and carefully desposited it into your hands. You smiled and opened the box. “Any you would like first?” you said, offering to show him the contents…but Che’Nya shook his head, looking quite excited. “Surprise me!” he meowed happily. You chuckled and looked into the box briefly, trying to decide…before plucking up the chocolate of choice: a simple mini-bar drizzled with a spiral of white chocolate. Che’Nya stuck out his tongue, and you blushed as you placed the chocolate onto the tongue directly…then yelped, barely having time to pull your fingers away before the tongue retracted and the sharp teeth snapped shut. Che’Nya chewed a few times and purred. “Mmmmm,” he murmured, and swallowed before commenting: “GULP…orange crème! Yummy! More, more!” You smiled wider, and, just as you had with the chicken strips, began to feed the big kitty one chocolate at a time. The orange crème was followed by one of raspberry crème, which was then followed up by caramel, then nougat, then a chocolate truffle… GLUPP-GLUPP-GLUPP… The purple-and-pink-haired catboy happily swallowed each chocolate, purring pleasantly as each morsel was placed inside his mouth and sent rolling down his neck and into his stomach, melting into cream and pooling in his tummy, which gurgled in a happy, high-pitched sort of way as the sugary, milky confections plopped half-solid into the pit. Every so often, his slippery, sloppy, somewhat sandpapery tongue would brush against your fingers, slurping over your hands…the first couple of times, this MIGHT have been accidental…but after the third slurp, you caught the hungry gleam in his golden eyes, and knew it wasn’t. There were two dozen chocolates in the box; two of each kind available. Ironically, the last chocolate you gave to Che’Nya turned out to be identical to the first: an orange crème-filled morsel drizzled with white chocolate in a spiral shape. You reached out to place it in his open maw… NOMPH! “YEH?!” You yelped in surprise and instinctively tried to pull back…and blushed when a playful growl and firm resistance met your efforts. You felt as if steam might be pouring from your cheeks, as Che’Nya had somehow managed to wrap his mouth around your entire hand. You felt his tongue slurp over your fingers as he suckled on you with a deep rumble; you barely even noticed the moment when the chocolate was flicked away and sent tumbling down his throat to join the rest in his guts. Finally, Che’Nya released you – after what was probably less than a minute, but felt like more than an hour – and you absent-mindedly wiped your hand clean with a napkin. Che’Nya licked and smacked his lips, before letting out a short, sharp sort of belch. “BRUPK! Mph…yum-meow!” he declared, snickering at his horrible pun. You blinked slowly. “…Are you referring to the chocolate, or me?” you asked, dryly. Che’Nya grinned and winked. “Yes.” God dang this teasing cat. You grumbled and tried to bap him on the nose…only to swat at thin air as his head disappeared from his shoulders. Just as you registered this anomaly, you nearly jumped a foot in the air as a loud, abrasive noise blasted like an airhorn in your ears from behind you. “BOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAP!” “GAH! D-Don’t…don’t DO that!” You panted, startled and blushing all at once. The belly of the headless body of Che’Nya bounced as his disembodied head spun around in mid-air, laughing good-naturedly. “Sorry, sorry!” he chuckled out, and winked teasingly. “No need to LOSE YOUR HEAD about things.” You grumbled and huffed, trying to show him you were ABSOLUTELY mad at him, yes, totally. He blinked, and meowed…then his floating head nuzzled your shoulder. To anyone else, this would have been surreal and disturbing. To you…at this point, it was just Sunday. “Will you feed me those bluebirds if I say I’m sorry?” he mewed, glancing towards the marshmallow birds and giving you his most innocent eyes. You blinked at him…then smiled, and scratched him behind his ears. He purred happily, a cheery smile on his face at the attention. “Sure,” you said, in a warm, simple voice. There was a pause. “Well?” “Nya?” Che’Nya murmured opening his eyes as his head pulled away and floated just out of reach. “Well what?” “Say you’re sorry!” “I already did!” he grinned happily. Your mouth opened and closed a few times…but you finally just gave up, throwing your hands up and half-sighing, half-chuckling before reaching for the marshmallow birds. Che’Nya smirked triumphantly, and his head flipped clear over yours before landing back in its proper place atop his neck, fingers drumming over his already bloated tummy, which inched out further and further… You opened the box of candy bluebirds; there were only a half dozen of them in total. Feeling rather playful yourself now, you mouthed the word “Catch” to your half-cat boyfriend, and lifted one of the marshmallow treats, preparing to throw it. Che’Nya nodded, catching onto what you were thinking instantly, and opened his mouth. You thus tossed the six birds – once again, one by one – into his mouth.

Che’Nya did not close his mouth nor swallow till all six of the marshmallow goodies were dropped into his craw…then, and only then, did he shut his jaws tight. He chewed three times, grinding away at the squishy, spongy stuff…and then swallowed it all in one go. GLULP! A thick, round, distention formed in Che’Nya’s neck. He grunted and thumped his chest as it passed behind his ribcage…then sighed and patted his belly, which let out a deep “glort” as the food was dropped into place. “Oof…nya…I think I need to wash that one down,” he mumbled, and grabbed hold of the second bottle of cherry soda himself. He cracked it open, paused to allow the pressurized air to settle…then unscrewed the cap and rapidly began to swill down all three liters. His Adam’s Apple bobbed and bounced as if suspended in tumultuous water… GLUG, GLUG, GLUG…! You listened to the sound of the soda pouring down into the Cheshire hybrid’s belly. GLORSH, GLORSH, GLORSH…your mind began to wander, conjuring up a mental picture of what it must have been like inside that swollen stomach, as it continued to expand, creaking against the waistband of the cat’s trousers, the pulled-up shirt draped over its upper curve. Dark…swampy…slimy…smelly…the walls ever moving, always working to stir up the contents of the beast-man’s bowels…you imagined being squeezed in-between them, the soda pouring down over your head as the stomach growled hungrily in your ears… …The rumbling belch from your boyfriend snapped you out of it. “GWWWUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRP! Ahhhh…you chose the BEST soda, bunny!” Alchemi smiled widely, tail flipping happily behind him as he grunted and once again adjusted his belt, groaning with relief as his gut was allowed more breathing room. “Ooof…I’m feeling kinda heavy now…mmmmrrrrroooowwwwl…” “I’m not surprised,” you mumbled, eying that engorged stomach, which was now bigger than a basketball, tightly compressed behind the waistband of the kitty-boy’s patched pants. Your fingers twitched and fidgeted, but you somehow restrained yourself, watching as Che’Nya rubbed over his belly himself, claws lightly brushing against his sensitive, supple skin… “Oooooh…soooo full already,” he half-moaned, half-purred. “I can feel it all getting sloshed and churned around in there…” He patted the side of his belly and hiccuped before sighing and going on. “HIC! Ohhhh…all that sugar’s making my tummy feel all hot and heavy, too…I might not have much money, but I’m gonna be a literal ‘fat cat’ when it’s all done, I know it…” “One can only hope.” “Nya?” “Nothing, nothing,” you said, shaking your head…then reached for the dish of candied tuna strips, holding it out with a hopeful smile. “Sure you don’t have room for more?” Che’Nya blinked; one of his ears flickered and he leaned close, innocently sniffing at the dish; his gut let out a powerful, NEEDY roar as the scent of maple and that wonderful fishy odor all cats seemed to like teased his tastebuds. He licked the very tips of his jagged teeth. “…Well…no, I don’t have any room,” he admitted. You turned your head down, a little disappointed…not only because you wanted to see your boyfriend even more stuffed than usual, but because you’d really been looking forward to him trying the tuna… …But your spirits were lifted when Che’Nya added, “But I think I can fit more in my belly. Always space for tasty fishies!” “But…you just said you don’t have any room.” “I don’t,” the Cat sniffed, somewhat snootily, and gestured about with his ring hand. “We are here in the great outdoors, and there are no rooms out here! MY room isn’t even at this CAMPUS, so therefore, I can’t have it. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t space…” He poked his belly with one finger; it wobbled. “…In. Here.” You squirmed a bit and let out a whimpery noise…which you immediately covered up with a cough. Che’Nya tilted his head, as if confused by your reaction…but you waved him off and simply offered the plate again. “Whatever…go ahead and dig in, you silly kitty.” “I can’t dig without a shovel; I’d get dirt under my claws!” pouted Che’Nya. You responded by giving his belly a light shove…which resulted in him grunting and burping crudely out the side of his mouth. “Mph…BWWWOOOORRRRRK! Heeey, not nice!” he huffed, brushing the burp aside. “Actually, that sounded VERY nice to me,” you muttered. Che’Nya’s face immediately became a smirk, and he playfully tousled your hair. You swatted at his hands with a half-hearted sneer, and he chuckled before finally beginning to eat the candied tuna, picking it up two strips at a time and dropping them into his wide open mouth. He growled, the caramelized coating on the fish creating a sweet-and-salty taste that ignited his tastebuds, making the feline’s golden eyes roll in his head as he crunched them up like pieces of bacon – MUNCH, MUNCH, MUNCH – before swallowing and chomping down on two more slices. There were eight pieces of candied tuna, just as there had been eight pieces of chicken. After four rounds, Che’Nya put the empty plate down on the table, and purred as he licked and sucked on the fingers of his other hand. “Mmmmm…sooooo tasty,” he crooned, and grinned widely at you. “One of the best things I’ve ever tasted! It’s purrrrrrr-fect! Can I have more of that? Pleeeaaase?” “Some other time,” you chuckled, smiling very wide at the exuberance of the kittenish imp, and pointed to the table. “There are still two more courses left.” Che’Nya nodded, and hummed thoughtfully, one hand scratching his chin, and the other scratching his “slorshing” belly as he tried to decide between the tarts and the carton of Neopolitan ice cream. “Hmmmm,” he murmured…then, seemingly out of nowhere, summoned a silver coin into his hand and looked to you. “Quick! Heads or tails?” “Uhhh…h-heads?” you exclaimed, taken off guard. Che’Nya flipped the coin and caught it again, checking it quickly. “Well?” He looked to you…smirked…and you blinked as his head AND his tail both disappeared. “That,” his disembodied voice answered, “Would be telling.” So saying, his tail suddenly reappeared, and tickled your nose. You sneezed and glared half-heartedly as his head returned with a laugh, and he reached for the ice cream, as well as a plastic spoon. He opened the carton, dropping the lid onto the table…then smirked at you as he scooped up a spoonful from the strawberry side of the carton. “Nya…THIS is ‘digging in,’ funny bunny,” he winked…and proceeded to shovel the ice cream at record-breaking speed into his mouth, arm practically a blur as he gobbled up the cool, creamy dessert dish… GLOMPH-GRULPH-NOMPH-MRULPH…! Globs of ice cream chased each other down the Cheshire Cat’s gullet as he guzzled it up as fast as he could; it was like his esophagus had become a cooled conveyor belt. Idly, you marveled at how he didn’t seem to get brain freeze from slurping it up so rapidly. Che’Nya alternated between the three flavors in a rhythmic pattern: strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, chocolate…he chowed down, lapping up the melted cream like a cat might lap up milk before continuing to virtually inhale the more solid stuff. He soon finished a quarter of the carton…then half…then two thirds… “Guh…oooof…fffaaahhhhaaaa…” Che’Nya panted, dropping the spoon into the empty carton, and then dropping that into the grass at his feet. He panted, clutching his belly with one hand as the ice cream sat heavily in his belly; his guts sounded like a processing vat at a factory, stirring and swirling the thick mush within, thickened by the sweet, cold cream he’d pumped down into the pit. “BLLLLUUUUUURRRRRRRLLLLLLLLUUUUUUUGLP!” he belted out, and sighed deeply. “Nyaaaaa…tummy’s sooooo – HIC-URP! – so gurgly…I feel – HIC! – so heavy��” You were red as a strawberry as you glanced between Che’Nya’s face and his belly. He seemed to know what you were thinking, as he looked to you with his widest, most innocent, most pleading “kitty eyes” and mewed sweetly. “Tummy rubs?” was all he said. That was all the invitation your twitching fingers needed, as you had to hold yourself back from lunging at his bloated gut. You reached towards his waistband; he rumbled curiously as you unfastened his belt, and then the button of his pants… ZZZRRRIIIP! BLORGSH! “NYYYYYYYYYYAAAAOOOOORRRRRRUUUUUUUUUEEEHHHUUURRRRRRRP! Ahhhhhh…sooooo GOOD…” Your eyes widened as Che’Nya’s belly poured out like a huge ball of dough into his lap, completely freed from restraints, surging forth from under the draped portion of his baggy white shirt. His navel was stretched into a tight ellipse, and you felt your heart pound faster in your chest as you looked upon the bloated mass of his middle. “…Eeee…eeeeeeeeeeeeee…” “Awwww…bunny liiiiikes?” Che’Nya breathed out, eyes half-lidded as he grinned at your expression and let out a giggle; his gut sloshed and jostled with his mirth. “C’mon, bunny-bunny…it’s nya-ot gonna rub itself…” Once again, you needed no further invitation. Your hands soon found their way to the warm, soft belly one of them had been pressed to earlier, and you began to tend to your boyfriend’s big, bulbous belly. Across the silken surface, your fingers caressed the softest, most tender portions of the belly of the beast-boy, and kneaded and massaged at the tenser areas. You let your hand wander to the side of the burgeoning belly, the size of a large medicine ball, and gave it a few hearty pats; each little slap made a satisfying thump, like smacking the sides of a ripened gourd. Che’Nya meowed and purred deeply; for several moments, he didn’t move or say a word, eyes closed as he just enjoyed the wonderful gut rubs you were giving him: a gift almost as good, if not better, than the bountiful, super-saccharine feast you had prepared. He lay limp and totally relaxed, crooning and meowing a few times as you scritched and scratched at the upper curve and the sides of his globular gut…being pampered was soooo good… …Then his nose twitched…and he opened one yellow eye. The glimmering golden iris smoldered like a dying candle as he eyed the last dish on the table. An arm draped over your shoulder, momentarily stopping you…and you watched as Che’Nya pointed with his other arm at the strawberry tarts. There were five of them arranged on the plate in a neat little array. He said nothing, but simply pointed into his open mouth, then poked his giant belly with one finger. You smiled, nodded, and paused to grab the plate. You placed it upon his gut…and with one hand gently rubbing back and forth over the center-part of his gastric globe, you used the other to feed him the tarts. The first tart was finished in just two bites…but after that, the cat ate more slowly. His teeth sank into the crispy, warm, buttery crust and pulled away the strawberry filling within with a growl as he chewed steadily before GULPing down huge mouthfuls…but the mouthfuls came with greater gaps between them. The feline breathed more heavily, even letting out little keening sounds as he went on: the second disappeared into his guts in another two bites, though more widely spaced out…but the third went down in three bites. The fourth went down in four…and, at last, the fifth and final tart was eaten in a number of bites that matched the pattern. Che’Nya licked his chops, lapping up some stray crumbs…then coughed and grimaced. “That…th-that last one was…a little dry,” he panted out, clearly finding it harder to breathe from the sheer weight in his bowels. You nodded and reached for the final bottle of soda, offering it to him. Che’Nya eyed it almost distrustfully, very much like a spoiled pet cat not sure what to make of a new brand of cat food…then shrugged and took the triple-liter, cracking it open and slugging it down as he had the two before. GLUG…GLUG…GLUG… The half-cat drank more slowly as he began to drain the final three-liter of strong-and-sweet cherry soda. You watched as it flooded down his gullet in waves. Unable to contain your flustered curiosity, you carefully lowered your head, and rested it upon the belly of the beast-man like it was your own pillow. The first thing that registered was the wonderful warmth of your kitty-cat’s body…then, you could hear the gurgles, louder than ever. The splashing noises as soda slushed down into bubbling mire, making it froth more than ever as the muscular contractions swished the fluid and sludge inside. You closed your eyes, and you could almost imagine those sounds surrounding you…the borborygmi a peculiar lullaby, making you feel as if you could melt away and forget your problems… …Not literally, of course. You were kinky, not suicidal. And besides, while Che’Nya may not have been the most heroic student of Royal Sword…the fact he chose that over Night Raven said something about his ethical viewpoints. With some, like Leona Kingscholar or Floyd Leech, you had no clue if their threats to devour and digest you were truly jokes or not. With Che’Nya, there was always that safety blanket: he really was just a big, fluffy kitten at heart. “Gruh!” grunted said fluffy kitten, as he polished off the last of the cherry soda…and you could actually hear the gases in his belly ROAR as it rumbled deeply before a HUGE eruption sounded off just above you. “BYYYUUUUUUUUHHHHHHUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLPK!” Che’Nya sighed deeply and let out a long, moaning meow before speaking: “That…was…a GOOD meal..mmmmmmmaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh…” You smiled and gave his bloated tummy a chaste kiss. He mewled and wiggled a bit under you, gut sloshing and bobbling more as a result. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, kitty-cat,” you said, and nuzzled against his belly lovingly. “Mmmm…I think I’m enjoying my own way right now…heh heh…” Che’Nya gave a lazy, languid smirk…and rested a hand over your head. He didn’t press down, didn’t exert any force at all…he just let it rest there. That was fine. You were in no hurry to move your head away from his pillowy, plumpened gut. “So…how do you feel?” you asked, tracing circles around his belly button. “Satisied?” Che’Nya growled deeply; you swore you could hear his toes curl in his boots. “I feel – HUUUURRRRP! – ohhhhh…I feel like I ate away one of my eight remaining lives…” He slurped over his lips and added with a low, bubbling belch: “Worth it.” You chuckled and moved your hand down towards the underside of his gut; the softest, warmest, most sensitive part of his belly. He gasped sharply…then sighed, melting at your touch as you carefully moved your hand with a feather-light sensitivity over that region. “Nyaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaa…so THAT’S why you’re my favorite human,” he mumbled out, slurringly. You sniggered and gave the underside the very softest of pats, biting your lip and pressing into it slightly, just to feel how very, very warm and tender it was. “I try,” you said, simply, and paused before adding: “It helps that you’re my favorite kitty.” “Well, I’m clever and adorable, so I better be.” You smirked, and responded by giving his gut a shake and saying: “Well, you’re not very humble.” “BUUUUURRRRRRP! Ahhhh…humble is not in a cat’s vocabulary,” Che’Nya responded with a shrug. “Or have you ever known a cat that didn’t show some level of vanity?” You felt this could not easily be denied, so you just decided to stick your finger in his navel and move it around in there to distract him. Che’Nya’s eyes fluttered closed and his tongue flopped from his jaws. He panted heavily, tail flopping limp as he relaxed all the more. “Ooooooooh…bunny? Have I ever told you you’re the Cat’s Meow?” “On many occasions,” you answered, choosing not to remind him he’d used that joke already, too. “Mmmm…well…telling you one more time won’t hurt,” Che’Nya murmured with another shrug, twining his fingers in your hair. You rolled your eyes with a loving smile. There was a pause. “…Thank you.” “Nya? For…mph…for what, my bunny?” “The pocket watch. And…and for just being you. Every greedy, confusing, fun, silly, wonderful thing that is you. I…sometimes feel like, since we’re from different schools, so I can’t see you as often as I like, you may not realize how much I-” The hand in your hair gently lifted your head…and the other hand placed a finger on your lips. Che’Nya smiled with a half-lidded, affectionate light in his eyes. “I realize, bunny. I realize,” he said, simply. Those were all the words you needed, and you gave him a peck on the cheek. He blushed and mewed before letting go of your hair and letting out a deep yawn. “Nya…I think I need a catnap…wake me up before it gets dark, so we can clean up. I don’t want Riddle to have a cow…or a horse…or any other farmyard animal. They’d make an awful mess…” You rolled your eyes, but said you would. “Rest easy, my kitty…and Happy Valentine’s Day.” Che’Nya smiled, but he didn’t say Happy Valentine’s Day back. His eyes had closed, and he had already fallen asleep…but the warmth in his smile, the way his arm tightened around you protectively and possessively, and the lustrous purr that thrummed through his core, said everything for him. You smiled just as warmly, then shook your head with amusement and closed your own eyes as you rested your head happily against his sugar-laden stomach once more. “Heh…asleep within seconds. I guess that’s a cat thing, too…”

The End

#disney #twisted wonderland #kink fic #stuffing #belly #belching #burping #implied vore #fanfic #valentine's day special #che'nya #alchemi alchemivich pinka #cheshire cat #alice in wonderland #royal sword #royal sword academy #we're all mad here

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misterewrites · 3 years

Text

Intro to.....????

Hello everyone! Been awhile. It's been busy and really hot for me so it's hard for me to sit down to write sometimes.

But it's here!

E here with the next chapter and the final intro character chapter! The intro chapters were supposed to introduce everyone to the main and important characters of the story, who will be driving the main plots and stories though sometimes i might use new characters or different background characters. So beyond this chapter will be more worldbuilding, story arcs and oneshots. just stories about this world and its characters. I might even use some of my friends ocs i accidentally convinced them to make for my world. It was so much fun!

Alright that's it for me! Stay safe, wash your hands, wear your masks, take care of your loved ones, get vaccinated if you can, push to release the vaccine worldwide and have a great week! Enjoy! feel free to leave likes, feedback *I love feedback and comments even if it's just a line you liked or a scene you found awesome or funny* reblogs and tell your friends! Promoting myself still feels weird haha. E is out! Byeeeeee

If you want an easier time to read the story and since I’ve been shadow banned from tumblr for like ever now, here’s the newest chapter on ao3 right over here!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/82583164

If you are interested in my work and want to read from the beginning check it right here https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/75486005

Interested in my full catalog? https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/works

Summary: Jackdaw is a powerful crime lord in the magical side of Newton Haven. He is feared more than respected and he doesn't care who he has to crush to accomplish his goals. So when his lucrative club is burned to the ground with his guards piled neatly outside, battered broken but alive, he takes it personally. Of course who is crazy enough to burn down a club of a notoriously dangerous crimeboss? A mercenary paid to do so.

Obviously.

----------

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

The sound of footsteps pacing back and forth thundered throughout the silent room.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

No one said anything. No one could say anything given the disastrous failure of the night. It hadn’t mattered if they were physically present at the site of offense or that they were scattered across town in one of many locations vital to the boss’s business: Someone hit them and the boss was itching to hit back.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

“Alright” A voice spoke up, smooth yet cold.

The room was already quiet but now the air filled with a frighten tension.

The boss whirled around from the massive window he’d been staring out of, eyes narrowing on the defeated group of guards who averted their gaze from his.

The few still conscious were in varying states of dishevel and injured: Broke bones, nasty bruises, clothing ruffled and torn in places. Not a single one had gone unscratched from the assault on the club earlier that night.

Jackdaw was not pleased.

No one in the room knew much about their boss despite devoting their lives to his cause: He was in his mid 30’s, his nose uneven after being broken in a fight though no one could agree what he had been fighting. Long wavy raven black hair ran down his shoulders while his dark brown eyes glanced about, icy and piercing.

“I’m a little confused.” Jackdaw said with a menacing drawl as he approached the closest guard “Mind answering a few for me?”

The guard nodded shakily.

Jackdaw smiled, patting the guard’s cheek in a mocking manner “Good, good. Now let me paint the picture: My club is currently a smoky, charred corpse of its former self. Yes?”

The guard gave another timid nod.

Jackdaw puckered his lips thoughtfully “Okay, okay. How many guards on duty?”

“8.” The guard murmured fearfully.

“Okay. How many standing?”

The guard shot a nervous glance to the other three. They found the floor more interesting.

“F-four.”

Crack!

The guard’s limp body tumbled backwards and laid still on the ground.

Jackdaw flexed his fingers “Wrong! I count three. You!”

The next in line flinched but stared their boss in the face “Sir?”

“Since that one.” Jackdaw lazily motioned to the unconscious man “is sleeping on the job, you tell me what happened.”

“O-okay.” The next in line mumbled “Well the night started same as any other….”

----------

The Gray Waves nightclub brought in a decent crowd for a weekday: Dozen or so people lost in the dim shadows with only a disorienting array of ever changing lights for company. Drinks served and the booming, thundering sounds of music set the chaotic mood clubs thrived on.

Nice peaceful night.

Floyd, the current storyteller, had been watching from the second floor landing when he noticed the gathering of guards below. The eight guards on duty were often out and about performing their different duties ranging from gate keeping the door to making sure nothing disturbed the vibe of the club. The fact five of his coworkers were huddled together should’ve been the first red flag.

The group talked in hushed tones despite the deafening bass and techno music the DJ’s speakers blared out. Once or twice, someone glanced to the far end of the club. Floyd looked and found the source of meeting.

Someone in their forties was loudly drinking at the counter tucked in the shadowy part of the club: It was impossible to tell who they were from this distance but they clearly were enjoying themselves: Head tiled back with messy, wavy salt and pepper hair. They gestured to the bartender (A wonderful woman named Carolyn who unfortunately had school debt to pay off and mob work was the best paying.) excitedly as their drink spilled onto the floor. They wore a large, tattered dark green trench coat that had seen better decades with faded worn out blue jeans. Their black boots were caked with grime and dirt that dirtied the floor. The only thing remotely new was their black t-shirt with some words in white font.

Floyd understood what the problem was: Clubs thrived on their popularity and image. People wanted to feel like they were special, all access stars to the hottest place in the city. With such a reputation came a mighty need to uphold said rep. No offense to whoever was having fun over there but with that look, it might send the wrong message and no amount of cash would ever change that.

Evidently a plan was reached as the meeting broke up. Two guards remained behind, returning to watching the room as the pit boss made his way over to the hapless customer, flanked with back up.

It was oddly satisfying watching the pit boss work: He gracefully slid in and out of crowds, slipping through the lost dancers like a snake treading through water. He motioned to the others to wait then made his way to the person.

The person was singing something at the top of his lungs. Drink, clink or something like that. Maybe it was the song playing at the time but Floyd hadn’t been paying attention to that at the time.

Trench Coat slipped Carolyn something and she laid a bottle of alcohol on the counter beside them: Vermouth? Absente? Vodka? One of those probably.

She nodded gratefully and disappeared into the back.

Floyd frowned at the red flag number two he had just seen: Carolyn was a pretty woman and was told more or less to just do as the customer asked be it answering questions or a reasonable request that wasn’t too out of the ordinary. Of course this was with the strict rule of not to leave the counter unattended.

At the time Floyd thought it was weird, not yet realizing what was about to unfold.

The person poured the bottle directly into their mouth, shaking their body to the catchy beat poorly. Whoever they were could not dance to save their life.

The pit boss, Malcolm, closed the distance between himself and his prey. He snuck closer and closer, the unaware customer too lost in their antics to noticed. Malcolm reached out for their shoulder and…

The thud was loud enough to cut through the noisy club and got the attention of everyone present.

Before Malcolm could even tighten his grip, the person struck: They whirled around, grabbing Malcolm’s head and smashing it into the counter. As Malcolm sunk to the floor, limp and unmoving, the person turned to shoot a smug grin towards the guards.

“I’m on the floor, floor! I love to dance!” They sang, one hand outstretched to the sky, the other gripping the bottle upside and draining its contents onto the counter.

The back up drew their weapons, standard issue nightsticks, and made their way forward.

“So give me more, more, till I can’t stand.”

They emptied the bottle, their green eyes never leaving the approaching guards.

“Get on the floor, floor, like it’s your last chance.”

They chucked the empty bottle into the wall of drinks, broken glass and different alcoholic drinks spilling onto the floor and mixing together.

“If you want more, more, then here I am!”

They pulled a match from within their coat pocket and lit it with the backside of their boot. Without looking, they threw the match over their shoulder and smiled as a raging flame broke out behind them.

The club goers were slow to realize what was going on but the remaining guards, Floyd included, mobilized to action.

Before anyone could react, however, an unexpected shrill shrieked throughout the building: The fire alarm designed to be the most annoying and loudest thing you’ve ever heard.

Even though it had been a slow night and only a dozen or so people were here, the customers panicked with a surge of three times that number.

Screams and yells filled the air as bodies shuffled about in a mad dash. The guards were thrown about, tossed this way and that while the lights, alarm and music worked together to confuse everyone.

Luckily the club was deserted within moments, leaving only security and the troublemaker.

The person hadn’t moved an inch despite the increasingly raging blaze behind them.

The back up pair approached carefully, unsure what this person was capable of.

All of them really had no idea.

The person raised their hand to the sky, belting with full force “LET’S DO THIS ONE MORE TIME!”

Without warning, silence and darkness filled the club: The fire alarm and music died suddenly. The lights followed a moment later but the raging flames, growing hungrily, remained. Floyd’s eyes watered with a sharp pain, the stuffy air and sudden shift in lighting too much for him

Floyd paused his story, uneasy growing at the sight of Jackdaw’s tightened jaw. The poor lad could actually see the veins pulsing with barely contained rage on his boss’s forehead.

“And why did the power go out?” Jackdaw asked through clenched teeth “No one was watching the power? Or the fusebox? Not a single person was guarding what I pay them to guard?”

Floyd remained silent, unsure how to answer that. He was just one of the lower rank and file guards: He got told what to do and he did it.

“Well? I’m waiting Floyd my boy! Why did the power go out?”

Floyd felt the beads of sweat run down his neck.

“Umm sir?”

Floyd nearly collapsed as one of Jackdaw’s techies nervously stepped forward, a loaded video on a tablet in hand.

Jackdaw blew a loose strain of hair out of his face and took a moment to slick back his hair. The vain gesture was enough to allow him to regain some level of composure as he snatched the tablet from the techie. With a grunt, he pressed play.

The video was short: It was a camera feed set up to watch over the fusebox to prevent tampering. Two guards were gesturing to the box, idly chatting with somebody in a red jumpsuit with a clipboard in one hand and a toolbox in the other. The back of uniform had the words “Newton Haven City Maintenance” scrawled across it in some rather hard to read font. The guards laughed out loud, jokingly patting the stranger’s shoulder before leaving frame. The city worker opened the fusebox and began tinkering without anyone stopping him.

The tablet crunched nosily as Jackdaw’s grip sent a ripple of cracks across the screen.

He turned to the techie.

“It was a routine check up.” the techie sputtered out “Our guards called it in this afternoon. Said there was an official letter with stamps and signatures and everything!”

“Did you check with me?” Jackdaw snarled “Because I pay the city specifically so they don’t send anyone to the club. Because of my illegal business practices that I perform there.”

Floyd could see the techie’s shoulder slump, whispering quietly “You were in a meeting….”

Jackdaw growled furiously but returned his attention to the nearly broken tablet.

It hadn’t taken more than a few minutes for the mysterious city maintenance worker to finish. They slammed the fusebox closed, doing a little jig before checking the contents of their toolbox and went on their merry little way.

Jackdaw’s blood froze as the figure gave a cheeky wink to the camera, knowing exactly where it was despite the magical wards in place to keep it invisible.

“Savant.”

An eerie emptiness replaced the hostility in the room.

The fight disappeared out of Jackdaw, leaving only an intense sense of dread and paranoia.

All this was lost on Floyd, who saw the troublemaker’s face and couldn’t help but blurt out “That’s them! The one who beat up Malcolm and burned the club down!”

Jackdaw chuckled darkly “Oh. Oh this makes sense. No one wonder you all get your ass kicked six ways to Sunday. Someone sic’d Savant on me. Ya’ll never had a chance against them.”

Floyd shuddered, the memory of how brutal and efficient Savant had been against them: Grown men dragged kicking and screaming into the shadows, the crunchy noises of bones broken, bodies falling down and yells stopped mid-shout. He still remembered Savant standing over him, nightstick in hand, whistling cheerfully as they brought down the weapon and sent him into unconsciousness.

“Alright!” Jackdaw clapped his hands “Lock it down!”

Everyone glanced towards one another, unsure what exactly the boss meant.

“LOCK IT DOWN!” the snarl that escaped Jackdaw’s lips sent goosebumps down everybody’s spine “NOW! I WANT THIS PLACE SEALED UP NICE AND TIGHT!”

“But we’re 14 stories up...”

Techie flinched as Jackdaw whirled around, eyes blazing with unrestrained rage and impatience “You deaf? I said lock down the building or so help me I’m going to use you as a human shield when they start coming for me.”

Techie opened his mouth when an unexpected sound filled the silence: A muffled, cheeky yet tacky melody of a cellphone ringing.

Glances and gazes looked about trying to find the source of the disturbance. Floyd was baffled when he realized it was coming from inside his coat pocket. Nervously, he reached within and slowly pulled out a palm sized flip phone, the kind hadn’t been used in decades.

Jackdaw’s eyes widened with fear and alarm as he snatched the phone from the poor guard with inhuman speed.

“It’s them!” Jackdaw’s voice was manic “IT’S THEM!”

The mobster was torn about what to do next: Answering meant playing right into Savant’s hands and whatever the mercenary had plan. On the other hand, not answering would no doubt annoy them into far worse retaliation.

With a hard shallow, Jackdaw answered with an uncharacteristically shy “Hello?”

He could feel his heart screech to a stop when a bored, almost nonchalant voice replied “S’up.”

Jackdaw threw as much charm and cheer into his voice “Savant, buddy! Pal!”

“Don’t.” the voice sighed tiredly “It’s pathetic when the begging start. You’re a big, bad mob boss. Act like it you dumbass.”

“Fine” Jackdaw let go of any sense of civility “Good old threats: if you so much as show your face around…”

“Ugh too much in the wrong direction” Savant replied, seemingly uninterested in what the mob boss had to said “You people are all the same: False bravado and overcompensating. It’s embarrassing. Just say you’re scared of me and we can move on.”

Despite the severity of the situation, Jackdaw couldn’t help but feel irritated “Oh is that what you want? Get your jollys when powerful people admit they’re afraid of you? You think you can….you can…”

Jackdaw paused, unsure if his ears were working correctly.

“Are you eating?”

“Hmm??” the sound of smacking lips and chewing was the mercenary’s response for a few moments “Oh yeah. Get hungry when working. Normally I’d be all for the theatrics but it’s been a long night what with fucking with your fusebox, burning down your club, planting the phone on a guard. It’s like 3 in the morning dude.”

Jackdaw bit his lip angrily, a single drop of blood running down his chin “It is 3 in the morning and I’m very tired so I’d very much like to conclude our business. How much?”

“To hire me?” more lip smacking “An amount. You could probably afford it.”

Jackdaw let his shoulder’s sag with relief “So it’s agreed? I’ll hire you and we can all be on our merry way.”

“Sure!” Savant said cheerfully.

Bullet dodged.

“You can hire me after I finish this job. By the way did you like the gift I sent you?”

Gift?

Jackdaw was a powerful and feared member of the illicit side of the magical world. He climbed to his position through sheer force of will and power. He left countless of his enemies broken and defeated in his wake.

To see him reduced to a flailing, paranoid mess would be a story no one would believe.

“GIFT?!” Jackdaw screamed, unable to keep the high-pitch whine out of his voice “WHAT GIFT?! SOMEONE FUCKING ANSWER ME!”

The techie was the first to shake off their stupor “Well there was a box that came in today. It was empty and we detected no magic so…”

“Box?!” Jackdaw spat as he wildly searched the room before landing on the seemingly innocent box just sitting on his desk “You brought it the fuck here?”

Everyone backed away.

“I…”

“Wait” Jackdaw cut off the techie’s answer “Maybe they were hoping you’d take it somewhere or get rid of it. No, no this is good. We’re outwitting the fucker.”

“Sir, the box was empty. And you told use you personally wanted to inspect any and all….”

“You hear that asswipe!” Jackdaw grinned ear to ear “My people are the best! We’re ahead of you. Your game is over, you hear me?”

“My man.” Savant’s voice was infuriatingly calm “It’s just a regular old box for a boring ass mobster.”

“Stop lying!” Jackdaw roared angrily, instinctively bringing down his fist on the closet object in the room.

Which of course was the box.

The parcel collapsed under the mobster’s supernatural strength with little effort. As the box was smashed, the two inert glyph drawn in an invisible ink on both ends collided and activated each other.

The room erupted in an array of dazzling, blinding lights.

The light show hadn’t lasted long but no one knew that as they stumbled around, disoriented and lost, the display still burned in their retinas.

Jackdaw howled violently, swiping at the air blindly with long talon-like nails. Any calls for explanations or help were lost under the raging mobster unleashed.

Jackdaw didn’t hear the window break, the sound of glass shattering as it rained upon the floor. He didn’t see the muzzle flash that flared across the street, Savant’s sniping perch. He knew nothing but the sudden searing pain that filled his shoulder without warning.

Everything drained out of him, he slumped to the floor like a doll. He weakly clutched at his shoulder, steam wafting off the wound as the sliver bullet dug itself deep in its new home.

It didn’t matter what kind of werebeast you were: Wolf, bear, rat or even a raven like Jackdaw. All them were deathly weakened by sliver. The mere smell could cause nausea, touch burned worse than third degree burns and any injuries could take weeks, maybe even months to heal.

Jackdaw wheezed, the room spinning in a messy blur.

“Right.” the phone landed by his ear but Savant’s voice sounded far off like it was echoing down a long tunnel “Sorry I got the paper right here.”

Muted sounds of pockets being turned inside out: Scraping of metal on brick, shuffling papers, even rustling fast food wrappers.

“Got it!” Savant beamed “Quinn says stay the fuck off his turf. Mind your lane or the next time he sends me I won’t be aiming for your shoulder.”

“How did you know I was...I was… no one knew...?” Jackdaw murmured incoherently.

“Your heart.” Savant explained “It’ll be your heart. Okay well I gotta go so take these next few months to reflect on any sort of ill advised turf wars, domestic disputes and fighting with your rivals. If you’re still interested in hiring me for revenge or whatever, you call me at my business payphone. Bye little birdy!”

----------

Savant dropped the phone to the floor, crushing it under their boot while rubbing the tension out of their neck. Around them was the standard stakeout gear: high powered and totally illegal sniper rifle, a neatly piled trash heap and a sniping pillow (Sniping’s hard on the stomach and knees.).

They packed away the gun, kicked the trash heap to make it look more like natural rooftop garbage and went downstairs.

Savant yawned tiredly, not at all concerned with the guards that were pouring out of Jackdaw’s hidey hole. They glanced around, trying to get their bearings when they noticed a hot dog vendor across the street.

“I really shouldn’t” they pursed their lips “Especially after paying for someone to set up the pyrotechnics spells. But I am hungry. Stomach wins!”

Savant made their way over, patting their stomach lovingly “One hotdog please. Everything on it.”

“You got it!” The vendor nodded before eyeing the commotion “What’s with that?”

“I don’t talk business.”

“O-kay. Umm here’s your hotdog. That’ll be two bucks.

Savant reached into their pocket and shoved a hundred dollars into the waiting vendor’s hand. Without a second look, Savant gratefully took the hotdog and walked away.

“Hey buddy! BUDDY! You gave me way too much!”

“You too!” Savant replied, took caught up in the rapture that was their meal.

This was a really fucking good hotdog.

#my work #Original Work #original story #my stuff

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moody-blues-requiem · 4 years

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Dullahan of the Opera (afab reader x Dullahan!Prosciutto)

SPOOKTACULAR FICS GO!

First up is the winner of the poll in a 3:1 victory, Dullahan Prosciutto!

Fic is n/s/f/w, mild warning for semi-public sex.

Enjoy!

Deep in the heart of Venizia and dressed to the nines on a temperate October evening, Prosciutto clasped your delicately gloved hand to his side as he guided you carefully along a narrow sidewalk. You were blindfolded, eyes hidden behind black silk, matching the simple, open-backed gown and elbow-length gloves you wore. Walking blindfolded in heels was a feat in itself, but one you managed with grace. You hoped Prosciutto wouldn’t be too distracted with guiding you to notice your impressive performance. Before he had put the blindfold on you, you’d gotten to see him in a different suit than his usual patterned one; rich black with gilded details, and of course, his usual pendant dangling from his neck.

When asked why a blindfold, you were told to trust him. When asked where you were going, you were told to trust him. You trusted Prosciutto with your past, present, and future, but that didn’t stop you from playfully pouting at your lover. “Can I get a hint, at least?”

“Alright,” he said. “You’re wearing the blindfold because I want to surprise you with where we’re going.”

Even without your sight, you could feel the smug aura practically radiating from him.

The sounds of the city around you changed as you approached your destination. You hear more voices, softly murmuring and mingling together, indicating a crowd of people. The light shifted just a touch warmer, you were approaching somewhere bright. Soft music played from some unseen source. Where…

Prosciutto placed his hands on your hips, stopping you from going any further. Sturdy fingers removed the blindfold over your head, carefully brushing your hair back into place after. The sudden light took a moment to adjust to, but once you could see you immediately recognized the building before. Tall and grey, with beautiful stone pillars, statues, and decorated with colorful flags. A sculpture of a bird adorned the entryway sign, but you didn’t need to read it to know where you were. One of the most famous opera houses in all of Italy, Il Teatro La Fenice. Prosciutto flashed two tickets in your direction, with a sly smile. “Private opera box,” he said. “Just for us.”

It was rare for Prosciutto to splurge like this, but when he did, he went all out. Waiting for you in your private seating was a chilled wine that you knew had to cost at least half a job for him. Was it wrong to enjoy such finery at the cost of blood money? Maybe. Were you going to indulge yourself anyways? Absolutely.

The show opened with a beautiful duet piece sung by a couple, a young woman and a slightly older gentleman. Something about restrained love-- even as a fluent Italian speaker, the way they sang could make the words difficult to understand, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. The passion in their voice spoke (or rather, sang) for them. The wine was delicious, the music beautiful, and your lover had his hand protectively on your thigh the whole time. Even alone in the opera box, he liked asserting a subtle dominance over you.

It was a bit less subtle when, out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw Prosciutto begin to nod off, but when you looked, his head was off his shoulders completely.

You knew he was a dullahan. He’d taken his head off in front of you countless times. You’d never adjust perfectly to the sight of his stump neck, glistening red with blood that didn’t flow like the blood in your body. He’d explained that it was perfectly natural for his species of fae to be able to remove and reattach their head at will, and no, it didn’t hurt. He could still talk, and even eat with a detached head and the food would still make it to his stomach. “Fae magic, I don’t know”, he said, as if that were a perfectly good explanation. “Why is that harder to believe than a detachable head?”

The blonde passed his head from one hand to the other, delicately placing it in your lap. You tore your eyes away from the singer on stage to look down, met with the sight of a smirking Prosciutto. “You *did* get my text about what to wear, didn’t you? Or more specifically, what not to wear?”

You… had an idea of where this was going. Prosciutto had asked you to forgo your panties for the evening, though you assumed that would be for when you got home, or maybe the car ride… and a while back, months ago, he’d asked your thoughts on sex in public.

“Not just out in the open, no,” you’d said. “Maybe something more private, where we could get caught but probably won’t… I think I could do that.”

And then he just… never acted on it. So you forgot. Until now, of course, as he looked up at you with a fire in his eyes. “Pull up your dress, love. Let me see.”

You kept Prosciutto balanced expertly in your lap while you maneuvered the dress up over your knees, the slit over the left leg making it easier to pull the material back and expose yourself. The thought of anyone other than Prosciutto seeing you like this made your cheeks flush a deep pink, which only darkened as Prosciutto spoke again. “Show me, [y/n]. I’m afraid you’ll have to hold me, my hands are a bit occupied.”

Careful not to mess up Prosciutto’s hair, you held his head back and spread your legs, giving him a nice view of you. You’d shaved everything, just as he liked. Already the thought of being so impure with your boyfriend, here of all places, had you glistening wet with excitement. You turned your head just a bit to glance over at Prosciutto’s body, and nearly dropped the man’s head when you saw his cock out, flushed a deep red and leaking precum, hard and desperate for attention.

“Careful!” Prosciutto hissed. “But I could see just how you responded to that…. You got even wetter, didn’t you, naughty little girl? Give me a taste, before I let you play.”

You brought his head in close, enveloping him between warm thighs and the scent of your desperation, earning an aroused growl from Prosciutto’s clenched teeth before he dove in with his tongue. For as prim and proper as he was in other respects, there was absolutely no decorum when it came to eating you out; he went at you like a man starved. Lapping at you with feverish strokes, fucking you with his tongue, letting the end of his nose rub over your clit just to heighten your sensations farther. Your hips bucked and rolled against his severed head, but he was kept firmly in place by your clenching thighs.

When you felt your thighs growing shaky, Prosciutto growled. “Enough,” he said, between gasps for air. “Set me on the table, where I can see my body. I want you to fuck yourself with my cock, darling. Don’t stop until you cum on me, but if you dirty that suit one bit the dry-cleaning bill is on you.”

Prosciutto’s eyes were practically glued to your body as you, pulling up your dress a bit to give him an even better view, slid yourself down onto his waiting cock. Prosciutto groaned, the combination of your wet walls surrounding him with the sight of his cock disappearing into your tight hole was incredible. You groaned as his length slid perfectly inside of you, as if you were made to take him. Prosciutto regularly reminded you that you were.

“Move,” he commanded, barely audible over the voice of the opera lead beginning an emotional solo piece. “Fuck yourself on me, amore, go…”

You wasted no time, swirling your hips over his lap before setting a slow pace up and down, bouncing, feeling his length push just a bit further with every thrust. His hands grasped your hip bones like handles, commanding you to go deeper and faster. You tilted your head down to nip at his collarbones, both to tease your boyfriend and to help silence your desperate little sounds. The opera singer’s voice dominated the large auditorium, but you didn’t want your own little solo to accompany hers.

You found your hips moving in pace with the song, a ballad fiery with passion and… maybe anger, you weren’t exactly paying attention, but the tempo and feeling of the song compelled you to move faster and faster, moan a little louder, clench a little harder around Prosciutto’s cock… The man’s head was biting his lower lip, blue eyes blown wide with lust. “Fuck, amore, I’m close,” he whispered. “Keep going. I want to feel you cum, I want-- I *need* to fill you up.”

“Prosciutto, please!” you gasped. You could feel your end approaching as the song reached its’ fervent peak. “Please please please--”

Prosciutto growled, wilder and more unrestrained than you’d seen him before. His manicured nails were digging into the skin of your hips. “Cum for me, amore, now!”

You fell apart at his command. Stars danced in your vision, the song faded in and out of your ears, masked by the waves of pleasure overtaking your whole body. Distantly you could feel something thick and warm filling you up, Prosciutto’s cock pumping into you, his hands pulling you in close. You were sweaty, disheveled, but you didn’t care. Let those fancy opera-goers see who gave you pleasure unmatched. Let them see the inevitable stain on Prosciutto’s suit (oops). The body beneath you leaned over, grabbing Prosciutto’s head and returning it to his shoulders before the man leaned in for a kiss, ruling his fingers through your now-messy hair.

“That was incredible, Pros,” you whispered against his lips. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine, dear. And besides,” he looked over your shoulder, just in time to see the woman on stage bow at the crowd’s thunderous applause. “We still have two acts left.”

#prosciutto #jjba prosciutto #vento aureo #golden wind #la squadra di esecuzione #dullahan prosciutto #dullahan!prosciutto #my writing #n/s/f/w #va

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chaos-and-sparkles · 4 years

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Percabeth Wedding Headcanons

They considered not getting married as a fuck you to Hera, but decided a better fuck you would be to not let her rule their lives.

Annabeth wore a white suit with a blue tie and Percy wore a black suit with a grey tie.

There was a huge fight over who got to be whose bride's/groom's bitches. Eventually Tyson was Percy's best man, with Jason, Frank, Hazel, Nico and Leo in his crew.

Annabeth's maid of honour was Thalia, with Reyna, Piper, Magnus, Clarisse, Rachel and the Stoll brothers in hers.

Chiron officiated. Estelle was flower girl. Grover was ring bearer, and he began chewing the cushion halfway through the ceremony, while sobbing the most.

Coach Hedge held his club up threateningly, but his eyes were suspiciously moist too.

Calypso was the next big crier, sitting with her arms crossed stubbornly in a white vintage T-shirt and faded jeans, tears seeping out through the corners of her eyes.

Almost all the gods came.

Aphrodite was jumping up and down and cooing over them, giving Percy looks that made him turn bright red. She looked exactly like Annabeth to him now.

Apollo was sprawled in a front seat that he was not supposed to be in, and had dragged Will and Meg with him, Will smiling awkwardly while Meg chatted with Artemis about how annoying Apollo was.

Hermes appeared to Percy in the dressing room ("Do you gods have NO respect for privacy?") because he 'had a message for him.’ A message from him, George and Martha, for once, wishing him good luck. They chatted, and then Percy asked if he'd met Annabeth too, but Hermes stiffened and left.

Afterwards tho he and Annabeth came face to face during the reception, and it was awkward and silent. It ended with both of them in tears about Luke, but it was healing for them both. Hermes gave her her dagger back, and Annabeth was surprised and asked how he got it back from Tartarus. Hermes said Bob had found it and sent it up, and was on the lookout for her laptop too -

But he didn't get to finish, because Annabeth hugged him hard, and after initial shock he hugged her back.

The tension between Athena and Poseidon was palpable, and they were seated as far apart as possible.

Poseidon thumped Annabeth on the back so hard she almost toppled into the lake, booming "I should have known! My son and I seem to have yet another thing in common - a love for queens among women." And Percy turned red again. Poseidon gave Percy a huge hug, and went on to meet Sally Jackson. Poseidon took his son marrying a daughter of his rival better than Athena did, though.

When Annabeth and Athena met, there was some tension. It was difficult for Athena to admit she was harsh and unfair with what she said to Annabeth in HOO, and to apologize, but Percy put his hand on Annabeth's shoulder and stood behind her, even when Athena turned her piercing gaze on him and asked that she talk to Annabeth alone. He only went when Annabeth asked him to.

Athena told Annabeth she was proud of her, and added that there was a chance she might be as great, and even greater, than Daedalus. Annabeth knew this was her best attempt at showing affection, and appreciated it.

Athena then accosted Percy, on his way back with drinks, and gave him a once over and humphed. Percy didn't flinch or show any signs of being intimidated, and she raised and eyebrow and finally said, "I will admit, Perseus Jackson, that I did not think you a good choice for my daughter. I still have my doubts... However you have proved yourself more than worthy, and so I gave you permission to marry her. But make no mistake - if you hurt her, I will crack your skull open and extract every brain cell you have left, until you are a drooling, gibbering mess." Percy replied, "If I hurt Annabeth, she'll break every bone in my body before you even get to me. So I don't think you have to worry about that." They parted on fair terms.

Artemis met Percy and Annabeth together, and they had a short conversation about the merits of being turned into a Jackalope, vs the merits of being married. "Life as a Jackalope is more enjoyable than it would seem. However, you have chosen your bane, and against all odds, I hold hope for you both." she concluded.

Hestia was tending the flames when Percy and Annabeth went to meet her, both respecting her as the most helpful goddess of legit all time. She smiled and simply said, "Hope is stronger than ever now, Percy Jackson, for you now build a new and loving home - a rarer place than you would expect."

Mr. D insisted on making a speech, and making it out to Perry Jorganesson and Annie Bell.

The only god not present was Zeus. In fact, he'd banned the gods from going when it became clear that everyone wanted to go, but the gods' respect for him after the way he handled the HOO fiasco was in negative numbers so every single one of them sneaked out of Olympus. Even those who normally wouldn’t have gone went to spite him.

Hades and Persephone went as a couple. Hades sniffed and smirked, saying only that he was glad Percy was 'not my son's type, or I'd have to deal with you' (but he low key ships Percabeth). Persephone though, smiled radiantly and was one coo away from fangirl squealing. Before they left, Hades gave them a note from Bob.

"Bob saw two stars already. They were next to him in Tartarus. Bob says hello." Percy and Annebth sobbed for fiat that, holding each other tightly. They made a point of mapping every single constellation that night. They almost cried again when they saw the Huntress above them.

Hephaestus's eyes twinkled, and he said, "I see that trap in Waterland worked after all - even if not in the way I'd intended."

Ares just grunted that Annabeth had a better weapon (the dragon fang sword) than the last time he saw her, and took his sunglasses off to glare at Percy. "Now there are TWO goddesses who'll kill me if I snuff you out."

The highlight though was Hera waltzing in, smiling smugly like she'd set up the whole thing, and eating a slice of cake, turning a seashell-and-flower arrangement into a cow because it 'looked better, and brought back memories'. She left soon enough, but not before the cow had left a warm gift.

Grover gave his blessing as Lord of the Wild, Rachel gave hers as the Oracle, and the gods fully expected Percabeth to ask for one of their blessings next, but instead the two turned to Sally Jackson and asked for her blessing as the 'supreme goddess'.

The ceremony was in the pavilion, and the reception was around the canoe lake at twilight. The trees around the canoe lake were hung with fairy lights, and Juniper and the dryads had ensured that the sweetest, most fragrant flowers grew. Seashells decorated the venue. Calypso had brought moonlace that began to glow and smell even more beautiful as night began to fall. The Hecate cabin had enchanted sparkling butterflies to flutter around them both after it got dark. The naiads sang in voices nearly as beautiful as the sirens, although lighter and airier. The pegasi flew in formation.

Bessie the Ophiotaurus as well as the Hippocampi were in attendance.

Percy and Annabeth did their first dance underwater, and kissed before resurfacing. Everyone looked around for the dance floor, but couldn't see a thing, when they realized - the lake was the dance floor. Percy had managed to magic the lake, with favours from the naiads and Poseidon, into a liquid dance floor that rippled different colours with each step.

Their wedding day had been on the last day of camp, with the whole camp invited, so with nightfall came the camp traditions, but even better.

There was the fireworks display of course, but with Leo's help it was doubly glorious and even began to tell Percabeth's story. Annabeth looked like she'd die when it began showing the Thrill Ride of Love part of the story, because "It doesn't matter if we're married Percy! It's still embarrassing!"

Camp fire was even more cheerful, what with the gods and mortals allowed in for the first time, and of course Piper+Leo and the Stoll brothers played pranks - it was funnier than it would have been because their pranks overlapped and backfired on each other instead.

Instead of wedding bands, Percabeth were married with camp beads - an owl and a trident artistically intertwined in a silver thread carved heart, designed by Rachel. Hazel summoned the silver and some jewels to embellish them - and this time, she knew, somehow, that they weren’t cursed.

Of course the cake and all food and drink was blue, as well as the flowers, the wedding party's outfits, and (on Annabeth's request as a surprise for Percy) the guests’ clothes. Aphrodite went super overboard with that, and even Artemis succumbed to a small blue flower and fang accessory in her hair.

As soon as the dancing and music ended (as soon as they could get the mic away from Apollo), the activity underway was Capture the Flag with Percy and Annabeth leading opposite teams composed of their bridal parties+friends. Coach Hedge and the Hermes, Ares, Aphrodite and part of the Apollo cabins along with a bunch of minor god cabins went on Annabeth's team, and Will, Meg, and the rest in Percy's. The gods sat it out (some had to be physically restrained) as did Grover, the nature spirits, animals and mortals (Rachel had to be dissuaded from entering armed with plastic hairbrushes and improv lighter-and-spray flamethrowers).

Nobody won. Instead of crossing over the boundary line when they met with each other's flags in hand, Percy and Annabeth started making out. Clarisse could be heard grumbling about it later.

Grover and Thalia stayed back long after everyone had left, and the four of them spent time together until four in the morning.

BTW Annabeth proposed to Percy right before he was about to propose to her. They both looked at each other in surprise for a solid minute, and then burst out laughing. It was impossible to tell who said yes, or if any of them did, but they didn't need to.

They’d both gone to Tyson for the engagement rings. Tyson was confused at first, but promised to keep their secret from each other.

Grover on the other end of the link just stopped mid conversation with the Council of Cloven Elders and Dionysus, and bleated loudly in relief, "FREAKING FINALLY." out of nowhere, and while everyone looked bewildered, Dionysus though just took a sip of diet coke and rolled his eyes, sighing, "Took them long enough."

They proposed to each other on Percy's birthday. Annabeth had baked another blue cupcake ("I'm getting better at it, too!") and they were cuddling/play fighting/sprawling on the sofa late at night in Sally's apartment, talking. They sat with their legs crossed together, devouring the cupcake with their fingers, talking about their plans.

Annabeth mentioned that she'd designed this new building for New Rome that she was SO excited to build (Reyna had contracted her as New Rome's architect), and asked if Percy wanted to see the design. Percy agreed, and she retrieved a roll of paper. Annabeth began to explain enthusiastically, and, pointing at the center of the design, said, "And this is my favourite part." Percy leaned in further to see what she was pointing at - at the heart of the temple, where the altar should be, was a blue-silver ring with a wave design over the words "will you marry me?"

Annabeth looked almost anxiously at Percy, but he looked blank. Finally, Percy uncapped Riptide, which she hadn't noticed was poised in his hand as if he was going to point or correct something on the sheet, and instead of expanding into a sword, it remained a ball pen - with a simple silver ring etched with the words "Wise Girl" around its tip.

They stared at each other, stumped, before exploding in laughter.

Sally and Paul came running from the next room, Estelle copying them and giggling in Paul's arms, worried that it was a monster attack. When instead they saw Percy and Annabeth laughing and hugging, each wearing a ring on fingers covered in blue frosting and looking as if they couldn't quite believe it, Sally burst into tears right there and had to explain to her concerned kids, laughing, that these were happy tears because secretly she still couldn't believe that they had all found their happiness and it was something she'd only dared to dream of because it was everything she ever wanted for her son and she was happy to and oh how long had she waited and worked and hoped for a happy ending for all of them but never really expected it and this was too much -

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