delman250cc-blog

[coquelicoq]

yeah sex is great but have you ever unflooded your street by removing leaves from the storm drains using the litter-grabber tool you bought from lowe's two weeks ago for that exact purpose?

[hubbvrd]

number 45 with joe burrow please 💕💕

Surprise | Joe Burrow

summary — Moving house is not always stress-free. But despite the last few hard weeks, Joe makes sure to put a smile on your face with a surprise

pairing — joe burrow x reader

words — 1952

notes — thanks for your request. I hope you like it!!🧡

The last few weeks and months had been associated with a lot of stress and headaches.

Anyone who loved moving and said that it wasn't so bad and stressful was completely wrong.

For Joe and you, there had been nothing worse in the last few weeks and months than setting up your new home and packing moving boxes.

The countless hours spent in various furniture stores had been a lot of fun for you, but when it came to painting various walls and putting together all the countless pieces of furniture, there was the occasional argument between you out of sheer desperation.

However, you were able to resolve the small arguments about how you should place the furniture in the respective rooms fairly quickly, so that every small argument was resolved within a few minutes.

"This is finally the last one." Joe puts the last box down in the hallway before running his fingers through his completely disheveled hair.

"We've finally done it," you murmur with relief and hand Joe a bottle of water before sitting down on the step and catching your breath.

In the last two hours, you've moved countless boxes from your old home to your new home and dragged them inside, so you're more than sure you'll be feeling sore muscles for the next few days.

"Finally," Joe agrees as he sits down next to you on the step and you rest your head on his shoulder.

"And who's going to unpack all our stuff now?" you mumble tiredly as you look at the piles of boxes blocking the passage to the open-plan living and dining room.

"That's the question..." Joe takes a big gulp from his water bottle before running his fingers through his hair again and letting out a loud sigh.

The move is already pretty exhausting as it is, but then there's the hot weather, which has doubled the strain on your strength.

"How about we take a little break first? We rest and eat a little and then we'll take care of all the boxes?" Joe suggests after a few minutes of silence, which almost caused you to doze off any second.

"Sounds like a great plan. If I knew where my bikini was, I'd jump into the cold water first and inaugurate our new pool."

A highlight for you is definitely the large pool in the garden, where you can swim a few lengths undisturbed or simply float in the water with an inflatable swimming animal.

"Fortunately, I've made sure that we can easily get to our swimming gear.

With a proud smile on his lips, Joe lifts a bag in front of your nose, from which he pulls out your bikini and you jump for joy, shrieking softly around your boyfriend's neck.

"You don't know how much I love you."

You give Joe a kiss on the cheek and then pick up your bikini.

Joe gives you a soft laugh in response.

"Let's see who's in the pool first." He more or less challenges you and before you can answer, Joe has already disappeared into the bathroom to get changed.

"That's not fair! You started way too early!" you shout after him with a laugh and slowly get up from the stairs.

You can already feel the muscles in your arms and thighs starting to ache slightly and you probably won't be able to move without pain tomorrow.

But you don't really care about that right now, because the only thing that matters right now is the pool of your new garden, so you quickly change into your everyday clothes and then throw on your favorite bikini before grabbing your towel and running into the garden.

Your old garden was quite small and had hardly any space to do anything big in it, which wasn't the case at all in the new garden.

The new garden is almost three times the size of the old garden and offers so much space for countless possibilities that the huge green space is almost crying out to be filled with beautiful things.

Once the house is ready, Joe and you will get to work on the garden, for which your Pinterest board was already almost overflowing with countless different possibilities just waiting to be realized.

"Do you want to keep staring at the garden or finally join me in the pool?" Joe's voice pulls you back to the here and now.

Your boyfriend is already in the water, floating on his back through the water, looking so relaxed and rested that a smile spreads across your lips.

"The water's even nice and cold" he adds as he slowly stands up and swims over to the edge of the pool.

"Just what I need, then."

A smile forms on your lips as you walk across the warm lawn to the pool and then sit down at the edge and let your legs slide into the cold water.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you begin to feel the cold water on your skin. Joe is right, despite the heat today, the water is incredibly pleasant, so you slide into the cool water without hesitation and then stand opposite Joe.

"I was telling the truth," he smiles, trying to tell you that he's not always pulling your leg like you accused him of a few days ago.

Because every now and then Joe loved to pull your leg, more or less.

Just yesterday he tried to convince you to watch a movie that wasn't even supposed to be scary. But in the end, you were so creeped out that you had to bury your face in Joe's shirt for the rest of the movie.

"This time, but who knows when you won't. I think you like to tease me, Burrow, and that's not fair."

You splash a little water on his face, which only makes the person opposite you start to laugh quietly.

"Lie. I would never do this. How could I?" he replies with a laugh and a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"You're such a liar," you pout lightly as you swim towards him and then cling to him, trying to somehow push him under the water, which turns out not to be too easy.

Joe is standing so firmly that you barely manage to move him even an inch.

A resounding laugh rings out above you, which only makes you pout even more.

"That's not fair."

"Oh, y/n. You really are incredibly cute." amused, Joe presses a gentle kiss to your forehead as he wraps his arms tightly around you and starts to swim off with you.

"I'll probably have to eat the whole pizza by myself today so that I can push you under the water tomorrow," you reply with a shrug and a big grin on your lips, to which Joe just rolls his eyes.

"How much time do we have until the pizza arrives?"

After you had put on your bikini, you ordered pizza for both of you via a delivery service so that you didn't have to cook anything or drive out to get something to eat.

"About another thirty minutes."

"That's enough." In one swift movement, Joe lifts you out of the pool and climbs out after you.

"Hey, we haven't been in the pool long," you pout again as Joe puts the towel around your shoulders and you snuggle up in it.

"We still have enough time for this in the coming weeks, months and years."

You watch Joe as he also puts a towel around his shoulders before holding out his hand to you with the words "Follow me, I have a suprise for you"

"A surprise? I love surprises!" you exclaim in anticipation as you take Joe's hand in yours and another soft laugh comes from Joe's direction.

"I know that. That's why I love giving you surprises." Joe squeezes your hand gently before walking with you across the lawn to the small hut at the end of the garden.

In fact, it wasn't exactly rare for Joe to give you a surprise.

He often brought you flowers, your favorite sweets or ice cream after training or after a game.

He also often took you out to dinner or on other romantic dates.

Joe's romantic side was one of the many reasons you fell in love with the Bengals quarterback.

"Do you want to show me all the big, nasty spiders in the cabin?" you ask with a slightly contorted face as you start to think back to the day of the tour.

Because on the day you first visited your dream house and were blown away by it, the hut more or less disgusted you.

Because the huge mess, which was accompanied by countless spiders and cobwebs in the hut, had already given you a big stomach ache during the viewing, so that you were already dreading having to clear this hut of all the spiders and cobwebs one day and then clean it out.

"No, don't worry," Joe assures you as you stop in front of the hut, which now has a new coat of white paint and no longer shows the hideous peeling paint, and Joe takes out the keys.

Outside the windows of the hut you can see white curtains that hadn't been there before.

Before you can even ask Joe why the cabin has curtains, Joe opens the door and gently pushes you inside and what you see inside leaves you open-mouthed.

The walls are lined with countless white bookshelves that reach up to the ceiling. There is a ladder on the shelves, which ensures that you can easily reach the top shelves.

All your books have found their place on the shelves and despite all this, there are still countless free compartments for more new books.

There is also a cozy armchair for reading, a matching stool, lots of fairy lights and lamps, as well as a rug that makes the room even cozier.

"Wow..." you stammer, overwhelmed, as you slowly turn in a circle, trying to take in every corner of the room.

Joe stands in the doorway and watches you with a broad smile as tears slowly well up in your eyes and you look over at him, moved.

"Surprise," he whispers as you cross the room in three long strides and fall into your boyfriend's arms as sobs escape you.

"Thank you, darling," you whisper, sobbing into his chest as he wraps his arms around you and hugs you gently.

"I thought this hut was perfect for your reading room. Here you can read undisturbed and run your book blog and all your other book channels."

"It really is. You don't know how much this means to me, thanks Joe." You slowly lift your gaze and look into your boyfriend's shining eyes.

"I was happy to do that, y/n. It's incredibly important to me that you have your own four walls where you can pursue your passion and since our house isn't really finished yet, it was important to me that this room is finished first and that you have it so that you can retreat and immerse yourself in the world of books."

Joe's words cause countless tears to start rolling down your cheeks.

You can't put into words how touched you are by his words and his surprise, so you whisper a quiet "Thank you" and then press your lips to Joe's.

And you realize once again how much you love Joe. And how grateful you are that he is by your side and that you are the one who gets to wake up by his side every day.

[brinefathomcaves]

Brinefathom Caves Level 2, Week 1

2.1: The Weird Welcome

2.2: Channel Mania

2.3: The Teleportation Pool: Floor pockmarked with deep pools of water. Most are normal; a creature looking into one (marked with an asterisk on the map) sees themself being drowned by huge tentacles. That’s an illusion. A creature that enters this pool is teleported to [AREA].

2.4: The Standing Water

2.5: The Water Garden

2.6: The Deep Tide Larder: Shelves of produce, barrels of salted fish. Empty.

2.7: The Whispering Well: Well repeats a prerecorded message when a creature throws something into it. Current message is [CLUE TBD]. Empty.

2.8: The Caged Flame

2.9: The Showers: Steel fixtures shaped like lotus seed pods jut from walls near ceiling at regular intervals. Valve below each one. Floor slopes gently to central drain. When a valve is turned, cold water sprays from corresponding fixture. Empty.

2.10: The Stepping Stones

2.11: The Entrance Hall

2.12: The Fountain Crossroads: Three fountains: salt next to the winch for the portcullis to 2.11, fresh on the other side of the portcullis, and brackish opposite the portcullis. Waterfall in passage to 2.13; see that room for details. Empty

2.13: The Deep Tide Commons

(Non-key rambling under cut!)

Welcome to level 2! It's been just over a week and I already used almost half the page on these big wet rooms. Oh well. If I need to go to another sheet before the month is up, I will. Plus, I'm gonna spend at least a couple days detailing the inside of the ship at 1.13, and those will necessarily be smaller areas.

Does anyone have an opinion on how I measure weeks? This is week 1 of level 2, but week 10 overall. What makes more sense to put in post titles?

[dpssys]

I dreamt that there was some blonde woman who decided to bomb an airplane using a overpowered firecracker. It blew a hole in the plane and people started to get sucked out. I put on an oxygen mask and hung onto the ceiling. Eventually I left the plane somehow and landed safely on the ground and the woman also did that somehow. We landed on some skyscraper that was under construction with bridged between. People were falling down and splatting and the woman was angry at the people since she claimed they died from skin dermatitis. The scene switches to me being in some gym and I noticed something being very off about the people and some of the people there are edited in badly with a green screen like a bad budget movie and some other people just continue the workout like normal as some voice saying it is floor 743 of a skyscraper we are in and I look out and can see it is very far down and the voice that seems to be an AI says that there are many other gyms in the skyscraper. The scene switches to the blonde woman trying to kill another woman with long black hair by trapping her in a mausoleum that is slowly filling with water but I manage to save her somehow. The scene switches to a priest that has gotten hold of a very old bible that was very unusual. I read the bible and stuff did not make sense as the bible contained first a lot of strange things that happened in the 90s then some vintage furry porn then a lot of pokemon porn with pokemon with huge knots sucking each other off and then it also contained a CD that I told my mom and dad to remind me to put in a computer. The priest is then seen going far down a secret passage in a church that does down very far and even him breaking through a wall using his head to get through the wall by bashing it. The priest meets another priest in a chamber down there that says that he is immortal and live down there and the first priest asks if the other priest is half a cow which the second says yes to then says OOM instead of moo but there are no visible signs that he is a cow. There are some stairs down the realm of the immortals but I never saw more of that. The next scene is my trying to play baseball but sucking at it. I seem to be a kid playing against other kids and manage to hit the ball once but only then it almost hits some spectators. Together with those kids I am then on some location and it has a lot of stand users like in JoJo and a fight breaks out. The location is some place with a lot of wooden bridges and containers. The fight is intense and starts after a stand user mixes some cleaning supplies to make poison gas and throws at some henchmen that are playing cards. There is one stand user that is able to summon a crossbow that will always shoot the right bolt for the occasion which I manage to grab the hand of and fire his crossbow at the enemies and the fight is eventually won even tho it seems to skip forward a lot in time in the middle of the fight. The last scene in the dream I am in some stone chamber and I see a white guy talk to a black woman wearing a strange hat and a dress and saying the following: “You are over a thousand years old but your beauty has never vanished” and a dialog box shows up saying she is around 1020 years old and what year she was born. The guy then kisses the woman and the dream ends

[gittetj]

Flash fiction: A Quiet Lake

“Shit, I think there’s a lake down here!”

Carla is dangling from her rope, already so far down the pit that my flashlight struggles to reach her. The cone of light from her own torch spins in slow circles. If it’s hitting anything remotely like water, I can’t tell from where I’m standing.

“Watch out, I’ll throw a rock,” I say, grabbing a rugged piece of limestone from the ground.

I watch the stone’s trajectory as it plummets into the void and wait for a sound of impact. Nothing comes—no splash and no dull thump of rock against rock.

“I think you’re seeing things,” I say, reaching for the map Carla left on top of our equipment. With my finger, I draw a line from the entrance to the unmarked drop where we’d headed into uncharted territory. We had to wiggle our way through a passage so narrow I could barely fit my hips, but from there, the path was easy to crawl through. It doesn’t make any sense if we’re the first to find it. This section of the cave is huge.

“I swear, I can see something glistening,” Carla says. “Try throwing one of the glow sticks.”

I light one of them up, tossing it into the pit. The walls of the cave flash pale pink, revealing the staggering distance to the other side of the hole. When the glow stick reaches the bottom, it isn’t far below Carla’s position, but like the stone, it doesn’t make a sound. It sinks into a pool of water shallow enough that its red gleam can still pierce the surface, distorting the color of Carla’s skin.

“Becca, this is insane!” Carla excitedly points at the pool under her feet. It spreads out so wide I can’t see the edges through the hole. “Give me a couple minutes, I’ll check out how big it is.”

She starts hoisting herself down, quickly sinking her boots into the water, just as softly as the glow stick had landed. She’s only submerged up to her shins, but I can’t hear her kicking up water as she lights her way out of my sight with her flashlight.

Minutes pass without a sound from her. Carla is never this quiet. I call out her name and she doesn’t answer; I can only see the faint glow from her flashlight now and again.

Something’s wrong. I reach for my own length of rope, fastening it to the cave floor next to Carla’s. Not until I’m hanging halfway off the ledge do I consider the rest of our equipment. I can come back for it, I decide, letting the rope slide through my hands.

Carla sticks her head into view when I’m halfway down and it’s a weight off my chest to see her smile. Her mouth is moving, but I can’t hear what she’s trying to tell me.

“What?” I say. “You have to speak up.”

Carla’s lips continue to move. Or so I think—it’s hard to tell as she wanders into the dark again. I reach the bottom and I turn in a circle, letting my flashlight illuminate as much as it can. It’s not enough to reach the walls that must surround the shallow, featureless lake. Away from the ripples made from our footsteps, the surface of the water is still like a mirror.

“Carla,” I say, turning in the direction she’d wandered before. I can’t hear my own voice. I grind the heels of my hands against my ears and try again. I can’t hear my voice.

My feet are moving through the water, and my breathing is heavy, but it only registers as faint vibrations in my jaw. My heart is pounding. I have lost track of which direction Carla went. I can’t see her light anymore and there’s nothing to navigate by, only the vast expanse of water and our ropes. I realize Carla’s is no longer attached to anything, hanging perfectly still. I call out again, and from the strain on my vocal chords, I know it should be loud.

Underneath my boots, the ground starts shaking, the tremors spreading through my legs to the rest of my body. The mirror-blank surface around me quakes with increasing intensity. I drop my flashlight as I fumble to catch my rope. It lands with the glass front pointing down, the cone of light so short it can only touch the pebbles dancing around its circumference.

My hands tremble as much as everything else as I blindly hoist myself out of the water. The cliff sides strangle the last stubborn glow from the glow stick beneath me. I stare over my shoulder at the deafening void, but I know in my heart that Carla isn’t there anymore.

[furnace-repair-winnipeg]

8 Tips to Prevent Clogged Drains

A blocked drain is terrible news no matter where it happens in the house. A clogged drain can cause water to back up and overflow, leading to severe water damage. And if the drain is in the kitchen, you could also be dealing with some pretty nasty smells. But drain cleaning doesn't have to be a dreaded task-here are some tips for making it as quick and painless as possible!

Regularly Clean Your Drains

It makes sense that routine cleanings help avoid blockages since the preventive measure is the first step in clearing drains.

Focus on your waste disposal in the kitchen by half-filling an ice cube tray with vinegar and half-full with water. Put some ice cubes in the garbage disposal after freezing the tray so they may be ground. You may even use salt for a more thorough clean that removes oil and other impurities.

There are several DIY drain cleaning techniques, but some of these solutions do more harm than good. Avoid any Coca-Cola-based approach since the phosphoric acid in the soda may potentially harm your pipes.

Avoid Pouring Down Your Grease In The Drain

Grease is among the worst materials to throw down your drain. Warm grease drips down your drain and thickens to create a blockage when it cools in the pipe.

Then other things start to jam it up, and before you realize it, there is a huge obstruction. Avoiding dumping oil or grease down your drain is the best action. Simply keep a container nearby to collect grease, and when it fills, toss it in the garbage. You may also purchase a jar made specifically to store bacon grease for later use if you like cooking with leftover bacon grease.

Avoid Throwing Certain Foods Down The Drain

Certain foods should never go down your drain. Coffee grounds, eggshells, and starchy vegetables like potatoes can all cause drain problems. Coffee grounds expand when wet and block drain passages, eggshells become gluey and adhere to drain walls, and potatoes form mush that can clog pipes.

Use a Sink Strainer

A drain strainer is a small metal or plastic disk with a mesh center that fits over your drain to catch food and other debris before it goes down the drain.

You can find sink strainers at most hardware stores. Be sure to clean out your drain strainer regularly, so it doesn't become a breeding ground for bacteria.

Use Hot Water to Flush Your Drains

Hot water helps to melt away grease and soap scum that can build up in your drains and cause blockages.

Pour a pot of boiling water down your drain weekly to keep it clear and free-flowing. You can also add a cup of baking soda to the pot of water for an extra cleaning boost.

Avoid Chemical Drain Cleaners

Chemical drain cleaners are harsh and can damage your pipes. They can also be dangerous to use, so it's best to avoid them if possible.

If you must use a chemical drain cleaner, always follow the directions on the label and never mix two different drain cleaners.

Don't Use The Toilet As A Trash Can.

It might be tempting to flush a variety of personal care items. After all, there is a sizable drain hole, and things often go down without incident. Dental floss may travel down the toilet drain, but it does not guarantee it will reach the main sewer. It could become tangled up in anything in your pipes and cause a blockage.

Aside from putting an unwanted load on the wastewater treatment plant, many of these materials take a long time to disintegrate and may block drains. Don't put trash in the toilet, please. Both the environment and your drains benefit from it.

Get Drain Cleaning Services From A Professional

Even with the drain cleaning tips above, it's still a good idea to get your drain cleaned by a professional every few months. It is especially true if you have a lot of people in your household or live in an area with hard water.

A professional drain cleaning company will have the proper tools and equipment to clean your drain quickly and thoroughly. They will also be able to identify any potential problems with your drain and make necessary repairs.

When it comes time to choose a drain cleaning company, be sure to do your research. Ask for referrals from friends and family, and read online reviews.

Choose a company that is licensed, insured, and experienced. You should also make sure they use eco-friendly drain cleaning products.

Conclusion

Keeping your drain clean is vital for your home's function and appearance. Use the drain cleaning tips above to keep your drain flowing freely. And don't forget to schedule drain cleaning services from a professional every few months! If you're wondering how long it takes to clean the drain, read it here: https://boboates.com/long-drain-cleaning-take-complete/.

If you have any concerns about using drain cleaners, or if your drain is still clogged after trying these tips, contact a drain cleaning professional for assistance.

https://furnace-repair-winnipeg.ca/8-tips-to-prevent-clogged-drain/

[slytherin-2-mychamber]

One Shot: Our Special Place

-draco x slytherin!reader (can’t resist)

-set in 7th year (no voldy)

-Y/N is down at the boathouse past curfew, and is confronted with a certain ex boyfriend

-lil bit of angst, but mainly fluff/happy ending bc I love it

-Warnings: swearing, light (very light) smut?

-1.7K words 🖤

-My Masterlist 🖤

It was eleven o’clock on the dot, Y/N stared up at the green velvet roof of her four poster bed, recounting the silver stars stitched into it, for the fourth time.

“82..83..84…” suddenly a huge snore from her roommate Millicent filled the room, causing Y/N to loose count.

“Dammit” she muttered, before throwing back her sheets and sliding out of bed quietly. She put her robe on over her night dress, slipped into her shoes, grabbed her wand and slithered silently out of the room. Creeping through the corridor, she made her way down to a small seemingly unused door, “Alohomora” she whispered, before pulling the door open and entering another corridor, she locked the door behind her and scurried down the passage then up a set of stairs. Eventually arriving in a dimly lit boathouse which opened out onto the Black Lake.

Y/N had discovered the passage up to the boathouse in her third year during one of her many late night walks, it provided her a place to think and be alone, she’d never told anyone about it, apart from her ex boyfriend, Draco Malfoy. They used to sneak up there together during the night and lay under a huge blanket sharing stories, bodies intertwined until the sun started to rise. She found it strange at first to be there without him, but it had been months since their break up and she only had two terms left at Hogwarts, she wasn’t about to be moping about or missing out on things she loved.

Y/N positioned herself on the edge of the outside wall, removing her shoes and dipping her toes slightly into the water, a shudder travelling up her spine as the cold hit her. She sat underneath the moonlight, taking in the views, casting out small beams of light from her wand that would dance across the waters surface before fading away. Her thoughts found their way back to Draco, the way he used to laugh at her jokes, the way he’d tuck her hair behind her ear before kissing her, the way he would let her see a side of him no one had seen before. A single tear fell from Y/N’s eye as she mourned her lost love, she wiped it away taking a deep breath to compose herself and turned her thoughts to her upcoming summer trip. She had been planning a surprise trip for Draco, for his birthday, and had already booked half the hotels before their break up, so she had decided to go alone instead of cancel it all together. All of a sudden there was a gust of air, and a large ripple of noise, as someone apperated into the boathouse. Y/N jumped up panicking, attempting to put her shoes on and hide before she was found.

“Y/N?” a familiar voice said quietly, Y/N’s heart raced, she hadn’t been quick enough, she was going to be in such trouble for being out after curfew. She looked up, dreading Snape or McGonagall’s gaze looming over her, but instead she met his piercing blue eyes, which almost startled her more.

“Draco - hi - urm - what are you doing here?” she stuttered, trying to act calm. She had only seen Draco a few times this term, he looked more miserable and delicate every-time she saw him.

“I had to talk to you, and I guessed you’d be here, no one else knows me like you do, I just - I just…” he began to say, before turning away to face the water.

“What? What is it Draco?” she said inching towards him.

“No nothing, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here, this is your special place” he responded.

Y/N ached inside, she was trying so hard to contain her emotion, she couldn’t bare to see him distressed, and she couldn’t deny the overwhelming love she still felt for Draco.

“Draco, you can talk to me” she whispered sweetly in his ear, placing her hand softly into his. She lead him back to where she had been sat, and gestured for him to sit down, he obliged. In silence they both slipped their shoes off, and dipped their toes into the lake, a shiver shooting up Y/N’s spine once again.

They sat there quietly, exchanging glances and small smiles.

“So, where have you been?” Y/N asked.

“Oh, urm, I went to see my mother. She hasn’t been very well, so Snape gave me permission to apperate home for the day” he replied.

“Oh Draco I’m sorry to hear that, please send her my love, it must be hard for you to see her unwell” she said sympathetically.

“Yes it hasn’t been very pleasant, she seems to be improving though thank Merlin, I don’t know what I’d do without her, I’d be all alone” he stammered solemnly.

“You’ll never be alone Draco, I’ll always be here for you, no matter what” Y/N exclaimed, sliding closer to him, placing her hand gently on his knee.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep Y/N, someday soon someone will come and sweep you off your feet, just as you deserve, and I’ll be nothing more than a distant memory” he said bitterly. Y/N was taken back by his comment, she couldn’t even contemplate a reality where Draco Malfoy was just a “distant memory”.

“Draco that could never be true, I love..” she stopped herself as she realised what she was about to say.

“How could you? After how I treated you?” he hissed, haunted by the memory of how he had spoken to you that day.

“Draco come back here” Y/N shouted as she chased her boyfriend through the corridors of Hogwarts.

“Leave me alone Y/N I don’t want to talk to you” he shouted back, attempting to rush away from her.

“Draco please, you can’t just say it’s over and leave me with no explanation” she roared, finally catching up to him and grabbing him by the wrist. He instinctively pushed her off him, causing Y/N to fall to the floor.

“No explanation?! Your behaviour is the explanation! Every time I turn my back you are talking to another boy, first Nott, now Zabini! Am I not enough for you?! Your pathetic, just desperate for attention, you don’t care about me and I won’t be embarrassed anymore Y/N!” he screeched down at her.

“Draco, I’m not interested in anyone else, I don’t want anyone else, they are just my friends!” Y/N pleaded with him, pulling herself off the ground.

“Well then, seen as you have so many friends, you won’t notice if I’m not around anymore” he snapped, turning away from her and proceeding down the corridor.

“Draco please?” she cried out one final time, before collapsing to the floor again in floods of tears. He looked back over his shoulder and saw her, guilt washed over him, maybe he had overreacted, he didn’t want to loose her, but it seemed too late now. He vanished into the darkness of the castle, leaving Y/N to cry by herself.

“I don’t care about that Draco, I don’t want to not know you, I don’t want to live in a world where you are just a distant memory. All that stuff we argued about was just, just a misunderstanding!” Y/N said hopefully.

“It was me being a jealous controlling prick, Zabini told me what you were talking about as soon as he heard I’d broken it off with you” Draco fiddled with his shirt sleeve, “how I could have jumped to such horrible conclusions, all you were trying to do was plan my birthday trip, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to apologise enough Y/N” his eyes started to fill with tears.

“Draco, you don’t have to apologise, you made a mistake, we all do it!” she responded, placing a gentle kiss on his hand.

“Yeh, the biggest mistake of my life, I’m just so sorry” he snivelled. Y/N turned her body to face him,

“Draco look at me” she urged, he reluctantly raised his head, their eyes locking, “I forgive you” she whispered.

“You do?” he responded eagerly.

“Of course I do, I could never stay mad at you” Y/N chuckled, throwing her arms around Draco and pulling him in for a hug. They hung tightly to each other, lapping up the affection they had both so desperately needed for months.

“You are amazing you know that, don’t you?” Draco asked, bringing his head out of Y/N’s chest and resting his forehead on hers, their noses meeting in the middle.

“I try” Y/N joked throwing him a wink, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too Y/N, so much, that’s why I just had to come and talk to you, i couldn’t stand the thought of leaving this place in a few months and not even being friends with you” he replied.

“Friends? Is that it?” Y/N teased.

“You’ll always be more than a friend to me, much more” he chuckled.

“I’m glad, I’m glad you came as well, this place hasn’t felt the same without you here, it’s our special place” Y/N stared deeply into Draco’s eyes.

He slowly moved his hand over the edge of her body, until it reached her neck, running one finger underneath her chin and up the side of her soft face, tucking a piece of loose hair behind her ear. They inched closer together, their lips were millimetres apart, the tension between them raising more each passing second. Until finally, their lips collided, a thousand fireworks went off inside Y/N’s stomach, she had wanted this, needed this, more than oxygen itself. Draco pulled her on top of him, her legs now wrapped around his waist, as they continued to devour each other. He could stay like this forever, her gentle moans in his ear, the warmth of her body intertwined with his.

“I love you Y/N” he cooed into her lips between kisses.

“I love you too Draco”

[noritoshiikamo]

his little baker

pairing: choso + fem!reader genre: porn with tiny fluff tags//warning: full on smut, choso with breeding kink, little shibari mention tagging: @unabashednightmarepizza @sukirichi @sassyeahhhh [lemme know if wanna be tagged in the next part] note: the obligatory trio of mine: unedited, lowercase intended, the obligatory trio of mine: not well edited, lowercase intended, english isnt my first language im sorry if i murder it. SIGHS WHERE DO I BEGIN WITH THIS DJJENDBDHKDJFKEIEIJKDJ I BLAME SUKI based on the prompt "you should’ve watch that pretty little mouth of yours, before i fuck it"

something about the way his blood formed his own pretty shibari rope around her wrist riled him up. choso tilted his head to the left so innocently, eyes raking her body from up to her feet.

“you should’ve watch that pretty little mouth of yours,” he stated plainly, licking the blood of his palm. the way the drool left trails of reddish fluid on the side of his lips had her pussy clutching on nothing. he grinned as he continued, watching as the words widened her eyes, “before i fuck it.”

“choso-”

“silence, human.”

her breath hitched when she felt his rough hand running up her legs. even with the pantyhose covering it, she could feel the rough palms as if her legs were bare and exposed. her shoes were all over the room, skirt hiked up and she wondered how she managed to get herself in this position in the first place; not that she wanted to complain. he roughly grabbed her by the underside of her knee, pressing her in the meanest mating press. she groaned at the feeling of the blood rope tugging around her wrists. she hates being restrained but choso likes the sense of seeing her helplessness. seeing her body trashing, moaning, and begging to be touched and to touch him fuelled his core.

“baby,” he called melodiously, pressing her clothed core with his palm. he could only see the white of her eyes, head thrown back as she tugged on the restrain. he faked a gasp, “look at how wet you are.”

“choso, please,” she gasped.

he clicked his tongue, “tch, you’re in no position to demand, my love,” with a flick of his wrists, he ripped the pantyhose apart, revealing the last article of clothes. clear patch of moist forming on the panties sending a chuckle out his mouth. he’s a massive tease; he pressed butterfly kisses all over her ankle, brushing his fangs against the reddening skin as he inched up, flicking the tip of his tongue on her exposed skin occasionally when he reached to her thigh until his breath lingered above her cunt. she was a panting mess, eyes roaming desperately and when she felt his fingers tugging on the thin material of her panties, she couldn’t breathe when the material snapped.

he loomed over her, her eyes frantically drinking the sight of him. they were both feral in their own way. he ran his thumb on her lower lip which she immediately caught. eyes trained on him just the way he likes it, she desperately sucked on his thumb, tongue swirling around like it was the real thing before releasing it with a pop. his eyes widened and his pants tightened. he leaned forward, rewarding her little show with a kiss.

“such a good girl,” he praised happily.

she nodded frantically, eager for another kiss only for him to put her back to her place with a tug of her hair. she yelped and he immediately shoved the sad excuse of the panties in her mouth. his baby looks perfect. he fought the urge to palm himself immediately.

“remind me, what do we do when we reached our limit?” his eyes glanced up to her left hand, watching as her hand signalled their safe gesture. all fingers up with the ring finger tapping the palm twice; just like they agreed. he ruffed her hair with a kiss on her forehead, “that’s my girl,” he winked before slipping off the bed.

choso tend to get overly excited with everything. being a cursed human trapped for years, he has a lot of things to make up for and his curiosity is about to kill a pussy. literally. he believes that when a thing needs to be done, it needs to be done right. the first time he found out that her human body was capable of squirting, he had her screaming on the edge of the bed with three fingers buried deep and his lips latched on her clit, thighs soaked and trembling as his free hand dug deep onto her flesh to hold her down.

today, he’s about to find out if his human has the gag reflex.

straddling her chest with nothing on but a boxer, she marvelled at the way his body looked. he hooked his finger on the strap, pulling the panties out and watched as his human panted for air. “are you going to be a good girl for me?” he cooed, tilting her chin up with a finger. “yes, choso.” she nodded eagerly.

he was an eager man. his cock sprunt out fully erected and she found herself salivating over the length. holding the base of it, he gave it a quick pump, pre cum leaking down on her lips, her tongue was already out to catch the falling droplet, licking it clean. holding on to the headboard, he slipped the head between her lips, a loud moan rumbled out of his throat as he watched little by little the length disappeared into her mouth.

“fuck, baby, look at the way you take my dick,” he snickered, thrusting his hips sending the tip to the back of her throat. her nose touched his trail, the corner of her eyes watered as she looked up to him desperately. “just a little more,” he hushed, wiping the stray tear away, grunting at the way her throat tightened around his length. he quickly pulled out, strings of her saliva and his pre cum soaking her chin. she panted, gulping as much air as she could when she felt the tip resting on her lips.

when she struggled to swallow what left in her mouth, he gave her a glare, a warningand like an obedient little slut, she swallowed it down. “open wide and let me fuck that pretty little mouth,” he grunted, bottoming down and up, slowly building a rhythm with the thrust of his hips. she gagged, his dick twitching at the squelching sound coming from her moist throat clamping on his dick desperately. when the passage started to feel tighter and unwelcoming, he reached down and closed her nose, telling her calmly to open and breath through her mouth. she shook her head to get his hand off and irritated, he grabbed her hair back and warned her of what happen to bad girls.

“bad little girls don’t deserve to cum,” he hissed, “do you want to be a bad girl, or do you want to open up for me and let me fill your throat up?”

her eyes watered as she nodded, tears streaming down her face.

“i-i want to cum.”

“let’s try again then. show me what you’ve learned,” he let go of her hair and his eyes marvelled as she took the dick in, tongue flat against his shaft, lapping desperately against it as she took him in. she worked around it for a bit, bobbing and sucking on the tip, bottoming out with occasionally letting the tip in to the back of her throat ignoring the gagging urge. sense of pride built in her chest when she looked up to see such a tense look on his face. brows knitted with his eyes close as he struggled to take a breath every time she sucked it in; it was clear that he wanted to cum so badly.

and she took it personally.

without a warning, she put on the pretence of bottoming out, but instead of pulling, she held it in. dick deep down her spasming throat clenching desperately on his sensitive dick. tongue swirling on his veins, eyes bore on his now opened eyes, openly challenging him and she could hear him laughing. he knew what she was doing, trying to make him cum to end the game early but no way baby. two can play this game. he closed her nose again, watching as her cheeks flushed. he knew she’s not going to last.

he counted to 10, watched as she tugged on his restrains, eyes wide before pulling out. she gasped for air, coughing out spit and her pre cum. she didn’t even have enough time to recover when he grabbed her face.

“my baby thinks she’s so smart,” he smirked, planting a kiss on her nose, “you think you can end the game by making me cum in your mouth,” his hand travelled down to cup her soaking cunt, “that’s not the deal, baby. and even if you did make me cum, i still have plenty more to fill your needy cunt,” he slapped his palm on the sensitive nub, eliciting a scream from the girl. her legs closed immediately, clutching desperately as it trembled in pleasure.

he released the bind, immediately throwing the girl on all fours. she whimpered at his roughness. his hand buried in her hair, tugging on it until he could see down on her pretty teary eyes. her breath hitched when she felt the tip rubbing against her entrance, slowly splitting her apart as he drove his dick into her clenching wall. “does it feel good?” he cooed down on his human, cue her repeating yes like a prayer. he let go of her hair, grabbing a shoulder and her hips, before pulling out and in again. he quickly built his rhythm, the sound of her ass clapping against his pelvic got rougher and rougher. her loud cries echoed the small room, so melodiously to his ear. he leaned forward; nose buried in her hair as he inhaled her scent in.

his human smelled so good, so sweet and warm; it’s like walking into a bakery store where the baker had just pulled out a nice batch of cinnamon rolls. which she owns.

his hand reached under her shirt, tugging on the material of her bra spilling the goodies out. she called out his name when his fingers found the hardened nub, gently rolling it between his fingers. he lives for her reassurance. the like that, please touch me like that, choso that feel so good, fuck me a little harder; they all went straight to his dick. he nuzzled against her ears, warm breath tickling her neck as his fang brushed against her sensitive neck.

steadying her body, he took her hand in his huge palm, placing it on her lower abdomen. he kissed the side of her head, a small smile on his face, “do you feel that?” he asked, thrusting in, “your cunt looks so full and pretty buried on my dick.” her eyes widened when she realised the bulge was his dick. she could feel it moving from the outside, she swallowed her saliva, eyes fluttering back and forth.

“maybe i should fuck you full of my cum,” he kissed her shoulder, “first i’ll make you round and full of my cum, then maybe you’ll be round and full with my child. what do you think of that human?” she shuddered at the thought. he pulled her up, her back resting against his pounding chest.

she croaked, “choso-”

“you think i can make you a mother?” he hummed against her ears.

she was drunk and delirious, with his hand rubbing circles on her clit, she could only nod in compliance. such an obedient human, his mind noted. he didn’t understand how he got so obsessed with her, a human.

his little baker.

the very first time he laid eyes on her, she held a cinnamon roll to him, and he stuttered. she smiled so beautifully, and she welcomed him in her bakery every day. little by little, her pants turned into skirt and the skirt become shorter and shorter the more he came over. he got that instantly. every glance came with a little smirk as she placed his coffee and cinnamon bun. on a good day, he caught on what colour of bra she’s wearing. but now he got her shaking in his arms, bent to his every will as he pumped her full of pleasure.

he wanted her for forever.

“c-cum in me,” she stuttered, head resting on his shoulder.

he hummed in agreement, his lips leaving trails of black and blue on her shoulder as his thrusts got sloppier. she came undone first, his palm against her mouth as she screamed in pleasure. her legs trembled; her nails left crescent marks on his arms as he held her close. her walls clutching desperately against his length. he buried his face in the crook of her neck ad he powered through. she was a babbling mess, overstimulation finally hit her as his cock scrapped the inside of her raw. it didn’t take long for him to finally come, shooting ropes after ropes of his thick seed in her cunt. his hips slowed down; praises didn’t stop coming from his lips as he came down from his own high. they crashed on the bed.

he didn’t dare to move out, leaving his dick buried deep inside her as he struggled to catch a breath. until he was sure he had emptied everything deep in her womb, he’s not budging. she rested her head on his arm, his tongue lapped down her sweaty skin, kissing on every mark he left apologetically. it was almost painful to stay in her as his dick softened, but his hips still trusting so gently.

he could feel her chest rumbling as she let a soft laugh at his little antics. she let his arms wrapped around her, his soft breathing lulling her into sleep. he kissed her cheek and nuzzled back into her neck.

oh, how this cursed human loves his little baker so much.

[arcanadreams]

Water Fights with the OM Bros

it’s 90 degrees outside at my place and you know what that means!!! water fight headcanons because I refuse to go outside in the heat in real life asdhgskjdgks

once again i’m only doing the brothers bc i do not trust myself with the dateables just yet lmao

Lucifer:

Literally only agrees to join because you’re so excited about it.

“...If it makes you happy, MC,” are his exact words. Simp.

You did agree to make the game have no points though, to keep things from getting competitive. Both at the advice of Lucifer and because you knew he would not join if there was any chance he could lose. (Also because Satan is a menace but we’ll get to that later.)

When all the brothers are gathered he suggests everyone pairs up into teams. 

“You’re only saying that so you can cozy with M-” Asmo tries to say before being sprayed in the face with water.

“My hair!” “Oh, look at that. I suppose the game has started,” Lucifer hides his water gun behind his legs, but he can’t hide the shit eating grin on his face.

He takes your hand with a “Come along, MC,” and leads you away as everyone splits up.

You two make a surprisingly good team for this sort of thing! He knows the gardens well and also knows where each of his brothers is likely to go. You are quite skilled water water guns and balloons. He’s basically the brains and you’re the brawn. 

He snatches a few kisses now and then when you look back at him excitedly after smacking one of his brothers with a balloon. You’re just so cute!

When everyone is all tuckered out and goes off to shower and whatever, Lucifer hangs back with you to thank you for organizing everything. With a kiss to the back of your hand, he says, “I’ll admit, I was...skeptical, at first. But, as usual, you brought my brothers together in a way I haven’t seen in a long while. Thank you, MC.” 

Mammon:

“I’m MC’s first man, so I get to team with them!” “You’re also literally my boyfriend, but okay hun.” Cue Mammon blushing beet red at the nickname and muttering at you not to call him that in front of his brothers. (He doesn’t mean it; he loves that they know you’re his and vice versa.)

Strategically, the two of you are the absolute worst. But that’s because you’re both just there to have fun!

And have fun you do! You actually get in quite a few fun chases with Levi! He’s probably the most into the water fight out of everyone, the three of you are just running around the gardens pelting each other with balloons. It’s super cute.

Mammon is absolutely the type to yell “I’ll avenge you, MC!” every single time you get sprayed. 

Eventually, you and Mammon follow Levi’s advice and start hiding in places to catch some of the other brothers by surprise. Which would be fine if Mammon didn’t blush super hard and start grumbling because of how close together you were when kneeling behind the garden wall.

You roll your eyes and surge forward to kiss him. He’s so shocked he has no idea what to do with his hands at first. But, after a second of pause, his water gun falls to the ground with a clatter and he wraps his arms around you.

“Get a room,” Is all the two of you hear before Belphie dumps a whole ass bucket of water on your heads. Mammon growls and jumps up to get the youngest before Beel can scoop him up, but you grab his hand and stop him. 

You’re laughing super hard, and the sun is shining on your hair. You almost look like you have a halo...Mammon gives up the chase before it even starts because his MC is simply ethereal. 

“Mammon!” You smile brilliantly at him when you finally stop laughing. “I kissed you to keep you quiet! And then you managed to make even more noise!” 

He just hugs you then so you can’t see his blushing face. Stupid lovely human making fun of him. (He likes it, though.)

Leviathan:

This boy is literally the MOST excited when you tell him your idea. He was in on it from the very start.

He actually helped you get all the supplies! He opens his Akuzon account right away and starts showing you what water guns would be best and picking out huge packs of balloons made specifically for being water grenades. (Definitely had looked all this stuff up before in case he found a LARPing buddy.)

You ask him how much Grimm all this stuff will cost and he tells you not to worry. “I’ll cover it!” “But, Levi-” He interrupts you with big blush on his face. 

“L-Listen MC. You’re m-my Henry! And I know this will be fun, s-so...I’ll cover it.” You leap forward and give him a hug, triggering a surprised but equally happy screech.

Honestly he is so excited you proposed an idea like that of your own volition. Like...it just makes him feel like all the games and stuff he finds fun truly don’t bother you. You haven’t been lying; you genuinely are interested in the same things as him. It makes him feel so warm.

When everyone is still arriving, you grab one of your water guns and do that cool spinny thing. You know the thing. The cowboy gun spin. You’re like, “Hey Levi! Check this out!” 

BAM. Boy is OUT. So red his face is steaming. That’s the hottest thing he has ever seen in his entire damn life. What the fuck, MC. He is basically frozen on the spot out of sheer overwhelmed-ness as how hot that was. You have to drag him away when the water fight starts. Totally worth staying up all night figuring out how to do the spin trick with a water gun.

Once the action gets going, you two are unstoppable. No one escapes the fight unscathed thanks to y’all. All those late night Call of Duty sessions trained you for this!!

Your favorite tactic is definitely camping, though. You and Levi would pick a spot and hide there, waiting for one of his brothers to come by, and then...ATTACK!

If it actually were a competition, you two would’ve won by a landslide. But honestly, Levi didn’t really keep track. He was having too much fun watching you. You were so mesmerizing when you were in the zone and so gorgeous when laughing as you gave him victory high fives after a successful ambush. 

You let him take a picture of you posing all tough with your water gun and he makes it his DDD background immediately. And his lockscreen so you can protect his DDD from intruders.

Satan:

THIS ASSHOLE. THIS MAN IS THE REASON YOU MADE SURE THERE WAS NO COMPETITION.

If there was any sense of competition, Satan would’ve gone absolutely out of his mind to beat Lucifer. He would make sure to destroy that man’s dignity as thoroughly as possible.

So, for the sake of both him and the eldest brother, no points. No contest. He grumbles about it, but, much like said eldest brother, he still joins because he sees how happy the idea of a family water fight makes you.

 Satan treats is almost as seriously as Levi does. EVEN THOUGH YOU MADE SURE IT WASN’T A COMPETITION, HE DAMN SURE STILL ACTS LIKE IT IS. UGH.

Literally pulls a map of the House of Lamentation’s gardens out of his back pocket??? And puts it on the side of the fountain?? And starts planning maneuvers on it with you??? He pulls a pen out of his SWIM TRUNK POCKETS to use to point with and emphasize his points. You just blink at him. This is your mans. Good lord.

Considering his expert knowledge of the layout of the entire surrounding area of HoL from that map, he actually knows of some secret passages the other brothers don’t even consider. He takes you to them so you can use them to spy on what Lucifer’s the other brothers’ strategies are.

It’s only once you’re creeping around the tunnels that he realizes something: none of his brothers know where you are. They can’t bother you...time to make out.

Grabs your attention with a quiet, “MC” and gives you a smooch. Soon enough he is backing you up against the wall. A water balloon you have tied to your belt pops against the rough brick, interrupting the two of you.

Satan disregards it and move to kiss you again, but you let out a gasp. He’s worried for you for a moment: did you scrape yourself? But when you turn to look at him, there’s a mischievous glint in your eye that he loves to see. 

“My water broke!” You whisper-exclaim dramatically, covering your mouth in fake shock. Satan has to nuzzle his face in your neck to avoid laughing and filling the tunnel with the echo that would alert his brothers. The two of you basically just canoodle in the passages until the water fight is over LMAO

Asmodeus:

Pretty much just to show off how good he looks in a bathing suit to you and anyone else who happens to be lucky enough to witness his glory.

He’s not the best at water fights and ends up using you as a human shield sometimes adjgfkjshf

“Asmo! Stop hiding behind me!” “I am not letting Lucifer mess up my hair twice in one day, darling!”

He comments quite often on how hot you look. Both in your bathing suit and also when in the zone looking for victims to douse in watery fury. You look like an action hero, MC! Have you ever thought about becoming the next Bond? Asmo could definitely pull some hypnotic strings.~

Every time you successfully pull him out of the way of an oncoming water balloon or block a blast of water from hitting, he totally melts. He presses his back to your chest, swooning against you and batting his eyelashes.

“Oh, MC, my hero! My dashing knight in shining armor!” You scoff, but think it’s super cute. You even play into it sometimes and pick him up bridal style.

“The king is looking for you, my prince,” you say once as you lift him, and he actually blushes. Asmodeus, avatar of lust, blushes at a silly pet name. He was not expecting you to get so into the role!!! He loves it, though.

For the rest of the water fight the two of you are basically roleplaying a royal and his knight bodyguard. It is stupidly fun and the both of you have an absolute blast.

“Oh, MC, my darling knight! I have amazing news!” Asmo says after the fight ends. You’re drying his hair off with a towel. “Yes, my liege?” 

“In exchange for your wonderful and dutiful protection, you have been given permission by the crown to court me! Isn’t that wonderful?” He smiles and you throw your head back in a laugh. You lean down and give him a nice, long kiss on the lips before pulling away. “That is absolutely splendid, your highness.”

Beelzebub:

He loves the idea because it’ll get his whole family together and he knows it. He has to carry Belphie out there but that’s normal.

He helped you and Levi plan!! Excited boy. You filled him in when he joined you and Levi for a game night. He totally volunteered to go get some extra supplies from some nearby stores for y’all. So cute.

Once everyone is actually fighting, this boy WILL NOT STOP BEING A HUMAN (demon?) SHIELD FOR YOU. LIKE NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU TELL HIM IT’S FINE, YOU’RE FINE, HE WILL NOT STOP.

“Babycakes, it’s okay. It’s water. It can’t hurt me.” “But I love you. I want you safe.” O H. O K A Y.

Someone call a doctor Beel just shot MC through the heart!!! He’s so genuine you just bright red and kiss his cheek because he deserve it.

“Well, I guess that’s settled then, huh?” He gives you a big Beel smile and nods, ruffling your hair affectionately.

Y’all get sprayed with water A LOT because your hungry boy is very big and hard to hide. Er, I should say HE gets sprayed a lot because he is a fantastic meat shield and you’re practically dry by the time the fight is over. He, on the other hand, is soaked to the bone.

He still insists on drying you off with a towel, though. The two of you dry each other off back in the twins’ room while Belphie dozes nearby in his bed.

You’re in the middle of drying his shoulders when he just starts talking. “That was really fun, MC. I’m really grateful for you. Ever since you’ve been here, things are always more fun. And you bring all my brother together. Thank you.” 

You damn near burst into tears!!! Ahhhh!!! You sniffle and jump into his nap, wrapping your arms around him. “But MC, I’m still wet.” “I don’t care!! I’m giving you snuggles!!”

Belphegor:

Literally does not give a single fuck about a water fight until he realizes it lets him throw shit at Lucifer with absolutely zero consequences. Then he is all in.

Beel doesn’t even have to carry him around during the fight! Once he is outside and realizes all the shenanigans he can pull, he is perfectly content to grab you by the hand and be the one dragging you around, for once!

You two will probably team up with Satan and Beel at various points. Beel because he’s Beel, and Satan because he and Belphie absolutely set water balloon filled booby traps for Lucifer.

That’s his preferred strategy: set up a trap and wait in the bushes, watching for the target to approach.

He’s definitely the type to yell “Every man for himself!” if someone catches you guys hiding. Unlike his twin, he lets you get totally soaked while he runs away laughing. Dickweed.

You guys have a lot of fun, though!! Seeing Belphie excited is always a treat for you. And, though he doesn’t say anything about it, Belphie also thinks it’s a treat whenever you scheme with him. You don’t join in on his mischief often, so he always cherishes the times you do.

Eventually, after soaking Lucifer thoroughly, Belphie eventually gets a bit tired. You, however, want to keep the fun going. So, just as he begins to dose off in your hiding spot...you spray him. Right in the face. 

He opens his eyes and sees you raising an eyebrow at him challengingly, giggling to yourself. He growls playfully and grabs his own water gun, quickly giving chase as you bolt. 

Being a demon, he’s much quicker than you. But he lets you think you can escape for a few minutes before catching up to you and wrapping his arms around you from behind. 

As you squirm and laugh in his embrace, he feels thankful he joined in on the fight, even if he was hesitant at first. After all, it led to this moment, where he can turn you around in his arms and give you a nice kiss as you melt against his chest.

[the-king-andthe-lionheart]

So this is definitely in response to that certain dark section of our fandom (you know exactly who you are) who are throwing a fit about the Arya and Daenerys fandoms enjoying the possibility of a canon Daenarya friendship in the future.  So let’s look at all the quotes that possibly foreshadow a future Arya and Dany friendship and put it into context.

It was very dark right now, she realized. She hugged her bare knees tight against her chest and shivered. She would wait quietly and count to ten thousand. By then it would be safe for her to come creeping back out and find her way home.

By the time she had reached eighty-seven, the room had begun to lighten as her eyes adjusted to the blackness. Slowly the shapes around her took on form. Huge empty eyes stared at her hungrily through the gloom, and dimly she saw the jagged shadows of long teeth. She had lost the count. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and sent the fear away. When she looked again, the monsters would be gone. Would never have been. She pretended that Syrio was beside her in the dark, whispering in her ear. Calm as still water, she told herself. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. She opened her eyes again.

The monsters were still there, but the fear was gone.

Arya got to her feet, moving warily. The heads were all around her. She touched one, curious, wondering if it was real. Her fingertips brushed a massive jaw. It felt real enough. The bone was smooth beneath her hand, cold and hard to the touch. She ran her fingers down a tooth, black and sharp, a dagger made of darkness. It made her shiver.

"It's dead," she said aloud. "It's just a skull, it can't hurt me." Yet somehow the monster seemed to know she was there. She could feel its empty eyes watching her through the gloom, and there was something in that dim, cavernous room that did not love her. She edged away from the skull and backed into a second, larger than the first. For an instant she could feel its teeth digging into her shoulder, as if it wanted a bite of her flesh. Arya whirled, felt leather catch and tear as a huge fang nipped at her jerkin, and then she was running. Another skull loomed ahead, the biggest monster of all, but Arya did not even slow. She leapt over a ridge of black teeth as tall as swords, dashed through hungry jaws, and threw herself against the door. - Arya III AGOT

Here is the initial passage that has to do with dragons in Arya’s story.  She comes across the dragon skulls in the dark and feels afraid of them.  She feels as if the eyes of the skulls were watching her and did not like her. She also doesn’t recognize them for what they are.  She initially refers to them as monsters, but later she comes to realize they are dragons: 

This time the monsters did not frighten her. They seemed almost old friends. Arya held the candle over her head. With each step she took, the shadows moved against the walls, as if they were turning to watch her pass. "Dragons," she whispered. She slid Needle out from under her cloak. The slender blade seemed very small and the dragons very big, yet somehow Arya felt better with steel in her hand. - Arya IV AGOT

Now admittedly the first quote does sound like the foreshadowing could suggest antagonism between Arya and Dany, but the second quote doesn’t suggest this.  Arya thinks of them as if they are old friends.  That is the most notable sentence of the paragraph, not the fact that she slid Needle out.  But when you actually look at this paragraph you actually see a duality here.  The monsters did not frighten her.  They seemed almost old friends.  Yet she slides her blade out and feels better?  So for me this quote just seems to foreshadow that Dany will be Arya’s friend, yet Arya will remain wary of her dragons like anyone naturally would be.

So putting these two quotes into context, it tells us that if Arya and Dany will meet they will initially be antagonistic and wary of each other (most Daenarya fans I’ve seen acknowledge this will likely be the case).  However it also suggests that this wariness will eventually fade and they will become friends.  Arya doesn’t need to think she is wholly safe from the dragons to have a friendship with Dany.  EVERYONE is wary about the dragons, just like most people would be unsure and most likely afraid if they were in the same room as a large cat or a bear. 

But this isn’t Arya’s only dragon connections in the narrative.  Arya’s closest relationship is with Jon, who is half Targaryen.  In Braavos Arya is fascinated by the courtesans and the Black Pearl in particular:

"The Black Pearl," she told them. Merry claimed the Black Pearl was the most famous courtesan of all. "She's descended from the dragons, that one," the woman had told Cat. "The first Black Pearl was a pirate queen. A Westerosi prince took her for a lover and got a daughter on her, who grew up to be a courtesan. Her own daughter followed her, and her daughter after her, until you get to this one [...] - Cat of the Canals AFFC

The woman with him could not have been more than a third his age. She was so lovely that the lamps seemed to burn brighter when she passed. She had dressed in a low-cut gown of pale yellow silk, startling against the light brown of her skin. Her black hair was bound up in a net of spun gold, and a jet-and-gold necklace brushed against the top of her full breasts. As they watched, she leaned close to the envoy and whispered something in his ear that made him laugh. "They should call her the Brown Pearl," Mercy said to Daena. "She's more brown than black."

"The first Black Pearl was black as a pot of ink," said Daena. "She was a pirate queen, fathered by a Sealord's son on a princess from the Summer Isles. A dragon king from Westeros took her for his lover."

"I would like to see a dragon," Mercy said wistfully. - Mercy TWOW

There is even foreshadowing that Arya will form a closer relationship with the Black Pearl in the future by becoming an apprentice for her so Arya can refine her highborn manners so it’s easier for the FM to place her into highborn society to do their work, because why not utilize a highborn girl in this way?

But also notice that Arya/Mercy is friends with a girl named “Daena” which is ridiculously close to the name Daenerys.  And in the same conversation with Daena (Daenerys) Arya/Mercy also said she wished to see a dragon.  And no this isn’t “Mercy’s” wish, this is Arya’s wish:

As Arya crossed the yard to the bathhouse, she spied a raven circling down toward the rookery, and wondered where it had come from and what message it carried. Might be it's from Robb, come to say it wasn't true about Bran and Rickon. She chewed on her lip, hoping. If I had wings I could fly back to Winterfell and see for myself. And if it was true, I'd just fly away, fly up past the moon and the shining stars, and see all the things in Old Nan's stories, dragons and sea monsters and the Titan of Braavos, and maybe I wouldn't ever fly back unless I wanted to. - Arya X ACOK

Doesn’t really sound like Arya hates dragons or have any issues regarding them.  She wants to see them irregardless of any fear they may inspire within her that everyone would naturally have upon seeing a dragon.

Arya also expresses a wish to fly throughout her narrative and she also has wing symbolism in her arc:

If I was a crow I could fly down and peck off his stupid fat pouty lips. - Arya X ACOK

If I had wings I could fly back to Winterfell and see for myself.  And if it was true, I'd just fly away, fly up past the moon and the shining stars, and see all the things in Old Nan's stories, dragons and sea monsters and the Titan of Braavos, and maybe I wouldn't ever fly back unless I wanted to. - Arya X ACOK

I wish I could change into a wolf and grow wings and fly away. - Arya XIII ASOS

She might be bald and skinny, but Mercy had a pretty smile, and a certain grace. Even Izembaro agreed that she was graceful. She was not far from the Gate as the crows flies, but for girls with feet instead of wings the way was longer. - Mercy TWOW

Also lets not forget how similar Arya and Dany are to each other and how many parallels they share.  They are both lost princesses exiled and sent to Essos, specifically Braavos, after their father's deaths at the hands of Lannister's.  They each know what it's like to be bought and sold and to be enslaved – Dany as a child bride and Arya as a child soldier.  And they both have pretenders trying to take their claims.  Both have been forced into becoming smallfolk, living in poverty and starved.  And they both know what it's like to be hunted and scared.  They adapt exceedingly well into other environments and cultures, and their morality and sense of justice are very attuned, as they seek to protect those that can not protect themselves.  Very protective, they are both empathetic and maternal and care for the sick, ailing, and dying.  Both of them are survivors and have both suffered abuse and sexual assault (more so for Dany, but it's still there).  They are both clever and know how to manipulate people.  They are both polyglots and both of their deepest desires are for home and family/pack.  They both try to live up to the image of their older siblings (ie Sansa and Rhaegar).  Arya is said to look and act like Lyanna and Daenerys is compared to Rhaegar by the people that knew him.   They are both very close to their house sigils and even dream about them and the mystical beasts they both own.  They both love horseback riding and they both have encountered mystical prophets.  Wanted/considered becoming sailors and they both have fantastic people skills.  Not to mention that it was Arya who said that the slaves should have killed the masters, while Dany is leading a slave uprising to overthrow and yes, execute the masters.

Dany is also not some “mad queen” and she does listen to the people who knew her father and Rhaegar.  She is learning the truth about the monster her father was and learning to accept that.  So there is no reason why Dany should continue to feel antagonistic towards the next generation of Stark’s for something they didn’t do.  

I’ve also seen comments about how the fire devastation that is within Arya’s story must clearly mean “Dark Dany” and that Arya and Dany will be antagonistic towards each other in canon when they meet.  I’m assuming these people are referring to the burning barn scene:

"You take her!" she yelled. "You get her out! You do it!" The fire beat at her back with hot red wings as she fled the burning barn. It felt blessedly cool outside, but men were dying all around her. She saw Koss throw down his blade to yield, and she saw them kill him where he stood. Smoke was everywhere. There was no sign of Yoren, but the axe was where Gendry had left it, by the woodpile outside the haven. As she wrenched it free, a mailed hand grabbed her arm. Spinning, Arya drove the head of the axe hard between his legs. She never saw his face, only the dark blood seeping between the links of his hauberk. Going back into that barn was the hardest thing she ever did. Smoke was pouring out the open door like a writhing black snake, and she could hear the screams of the poor animals inside, donkeys and horses and men. She chewed her lip, and darted through the doors, crouched low where the smoke wasn't quite so thick.

A donkey was caught in a ring of fire, shrieking in terror and pain. She could smell the stench of burning hair. The roof was gone up too, and things were falling down, pieces of flaming wood and bits of straw and hay. Arya put a hand over her mouth and nose. She couldn't see the wagon for the smoke, but she could still hear Biter screaming. She crawled toward the sound. - Arya IV ACOK

Arya rolled headfirst into the tunnel and dropped five feet. She got dirt in her mouth but she didn't care, the taste was fine, the taste was mud and water and worms and life. Under the earth the air was cool and dark. Above was nothing but blood and roaring red and choking smoke and the screams of dying horses. She moved her belt around so Needle would not be in her way, and began to crawl. A dozen feet down the tunnel she heard the sound, like the roar of some monstrous beast, and a cloud of hot smoke and black dust came billowing up behind her, smelling of hell. Arya held her breath and kissed the mud on the floor of the tunnel and cried. For whom, she could not say. - Arya IV ACOK

This chapter does not mean that Dany is going to go “evil” or “mad” and start burning stuff to the ground.  You guys do remember that Dany has three dragons right?  And that Dany is only the dragonrider to Drogon?  That leaves two other possible dragons that could be stolen from Dany.  We have Euron/Victarion who has the dragon binder horn and then we have Aegon who may or may not be able to claim one of those dragons for himself.  There is also the possibility that Euron dies or Aegon dies and someone else will take their places as dragonriders via Targaryen blood or use of that horn.  So besides Dany we have Aegon, Jon, Euron, and Tyrion who may all ride dragons within the story as they all have the proper set-up and foreshadowing for it to be a possibility.  So why is it the automatic assumption that it will be Dany burning shit down?   

Not to mention, wildfire has the same types of language used as the two quotes above:

And then some vast beast had let out a roar, and green flames were all around them: wildfire, pyromancer's piss, the jade demon [...] From bank to bank there was nothing but burning ships and wildfire. The sight of it seemed to stop his heart for a moment, and he could still remember the sound of it, the crackle of flames, the hiss of steam, the shrieks of dying men, and the beat of that terrible heat against his face as the current swept him down toward hell. - Davos I ASOS

So considering there not only is there a ton of foreshadowing that it will be Cersei who destroys King’s Landing with wildfire, but also there is foreshadowing that Jon Connington will do something incredibly drastic to win and keep the Iron Throne for Aegon.  And may I remind the audience that the fires Arya went through and experienced in the Riverlands had zero to do with Dany.  They were the direct result of the Lannisters.

So if Arya IV ACOK is foreshadowing a future fire she is stuck in, there is no evidence that the fire will be caused by Dany nor that the fire is dragonfire.  And if you are going to point out the show as evidence, let me tell you something, go to the youtuber The Dragon Demands and watch his videos dissecting everything about the scene of Dany burning King’s Landing by using the script, listening to BtS content, looking at the storyboards, actually noting that a scene of Cersei looking out the window, depicting her watching people put barrels of wildfire on the battlements, etc.  Because the compilation he makes proves that Dany burning KL the way that she did in 8x05 was a last minute change.  It was supposed to be an accidental wildfire explosion before they changed it so they could justify Jon killing her.  But I’m sure even with the evidence you’ll still cling to the idea of Dark!Dany because you are incredibly insecure about your fictitious ship and your blatant mischaracterization of your favorite “pure as the driven snow /s” character, because there is literally nothing in the books that foreshadows Dany going “mad” or “dark”.  So why don’t you take your jealousies about Daenerys and Arya and the very possible Daenarya friendship somewhere else.

[cosmicjoke]

Okay, so here we go!  Chapter 1 of “No Regrets”!  

There’s a few things I want to point out about this chapter, because both visually and textually, we get a lot of information about the Underground and Levi, and his relationship with Isabel and Furlan.  So I’ll just go through it.

The first thing that really caught my attention for this chapter was the opening page, which is a retrospective shot of Levi after he’s joined the SC, thinking about how he can’t ever know what the results of his choices are going to be.  He says here “I trusted in my own strength... I trusted in the decisions of comrades who had earned my faith...”  And this quote from Levi is really important in later understanding why he makes the choice he does, at the end.  He says he trusted in the decisions of comrades who had earned his faith, and that tells us that Levi believes in Furlan and Isabel, that he believes in their strength and their capability, that he believes in them enough to let them choose for themselves and trust in their judgement.  We’ll obviously delve more into this as it becomes more relevant to the story.  But moving on...

The next thing to catch my attention is the panels of the Underground we see.  These are probably the best shots of this place we get in the whole series, as it really depicts a place that is totally run down and dilapidated, with buildings falling apart and crumbling in disrepair, filth ridden streets with literal sewage water coming out of drain pipes, and a actual cave cover overhead, complete with stalactites, blocking out all sunlight except for few and far between pockets which break through holes in the rock ceiling.  The most telling panels though are the ones which depict the violence and poverty of the place.  We see a panel of a homeless man passed out on the street, painfully thin looking, and under him, two men in a fight, one beating the other violently.  And the next panel shows us a little girl, sitting barefoot on the ground between two men who have just blown each other’s brains out with guns.  Truly, this is a violent, dark, poverty-stricken place that breeds crime and depravation.  The pages before this say that BECAUSE of the splendor of the Capital city above the Underground, this place exists, and that’s accurate.  Because of the excesses and decadence of the rich and well off above these people rejected by society, that means fewer resources for the less fortunate.  It’s truly tragic.  

Alright, now I just want to move on to some small, but telling moments here while Levi and the others are being chased by Erwin and his crew.  

When Isabel is bragging about how the MP’s never learn, referring to how they’ll never be able to catch their gang, she asks Levi if what she said was cool.  Levi tells her “Don’t be stupid.”  This might seem like Levi just blowing her off, but the way I read it, it seems more to me like Levi is warning her not to be cocky, not to be over confident, because that’s the kind of thing that can get you killed, or caught.  Big Bro indeed!   We also see how mindful Levi is here as a leader, when he tells them they can’t afford to lead the soldiers following them straight to their hideout, and clearly they have a plan in place for just this sort of thing.

More importantly, Levi is fast to realize these aren’t ordinary soldiers after them, which shows his great instincts, but what’s really interesting is his internal thoughts here.  His logic is telling him regular MP’s wouldn’t work this hard to catch them, and that their skill with the ODM means they must be SC.  But Levi doesn’t really believe it which, given what we later find out about the deal with Lobov, and Lobov warning them of Erwin’s plans, tells us that Levi never really believed the SC would come after them.  He’s clearly surprised here.

Further, after informing Isabel and Furlan and confirming his suspicions, he tells Furlan that he’s got no intention of getting mixed up with “these guys”.  This tells us Levi never wanted to go through with Furlan’s plans, never wanted to join the SC, never wanted anything to do with any of it.  There’s further evidenced in this very chapter, which I’ll get to in a moment.  But it tells us a lot about the dubious feelings Levi had from the start, and how he probably would have simply been happiest to stay in the Underground with his friends, even though it was a hard life.  

Alright, so, this next part is a big deal, and it’s an overlooked detail which speaks volumes about the kind of person Levi is.  I didn’t even notice this the first time I read it, so I want to talk about it.  Levi separates from Isabel and Furlan, and takes Erwin and Mike on a wild chase through the back alley’s and narrow passages of the slums.  He really tries to give them the run around here, until he flips over a door, into another area.  What’s really important here is Levi’s dialog.  He says first “... Lost ‘em, huh?”  And then he says, “That got a little crazy...  I hope... none of them crashed.”  This is kind of amazing.  Levi is showing actual concern for the two soldiers who’d just attempted to catch him and his friends, who were doggedly pursuing them with obviously bad intentions of some kind.  And Levi, after having to resort to some serious ODM skills to shake them, says he hopes that none of them crashed.  He doesn’t want Erwin or Mike to get hurt, he just wants to get away from them.  Considering he doesn’t know either of them at this point, they’re just nameless, faceless military dogs trying to mess things up for him, that shows remarkable character.  

Of course, things go downhill from there, when Mike crashes through the door and tackles him.  All bets are off then, because Levi’s life is now in danger, and when that happens, he’ll resort to physical force.  Still, he only throws Mike off of him and once again attempts to get away, only for it to be Erwin who swoops down and cuts Levi’s cables.  This was actually really dangerous.  Given Levi’s momentum and position, he crashes hard into a nearby wall before falling to the ground.  So we already see some of that ruthlessness from Erwin here.  Of course, that spurs Levi into violence himself.  I have no doubt that when Levi lunges for Erwin and knocks his blade away, bringing his knife to his neck, he truly intended to kill him in that moment.  Levi’s compassion for these soldiers can only go so far, considering the desperation of his own circumstances.  If Mike hadn’t been there to stop it, I think Levi probably would have ripped Erwin’s jugular right out, and that would have been that, lol.  And then, it’s important to note too WHY Levi stops.  Not because Mike was able to physically restrain him, but because he tells Levi to look around himself, directing his attention to the fact that Furlan and Isabel have been caught.  That immediately stays Levi’s hand, and once again, we’re shown how Levi puts the wellbeing of his friends above himself.  He could have ditched Furlan and Isabel right then and there and escaped on his own.  Instead, he allows himself to be restrained and cuffed.  He refuses to abandon them.

Now the next scene is hugely important to a lot of stuff.

Erwin’s got Levi and his friends down on their knees, in the sewage, questioning them about their ODM skills, and the three of them stay silent, obviously defiant.  We really get a good look at Erwin’s abilities as a manipulator here.

He’s pulling the whole good cop/bad cop routine on Levi, when he tells him “I’d like to avoid any rough treatment if I can” before looking to Mike in a clear signal for Mike to pretty damn violently tear Levi’s head back by his hair before smashing his face into the sewage on the ground.  And this really IS sewage.  It’s not mud.  If you look at the panels, we see this brown muck coming out of drain pips attached to the surrounding buildings.  This water is probably, literally, dirty with feces, and Erwin has Mike put Levi’s face in this and hold it there.  Now let’s remember something important about Levi.  He’s a clean freak.  He obviously cares deeply about keeping both himself and his environment clean.  Erwin couldn’t know this about him at the time, but nobody of course would be happy about having their face shoved into literal shit.  But for Levi, I can only imagine this had to be tantamount to a kind of torture.  Erwin keeps questioning him, looking down at him without any kind of emotion, and Levi remains stubbornly silent, despite how awful this must truly be for him.  We get a close up of Levi’s eye in one of the panels, paralleled with Erwin’s own, and Levi’s expression really strikes me as one of awful humiliation.  He goes from looking up at Erwin in rage, to looking away, staring straight ahead, while Erwin keeps looking down at him.

Still, Levi says nothing, and it’s Isabel who finally cracks, telling Erwin that they didn’t learn to use ODM from anyone, with Furlan further explaining that they taught themselves as a means of survival.  He remarks that “anyone who doesn’t know what sewage tastes like couldn’t understand!”.  Clearly, both of them are really upset to see this being done to Levi, and I have to imagine it’s at least in part because they know how awful an experience this has to be for him, given that they know how much he desires to stay clean.  Their shocked expressions when Mike first pushes Levi’s face into the sewage says as much too.

But still, Levi remains silent as Erwin then demands to know Levi’s name.  What Mike does to Levi in the next panel is even worse.  He pushes his face into the sewage and holds him there until Levi literally starts to choke in it, for long enough that, when he finally does pull him up, Levi is gasping for breath.  I really don’t see people talk enough about this scene, but, well...

It’s a torture scene.  Erwin is ordering Mike to torture Levi here.  It may not be the most extreme form of torture, it isn’t the type of physical violence we typically think of when we think of torture, but that’s what it is.  It’s causing Levi both physical and mental degradation, as well as physical distress.  

Even with this though, Levi’s still silent and refuses to answer Erwin at all.  

It’s only when Erwin literally threatens the lives of Furlan and Isabel that he finally talks.  This is such an important detail.  Levi was willing to take what to him must have been truly horrific treatment, but as soon as Erwin gives the signal to the other two Scouts who have hold of his friends, we see Levi’s expression shift from defiant rage to wide eyed fear as they put their blades to Furlan’s and Isabel’s throats.  

Finally Levi talks, calling Erwin a “bastard”, to which Erwin simply asks him again what his name is, and after a slight hesitation, Levi finally gives it.  

I think this entire scene is vital in understanding WHY Levi was so violently pissed at Erwin, to the point of wanting to kill him.

I think it’s a combination of both the humiliation and torture he puts Levi through here, and, worse still, the fact that he threatens Isabel and Furlan’s lives.  Levi already feels looked down upon by Erwin here, he already feels humiliated and embarrassed and as though he’s being treated like he’s worthless, because Erwin IS treating him like that here.  All while Erwin stands there, expressionless, making statements like he doesn’t want to have to use any rough treatment, etc... while at the same time ordering Mike to do just that.  Already, Erwin is sending Levi the message that he’s a liar and a manipulator who thinks nothing of putting another human being’s face in shit.  And then, to top that off, he shows Levi that he’s willing to hurt, maybe even kill, his two friends to get what he wants.

Is it any wonder Levi hated Erwin as much as he did at the beginning?  After a lifetime in the Underground where, from the time of his birth, he had to deal with him and those he cares about being treated like worthless trash.  It would be a miracle if Levi DIDN’T want to kill Erwin at this point.  To have to then submit to him willingly, after all of that, must have been beyond humiliating for him.

Erwin continues to be manipulative here too, when after Levi gives his name, Erwin’s attitude suddenly shifts, and he smiles at Levi and gets down on one knee with him, in the filth, his entire demeanor seeming to shift into an abruptly friendly one as he offers his deal to Levi.  Again, that whole good cop/bad cop thing.  At the same time, he continues to threaten Levi by telling him if he refuses his offer, he’ll hand them all over to the MP’s and that, given their crimes, they shouldn’t expect to be treated with any kind of decency.  What’s kind of funny about this statement from Erwin is that up until now, Erwin and Mike have done anything but treat Levi decently. 

Okay, one more important point to make about this chapter, and it goes back to what I said earlier about Levi not wanting anything to do with the SC, and how that tells us Levi really didn’t want to go through with Furlan’s plans.

After Erwin makes his offer, we see Levi look over at Furlan, who’s giving him an intent look, and in the next panel, we see an almost surprised, or astonished look on Levi’s face, like he can’t believe Furlan is asking him to do this, before he grits his teeth in obvious frustration, and then accepts Erwin’s offer to join the SC.  What this tells us is that Levi only takes Erwin’s offer because Furlan wanted him to.  Because this was all part of Furlan’s plan, to go through with Lobov’s commission, to get caught by the SC, etc...  It’s clear Levi never wanted this, and he’s upset at having to do it.  But the fact he agrees after looking over at Furlan and seeing him implore Levi with his eyes tells us, once again, that Levi is willing to sacrifice his own desires for the desires of others.  That being his two friends.

For them, he’ll join the Survey Corps, even as every one of his instincts is probably screaming at him that this is a bad idea.

Anyway, those are my thoughts for the first chapter of “No Regrets”.  There’s a lot more to unpack in this manga than I think people realize.  I hope whoever took the time to read my long ass post found it at least a little worth while.  I’ll be moving on to chapter two next!

[di-kut]

Baar Bal Runi: Chapter Fifteen

Series Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive!Reader

Words: 6.1K

Summary: (Body Swap AU) Din has to kill the bounty hunter who has been chasing you through space. 

Rating: MA (Extreme descriptions of violence, explicit descriptions of sex)

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, death, murder, sex (m/f), fingering (female receiving) 

A/N: HELLO! I’m sorry I was gone so long!! My operation went well, thank you to every single one of you. And especially for all the lovely messages and kind words I got while I was healing. My brain has been foggy since then but babey we are back in business. AND WE ARE HERE TO ABSOLUTELY COMMIT MURDER. As you can see this chapter we have some pretty intense warnings and a high rating so please read with caution. The read more will be at the top so anyone who wishes to avoid these can do so. 

The first time Din Djarin took a life he used his hands.

The man was bigger than him. Stronger than him too, thick, meaty arms and body. Din was glad for his helmet, so that man could not see his face. Could not see his scared eyes beneath. But Din could see his eyes, the slaver’s eyes. His cargo ship had been packed so full of children they could barely fit to sit next to each other in the hull. Scared and bound. Some of them were older, Din’s age, their faces streaked with dirt and blood and sweat. The Mandalorians had found them on an almost uninhabited planet making a stopover before a jump to hyperspace, some of the children left out in the hot sun, their hands tied in front of them and squinting. One of them sobbing. And Din was ready to complete his passage, and so while the Mandalorians helped the children from the hull onto their ship they took Din’s blaster and shoved the captured slaver at him, encased on all sides by helmeted warriors, just like the spars in the covert. But this was no spar. And Din had no blaster. His ears were ringing and making him dizzy. His blood was pumping so hard in his hands he had to ball them into fists to keep them from shaking. The slaver was watching him still, spat at his feet some taunt.

Din does not remember what the man said anymore.

Din remembers thinking that he took too long. Remembers being scared enough that he made mistakes he never would in the covert. So that the man was able to grab him by his swinging arm and pull him close enough to beat his fist against the side of Din’s helmet. The sound of the ringing made it hard to think, hard to see. Misstepped again and the slaver’s boot connected with the side of his knee. Grabbed his arm agains and wrapped both his meaty fists around Din’s wrist, got the spot between his glove and his Beskar. Snapped it with a sound which made Din sick, felt like his arm is being crushed from his broken wrist to his shoulder. Felt it in the backs of his teeth. He heard the same chanting in his head, over and over. At kyr’amur ures suvarirar cyriror at ijaat cyay. At kyr’amur ures suvarirar cyriror at ijaat cyay. At kyr’amur ures suvarirar cyriror at ijaat cyay. The voices of the Mandalorians speaking for his passage. He must kill a man with his hands and understand what it is to take a life. He must be able to look a person in their eye before he kills him. To feel the power he holds over them. All people. All things. And then they will give him his blaster again.

The slaver hit him against the side of his helmet again, slapped it with an open palm. Din’s wrist burned. He stumbled and almost hit the ground. Swiped at the slaver and it made the huge man laugh, cruel and mean and ugly. His teeth were two perfect straight lines. Din caught his arm on another swipe and pulled him forward, managed to throw the man off balance. Tripped him and pushes him to the ground. The slaver was big, and he hit the ground hard. Din felt it move the earth beneath him in a tremor. Clambered on top of him before the man could move again, get the upper hand again. His fist glanced off the man’s ear.

The slaver rolled and Din’s back hit the dirt. Sent a cloud of dry dust into the air around him. His Beskar still made him heavy and awkward then. Reduced his reach and made him slow. He was not yet used to accounting for it. The slaver smacked him again. Mean again. Laughed at the sound of his palm against the metal. Taunted him. Din thought he would die then. Saw the helmets of his brothers watching him, hovering just out of reach. They did not move to help him when the slaver tried to wrap both his fists around Din’s neck. There were no children anymore, all of them carried away. The sky was blue and blazing. The sun was hot. The slaver had spittle between his lips that hit the visor of the helmet when he laughed. Din thinks the man said something to him then as well, but he cannot remember the words anymore. Only the sound of the man’s voice. The shadow of him looming over him in the dirt on some planet far away from home. A dark shape against a bright sky, his death the same as his last memory of his parents, and death was laughing at him. All around them the Mandalorians are silent.

Din doesn’t know how he managed to kick his leg out, to loop his knee high enough that he could roll them, sudden and sharp. Forced the slaver on his back into the dust. His right hand still burned, his right arm, the limb pulsing, but while the man was surprised Din grabbed him by his hair and beat his head into the ground. Over and over and over again. The dull thudding became wet. The blood leaked out over the grey dust and turned it to mud. Splattered over his pants and his boots and his gloves. Over his Beskar.

When Din finally stumbled to his feet the back of the slaver’s head was shattered. His hair and flesh and bone mixed in with the mud beneath him. His eyes don’t see anything anymore. Stare into nothing. The man was not scared, he did not have time to be scared. The Mandalorians around them disperse, all murmuring the same thing under their breath. At kyr’amur ures suvarirar cyriror at ijaat cyay. The sigils on their pauldrons caught the bright light on the desert planet, glinting in the sun. The Death Watch. The Mandalorian who raised him, who took him from his dead parents stepped forward and rested a hand on Din’s arm again, nodded grimly. He handed him back his blaster. Din was still glad for his helmet so that the warriors could not see the tears on his face.

Din has no blaster now.

And the bounty hunter cannot see the smile on his face. Even leaned in towards him, head tilted. The same cruel smile on his face that the slaver had. That men who like to hurt people get. A twisted sort of smile. He’s tapping Din’s blaster against the helmet in mock thought. Clicks his tongue and laughs. Din tries to remember what the slaver said to him, leaned over him in the desert, ready to kill him. Behind the bounty hunter, lightning flashes on Barab I. The light dances over the helmet and reflects in the man’s dark eyes, plays over his skin, bright and silver. Makes the man look empty and white and pale. Like a corpse. Din does not move, even when the bounty hunter holsters the gun and reaches both hands towards the edges of the helmet.

“You even awake in there, huh Mando?” He asks.

Din waits until he’s leaned in close enough that he can hit him. Snaps his head forward, slams the top of the helmet against the bounty hunter’s nose with a thick, wet sound. Breaks it. Makes the man scream. Din shifts his weight onto his braced leg, pushes to stand. Feels weak and heavy in the armour after months, feels the burn in his legs. The man stumbles away but Din is faster, and his foot hits him over where his forearms are cradling his broken nose. Again in the middle of his chest when the man swings his arms to try and catch his balance. When the bounty hunter falls into the water the splash covers him completely. Tries to push away through it until Din’s boot connects hard with his temple. The bounty hunter slumps forward, face down, bubbles streaming into the shallow water around him. Din’s hands still bound behind his back. He steps on one of the man’s shoulders and stomps, right in the middle of the man’s neck, on his spine. And the bounty hunter goes still.

Din pants, sways for a second, the water around his ankles lapping against his boots like little waves. Feels too big, too heavy, like he might sink into the water and drown. The Crest is open like a cavern, dark and silent. A sight which used to be so familiar, and it fills him with dread. There should be your gentle voice, talking to the child, the loud coos in return. The lights on. The tinkering sound of your tools – always working. Always fixing. It takes him too long to remember how to move, and when he does his legs feel wrong beneath him. Like they are not a part of the rest of him. Bends over the dead bounty and has to try to find the release for the cuffs backwards, his hands behind him. Takes too long. Everything takes too long. But then he finds the small control, in a pocket of the man’s belt, and he releases the cuffs. Drops them into the water with the dead man. He flexes his hands, clenches them into fists, over and over as he walks towards the open ramp. Replays everything he can remember – the Barabels, your hand in his, the glint of the red clay on the Beskar, the dark smudges like blood on the metal. The tunnels. The rush of adrenaline when he’d realised too late the bounty hunter was already behind him.

And then nothing.

He stumbles up the ramp. The world spinning beneath him, all around him. Din has to lean a hand against the door when he gets close enough to try and find his feet beneath him. The hull is upturned completely. Crates shoved and fallen, open and spilling their contents over the floor. Strapping half pulled away. The cot in the corner without its mattress is overturned and shoved against the far wall beneath the ladder. Inside he can see it now, the flashing green light of the chryofreezer blinking in the dark. His heart fills his mouth. Catches his boot in the grating to get to it, visions of your face frozen, screaming, staring out at him. But before he reaches the ‘freezer he sees the slumped shape on the ground. Still and unmoving. A smaller shape, the shape of long ears peaking over it.

“No.” The word feels like its torn out. Doesn’t mean to say it. Doesn’t choose to start moving but he is halfway there, every flash of green illuminating more. “No, no. No.”

He doesn’t feel the impact of the floor against his knees, or the way the grating digs through the leather of his gloves. His hands shake. Your head is twisted against the floor and facing away from him. The braid pulled away and hair covering you. Your arm is bent badly beneath you and legs twisted. You don’t move even when his hand gently grips your shoulder and begins to turn you. He sees faces before he sees yours – his parents. Silhouetted against bright, white light. He doesn’t remember what they look like anymore. Not really. But he sees the doors closing over him and the creeping darkness at the edges of him, under the Beskar, under the helmet. Cold and dark and airless. Unescapable. Sees a pile of sightless helmets staring at him from the ground. He can’t breathe. Hears the rings of a mallet against metal like a gong and it hurts. Rings in his ears even though it is not real.

He rolls you back, one shoulder cradles against his knees. Your face is thin and grey. He rips the gloves off, fumbles with them with his shaking hands. He can see the child now too, resting in the crook of your bent legs. See the little rise and fall of his chest and he knows his son changed you back. Reaches over you to rest a bare hand against the child’s belly to feel the life in him. Sighs in relief then the child is warm and snoring. And then he turns back to you, keeps rolling you as gentle as he can. Pulls your twisted arm from beneath you and wraps his hand around it. There is no glove to reach beneath, just the cold, damp skin of your wrist. Half your body wet, your hair wet. Like you were dragged through the water. He doesn’t know if it happened to you or to him.

“Please,” Din whispers.

And the jagged sound of his voice catching breaks through the vodocor like a rip through the air. Digs his fingers in hard against the skin of your wrist. Begins to count the seconds of nothing, of just cold. And then finally a beat. He cries out. Something which isn’t quite Mando’a or anything else.

He can’t take it. The helmet feels too tight. He feels like a child again, like he had for the first few lonely years when the helmet suffocated him and hid him from the world. Din yanks it away and gasps in the cold, wet air in the hull. Filled with the taste of the rain outside. Smells sharp and damp. The side of his head hurts, and his back and legs. The familiar hurt of a fight and he wonders how long he was unconscious in your body before the child had changed you. How much you had to do without him. He gathers you up, your body rolling and limp, both arms around your chest and shoulders and he thinks he will collapse into you. Your head falls back and he tucks a hand beneath it. Buries his face into the skin of your neck to feel the pulse there against his cheek. Realises he can smell the warmth of your skin.

“Ni ceta,” he says against your collar. Tries to hold you tighter. “Ni ceta, ner Karta.”

.

There is so much light everywhere. Hurting against the backs of your eyelids. And noise, distant voices and machines and droids. Everything feels like it is swimming before you, just out of reach. You think that maybe you are dreaming, but the world slowly becomes more solid. More tangible. You can smell the sourness of stale air and alcohol. And the beeping is unbearable. High and constant and too fast. You try to close your eyes again, to drift, but once the world starts to focus it does not relent. Reels you back into it. And memories follow – thoughts. Realise you are in a medcenter, the white walls and sterile smell. The Barabels and the bounty hunter. And Din. The child. The worry does not come yet but you know it will.

“How are you?”

You struggle to turn your head. The woman is blurred and watery and your eyes won’t focus. She steps closer and you see the shape of a smile on her face.

“You’re in the medcenter on Gamorr. I’m just checking your vitals, okay?” Her voice is even and calm. You feel her hand against your arm and its warm and soft. Makes you jolt. The armour. The helmet. “I’m not going to hurt you. Won’t be a minute.”

The rooms begins to spin. Panic tastes like bile in the back of your throat. When you try to speak your throat burns. “Where – ”

“He had to go run an errand, he said.” The nurse wraps something tight around your arm. Smiles again and waits. And then she unwraps it and sets it aside. “He’ll be back any minute I’m sure, left early this morning. We weren’t expecting you up so soon.”

She lifts your hand in hers and it is too small. Your arm is too small. She squeezes it once and lays it back on the bed next to you, limp and useless. You twitch your fingers. The nurse smiles at you, she says something else but you don’t hear it. Too busy staring at your hand on the sheets. Trying to place why it looks so wrong. Trying to stop the wave of panic that you are without the helmet, and the armour, and that Din is gone. That you are stuck on some distant planet without him. But before it mounts, chokes you, the door hisses open behind the nurse and there is a glint of silver in the light, and the familiar sound of the soft kiss of metal on metal, and the darkness of the visor finds you quickly. The Mandalorian. Din. Your small hand suddenly makes sense, the lightness around your head, around your chest. The nurse squeezes your arm with a smile and slips from the room behind him. And Din doesn’t move even when the door closes, or in the heavy moments which follow. The room thick and tense and filled with something you can’t name.

“Gotabor’ika?”

The vodocor makes his voice chip and shimmer in the static. But it is him, and your eyes well with tears. A harsh sound of relief torn from the back of your throat. And then he’s moving, so fast it makes your spin, the armour slipping and unreal in the bright lights. His hands around your jaw, in your hair, and the helmet pressing lightly against your forehead. You feel yourself roll as his weight dips the bed. Wrap your weak arms between you and around his shoulders. Hear the soft sigh slip from beneath the helmet – too quiet for the modulator to register, warm without the distortion.

“Ner Karta,” he murmurs. Rocks the helmet slightly against your forehead, the cool of the metal pressing against your brow. “Ner Karta.”

“Din.” You don’t know what else to say to him, so you say his name again. And again and again and he holds you tighter. Until the Beskar against your forehead warms to match you. Until the warmth of his fingers seeps through the leather gloves against your cheeks and jaw and neck.

You spend a week in the medcenter, the nurses are diligent and kind. And Din stays with you most of the time. At nights he leaves to be with the child, left in the care of the mechanic who manned the dock. The days move slow and fast all at once, time measured between check-ups. You sleep for much of it, drifting in and out of consciousness. And when you are awake you can feel always the dim throbbing of the blow at the back of your head, feel the raised ugly shape of the skin peeled away from the force of it. But even that starts to get better. You expect Din to be skittish, eager to move on as he always is, but he seems at ease. He sleeps as well, with his legs stretched out before him in the medcenter chair beside your bed, his arms folded over his stomach. You smile at the tilt of his helmet. The lip of it resting against his chest plate.

You move around as much as you are able, walk in circles around your small room. Think it must have cost Din a small fortune in credits to pay for a private one. But you don’t say it to him, don’t dare to bring up the cost, or ask him how you got there. A conversation you are not ready to have yet, even when he gives you his arm to help you when you are unsteady, or his gloved hand hovers at your waist when you stand shakily from the bed. Instead you think about what his voice sounds like when you know he is smiling, or the dry twist in it when he is joking. Distracts you from the nightmares of him lying, limp and cold and wet in your body, dragged and dumped against the floor of the Crest. Nightmares where he has no pulse. Nightmares of the poison in your side slowly killing you as you sleep.

And then it is time to leave. Din is quiet as you gather your small bag. Passes you your spare shirts from where he had folded them while you slept, and you smile and thank him. The Beskar seems to slip in and out of focus, reflections of the white walls and ceilings and floors make him seem only half there. A ghost. You are worried if you lose sight of him he will be gone forever. But he holds your bag for you and leads you from the medcenter. Through the streets of planet and back to the dock. He stops for you, several times, to check you are okay. And you always are. Close at his heels. The walk feels longer than you know it must be, still recovering from the blow to the back of your head, and the week of barely moving. Din slows his pace to match yours, and he doesn’t say anything but his body speaks of patience. His hand hovering at your elbow when you need to pause, and as you walk up the ramp.

There’s a loud coo and a thump against your boot. The child screams with delight, slapping his hands against your leg and climbing, slipping and climbing again over the laces to try and reach for you. Din stops you from leaning down and scoops the child into his arm, holds him close enough that as soon as you are close enough the baby grabs at your hair and then your jaw. Presses his forehead into your cheek and giggles.

Laughter had never felt so good, so light. You nuzzle back against the child, and feel Din’s glove clad hand brush your shoulder. Feel, for the first time since waking in the medcenter, like the world isn’t about to slip away between your fingers. Din passes you the child and moves away, sets your small pack down in the hull. And it is then that you notice it – the bunk which had been overturned, the mattress ruined from blood is upright again, and covered in new bedding. A thicker blanket and a fluffy, full looking pillow. A new mattress. You had not realised that you thought you would go on sleeping with Din in his quarters until you see your own space set out for you. And you know you should be grateful that he had gone to the trouble to make it so accommodating for you, the bedding nicer than his own.

He sees you staring. And you feel the buzzing all around him of things he wants to say. Wonder if his face pinches the same way it had in your body beneath the helmet when he was struggling with words. But he says nothing.

“Thank you,” you murmur quietly, nod at the bunk so he knows what you mean.

Din nods once, slowly. You wait for him to say something but he does not. And you don’t know how to tell him you don’t want to be alone. You clutch the cooing child tighter to your chest and nod back. Din helps you to settle in and then he disappears to pay for docking and to prepare the Crest to leave. The child stays with you, clambering over you and over the new bed, cuddling himself in under the blankets and squealing when you play at hide and seek with him. Din finds you in the middle of the game and rests his hand on your shoulder, asks if you’re ready to leave. And you nod at him, stare into the darkness of the visor. Feel adrift without knowing what expression moves him beneath. And then he is gone again, his cape hitting against the wall as he disappears up the ladder.

The child sleeps in your bed, curled beside you on your pillow. And even though you feel the weight of the day in all your limbs and in the cloud filling your head you cannot sleep. Lay awake in the darkness, time stretching all around you and warping and making seconds feel like hours, and watch the way the child’s belly rises and falls beneath the covers. You force yourself not to move, to try to sleep, until suddenly you can’t bear it anymore. Until you feel like you are going to come out of your skin if you do not move.  

Climbing the ladder is hard, but you relish the feeling of using your limbs again. And the burn in your muscles from being stagnant so long distracts you from your nightmares, haunting you now while you are awake. Don’t hesitate outside the door, press it open and look up, find him immediately in the pilot’s chair. You stop in the doorway and stare. Watch the glint of light of the Beskar as the Mandalorian turns to look at you. Feel the lifting feeling along your back and shoulders and neck. His gaze, the same feeling and the old feeling, melting into one.

“How are you?” His voice is deep, calm and steady. You see him here, in front of you. On the shop on Batuu. In the tunnel, his blaster pointed at the kid. “Gotabor’ika?”

You can’t stop the well of tears at the familiar name. Feel like everything is rising up in the back of your throat and forming a lump. The Mandalorian moves to stand but you wave him down. Sniffle and step into the door to allow it to hiss softly closed behind you. Have to stare at a spot on the ground to centre yourself.

“Are you okay?” He is so gentle when he asks. So warm. You nod slowly and wipe a tear which spills. He shifts in his spot. “You don’t have to be okay,” he says. “You don’t have to be.”

“I – ” You have to stop, or you will begin to cry in earnest. You take a shaking breath. “I thought he killed you. I thought – I thought – ” You glance at the helmet, staring back at you. And it is more comforting than anything you have ever seen before. A sob lodges itself in your throat and traps the words before they can be said.

“He didn’t.”

You shudder. “I know. I know, but – ”

But you don’t know what. You feel the ghost ache of a loss which is not real. But it still hurts, still makes your chest shudder with every breath because you had thought he was dead when the bounty hunter had dragged his unconscious body back into the Crest. Felt like everything inside you had been taken and ripped out when he’d dropped to the floor. And even though he is here now and he is him and you can see your reflection wobble in the Beskar. And he is just staring at you, making the hair along your arms and the back of your neck stand on end.

You stare at him as well, both your chests heaving, the space around you bouncing with the sounds of your breathing. Your hands are shaking. You move together, lock the door behind you while he pushes out of the pilots chair and meet in the middle. Slam into each other so hard it almost hurts. His hands pushing your hair back from your face, gloves snagging in your braid. You feel over the chest plate, the pauldrons. Grabbing at him and pulling his body towards yours. Move his hands to the buttons at the top of your shirt while you yank and your belt. He can’t get at the buttons, growls, yanks his gloves off and then has them. Pops them open with practised ease. You remember he has worn this shirt as well. Your shirt and belt hit the ground at the same time, the echo against the metal flooring makes you shiver. Stare down at Din’s bare hands gripping your waist so tight the skin beneath is turning white. His knuckles are white.

“Is this - ?”

“ – Yes. Please, Din.” Put your mouth on the fabric over his throat and breathe hot against it. Know he can feel it beneath, feel the breath against his skin.

His hands tighten to bruise, pulls you against him, feel the burn of the cold Beskar on your arms. Your vest is enough to stop the worst of it against your breasts and stomach but it makes you tremble a sigh. Then Din pushes you away, only slightly, enough that he can let you go and work at his own belt, only managing to undo the buckle and leaving its length looped around his waist. Your whole body throbs when he grunts.

Then he’s holding you again, yanking you forward and walking backwards. Lifting. He sits down hard and pulls you with him, a tangle of legs and arms falling back into the pilot chair again. You have nowhere else to go, to put the burning feeling, so you press your mouth up his neck, over the helmet. Everywhere you can reach you kiss him. Scrabble aimlessly over his clothes for purchase, for anything. Burning at the Beskar, burning that you could have lost each other. You realise you are saying his name between each kiss, with every kiss, over and over and over. Don’t realise until he is saying your name, hands moving from your waist over your thighs, resting either side of his, shoved against the chair, back up over your sides to hold your face. Holding you steady to watch him.

“I’m here,” he says. Voice crackles through the vodocor. “I’m here, Kar’ta. We’re safe. The kid is safe.”

You are panting. Shaking all over. You want to ask him what the new name means, but not now. Feel like the heat of him under you and against your jaw is the only thing holding you together. “The bounty hunter – ”

“Dead. He’s dead.”

“I know but – ”

His fingers dig into your scalp, along your cheekbones and over your ears. “I will never let anyone hurt you. I promised. I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”

You choke and can’t say anything, so you let yourself sink into him. Mouth at the fabric over his neck again and writhe in his lap, push your hips over his until he pushes up and back and one of his hands cups the back of your head closer to him and the other falls to the curve of your ass and rolls your hips forward, sets his pace to match yours. Keep going until your legs are shaking and trying to reach him through the fabric at his neck isn’t enough. Until you could cry that you can’t be close to him anymore.

“Pants,” he says to you, begins unbuttoning them for you.

You stand, shaking, only for as long as it takes to kick them off and then he is yanking you back into his lap again, hands harsh. Still not enough. You hold him beneath his pauldrons, digs your fingers into the lip of the metal so hard it bites against your nails. His fingers find your centre, your clit, and begin to work against it. Rough and almost mean with how hard he rubs at you, until you are crying out and bucking into his hand. Leaking over the crotch of his pants and smearing yourself over the tent of his dick beneath. Your hands move to his belt, begin to pull it from him. Try to pull his trousers down.

“Not yet,” he grunts.

“Yes. Yes, Din. Ready.” So worked up you are worried if he doesn’t stop you won’t be able to feel him before you finish. Need to feel him.

The hand at your hip is gone, is smacking your hand away from his trousers. And then shoves beneath you and cups your whole centre, rocks you up and forward so you fall against his chest with a sob. You feel every ridge and knuckle of his finger as he pushes it into you. Feel them over and over as he pumps in and out of you, rubs his thumb over your clit. And then another finger is inside you. Takes his time in feeling, in stretching you.

You press your mouth to where you think his must be on the other side of the helmet. Desperately hold your lips there like maybe he might be able to feel it. Don’t know whether it makes you feel better or worse. You hear him groaning through the vodocor and you are close enough to hear it slipping out from the helmet, pure and unfiltered, like gravel. Feel the helmet tip up, another open-mouthed sound coming from beneath it, push back against your mouth like Din is reaching for you as well.

And then his hand slips from inside you and you feel the pause of him stilling your hips, the bluntness of him pushing up and into you, slowly, so achingly slowly. And you squeeze your eyes so tightly shut it makes white bursts of stars dance behind your lids. Galaxies everywhere when you are with him. His hands steady you to sink down over him, and you feel now why he had taken so long to work you open with his fingers because the stretch is painful. Your mouth dips against the helmet, your lip catches where the Beskar meets the visor and you pant in time with his low grunts. Can’t think anything, can’t feel anything except the push of him between you, inside you, and the Beskar under your mouth. You aren’t kissing at it anymore, have fallen your weight against it, mouth lolled open. Let out a pitiful noise, a high-pitched whine when your hips sink finally against his and jolt. His hand squeezes the flesh of your hip.

“Din,” you gasp. “Din, please.”

You begin to pull off him again and then sink. And the sound he makes is almost feral. You push up and sink down again, just to hear it. Keep moving until his hand on your hip holds you still and he is thrusting out of the pilot’s chair into you. Forcing you to allow him to drill into you so quickly your eyes roll back. He is everywhere, everything. And you finally feel the last of the fear slip away at the snap of his hips into yours. Feel yourself melt away into it. Only the sounds of you together filling the cockpit, drowning out even the endless hum of the engine. The burn which started cold turns hot, turns liquid. One of his hands find its way back to you, between your legs, works at your clit while he pushes at a relentless pace. The other hand grabs your jaw tight enough to bruise, to hurt. Holds your head still and presses your forehead to the front of his helmet. Hear the vodocor making his grunts echo and bounce and crackle, hear just the edges of Din beneath the helmet.

You don’t have the presence of mind to tell him before your orgasm turns the bursts of white stars behind your lids to black. Everything in you so tight and pulsing, and then more because you feel him begin to thrust into you so hard you would fall if his arms weren’t holding you up. Fucks you through your orgasm until he groans and his thrusts stutter and fall, filling you. You slump into his chest plate, let him push his hips up into you over and over until he is done as well.

You feel the chest plate of the armour heaving with his breath, moving you as well. Feel like you will melt into it, into him. And the weight of his hand gentle against your back, and you realise he is gently undoing your braid. Feel too tired to even turn your head. So you sink further against him, around him. And you feel yourself begin to drift, the exhaustion creeping over you now that you are safe and you can feel Din’s breath against you, and know he is alive. Can hear him whispering quietly in Mando’a above you, and his hand pulling knots from your hair. Think you should fight it, that you should talk to him finally about everything which has been left unsaid between you for months, slowly growing even before you swapped into his body. But sleep makes your eyelids heavy as well as your limbs and you don’t feel Din move you, don’t feel him gently lift you both from the chair, keep your arms and legs wrapped around his waist.

You wake when you feel the pillows touch beneath you, and Din tug the covers of his bed over you. And you must say something because he turns around again and touches his helmet to your bare shoulder and then to your forehead.

“Sleep,” he murmurs.

And you do.

. 

At kyr’amur ures suvarirar cuyiror at ijaat oyay: To kill without understanding is not to respect life. There is honour in fighting but not in mindless murder.

Ni ceta: I’m sorry (lit: I kneel) This is the strongest way a Mandalorian has to apologise. Extremely rare.

Ner Karta: My Heart

. 

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[wyofabdoms]

Undercover I Do - Chapter 12

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: Implied cheating, swearing, destruction of government property, Javi has road rage.

Word Count: 2077

Notes: Reeling from what you witnessed in the alley, you arrive at the office for your meeting with Dixon. And you take out some of your anger on Javi's unwitting empty office. But in the midst of your rage, you come across something interesting.

Let me know if you find any crazy mistakes. Feedback and comments greatly appreciated.

Be well!

Read on Ao3

*

The moment you set foot in the office bullpen, you know your initial bad feeling about this meeting is right. Everyone seems to be looking at you with a pained expression; as though they are all sympathetic to some plight that is still unbeknownst to you. You think maybe it’s just the memory loss and your temper flares, making you want to scream and lash out at all of them, down to the typist in the corner.

Then, Van Ness steps into your line of sight and says your name cautiously, looking at you with concern etched on his forehead.

“I’m here to meet with Dixon. She called me.” You grit your words out, willing him to just back off, not wanting him to ask you if you’re ok, knowing that if he does, you’ll start sobbing hysterically in front of all of these people in the middle of the United States DEA bullpen.

“Ah….yeah, well the Ambassador just showed up, she got caught up meeting with him. Shouldn’t take long. She wanted me to keep an eye out for you.” As he spoke, the younger man steered her towards an office and through the doorway. “You can wait in here until she’s finished, probably five, ten minutes.” Too late you realized the office you were being ushered into was Javier’s office. You thought better about throwing a fit and asking to wait somewhere else. If you did, he’d probably inquire as to why and then…well, it was probably best to just sit in your piece of trash husband’s office and wait.

He won’t be in for a while anyway, you think furiously. He’s too “preoccupied”. That thought brought the empty bottom feeling into your stomach again and was quickly replaced with boiling fury and rage at what you had witnessed. Van Ness seemed to sense your anger and quickly retreated, leaving you to pace Javi’s office angrily.

“What a piece of shit!” You growl under your breath and then proceed to call him every foul name you can think of in both English and Spanish. As you do so, you randomly kick furniture, upending a pile of cartons on an armchair and not caring one second about the headache it would cause him to reorganize it. As you pass the bookshelf, you punch a flag statue off a shelf and enjoy the satisfying crunch it made as it lands on the floor. That sound seems to drag more need to destroy. You tear the cushions up from the couch and rip them open, flailing the stuffing out of them, imagining it was your husband’s insides that you were ripping to pieces, as well as that “informant”! You grab a framed medal off the wall behind the couch, smashing the glass over the coffee table and marching over to his desk, ripping the medal out of its cushioned velvet bed and taking the sharp, pointed edge of the bottom of it to the back of his desk chair.

The tearing sound as the material was ripped open fills up the room like a freight train and gives you an extreme sense of satisfaction. You jab the sharp end of your makeshift weapon into the glossy, smooth surface of the desk and grit your teeth as you put all of your anger and weight into cutting a jagged line from one side of the desk to the other, knocking files that were spread out haphazardly on the floor. Your rage completely overtook you and you began to gouge all of the foul names you had previously been calling him into the surface of the desk until your hand began to ache from pressing so hard. The pain only makes you angrier and you fling the medal across the office, knocking a lamp off of the end table. The clatter and sound of the bulb smashing give you some momentary peace, but then the memory of that woman’s hand moving inside his pants resurfaces again, causing you to redouble your efforts and proceed in destroying every visible inch of his office.

How dare he? How...dare...he? How dare YOU, thinking anything less from the man that was your husband. A leopard doesn’t change its spots...what had you been thinking? WHAT could possibly have EVER made you agree to marry such a vile, disgusting slime ball of a man? You had begged him...BEGGED HIM...to fuck you only an hour before you found him in a shkeezy back alley with a cheap whore. Fuck him! If he would rather have his whores than you, then so be it. He could keep them. How long had he still been “working leads” after you’d gotten married? Did everyone outside in that bullpen know? How many of them still tittered over the water cooler about how many times Agent Peña visited the brothels in the city...how many of THEM out there had he fooled around with, too? Why stop at whores? How could he have convinced you so well. Convinced you to marry him, but then, all this time, convinced you to keep begging him, to keep trying to be with him. You had asked...you had asked him to his face if there was someone else. He had denied it and you had believed him. What a fool you’d been. No, there wasn’t someONE else. There was probably NUMEROUS others.

As suddenly as your rage had come upon you, it is just as suddenly replaced by an overwhelming sense of sadness; you feel your legs give out and you collapse to the floor amidst the upended furniture, crumpled balls of paper, broken glass and strewn file folders. Staring at the destruction around you for a moment, you feel the knife of betrayal prick your insides and your heart shatters to pieces.

You bury your face in your hands and begin to sob. After several minutes you draw a watery breath, then shake your head. Dixon was going to be out of her meeting any minute. She was going to find you in here sobbing hysterically amidst all of this.

Oh god! You look around at the mess you’ve made in Javi’s office. The sudden thought enters your mind that you’ve just successfully demolished a significant amount of government property. You frantically start collecting crumpled paper and straightening file folders within reach, trying to return the room to some semblance of order as quickly as possible.

As you reach for one particular folder, you catch sight of half a photograph sticking out that seems familiar. Your hand stops in mid-air.

It’s your wedding photo with Javi.

The same one that’s framed in your apartment. Your hand shakes as you reach for the photo, tears starting to stream from your eyes again at the sight of the now familiar photo. You both looked so happy, so in love with each other. What had happened? How could he be such a good liar?

You cry as you clutch the photo to your chest. Your marriage was over. A marriage that you hadn’t even really gotten a chance to be a part of because most of it was lost to the clouds of your missing memory. And though you didn’t want to admit it...as much as you wanted to hate him, you knew that deep down you were mostly sad because you loved Javier. And he had betrayed you. Had lied to you. But you loved him despite that. And now, knowing what you knew, you couldn’t stay married to him.

And that broke your heart.

You heaved another huge sigh and moved to place the photo back where you had found it….

...and paused again.

What was your wedding photo doing in a DEA case file folder?

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Javier didn’t think he had ever driven so fast in his life. Even though he had made a valiant effort at breaking every single driving law in Columbia, it still seemed like an eternity before he braked in front of the DEA building. Today the universe had not been on his side. Despite driving as fast as he could, he seemed to hit nothing but red lights and streets full of bumper to bumper traffic. Crosswalks seemed to be more full than normal with mothers and baby carriages and kids on their way to school. Even when he had tried to take the few shortcuts he knew, he had stalled, running into construction or a blocked roadway where there had once been open passage.

In the end, it had taken him twice as long to get to work then it normally would have. He was furious when he arrived. Furious as himself mostly, but also willing to dole out a fair share to the traffic lights, pedestrians, sidewalk vendors and whoever tried to get in his way before he found out where his partner was.

He was certain she had seen them. He just knew it, deep in his gut. And he knew that he had to find her. To see her. To talk to her. He needed to talk to her before Dixon broke the news to her about her being sent home. He needed to hold her. To tell her….

Would he have the balls to actually tell her what he needed to tell her?

Thinking about that only served to remind him of what a coward he was. He knew he wouldn’t be able to tell her how he really felt. He hadn’t even been able to….SHOW her how he felt. He hadn’t been able to fuck her when she had begged him, when she had willingly offered herself to him on multiple occasions.

He wanted to throw up thinking about it. Thinking about saying those words to her. Thinking about how she was going to be sent home, that by tonight she wouldn’t be in his life anymore, that he was never going to know how it felt to hold her in his arms and whisper those words in her ear, wasn’t going to know how it felt to be inside of her, to know how she sounded and looked when she came undone from pleasure.

Yeah, he was a real fucking coward.

When he stormed into the bullpen, he knew something was wrong. Van Ness and Feistl both stood a short distance from his office, arms folded, heads cocked towards the closed door as though trying to detect any sound. They both had stricken looks on their faces, a mixture of fear and bewilderment, and neither man seemed quite sure what to do with themselves when Javier entered. One look at them and then a look at the closed office door told him that things had already started happening. His heart sank.

“Dixon?” He asked, nodding towards his office. Van Ness started, then stood up straight, shaking his head.

“No. She’s still in a meeting. She wanted me to have her wait in...” Without waiting for any further information, Javi plowed his way past them and wrenched open the door to his office.

He stopped short, eyes widening at the scene in front of him.

It looked like a bomb had exploded in his office. Furniture was upturned, pictures were smashed and hanging askew, file folders were thrown everywhere, the floor was covered in ripped and crumpled paper and...some kind of fluff...what was that? The couch cushions? He saw them ripped to shreds and thrown randomly around the room. Items had been smashed off the bookshelves and lamps were cracked and broken to pieces, leaving large chunks of glass strewn about the floor.

And there she sat in the midst of the chaos.

Her shoulders were hunched over. A file folder was open in her lap and she had clearly been reading several pages of the report found within. Your staged wedding photo was in one hand as she turned the pages of the report with the other. He could only stare at her and at the destruction surrounding her...and then it slowly dawned on him what she was reading.

At almost the exact same moment that he had the realization, she lifted her head from the file and looked up at him.

His heart broke.

Her face was red from crying, tear tracks staining her face, confusion and a thousand questions filling her eyes. Her voice was shaking and wobbly and sounded like a child’s: scared, lost...terrified of the truth.

“Javi?”

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8,  Chapter 9, Chapter 10,  Chapter 11, Chapter 13

[publicdomainbooks]

XI. AT THE WINDOW.

I have already said that my storms of emotion have a trick of exhausting themselves. After a time I discovered that I was cold and wet, and with little pools of water about me on the stair carpet. I got up almost mechanically, went into the dining room and drank some whisky, and then I was moved to change my clothes.

After I had done that I went upstairs to my study, but why I did so I do not know. The window of my study looks over the trees and the railway towards Horsell Common. In the hurry of our departure this window had been left open. The passage was dark, and, by contrast with the picture the window frame enclosed, the side of the room seemed impenetrably dark. I stopped short in the doorway.

The thunderstorm had passed. The towers of the Oriental College and the pine trees about it had gone, and very far away, lit by a vivid red glare, the common about the sand-pits was visible. Across the light huge black shapes, grotesque and strange, moved busily to and fro.

It seemed indeed as if the whole country in that direction was on fire—a broad hillside set with minute tongues of flame, swaying and writhing with the gusts of the dying storm, and throwing a red reflection upon the cloud scud above. Every now and then a haze of smoke from some nearer conflagration drove across the window and hid the Martian shapes. I could not see what they were doing, nor the clear form of them, nor recognise the black objects they were busied upon. Neither could I see the nearer fire, though the reflections of it danced on the wall and ceiling of the study. A sharp, resinous tang of burning was in the air.

I closed the door noiselessly and crept towards the window. As I did so, the view opened out until, on the one hand, it reached to the houses about Woking station, and on the other to the charred and blackened pine woods of Byfleet. There was a light down below the hill, on the railway, near the arch, and several of the houses along the Maybury road and the streets near the station were glowing ruins. The light upon the railway puzzled me at first; there were a black heap and a vivid glare, and to the right of that a row of yellow oblongs. Then I perceived this was a wrecked train, the fore part smashed and on fire, the hinder carriages still upon the rails.

Between these three main centres of light—the houses, the train, and the burning county towards Chobham—stretched irregular patches of dark country, broken here and there by intervals of dimly glowing and smoking ground. It was the strangest spectacle, that black expanse set with fire. It reminded me, more than anything else, of the Potteries at night. At first I could distinguish no people at all, though I peered intently for them. Later I saw against the light of Woking station a number of black figures hurrying one after the other across the line.

And this was the little world in which I had been living securely for years, this fiery chaos! What had happened in the last seven hours I still did not know; nor did I know, though I was beginning to guess, the relation between these mechanical colossi and the sluggish lumps I had seen disgorged from the cylinder. With a queer feeling of impersonal interest I turned my desk chair to the window, sat down, and stared at the blackened country, and particularly at the three gigantic black things that were going to and fro in the glare about the sand-pits.

They seemed amazingly busy. I began to ask myself what they could be. Were they intelligent mechanisms? Such a thing I felt was impossible. Or did a Martian sit within each, ruling, directing, using, much as a man’s brain sits and rules in his body? I began to compare the things to human machines, to ask myself for the first time in my life how an ironclad or a steam engine would seem to an intelligent lower animal.

The storm had left the sky clear, and over the smoke of the burning land the little fading pinpoint of Mars was dropping into the west, when a soldier came into my garden. I heard a slight scraping at the fence, and rousing myself from the lethargy that had fallen upon me, I looked down and saw him dimly, clambering over the palings. At the sight of another human being my torpor passed, and I leaned out of the window eagerly.

“Hist!” said I, in a whisper.

He stopped astride of the fence in doubt. Then he came over and across the lawn to the corner of the house. He bent down and stepped softly.

“Who’s there?” he said, also whispering, standing under the window and peering up.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“God knows.”

“Are you trying to hide?”

“That’s it.”

“Come into the house,” I said.

I went down, unfastened the door, and let him in, and locked the door again. I could not see his face. He was hatless, and his coat was unbuttoned.

“My God!” he said, as I drew him in.

“What has happened?” I asked.

“What hasn’t?” In the obscurity I could see he made a gesture of despair. “They wiped us out—simply wiped us out,” he repeated again and again.

He followed me, almost mechanically, into the dining room.

“Take some whisky,” I said, pouring out a stiff dose.

He drank it. Then abruptly he sat down before the table, put his head on his arms, and began to sob and weep like a little boy, in a perfect passion of emotion, while I, with a curious forgetfulness of my own recent despair, stood beside him, wondering.

It was a long time before he could steady his nerves to answer my questions, and then he answered perplexingly and brokenly. He was a driver in the artillery, and had only come into action about seven. At that time firing was going on across the common, and it was said the first party of Martians were crawling slowly towards their second cylinder under cover of a metal shield.

Later this shield staggered up on tripod legs and became the first of the fighting-machines I had seen. The gun he drove had been unlimbered near Horsell, in order to command the sand-pits, and its arrival it was that had precipitated the action. As the limber gunners went to the rear, his horse trod in a rabbit hole and came down, throwing him into a depression of the ground. At the same moment the gun exploded behind him, the ammunition blew up, there was fire all about him, and he found himself lying under a heap of charred dead men and dead horses.

“I lay still,” he said, “scared out of my wits, with the fore quarter of a horse atop of me. We’d been wiped out. And the smell—good God! Like burnt meat! I was hurt across the back by the fall of the horse, and there I had to lie until I felt better. Just like parade it had been a minute before—then stumble, bang, swish!”

“Wiped out!” he said.

He had hid under the dead horse for a long time, peeping out furtively across the common. The Cardigan men had tried a rush, in skirmishing order, at the pit, simply to be swept out of existence. Then the monster had risen to its feet and had begun to walk leisurely to and fro across the common among the few fugitives, with its headlike hood turning about exactly like the head of a cowled human being. A kind of arm carried a complicated metallic case, about which green flashes scintillated, and out of the funnel of this there smoked the Heat-Ray.

In a few minutes there was, so far as the soldier could see, not a living thing left upon the common, and every bush and tree upon it that was not already a blackened skeleton was burning. The hussars had been on the road beyond the curvature of the ground, and he saw nothing of them. He heard the Maxims rattle for a time and then become still. The giant saved Woking station and its cluster of houses until the last; then in a moment the Heat-Ray was brought to bear, and the town became a heap of fiery ruins. Then the Thing shut off the Heat-Ray, and turning its back upon the artilleryman, began to waddle away towards the smouldering pine woods that sheltered the second cylinder. As it did so a second glittering Titan built itself up out of the pit.

The second monster followed the first, and at that the artilleryman began to crawl very cautiously across the hot heather ash towards Horsell. He managed to get alive into the ditch by the side of the road, and so escaped to Woking. There his story became ejaculatory. The place was impassable. It seems there were a few people alive there, frantic for the most part and many burned and scalded. He was turned aside by the fire, and hid among some almost scorching heaps of broken wall as one of the Martian giants returned. He saw this one pursue a man, catch him up in one of its steely tentacles, and knock his head against the trunk of a pine tree. At last, after nightfall, the artilleryman made a rush for it and got over the railway embankment.

Since then he had been skulking along towards Maybury, in the hope of getting out of danger Londonward. People were hiding in trenches and cellars, and many of the survivors had made off towards Woking village and Send. He had been consumed with thirst until he found one of the water mains near the railway arch smashed, and the water bubbling out like a spring upon the road.

That was the story I got from him, bit by bit. He grew calmer telling me and trying to make me see the things he had seen. He had eaten no food since midday, he told me early in his narrative, and I found some mutton and bread in the pantry and brought it into the room. We lit no lamp for fear of attracting the Martians, and ever and again our hands would touch upon bread or meat. As he talked, things about us came darkly out of the darkness, and the trampled bushes and broken rose trees outside the window grew distinct. It would seem that a number of men or animals had rushed across the lawn. I began to see his face, blackened and haggard, as no doubt mine was also.

When we had finished eating we went softly upstairs to my study, and I looked again out of the open window. In one night the valley had become a valley of ashes. The fires had dwindled now. Where flames had been there were now streamers of smoke; but the countless ruins of shattered and gutted houses and blasted and blackened trees that the night had hidden stood out now gaunt and terrible in the pitiless light of dawn. Yet here and there some object had had the luck to escape—a white railway signal here, the end of a greenhouse there, white and fresh amid the wreckage. Never before in the history of warfare had destruction been so indiscriminate and so universal. And shining with the growing light of the east, three of the metallic giants stood about the pit, their cowls rotating as though they were surveying the desolation they had made.

It seemed to me that the pit had been enlarged, and ever and again puffs of vivid green vapour streamed up and out of it towards the brightening dawn—streamed up, whirled, broke, and vanished.

Beyond were the pillars of fire about Chobham. They became pillars of bloodshot smoke at the first touch of day.

[malereader-inserts]

broken crown | xii.

“I’m vocalising this now,” You say to your boyfriend who looked unphased to the fact that you will exclaim about how dangerous something is - years of hearing you blabber on about it, “I just hope we don’t die.”

Word count: 2,331

<Previous | Next>

You really didn’t know if this was going to work.

You stood here under the invisibility cloak with Harry as you look at Hermione and Ron pose as death eaters to get into Bellatrix’s vault. You and the rest had took off on the first of May, exactly when the potion was ready to be drunk. It had been three weeks since you last saw your dad, and you knew he was even more worried.

However, somehow all of you managed to get into the cart with a goblin under a spell. The cart hurtles through the darkness, ferrying the lot of you down the rickety rails, twisting and turning, sloping ever downward. Harry leans toward Griphook, who commandeers the cart. 

“How long before they come after us?”

“Time will tell,” you hear Griphook answer, but you weren’t satisfied.

Harry’s eyes meet Griphook’s in the flickering darkness, before looking at you, Harry could tell that you weren’t happy with the answer. Then, Ron’s face appears over Harry’s shoulder. 

“What’s that? Up ahead,” Ron points in the distance, directly over the tracks, something shimmers like a curtain of water.

“I should have known,” The goblin sneers, furiously, Griphook starts to throw levers, trying to slow the cart. 

“What is that, Griphook?” You asked as the wheels screeched, throwing off sparks. 

“Griphook! What is that!” Harry shouted this time, hoping the goblin would listen to him however Griphook doesn’t answer, furiously preoccupied with the cart.

Harry turns to Hermione, hoping she has an explanation since there was no point in asking you as you were also asking what it was to Griphool, but she just shakes her head, staring up ahead as Griphook slumps back, powerless, watching in grim resignation as the cart careens wildly down the rail and pierces the shimmering curtain. Instantly, water engulfs you and the rest with ferocious power.

The seats beneath them collapse, flipping downward and you drop in a cascade of roaring water toward the ground rushing up 30 feet below.  You held your hand out, trying to focus whilst dropping down but slowly, one by one you splash down relatively gently and relatively unscathed. As the water drains away, you all peer upward, watching as alarms blare out, the cart rattles back the way it came.

“Well done,” Both Harry and Hermione complimented.

You tilted your head, “Hermione... you look like... you?”

Griphook nods to the waterfall, “The Thief’s Downfall. Washes away all enchantments. Can be deadly.”

Ron scoffs, “You don’t say,” watching as the cart’s alarms grow faint, “Just out of interest... is there any other way out of here?” 

“No.” Griphook had replied as you stare at him grimly, never a fan of goblins you were.

“What the devil are you all doing down here!” You jumped at the new voice as everyone turn, seeing a soaking Bogrod, cleansed of the Imperius curse, backing away in angry confusion. 

“We need him!” Griphook sneers as the other goblin points fingers at him.

“Is this your doing, Griphook? You have no rights here anymore. When you gave up your keys, you--”

Hermione and Harry raise their wands as you stand by idle, watching the little thing furiously rant away. As one of them was about to cast the spell they were too late. It was Ron, who lifted his wand quickest and cast the spell. 

“Imperio!” Bogrod blinks, resumes his mild demeanour. Harry and Hermione turn, see Ron, wand outstretched. Griphook steps past, pushes Bogrod on.

“Well done.”

All of you watch the goblins go, as you exchange a glance with each other. Just then a moan is heard, deep and unsettling, coming from down the tunnel. Ron cocks his ear in disbelief

“No. It’s not possible...” Just outside Lestrange Vault, Ron appears first, trailed by Harry, you and Hermione, and finds Bogrod standing placidly by himself. As Harry and Hermione hang back, Ron moves forward slowly, squinting. 

Something massive shifts heavily, chains clinking. They all look a giant dragon tethered to the ground, bars access to a deep vault. Its scales are pale and flaky, its eyes milky.

“That’s a Welsh Green,” You identified with a grim look

“It looks like it’s been down here forever,” Hermione follows up. 

The hinges squeal sharply and you all jump, watching Griphook in the shadows take something from a wooden box on the wall. An odd-looking metal instrument. As he steps into the light, he tosses it to Hermione. She glances from it to Griphook, sees him eyeing her with a strange intensity. 

“Go on,” He encourages as she looks unsure. 

Then gives it a shake. A shrill ringing echoes of the rocky passage, eerie and unpleasant. The dragon rears back instantly, howling in fear, then, as the ringing subsides, settles. Ron nods knowingly. 

“It’s been trained to expect pain when it hears the noise,” Ron explains as  Hermione’s eyes flash to Ron, then to the scars on the dragon’s face and neck.

“That’s barbaric. I...” Hermione looked disgusted, she hands the instrument back, horrified. 

Griphook takes it, unmoved, “We’ll only have a few seconds. In other words... they’ll be no do-overs. Understood?”

Everyone eyes the dragon, nod. 

“Ready, Bogrod?” Griphook calls to the other.

“Hm? Oh. Yes. Of course,” Bogrod holds up his hand, waggles it. Griphook nods, eyes the dragon. 

Its eyes glimmer angrily. Griphook raises the instrument and shakes it. The cacophony is murderous. You, Harry, Ron and Hermione grimaced. The dragon roars hoarsely, then slowly retreats. Bogrod strides forth, blissfully ignoring the dragon’s bobbing head and presses his hand to the vault’s door. It melts. 

Everyone rushes inside. In the ensuing silence, the dragon spits fire just as the vault re-seals itself and all goes dark. You pulled your wand from your boot and held it out 

“Lumos!” 

Everyone’s wandtips bloom, illuminate a huge vault swimming in glittering treasure and eerie artefacts. You hear Ron softly curse at the sight as yu=ou chuckle under your breath 

“Look,” Hermione crosses to what appears to be the Sword of Gryffindor, “No wonder Bellatrix thought it was real.”

Harry pays no attention, having drifted away from the others, playing his wandlight over the glittering walls. The others notice and go silent, watching. Griphook eyes Harry with particular curiosity. 

Finally, Ron speaks, “Is it here, Harry? Can you feel anything?”

Harry doesn’t respond, his wandlight continuing to travel over the small treasures above. As Hermione watched, transfixed, her hand dangles nary a quarter inch from the lip of a silver bowl perched on the edge of the table beside her. The skin of Hermione’s wrist brushes the lip of the bowl. 

Harry stares at the ancient cup above, glimmering dully in the light of his wand when Hermione yelps. As the others turn, they see her retract her hand, as if stung, sending the bowl tumbling to the floor. She holds up her wrist -- displays a red welt 

“It’s hot!” 

All eyes turn to the bowl, wobbling madly on the floor, when it splits apart and begins to multiply. 

“They’ve added Gemino and Flagrante Curses!” Griphook explains loudly, “Everything you touch will burn and multiply!”

The multiplying bowls skitter across the floor and flip into the air. As one caroms off Ron’s shoe, it bursts into twenty more. 

“Ron, your foot!” You pointed out to him as he tries to move it away. 

It’s smoking as Ron stamps the ground. Harry pivots, tipping a towering stack of galleons to the floor where they multiply like cockroaches. Instantly, the room is a riot of multiplying white-hot metal.

“We’ll be crushed! Hurry!” Griphook shouts with great urgency.

Harry points his wand once again at the small cup near the ceiling, “That’s it. Up there.” 

“How’re we going to reach it?” Hermione asked as Harry looks at her.

“Give me the sword! The real one.”

Hermione reaches into her beaded bag, tosses it to Harry, who catches it by the hilt. Griphook’s eyes glitter greedily at the sight of it, you hadn’t missed the glance and you detested the look. Instantly, Harry begins to scale the multiplying mountain of objects, climbing towards the cup, ignoring the look of Griphook, you watch your boyfriend worriedly.

As the sizzling surface shifts beneath his feet, he moves upward, beads of sweat trailing over his forehead. Suddenly, halfway up, he slips and instinctively to keep from falling, he reaches out and plants the flesh of his palm against the shifting slope. 

Instantly, objects explode forth, multiplying crazily and cascading down onto you, Ron, Hermione and Griphook in a small avalanche.

“Keep going!” You shouted, a small tone of panic within your voice.

Harry climbs faster the sound deafening, objects clanging off one another until, finally, he stops just shy of the ceiling. Reaching out, he extends his arm further, then further still, and slips the sword’s tip through the cup’s handle. As it shimmies down the blade, a scream rises. Harry looks down, sees a terrified Bogrod pinned against the door, watching as Griphook sinks beneath the rising tide. Ron dashes forward, grabs Griphook’s fingers as he’s about to go under and yanks the blistered Goblin free.

“Harry! Behind you!” Hermione screeches in a hurry.

Harry turns and sees the swelling mountain has reached the ceiling and with nowhere else to go, it was about to spill itself down upon him. Turning back  Harry leaps. He plummets, feet first, soaring through the air, then crashes down on the swelling treasure. The sword and cup fly free.

“The cup!” Ron exclaimed.

Harry dives into the scalding treasure, hand outstretched, and catches it. Instantly, dozens of Hufflepuff Cups burst from his fist, but he holds tight to the original, grimacing in pain. 

“In here!” Hermione holds her beaded bag before Harry and he jams it inside. 

As they turn for the door, they stop. Griphook holds the sword, the real sword, in his hands, turning the blade in the light. 

“We have a deal, Griphook,” Harry spoke as Griphook looks up. A kind of madness burns in his eyes. 

The Goblin sneered, “I said I’d get you in. I never said anything about getting you out.” Pivoting swiftly, he slams Bogrod’s hand to the door and as it melts.

You, Harry, Ron and Hermione ride an avalanche of silver and gold into the outer chamber.  As you four find your feet, the dragon roars and spits fire, illuminating the tunnel. Shadows approach, stretching over the tunnel walls, it was the Gringotts goblins and guards. 

Harry screamed, “Griphook! Griphook!” 

But, Griphook merely looks back, grins madly and, sword in hand, rushes to join the approaching throng, “Thieves! Help! Thieves!”

“Foul little git. Least we’ve got Bogrod,” Ron tried to be positive however the dragon spits again, reducing Bogrod to dust, “That’s unfortunate.”

“You had to speak so soon?” You asked sarcastically as Ron gives you strained smile.

‘Stupefy!’ Harry bellowed.

Ron, you and Hermione joined in: jets of red light flew into the crowd of goblins and some toppled over, but others advanced, and Harry saw several wizard guards running around the corner. 

The tethered dragon let out a roar, and a gush of flame flew over the goblins: the wizards fled, doubled-up, back the way they had come, and inspiration, or madness, came to Harry. Pointing his wand at the thick cuffs chaining the beast to the floor he yelled, ‘Relashio!’ The cuffs broke open with loud bangs. 

“This way!” Harry yelled, and still shooting Stunning Spells at the advancing goblins he sprinted towards the blind dragon. 

“Harry – Harry – what are you doing?” cried Hermione.

“Get up, climb up, come on –”

The dragon had not realised that it was free: Harry’s foot found the crook of its hind leg and he pulled himself up on to its back. The scales were hard as steel: it did not even seem to feel him. He stretched out an arm; Hermione hoisted herself up; Ron climbed on behind them, and then lastly you with a second later the dragon became aware that it was untethered.

“This is one mad idea, Harry,” You exclaimed at him, throwing another spell towards the guards below as he smiles devilishly handsome towards you as you scoffed, “This is not the time for charms, Harry!”

You all huddle together as everyone starts to prepare to return to Hogsmeade, you stood in front of the three of them, pointing your wand as it lets out hot arm - drying themselves from the cold water in the lake. You had seemed to dry off quicker than them. Hermione gets changed, placing a spell upon the blanket to stop you, three boys, from looking.

You get changed, not wanting to get sick from the wet clothes. You had lost your bag when you were getting chased by the snatchers months ago, but luckily, Hermione had transferred your important books in her bag. You were too oblivious to think that carrying a backpack was survive the whole journey. 

May was awfully warmer than usual as you tied your boots up again and shoving your wand in them. Harry turned to look at Ron who was just sporting a think jacket, Hermione had a denim jacket as well as a zip-up hoodie underneath. He turns to look at you, sporting a teal slightly bigger sweatshirt tucked into your jeans in the front. He could see a white short turtleneck underneath to give you some warmth. 

“Hogwarts then,” You hummed to Harry, who nods meekly, “I wonder what it’s like under Snape’s rule.”

“Probably bloody horrible,” Ron exclaims as Hermione fixes his hair, you smile to yourself as Hermione looked at you with eyes telling you to shut up.

“I’m vocalising this now,” You say to your boyfriend who looked unphased to the fact that you will exclaim about how dangerous something is - years of hearing you blabber on about it, “I just hope we don’t die.”

Harry sighs, leaning his head against your shoulder, “So do I.”

Tagged

@carefulthatsharassment-sir​​ @lanlanlan020202​ @hanniejji​ @dumbssbtch​ @lea-the-foxe​ @stan-joonies​ @littertortilla @purpleshusbandd​ @svnfiwer

[luuurien]

kendall :3 - dirt

(Art Pop, Chamber Pop, Glitch Pop)

Seattle electronic musician kendall :3 displays an incredible blend of sounds on her second album dirt. Hyperpop-adjacent vocal modulation soars atop chamber strings and western classical structures that sound like a Zelda soundtrack covered in artificial sweetener. If this album proves anything, it's her undisputed ability to carry the torch of pop's future light years ahead.

☆☆☆☆

It'd be a more than easy task to sum up dirt as the future of hyperpop. It has the calling cards of the genre: pitched up, autotune-drowned singing surrounded by instruments saturated with color and drama, even a little bit of emotional vulnerability some of the scene's newer kids have brought into it. If that's how you choose to understand dirt; as the forward-thinking masterpiece of hyperpop, there's not a second of this album put to waste. But I don't like easy tasks, and neither does Barroo, the artist behind experimental project kendall :3 and her second album under the name. dirt is more than a monument to hyperpop's malleability: it's an embrace of orchestral music's atmospheric thrills, the physical pressure dance music puts on your body, a celebration of every sound wave Barroo can create. dirt's most immediate offerings are its gentlest ones, these tender pop ballads that borrow heavily from chamber music and throw it into an electronic sea. waiting and team player make an excellent early duo, the former sounds like a robot emerging out of a zen forest before the flourishing wildlife is burned to the ground in a fantastic pop rock finale, and team player's heartbreaking look at emotional dependency is carried by a more natural vocal presence still scented with digitalization, which holds onto Barroo's otherworldly presence while allowing the emotional walls to come down and support her songwriting. It's one of the quieter pop offerings on dirt, but the bridge of warped strings and the distortion-heavy guitar stitched into the finale grows tension without having to state it outright. zastruga is as simple a piano ballad as you can get, and emphasizes Barroo's skill in vocal layering and composition in the span of a short interlude. prickly pear is unfathomably beautiful, an ambient dream world Barroo wanders within, vocal passages unbound by usual structure and instead flowing from her mind with every landmark she reaches. "I don't know if I'm ready to talk about it," she admits on the pizzicato string-laden ufo, but what she does lay out is already painful enough. When things pick up speed, I start to understand the hyperpop future that dirt could be. blood is easily the wildest of the bunch, an angular dance-pop tune stuffed with violent romantic imagery that blurs the line of devotion and abuse until it's hard to tell where it is at all. "Tear me like a stuffed toy / Rip me like elastic" sounds like it could be a line from one of Arca's raunchier offerings, but it's clear there's other intentions from the person Barroo sings about. ash before it sounds like a Hatsune Miku song grown inside of a Petri dish, warbling synthesizers and huge choruses tearing the space between plodding piano chords. dirt slows down from this point into more contemplative waters, and despite the beauty of it all the album does start to drag with the narcotic speed it can reach. pin is a daringly vulnerable ballad and sleep is a terrific way to close off this chapter of Barroo's musical project, but even at half an hour the album's pace starts to drag. But, really, it's hard to complain about that when the majority of the songs are this expressive. Creativity is the leading force behind dirt, and there's no question as to its success. If, for whatever reason dirt is unable to connect with you, the one thing it indisputably has is character and individuality. Nobody else is mixing sounds, not to mention putting them together as beautifully, as Barroo is. She holds onto emotions without letting them become her music, the feelings she holds controlling where her experimentation can head. It's that control that keeps all of the potentially clashing elements of dirt playing nice with one another, and it's a skill that only comes with patience and a willingness to try. On every level, from emotional to compositional to spiritual, dirt soars with its sentimentality.