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hopepetal · 2 years

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This is for the double life enjoyers <3

Sitting astride her donkey, Pearl kept her eyes peeled as she traveled through the forest. The sun was setting, so she urged her donkey to go a little faster. Nothing good would come from being trapped in the forest at night, with mobs and red names on the prowl. Spying her base in the distance, Pearl breathed out a sigh of relief upon seeing that it was (mostly) intact, her shoulders relaxing as she approached the place that had kept her safe for so long.

Speaking of red names, however...

Pearl heard them before she saw them, the glint of armor and the shine of bloodred eyes that lusted for death. Keeping her voice light and nonthreatening, she called out, “Do I have some red names around my base again?”

Bdubs whipped around, his eyes shining. He gave her a toothy grin. “Helloooo, Pearl!”

Pearl gently pulled on the reins, bringing her donkey to a stop. “Hi... you're not here to burn it, are you? The server is burning!” Because everyone decided to make wooden bases as usual, having clearly learnt nothing from the previous games. And now that the majority of the server was red, the fire wars had begun.

Bdubs shook his head. “I can't burn a tower!” As he spoke, Impulse rode up beside him on a horse. Pearl felt herself tense again, now alone with not one but two reds. That was never a good predicament, even if she did have her dogs.

Opening her mouth to speak, Pearl was interrupted by the little ‘ding’ of a notification on her communicator. Checking it briefly, she had to do a double take. Judging by the exclamations from the soulbound pair in front of her, they were doing the same.

“Falling stalagtites?!" Bdubs shouted, saying stalactite completely wrong. “Wait, was that it?! Did they just-?”

Pearl gripped her communicator tightly, ghosting her thumb over the names on her screen. “They just- they just died! To a stally- to a stalitite!” What? It was a hard word to say! “When was that?” After a moment to process, Pearl urged her donkey forward. It had become night during the course of their conversation, and she was itching to get home. She felt an arrow whoosh past her, barely missing. Bdubs, clearly. “You get your butts out of here and go check on whatever's going on! Oh my gosh…” Briefly watching to make sure both Impulse and Bdubs were riding away, she turned back toward her base.

As she got closer to the tall tower, Pearl noticed a horse in the ground, golden armor glinting in the faint starlight. “Why is there a horse...?” Approaching the horse cautiously, she hopped off her donkey and tied it to a nearby tree before crouching by the edge of the hole the horse was stuck in. “Hey there, lil fella.” She reached out and gently scratched the horse under its chin. “What are you doing down there?” Glancing up at the dark sky, Pearl frowned. This would have to be dealt with in the morning, when there wasn't a danger of being blown to bits.

Worn down by exhaustion, she stumbled into her base, and that was the last thing she remembered before everything went black.

–

Scott and Cleo were traveling through the forest on their horses, laughing as they sped away from the red lives that shouted after them.

“Poor Bdubs,” Scott gasped out in between his laughter, “trying to get all the reds to do the same thing and be coordinated is harder than getting a bunch of teenagers to listen to their parents.”

Cleo barked out a laugh, shaking their head. “Right? That’s a good thing for us, at least.” They urged their horse forward with a soft command, Scott falling a little behind them as his horse kept at a more steady pace. “Means we can survive just a little more easily.”

“True, true,” Scott admitted, relaxing his grip on the reins. Despite his calm demeanor, he had to admit he was a little tense. Being around reds did that to you, it was a scary time in the life games whenever they were near. Scott knew firsthand the bloodlust and rage they all experienced, having been the victor of the previous game. “But our soulmates being who they are kinda cancels out that ‘ease of survival’ factor.”

Cleo groaned loudly. “Oh, don’t even. Your insane soulmate is nothing but trouble. At least mine isn’t as unhinged! He at least tried to make up with me!”

Scott laughed. “The server’s homophobic anyway. Doesn’t it know I’m a gay man?”

Cleo made a strangled sound that sounded somewhat like a laugh. “Scott!”

“What? It’s true-!”

The immediate, surging pain that didn’t belong to him ripped a strangled, pained scream that made him briefly black out. He woke up on the ground, unable to breathe, the impact against the ground having knocked all the air from his chest. Cleo, having jumped off her horse, stood over him, frantically shouting something that didn’t quite make it past the ringing in Scott’s ears.

“...what… Pearl… stupid-!” Cleo was saying, gesturing frantically before a strange expression settled on their face. They dropped to their knees, rifling through their inventory as fast as they could.

Scott coughed painfully, blood leaking from the side of his mouth and dripping down his chin. White-hot pain shot through his entire body, and the fact that the pain was lessened for the soulmate was impossible for him to comprehend. Surely it couldn’t get any worse than this. Surely there was no way Pearl was feeling even more pain than he was and still alive.

But the fact was that he still breathed, that his heart still beat meant that Pearl was alive, and so was he. And if she was alive, that meant she was dealing with about twice the pain he was. Alone. Scott didn’t really have the time or presence of mind to feel guilty though, not before something cold and tasting of magic was shoved into his mouth, and he bit down instinctively.

Immediately the pain cleared, the shock of artificial regeneration clearing Scott’s mind as he swallowed what he supposed was a piece of a golden apple. He spent a moment just laying on the ground staring at Cleo as he struggled to process what had just happened. She had a sort of guilty expression on her face, but one that said she didn’t regret anything at the same time.

Taking in a deep breath, Scott sat up, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Cleo put a hand on his shoulder, and he sighed. “Thanks, Cleo. We need to go check on Pearl.”

She didn’t even question him, only nodding and helping him stand. Picking up the golden apple, Scott placed it in his inventory just in case Pearl needed it. What was the harm- he had already broken his connection to Pearl by eating it, it wasn’t as though she’d be breaking the rules more than he had. They got back on their horses and rode toward Pearl’s base, the tall tower of cobblestone and deepslate that held that tiny little wooden hut in the air.

The scene was an absolute nightmare. The smell of gunpowder clued Scott into what had happened right away, and he cursed. Of course Pearl would get herself caught in an explosion. She wouldn’t have thought to double check. Urging his horse forward, he cleared the trees and saw firsthand how bad it was.

Pearl was trapped under a huge chunk of stone, unconscious as blood trickled down her chin, pooling in a small puddle beneath her head. One of her dogs- Tilly, Scott assumed, given how much love she had expressed for the dog before- lay next to her, whining and sniffing her hair, even pawing at her in an attempt to get her to stand. Scott felt his throat constrict. Now that he was in his right mind, guilt shot through him. She looked so small and helpless- and he had been calling her insane just a few moments ago.

Hopping off of his horse, Scott was followed by Cleo as they began to carefully and silently dig Pearl out of the rubble. It was a good thing they had all become more muscular over the course of the game, because Scott would never have been able to help lift the rubble before. Once everything had been shifted off of Pearl, Cleo pulled out a health potion. “Should we use this on her, or just wait?”

Scott frowned. “I was thinking of using the golden apple, but…” He pulled it from his inventory, noticing how the skin was rapidly turning brown. “...it seems that whatever runs this game noticed what I was planning. That’s a shame.”

Cleo shrugged. “Potion it is, then. I knew I had a good reason for making it a splash one…” She took a step back before throwing the bottle, watching the glass shatter and the effects take hold.

Scott looked at them in confusion. “Why’d you make it splash if you didn’t know you were going to need it?” he asked, receiving an amused smile in response. “What? It’s a valid question!” he defended, earning a laugh.

“For you, of course! In case you started rapidly losing health for some reason-” And she glanced at Pearl when she said that- “and weren’t able to regen fast enough or something. It was just in case,” she repeated, “I was worried!”

Scott smiled back, letting out a small huff. “Well, I appreciate the thought. Thank you, Cleo.”

A soft groan drew the pair’s attention. Tilly whined again, nuzzling against Pearl’s cheek before giving her blood stained face a gentle lick. Pearl groaned again, her eyes opening slightly before she closed them again with a gentle sigh. The health potion, while it had worked, hadn’t been quite as strong as Scott had hoped. But still, they didn’t have any other supplies they could waste on Pearl. Despite their bond in the past game, Scott felt absolutely no loyalty to her now. None at all. Absolutely not. He was not still yearning for past friendships in the slightest.

Okay, yeah, he absolutely was.

Nevertheless. Despite his feelings, all Scott did was stand there and wait for Pearl to wake up.

–

Pearl woke to the sound of a dog’s soft panting and gentle kisses. Opening her eyes, she saw Tilly’s face immediately and mumbled out a soft, “good girl” before closing her eyes again. Everything hurt and she didn’t know why and all Pearl wanted to do was to go home, curl up, and sleep for a thousand years.

And then she remembered where she was.

“Scott-” Her eyes flew open as she remembered that she wasn’t just responsible for herself, but her soulmate as well. He must be furious, if not incapacitated from the pain. She had put them both in danger once again, without thinking. If he had-

“Hey, Pearl.” The familiar voice of her soulmate made Pearl gasp, and she looked over to see him standing there next to Cleo.

Unharmed.

Holding a rotting golden apple with a slice taken from it.

Pearl was quick to put the pieces together.

“You...” Pearl's voice was raspy, scratching against her throat in a way that made her cough painfully, “you ate the golden apple?” It may have been the pain, or maybe she had been hit in the head by some debris, but there was a delirious sort of denial in her voice. “Scott, that's against the rules...”

Scott's gaze was every bit of cold dismissal- though Pearl wanted to believe that she saw a flash of guilt in those eyes, even if just for a moment. “Given I was partnered with you, I had to break the rules for a chance to win. Besides, what's this stupid game going to do to me? Kill me?” He let out a sharp laugh. “News flash!! I'm going to die anyway! So why would I rather go out a loser than a winner?”

Pearl tried to push herself up, wincing when a sharp pain shot through her ribs and legs. She couldn't help but notice that her pain wasn't mirrored by Scott– her one and only, her tether, her soulmate.

Maybe it was never meant to be. Just like nations rose and fell, love was bound to do the same– even if there was nothing in Scott's heart for her to begin with. It still felt wrong, no matter how Pearl tried to deny the longing she felt seeing all the other soulmates getting on just fine while she was alone. The rules of the game had been clear– you have three lives, a soulmate, and an unspoken but clear need to be near your bond. She supposed the third unspoken rule wasn't official for a reason, and Scott had taken advantage of that.

Maybe it was something to do with Pearl. Everyone seemed to think so, anyway. “Crazy!” they shouted at her, “Wicked!” they cried from afar, “Witch!” they screamed while dying, dying in the arms of their soulmates. And maybe it was true. Maybe Pearl was all of these things. She probably deserved this, if she was being perfectly honest. The pain was welcome, but that didn't stop it from hurting.

Nothing stopped it from hurting. Nothing stopped her from hurting. She was destined to hurt. That's all she was good for, after all. If she wasn't good enough for her soulmate, then she wasn't good enough for anything. If the one person who was bound to her by the universe refused her, then what was stopping everyone else from doing the same thing?

Pearl laughed, even as tears burned down her face.

#my writing #angst #double life #dlsmp #double life fanfic #dlsmp fanfic #pearlescentmoon #smajor #scott smajor #pearl #zombiecleo #cleo #soulmates #life series #trafficblr

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indoraptorgirlwind · 1 year

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Corn snake color showdown! Round 1

Since i'll probably be having trouble choosing a pattern for a corn snake, i need your help

#Indora polls #Corn snakes #Snakes #Colors #Patterns

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waitingforwinterwinds · 2 years

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Game of Thrones - 48 JON VI (pages 497-504)

The boys at the Wall become Men of the Night’s Watch… once Jon’s finished having a sulk.

Ghost finds the Plot.

The reader, being very tired almost forgot to read the daily chapter and thus once again had to do this by phone ;_;

“Might I… might I go as well? To say my words at this heart tree?”

…

“The Night’s Watch is my House now,” Sam said. “The Seven have never answered my prayers. Perhaps the old gods will.”

Omg lookit Sam being so brave~

Growth~

“Jon,” Samwell Tarly said excitedly. “Wait. Don’t you see what they’re doing?”

Jon turned on him in fury.

…

“- I’ll wager that’s why Lord Mormont requested you, Jon. What else could it be? He wants to groom you for command!”

Step one: remove self entitled sulkiness which activates like a trap card anytime something doesn’t go Jon’s way.

I don’t remember if it was this bad in the show, I know they did change a lot to make many of the characters more ‘heroic’ but my gosh Jon is just so… frustrating.

Even in the wolfswood, you never found more than two or three of the white trees growing together; a grove of nine was unheard of. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves, bloodred on top, black rot beneath. The wide smooth trunks were bone pale, and nine faces stared inward. The dried sap that crusted in the eyes was red and hard as ruby.

…

And suddenly Ghost was back, stalking softly between two weirwoods. White fur and red eyes, Jon realized, disquieted. Like the trees…

And here comes Ghost with the (undead?) hand to get the main quest line started!

(Also you only just noticed that? Ha. Ha. I’m that’s just a crazy random happenstance and in no way indicative of your personal quest line, haaa… )

But seriously, no hate on Jon? But damn this was easier to stomach in the show… pretty sure it helped that Kit’s accent and little pouty face.

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #got #jon snow #a chapter a day reading

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rhodywriter · 7 months

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The Light in the Dark

The world was dark and grey as Rola marched along the path. A cold chill shuddered down her spine, forcing her to pull her threadbare cloak tighter around her shoulders. Mud squelched beneath her feet, indicating the melting winter snow.

Life in Ravenbone was always bleak and bare. The people living there preferred it that way. Ravenbone was one of many small towns that made up the wicked collective of Diaboford, the sinister country in the north. Dark magic lurked everywhere, from the maddening wood full of monsters and ghosts, to the bone-white cliffs of the roiling toiling sea.

Every citizen of Diaboford practiced dark magic. They delighted in formulating potions that could melt the flesh from the face. They cackled in glee at enchanting animals to attack unsuspecting passerby's. They reveled in concocting spells that could control the mind, torture the soul, or simply bring forth the sweet release of death.

All, that is, except Rola. Ravenbone children were born screaming and wailing, an evil glint in their eye and a mouth full of razor teeth. She was the oddity of Ravenbone, born too early and too quiet.

"Why does she not shriek like a normal child?" the nursemaid had hissed as the baby stared curiously up at the mobile of bats fluttering around the crib.

Rola never could fit in, and she preferred it that way. When the other children threw rocks at rats, Rola wove grasses into a crown. When the teenagers practiced brewing potions to make hair fall out, Rola practiced brewing potions to make flowers grow. When the final year students studied methodologies of torture, Rola studied healing and wound closing.

"A disappointment," her father would rumble every night at the dinner table. Her mother wouldn't even look at her.

So Rola spent her days roaming the hills, practicing her own brand of magic in peace. The quiet foothills near the sea remained free of ogres and griffons, the perfect place for privacy. No one could judge her, no one could punish her for her...differences.

The road carved into Diaboford was fraught with bandits and thieves. Rola was never afraid though. She always had a calm demeanor about her. No matter how poorly the village treated her, no matter how cruel her father was, Rola kept her hope that she would find a land that would accept her for who she was.

Dried grass crunched under her feet as Rola made her way off the road towards her favorite spot. Sitting on a rock, she let her grey wool skirts wrap around her legs to protect against the chill.

Plucking a shriveled oak leaf from amongst the dirt, Rola placed it between her hands. Light flowed through her. It pulsed in her veins, it traveled down her bones, it wrapped around her fingers and toes until the leaf had been transformed into a bloodred rose.

A smile crossed her lips.

Someday, she would too would transform. She too would become a thing of beauty, and it would be in a place that appreciated her brightness.

#writers #books & libraries #creative writing #creature #dark aesthetic #light #hero #writing #writer stuff #on writing #writeblr #writer #rose #fantasy #dark fantasy

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iviarellereads · 1 year

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Harrow the Ninth, Chapter 28

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Slashed Fifth House icon) In which Harrow reads another strange note at Canaan House.

The rain turns to snow at Canaan House, and everyone moves into the Second's chambers as they're pronounced the driest on offer. The Fifth pair, the Seventh pair, Lieutenant Dyas, Nigenad, and Harrow. When Harrow asks about the Fourth kids, Abigail "remarked a little cagily" that she had already "moved them on". Harrow assumes they've been hidden away so the big group better able to defend itself is the better target.(1)

One morning, Harrow sneaks into the bedroom where the Fifth couple sleep. Abigail asks if Harrow is sleeping with the bad weather, and Harrow says it could be less advantageous. Magnus says they might make a Fifth of her yet, the way she not-complains.

While most of them sleep, Harrow speaks with the Fifth couple about Octakiseron and the lost Tridentarius. Abigail asks why Harrow didn't tell them sooner, a week has passed. Harrow feels "small and empty and hard" like the hail hitting the window. She admits she had to be sure before she told anyone, but when Magnus asks, she won't say what she had to be sure of.

After Pent and Quinn exchange some phrases that feel riddlesome to Harrow, Pent asks Harrow to read the text on a piece of paper. Harrow suggests she grab Nigenad, but Quinn insists. Harrow looks at the paper, with "its bloodred, panicked writing" (which I will here relay to you NOT in all caps because it still makes my head hurt to think about that)

I will remember the first time you kissed me - you apologised - you said, I am sorry, destroy me as I am, but I want to kiss you before I am killed, and I said to you why, and you said, because I have only once met someone so utterly willing to burn for what they believed in, and I loved him on sight, and the first time I died(2) I asked of him what I now ask of you I kissed you and later I would kiss him too before I understood what you were, and all three of us lived to regret it(3) - but when I am in heaven I will remember your mouth, and when you roast down in hell I think you will remember mine(4)

Harrow reads this aloud, and asks Abigail to read the same note to her. Abigail reads "I still get an erotic charge from snakes, sorry to say".(5) Before the Fifth couple can protest, Harrow admits she's mad, and has been since she was a child, and she didn't tell anyone because she wasn't sure the incident with Octakiseron was real. Abigail suggests that Harrow might be not mad, but haunted.(6)

=====

(1) I'm not sure how much sense that really makes, Harrow, but since yours is the only perspective we have here, I suppose we have to take you at your word and not question anything about it! (2) The first time they died? So whoever this was written to has died more than once? Hmm, well, we've heard of people being raised from the dead before. (3) Ooh, juicy gossip. So, someone was put in the middle of an existing relationship? (4) And whoever wrote this has quite the high opinion of themself. (5) What an odd thing to want Harrow to read. (6) She certainly has two hundred ghosts worth of soul, why not haunting by them or someone else?

#the locked tomb #tlt #harrow the ninth #htn #harrow the ninth spoilers #htn spoilers #harrowhark nonagesimus #magnus quinn #abigail pent

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myremains · 2 years

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Singles!!

DevilDriver - Through The Depths

Veil of Maya - Red Fur

Enter Shikari - Bloodshot

Art of Dying - Lets Go

Buckcherry - Good Time

The Veer Union - The Ghost Of You

PROJECT: VENGEANCE - CUT.BLEED.REPEAT

Fit For An Autopsy - Hellions

Frontières - Mirage (Ft. Alpha Wolf)

Therapy? - Joy

Blessed By A Broken Heart - SHOTS FIRED

If I Were You - Ghost

Infected - Cybernetic

a crowd of rebellion - ALVA

NEMOPHILA - RISE

Solitaris - Outset

Bloodred Hourglass - The Sun Still In Me

Frozen Crown - Call Of The North

I Am Your God - Shotgun

Bitterwood - One Shot

The Fallen Prophets - Let The Weak Suffer

Monument Of A Memory - Seeking Somewhere - Nightcore

Awake Again - ENEMY

IMMERSE - It’s All Good

#singles #metal #music #rock #myremains #reviews #March

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biblioklept · 2 years

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Nation and ghost of nation passing in a soft chorale across that mineral waste to darkness bearing lost to all history and all remembrance like a grail the sum of their secular and transitory and violent lives | From Cormac McCarthy's novel All the Pretty Horses

In the evening he saddled his horse and rode out west from the house. The wind was much abated and it was very cold and the sun sat blood red and elliptic under the reefs of bloodred cloud before him. He rode where he would always choose to ride, out where the western fork of the old Comanche road coming down out of the Kiowa country to the north passed through the westernmost section of the…

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#All the Pretty Horses #Cormac McCarthy

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omg-snakes · 4 years

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Every day, every week, every month, every year that I have waited with baited breath to meet you in this moment melts away. You are perfect. You were worth every second.

Hello, little angel. Welcome to life.

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boneless-mika · 6 years

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I really want a snake. I’ve done so much research, I know exactly what I need. I could even afford one with my own money in time. I want a corn snake and I’d name it Houdini and I would love it a lot.

#my dream snake is an anerythhristic lavender corn snake #but like charcoal is a close second #I also really like blizzards #and ghosts #goddamn bloodred stripe corn snakes #I just really fucking love corn snakes #I love genetics specifically because I love snakes #and snake breeders introduced me to snake genetics and I was like 'this is the fucking best'#and then I really enjoyed genetics at school #I wish I could take a class on snake genetics

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seriowan · 3 years

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red ghost - din djarin x f!reader

⭒ main masterlist

⭒ summary: you heard many things about the infamous mandalorian but you never thought that you'd come across him on a job. now that you have him in your sights, you decide to test if the rumors and stories of the silent killer are true... ⭒ pairings: din djarin x female!AFAB reader ⭒ rating: explicit 18+ MINORS DNI ⭒ word count: 7.4k ⭒ tw/cw: switch!din x switch!reader, power play, cat/mouse dynamic, sexual tension, smut specs: deepthroating/oral (m!receiving), hair pulling, biting, cum eating, rough-sex, vaginal fingering, unprotected PiV (don't be silly; wrap your presents), creampie, slight exhibitionism (windows), knife play, slight anal fingering ⭒ chapter theme song(s): haunted, isabel larosa a/n: so this was my thought process after watching that scene between batman and catwoman (2022): hm, what if (din djarin = batman) + (catwoman = reader) = maybe some spicy good good?? lo and behold, this was born.

IN THE UNDERWORLD, his name was a whisper.

The Mandalorian, spoken with a silence meant for the dead.

The Reaper, spat out by those whose tongues dripped with vile sin.

Snake, they cried when he walked into a room, the beskar armor warding them off like a promise of poison.

You heard his name - or at least, his lack of a name. It came and went as you took jobs, bouncing from planet to planet with cold and warm bounties in the hangar of your ship. You heard his name whispered from the bounties themselves: At least you aren't the Mandalorian.

Therein began the envy.

It started small; a seed planted in the pit of your chest, watered by the rumors, the admiration, the fear of a man with no name, no face, no title. And over time, it grew, festering into a paradigm of annoyance, bitterness, and the damndest of them all...

...competition.

You were, by fault, devoted to the game: the never-ending competition between the thieves, murderers, and pirates of the underworld. You liked the game, but where they counted bodies, you counted trinkets.

Diamonds. Jewelry. Priceless datasticks. If it existed and it was shiny, it was yours. Jealousy-driven buyers paid you millions of credits for what you considered a simple drop-in-drop-out situation. But you were meticulous. Precise down to the smallest detail.

Planning took days. Sometimes, even weeks. Entrance and escape routes, necessary distractions, possible scapegoats — your mind was a spider-webbed map of technicalities and quick thinking, all for something that glittered.

The night of the Coruscant Senatorial Fundraiser was your only chance to steal the score hidden in a vault within Senator Vers Farai's office. There was no context; no explanation; no named buyer or employer.

Just the job and a deadline.

Five minutes into the night, you had caught the eye of Vers' intern — a young man too cocky for his own good, smitten the moment he saw you walk into the building. With a charming smile to grace your bloodred dress, he had taken the bait instantly.

Ten minutes into the night, he was drunk. Talking was his favorite activity, aside from running his hand across your ass to give it the occasional squeeze. You flashed your teeth with an encouraging smile, beckoning for him to drink, drink, drink until something slipped.

Twenty minutes into the night, the intern slipped. Oh, Miss Farai's office? It's right above us! Two- no, three- no, six floors above us! Room four-oh-seven.

Twenty-five minutes into the night, you disappeared.

Getting to the office was quite easy. A simple slip up a flight of stairs, a few elevator trips, and a run-in with a flirty stormtrooper patrol left you with a badge in hand and a smug smile on your face as you slid the card into the panel outside of Vers Farai's office.

With a satisfying hiss, the door slid open.

The room was bland and dusty from the months spent abandoned by the missing senator. You stepped down onto the carpet, carefully taking off the sandals that roped up to your knee and setting them by the door. Treading past the couches and coffee table, you walked onto the cool tile and krept towards the table in front of the windows.

Darkness coveted your every move, occasionally broken by the Coruscant skyline. Jumbotrons and colors flashed outside of the balcony, illuminating your skin and dress with the briefest bout of color. You took refuge in the large chair, taking a few moments to admire the soft leather manchettes and cushiony seat.

Your mouth opened in a slight 'o' as you rolled the chair in a circle. Silent wheels. Fancy.

Something clicked behind the door. You looked up from the chair, eyes wide as you watched the red light on the panel turn green.

You stood and pushed the chair into the desk before swiftly walking across the room, slipping behind the large pillar in the corner just as the door swept open. The light from the hall bled into the room, broken by the silhouette of a man as he stepped into the doorway.

The spurs on his boots sang with each step. Even against the carpet, the beskar seemed to sing into the silence, reflecting every bit of light as the signs flickered and the speeders flew by.

You watched him stalk across the floor, weaving through the couches and potted palms with the muted sway of his cape. A snake silently twisting through the tall grass. Fingers touching the table, he dragged his hand across the holoscreen. His beskar chest glowed with the turquoise light that moved to his face as he sat down in the chair and began flicking through the computer.

At first, he didn't look so frightening; but you were not a fool and you were not so easily swayed by your ego.

The room was empty and yet the Mandalorian seemed to suck all of the air out of your lungs. When he walked, he walked with enough power in his step to make your heartbeat rush to your ears. When he settled into the chair, you listened to the leather creak under his weight and the beskar sing when he got comfortable.

The Mandalorian moved as if he knew the world was afraid of his very name.

But there was no one in this room to kiss the ground he walked on. There was no one to cower in fear when his silver face and black eyes burrowed into their chests. You were not intimidated by the heavily carried quietness, nor his dutiful posture as he flicked through the holotable, picking apart your information.

The realization was an ice cube down your back.

He was after your bounty. Your score. The code to the vault was somewhere inside of the computer and you knew that the Mandalorian sought to smother your name from the books, to wipe your reputation of the galaxy's most tenacious thief.

"It's bad luck to mess with a lady's score."

His head snapped up at the same time as his hand; one armed with a blaster while the other held a threatening stare. Still, he held the weapon onto you as you stepped out of the shadows, your fingertips grazing the column that you snaked around.

The Mandalorian did not move as you approached the table. He did not lower the blaster as you placed your hands on the edge of the desk and leaned over, curiously flicking your eyes across his helmeted face.

"You're in the wrong part of the underworld... Mandalorian."

All he did was arch his head and you knew, with a shiver down your spine, why his name held power.

It was because of the quiet that followed.

For a second, you were sure that you could hear your heartbeat. That he could hear your heartbeat, thundering against your ribcage in your tightened chest. The dress felt constricting, suffocating underneath his stare as he lowered the blaster against the table. Slowly, quietly, he leaned back in the senator's seat and spread his legs, settling comfortably.

He cocked his head to the side.

"Red."

You couldn't help but smile at the pleasing warmth that trickled through your belly.

Red. Red.

The color of your dress. Painted nails. Glossy lips.

The color burned in your eyes as you raked your gaze across his armor and drank in the feeling of his heated stare.

Nails scraped along the holoscreen as you straightened your back, resting your hip against the edge of the table.

"Yes," you purred, "And you're the reaper. Strange to see you here since you're so... hush-hush."

Silence. The black visor never left your face as he straightened his head, fingertips rubbing in thought. His voice trickled through the modulator, quiet and baritone. Rough yet velvety.

"You're after Vers Farai."

"Not necessarily," you said playfully. You pushed yourself off of the desk, bare feet silently padding across the checkered tile to a large painting on the left wall. Mando's helmet tracked your every movement, only shifting away when you removed the painting and set it on the floor.

Sure enough, a red ray shield guarded a small safe in the wall. Smug amusement sat on your face as you gestured towards it with a clawed hand.

He tapped the armrest, subtly swinging his leg from side to side as the helmet swept over you... your dress... your bare feet... before shifting to the safe and then the holotable.

Silent.

He tapped the armrest.

You swallowed, eyes following his gloved hand as he brushed his palm down his thigh...

...and went for the blaster on the table.

You somersaulted to the side as Mando fired. A silent pew harrowingly grazed your scalp, staining the wall with a charred mark that would have been decorated red if you hadn't ducked in time.

You reached up your dress to the knife strapped to your thigh and with a quick drop to the ground, you threw it at his head. The blade barely skimmed his shoulder as he leaned, yet the cape was pinned underneath the knife as it embedded into the chair.

As the Mandalorian reached up to grab the blade, you sprinted towards him and kicked the seat, sending it rolling away from the table. You turned, momentarily ignoring the Mandalorian's frustrated grunt as you quickly skimmed through the files.

Dursa. Dredge. Efraim. Gigamax. Garzora.

You clicked the file, groaning in annoyance as a loading screen appeared — slowly filling up.

The Mandalorian ripped his cape out from underneath the knife and jumped up to his feet.

As he strode towards you, you couldn't help but remember the stories.

Sharp like a whetted knife.

He certainly glistened like one. The beskar reflected the yellow light of a passing speeder, dark shadows sharpening the edges of his helmet and highlighting the broad stretch of his tense shoulders.

Swift like a viper.

He moved like one — even after you whipped out the blaster from the holster on your opposite thigh and pulled the trigger. He tilted his head leisurely to the side, dodging a few of the initial blasts before sidestepping them like it was nothing more than a dance.

Silent as a reaper.

In this, they were wrong.

When he fought, the Mandalorian was not as silent as the ferryman of the dead. He did not quietly drag you to hell like the stories said. While he moved like a ghost, barely touching the ground with his light-footed feet, he was loud.

His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, exhaled through the modulator in his helmet — a sign of humanity underneath the armor.

A sign that the snake was just another man who could bleed.

You relentlessly slammed the butt of your blaster in the unarmored crook of his neck. A grunt of pain crackled through the modulator, drawing a satisfied smile to your lips when he took a few stumbling steps backward, raising his arms to guard the rest of his torso.

You swung your leg to kick his shoulder but instead met the hard beskar of his vambrace as he blocked the attack. Again, you turned onto the other leg, your dress swaying up your thigh enough to slip a peek of your black lace panties — you were blocked by the armored forearm.

And again.

Your brows snapped together as a droplet of sweat trickled down your temple.

The Mandalorian was not fighting as much as he was stalling. Knowing it was going to cost your attention, you spared a quick glance over your shoulder and scowled at the half-filled loading bar on the holoscreen.

There was no surprise when the Mandalorian took your second-long distraction to switch from defense to offense. He kicked the blaster out of your hand and swung at your face. You dropped to the ground like a cat landing on all fours, looking up with narrowed eyes and a determined glint in your eye.

The Mandalorian looked down just as you dashed to your feet and swiveled around him. He swept his head towards you, letting out a loose groan when you jumped onto the table, pushed yourself off of the edge, and used the momentous swing of your body to hook your legs around his waist.

As you bashed your elbow into his collarbone, you felt his hands grip your waist, clenching tight as he slammed your back onto the holotable. You writhed underneath him as he gripped your wrists and forced your arms above your head.

The smell of his skin made you freeze in place. Iron, washed with the slight ghost of gun oil and musk. The steady huff of his breath, rising and falling just a hair's length above your own, sent blood rushing from your head... down your tightening abdomen... to the slight buzz of excitement in your panties. His utility belt dug into your belly, the outline of a rigid erection pressing up against the beating junction between your thighs where vaguely, just vaguely, you felt a pulse kiss your own.

He let out a strained grunt, a mix between pain and...

"Stop moving."

...pleasure.

Infamous Death, the Reaper of the Underworld, cowered above you like a wolf about to slaughter a lamb, a snake shaking its rattle and coiled to lunge, yet you were calm. Pinned underneath the silver chest, the infinite stare of that black visor — you remained arrogant and proud as if you had already won.

Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer to your pulsing cunt. A loose chuckle slipped past your lips when you were greeted with a twitch and strained breath.

A slip of humanity. A testimony that once again, the snake was nothing more than a man in beskar scales.

The lights of passing speeders and the flash of the jumbotron flicked across the room. The smooth corners of his helmet glittered but the chiseled dips in his cheekbones remained black with shadows.

Mando's chest no longer rose and fell quickly as he caught his breath. It was still, caught in his lungs from the moment the light graced the curves of your breasts, the tense jugular on the side of your neck. The moment your eyes flashed with color and he could see the lust blown through your dilated pupils.

You arched your head, throat constricting with a swallow that he followed with a tilt of his helmet.

His hands loosened around your wrists, lingering just a moment to ensure you wouldn't move. Slowly but surely, as if afraid to touch you with an intention other than defending or attacking, he dragged his gloved fingertips down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

The leather caressed over your elbow, across your collarbone, to the dip at the base of your neck. You didn't realize that he had taken your throat in his palm until you felt his fingertips applying pressure along your jugular, his thumb stroking your jaw.

"I've heard about you," you couldn't help but whisper in admission, shutting your eyes as his thumb traced the length of your neck. "The Mandalorian. A hush-hush killer with a loud reputation. Some say you're a ghost..."

He leaned closer to you, one hand around your throat while the other tightened its hold around your hip. His breaths returned, ragged and unsteady. Muffled by the ever-so-stoic helmet.

You grabbed the edge of the table above your head, slowly grinding your clothed cunt against the throbbing bulge in his pants.

Eyes fluttering shut, you moaned through sealed lips when you rubbed your clit against the seam of his flight suit. Your breath became light — airy with desire and drunk with adrenaline.

"...others say you're a reaper."

He huffed what you assumed was a chuckle.

Your lips parted in a ruby red grin when his fingertips dug into your hip with enough force to bruise — not that you minded. The pressure was just enough to elicit another moan when your clit grazed the seam once more.

"I think you're just a snake," you goaded, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You spoke through a grunt, "Hiding through the tall grass of rumors and lies to make the job easier. Fear is a good way to get the nasty bastards crawling out of their holes, isn't that right, Mandalorian?"

While a small part of you spoke the words with true spite, you couldn't help but ruffle the Mandalorian's feathers with your poisonous tongue and venomous gaze. You wanted to see the famed devil grow agitated by the feeble vixen. You wished to see his shoulders go stiff with annoyance, his voice low with frustration. You wanted the stained window of stories and whispers to shatter.

Above all, you wanted him to continue the steady grind of his clothed cock against your soaked cunt.

Unsure when it began, you quickly realized that it didn't matter — the Mandalorian had fallen into your web of silver-tongued teases and lustful eyes. You had him wrapped around your finger with red ribbon and black lace.

Something in you stirred at the thought.

But the dream of binding the Mandalorian was left for another time as his hand loosely squeezed the sides of your throat. You felt the pressure build behind your eyes, drawing a swimming sensation through your head that parted your lips with a blissful groan. The ruffle of fabric echoed in your ears, followed by a flinch when cold winds kissed along your bare thighs.

He curled his finger underneath the band of your panties. Your knuckles turned white as you clenched the table edge, pressing your forehead into your bicep.

"I don't know your name."

It was as if a cork was suddenly stuffed into your brain, shutting down the network of wants, needs, desires that ground your hips against his groin. You stopped squirming, opened your eyes, and looked down at the man wedged between your thighs.

He was no longer holding your throat. There was no heavy breath or uneven twitch of his cock against your cunt. He just... stood there. Watching. Hands now resting comfortably on both sides of your hips, foregoing the underwear that now stuck to your wet cunt.

This did not make you happy.

You pouted and reached down, grabbing his hands into your own. There was no effort to shake you off as you began to drag his hands up your body — one up to your breast while the other led his fingers to the waistband of your underwear.

"Do you need to know?" You murmured, instructing his fingers to slip under the lace. "Or do you want to know?"

He exhaled a heavy breath as you pressed his palm against your breast. "I want to."

"I like what you called me earlier," you murmured, shutting your eyes when he blissfully began to thumb your pebbled nipples. Pinching, flicking, twisting at them while the hand you guided to your cunt finally began pulling the lace down.

"Red?"

His voice was gravelly, smoothly ground out like thin trails of smoke curling from underneath his helmet. And by gods, the way he said that word caused your toes to curl and face to melt with a dreamy smile.

"Say it again," you purred, adding for good measure, "Please?"

Large hand palming your thigh, he unlocked your ankles from his back and raised your leg, placing your calf on his shoulder. The shine of metal caused you to tilt your head just as he slipped a knife between the lace and your thigh.

You bit your lip hard, eyes flashing dangerously as he cut through the panties with a twitch of his wrist.

"Red."

He dragged the blade down your thigh... over your groin... and up your other leg to the remaining piece of lace.

Cut.

The knife went back in its sheath, and the panties thrown to the floor. You expected him to touch you, nose crinkled with anticipation, but there it was again — the silence. It caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand. Nauseating swirls tumbled through your gut and you shut your eyes, swallowing down the urge to glance at him.

Face warming, you felt the cool air glide across your exposed cunt. Relaxing your head against the table, you took a deep breath and waited.

Warm hands touched your thighs. Not leather. Not metal. Warm and human. Very unlike any snake or Death incarnate that you had heard of. You weren't touched by the reaper.

No, the snake had shed its skin. The man had discarded a piece of himself to touch you. To feel the sensation of your warm body. He left his gloves somewhere on the floor just to offer himself a flicker of skin to skin.

And he was patient. Systematic. He worked by a code — you could tell by the organized way he moved his calloused fingers; a few seconds from nipple to nipple, twisting and pinching, all while the other trailed up your thigh, purposefully leaving his thumb closer to your cunt so he could graze over your glistening lips.

Methodical and precise. He knew when to stop tweaking your breasts. Your moans had become soft whines while you began to absentmindedly grind your hips at the feeling of his hand on your thigh. When your attention shifted, so did his. As if the Mandalorian sought your pleasure over his own; as if it was rewarding enough for him to hear your needy whines and the promise of his name bouncing off of the walls.

He grabbed your hands and placed them above your head, encouraging you to grip the edge of the table once more. Pushing away the last bit of fabric that hung around your waist, your cunt was finally bare to him. An open canvas that he widened with his hands as he spread your legs apart even wider, pushing down your thighs against the table.

"Fuck..."

You couldn't help but agree.

He began with two fingers — his ring and middle finger, smoothly slipping into your warm cunt while his thumb pressed against your clit, leisurely tracing circles that made your mouth fall open. Eyes clenching shut, you tightened your knuckles around the table's edge, gasping.

Sopping wet noises began to echo through the silence as he moved his fingers in and out of your tight cunt, working the taut muscles with each curl, twist, and rapid thrust. The friction caused your back to arch, a hand loosening from the table to grasp his wrist as his pace ruthlessly continued, fingers burrowing inside of you while his thumb continued to rub, smearing your slick across his hand and your cunt.

"Oh fuck, Mando," you whined, panting through each heaved breath. "Fuck, you're so good- Maker, I'm gonna come-"

He grunted. Smug bastard.

A drowning tidal wave of pleasure washed over you from head to toe when the Mandalorian took his free hand and put two fingers into your mouth, curling his thumb under your chin to force your lips open.

Your blubbering words were muffled by his warm fingers, tangy and dry against your tongue. Gathering up spit, you swiveled your tongue around his fingers and wet them graciously, spilling saliva from the corners of your mouth.

A sharply-drawn breath and the Mandalorian pulled his fingers out of your cunt. You whined the moment he pulled his hand away from your mouth. "Why'd you stop?"

He took a step back as you slowly sat up. There was no doubt that you looked as disheveled as you felt — tousled hair, a bottom lip maimed with your own teeth marks, a dress cluttered around your naked, wet waist. Hazy eyes watched as the Mandalorian stood quietly, glistening cock twitching between his legs while he waited. Silent yet demanding.

The pout on your lips quickly curled into a devious smirk as you slipped off of the table and kneeled. The cold tile bit into your hands and knees as you seductively crept to him, stopping at his feet. You traced the inner seam of his flight suit, long nails scraping up the coarse fabric until you reached the strong bulge at his crotch. You rubbed him through his pants, tracing the length with curious hands.

The Mandalorian harshly grabbed your wrist.

It stung. It hurt. It made your head jerk upwards, eyes narrowed in annoyance. But you found your smeared ruby lips curling into a devilish grin as the Mandalorian's chest quickly rose and fell, shaking the foundation of his composure as he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Take your fucking time."

You giggled.

"Oh baby," you purred, kneeling until his clothed cock was right in front of your lips. Yanking your hand out of his grip, you dragged it down his thigh while the other pulled his zipper and reached underneath the band of his underwear. "I plan to."

You weren't sure what to expect when you gripped his hard cock, fully pumped and throbbing in your palm, but your gasp had earned a small huff of amusement from the Mandalorian who was well-aware of his endowment. He remained quiet as you pulled out the rest of his length, his chest scarcely rising and falling from the sight of your blown-out eyes and bewildered smile.

The first thought that came to attention was that your fingers didn't meet. Even though the thickness of his length was comfortably pressed against every groove and surface of your hand, your fingertips still weren't touching. Your hand barely covered half of the long pillar that twitched in your hold.

The Mandalorian muttered a low curse when you leaned over and gently took his tip between your lips, licking the pearl that wept from the slit. He instantly stiffened underneath your hands and in an instinctive gesture, you squeezed his thighs.

Fingers weaved through your hair, clenching the roots to pull you closer to his hips. The movement drove his cock in your mouth, drawing your eyes shut as you relaxed your jaw.

He sucked in a sharp breath as you began to pump the rest of his length, making sure to smear the spittle around your lips. His tip pressed against the back of your neck and you hummed at the sensation. The vibrations made his head rock back, forcing an illicit groan from deep in his chest.

He held you there by your hair until you choked out a breath. With a sudden yank, he pulled himself out of your mouth and bent down, gripping your cheeks. Digging his fingertips into the flushed skin, he pulled you up to your feet and walked backward until the table edge hit with your tailbone.

You crawled up the edge and spread your legs, hiking up the dress to show him the trails of glistening arousal that had trickled down your thighs. He fisted his cock, giving it a few pumps as he aligned himself against your beating cunt. You grasped the back of his neck with one hand, fingers slipping under the helmet to pinch a curl from his hairline while the other extended between your legs, rubbing your throbbing nub.

His helmet tipped towards you just as you wedged your lip between your teeth, experimentally tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck.

The deep growl that rumbled from his chest as he thrust his thick cock into you was worth memorizing. Repeating over and over in your head as he held your hips in a vicelike grip, fingertips digging into your flesh like you were clay that wouldn't budge and he was the frustrated sculptor.

You wished to tattoo the sound in your ears, to remember it when they whispered his name in the cantinas.

The Mandalorian, they'd whisper — and while they would cower in fear, your chest would swell with pride as the memory of that sound. That slip of proof that you had torn your way into the cracks of his composure. Weaponless and armorless, you peeled away the beskar, the fear that haunted his name, and left him nothing more than the man underneath it all.

A man without a name, without a face, without a history —pinned between your thighs like you were an oasis and he was starving for a taste of your waters.

Grabbing your hips, he lifted your waist off of the edge and pulled it closer to his waist, suspending it as he rocked his hips thighs against your ass.

You were listening to the sounds coming from his modulator. Heavy, deep breaths in between each rhythmic clap. The watery echo of his cock burrowing into you, siphoning a wetness that you felt each time his adonis pressed against your core.

Everything felt so full. Each hitch of his hips was like a rubber band of lust snapping against your clit, stretching and filling you until all you could do was moan. The thrusts were earth-shattering, sending waves of bliss deep into the knotted bundle of nerves.

Arching your back, you gave him space to loop his arms underneath your spine, drawing you up and flush to his chest. Your legs instinctively clenched around him. The squeak of surprise mingled into a moan as he picked you up from the table, holding you upright by your hips.

The cold window pressed against your shoulder blades as the Mandalorian speared his cock up into your walls. He loosened his hold around your hips, causing you to slide deeper onto his dick until you were clawing at his back, clenching his cape with white knuckles. You pressed your forehead into his shoulder, open-mouthed and breathlessly moaning as he guided you back and forth by your hips. Each pierce of his cock left you sputtering between breaths, "Fuck, fuck, fuck — I'm going to come Mando. Fuck, I'm going to come-"

"Not yet, red."

Well, if he kept talking like that then you weren't going to last at all.

You arched your back, sucking in a sharp breath as the orgasm built. As the waves of heat rushed to your clenched toes, giving your cunt a pulsing flutter that only grew as the Mandalorian fucked into you harder. The preciously coveted silence began to melt away as he grew louder — louder breaths, louder grunts, louder words sifting through the modulator between rasped breaths. Words that you caught and locked away for tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after.

Fuck, just like that.

You look so fucking good, red.

You're a fucking vixen.

You smiled with satisfaction knowing the Mandalorian, silent and deadly as he killed his bounties, was a praising fool when buried in your warm cunt.

The rush of pride was almost enough to make you orgasm if the Mandalorian hadn't suddenly pulled out and put your feet on the ground. You were too dazed to react, too fucked to pout or whine as he bent you over the table.

Your eyes snapped open, widening with a mixture of delight and alertness as Mando dragged his thumb from your cunt to the puckered hole above, lubricating the untouched entrance with a few slow swirls of his thumbpad.

Biting your hand was the only way to stop yourself from screaming with delight when he slipped his thumb into your ass and followed with his cock, slamming it into your cunt with enough force to move the table against the tile. The noise that left your lips was primal, guttural, and brimming with breathless thrill as he fucked you with his finger in your ass, like a claim that every part of you was his.

He didn't go farther than his thumb, using his hold to guide your hips back and forth, bringing you off and on his cock as he stole every word off of your lips, every thought from your head, and left nothing but pleads for more.

You arched your hips just enough to wiggle your hand to your clit, rubbing fiercely as Mando left fingertip-shaped bruises into your hips. You arched your head, eyes fluttering shut as the orgasm renewed and began to brew, stronger and faster than before.

As if he knew, Mando stopped.

You quickly realized you were tired of him leading. He had directed you, conducting your arousal like he was the maestro of your desire, pulling the right strings to make you his — a game that you were not willing to play.

The power was yours. The Mandalorian was yours. And you were going to do well to make him know this.

You pressed your leg against his hip and slowly pushed him back., forcing him to take tentative steps backward as you turned and stood. The helmet never lowered from your face as you grabbed his hand and led him to the chair in the corner.

The visor was locked there, even though your legs trembled and your hair was fucked up beyond measure; even though your lipstick was smeared and your eyes were hooded with tired lust, he continued to stare at your face. Stoic and unmoving, as if the thoughts were too sacred to tell through his body.

Yet the intense stare leveled onto your face had told you enough.

You placed your hand on his shoulder and pushed him into the leather chair. He sat down and parted his legs to widen your view of his throbbing cock — still painfully stiff and twitching as if ready to burst.

The chair leaned against the window as Mando leaned back, hands resting on the manchette while you crawled over his lap. Brushing away your dress, you positioned yourself over his cock, giving it a few pumps before you placed the tip against your warmth. Teasing hips pushed the tip of his cock into your cunt just far enough for him to remain sheathed while you leaned over his chest.

Cupping the side of his helmet with one hand, the other rubbed circles against your clit as you sat down onto his cock, fully consuming its length. You felt the tip prod deep into your cunt, twitching against the warm walls that fluttered and sang with pleasure.

"I got you," you breathed as you ground your clit against his adonis, drawing hoarse moans from his beskar lips. "I got you."

As if it had a mind of its own, your hand fell from the helmet and gripped his throat, arching his visor to the ceiling. While the helmet concealed any features of his face, his throat remained bare — open to you like uncharted grounds, rippling with a swallow that caused his adam's apple to bob.

Your fingers tightened around his throat as you fell into a passive grind. While your initial goal was to make him melt, the Mandalorian had long surrendered his composure and was now gripping your lazily moving hips, hissing and groaning as if he couldn't hold himself together anymore.

Your new goal was far more enticing.

While you kept the steady grind, you pressed your breasts against the cool beskar and lowered your lips to the faint strip of skin underneath his tilted chin.

"Say my name, Mando."

He stiffened when you sunk your teeth into the warm, wet flesh of his sweaty throat. You didn't bite hard, just enough to tease the sharp points of your teeth before dragging your hot tongue over the faint marks.

"Say it," you mewled as you lifted your hips and dropped them against his waist. A single hard thrust to rattle your bones and make him sputter.

You waited. Nothing.

Again, you teasingly tightened around his cock as you lifted your hips, leaving the tip of his head buried in your folds.

"I want you to remember me. Say my name."

He clenched your ass tight but stayed staring at the ceiling. There was no movement to show that he heard you or cared about your demand. No frustration towards the fact that you weren't fucking him anymore or that his tip was just barely plugging your throbbing heat.

You nudged your hips lower.

He sucked in a breath.

"Red, fuck."

Smiling, you dropped down on the rest of his cock as he met you with a lazy thrust. You crossed your legs over his thighs, holding yourself with your hands on his shoulders while you bounced up and down, throwing your head back. He gripped your ass as if it was a lifeline, adding more plum bruises to your skin.

You chased your orgasm with quick grinds of your clit against the tuft of hair at the base of his cock, coaxing the waves of pleasure to overflow as you clenched tight around the girth pushing into your cunt. With gasping cries, you begged for the bliss to bloom in your belly each time his tip speared against that spot, burrowing harder, harder, harder-

You tightened around him with a vicelike grip when your vision turned white from the force of your clenched eyes. Forehead against his pauldron, you froze when the flower of pleasure bloomed full-force, consuming you with a euphoric delight that slipped through with each gasped breath. Waves of warmth trickled down your legs to the tips of your curled toes. Goosebumps burned down your spine as the muscles in your thighs and calves twitched.

The Mandalorian followed soon after, driven to the brink of collapse from the sight of your parted lips and the breathless gasps for air.

"Where?"

You answered by slamming yourself down on his cock, burying the head deep inside. Without a moment of hesitation, he snapped his hips against your ass and grunted, bursting ropes of warm cum into your cunt. Loosely grinding your hips up and down, you clenched around his cock as you felt it throb, twitching with each spurt. The fullness became immediate, filling your head with clouds and delight. The mix of your spent trickled from in between the seams of your connected bodies, wetting the dress and Mando's pants as you slowly drew the last few grinds across his adonis.

When you raised your head, you noticed he was staring at you. Silent again, observing you with a burning stillness as you lowered your hand to the base of his cock. Tracing your fingers up his length, you collected the slick that trickled down from your cunt onto your fingertips.

Lifting it to your lips, you placed the glistening honey on your lips and sucked. Eyes fluttered shut at the taste — sweet and tangy. A prominent flavor from one end, a rare sweetness from the other.

He shifted to move but froze.

"Oh," you hummed lazily, raising yourself off of his cock. "I hope you don't mind those. Took the chance to practice some sleight of hand while you were... busy."

You gestured to the shackles around his wrists that bound him to the armrests. His helmet snapped down and back up at you, shoulders squaring in an unmistakable gesture of irritation. You watched him struggle against the shackles, frustratedly grunting as he attempted to wedge himself out of the chair.

Giggling, you forced yourself to walk somewhat steadily to the holotable. The bar was full, earning a sigh of relief as you swiped your finger across the screen to disarm the vault in the wall. With the tap of your nail against the glass screen, the ray shield dissolved and you smirked.

"When I said I wasn't after Senator Farai, I meant it," you said with a touch of amusement as you adjusted your dress. Fixing the straps around your neck and the crumpled wet spots around your waist did little to hide the absolute wreck of your hair and makeup.

But with your speeder parked outside below the balcony, a quick exit meant few eyes. There was no one to dote on your shaky legs and fingertip-bruised neck. No one except the Mandalorian, who worked with extra effort to remove the binds from around his wrist as you reached into the nook and grasped a small black box.

"Checkmate," you murmured under your breath, sweeping your eyes over your shoulder when the Mandalorian made a small sound that sounded awfully close to quiet words.

Noting your confused frown, he spoke louder.

"I can't let you take that, red."

"You're in no place to stop me," you mused, cocking your head to the side. "Unless you are a reaper who can slip out of chains like a ghost. If that's the case then please, show me — maybe it'll earn you another round."

He sucked in a sharp breath and you teasingly smiled, lust flashing across your face.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Though your voice was dangerously low, you knew there was no more time. You had the score and your ride was outside, waiting for you to make your quick exit. Arching a brow you shook the small box in your hand, pouting, "Sorry baby, maybe next time."

You reached across the table and opened a drawer, withdrawing the thin key card that would unlock the Mandalorian's binds. Taking it between your fingers, you flicked it to the ground just a few inches away from his feet.

"You might want to hurry," you said with a sly smile, gesturing towards the bare view of his cock, now twitching and at half-mast against the wet spot on his pants. "Wouldn't want the guards to see my new favorite toy."

He huffed, shaking his head while you bent down to pick up your blaster. Aiming it at the window, you shot the glass until it completely shattered, reining glass across the tile and part of the balcony.

Mando flicked the card up with the rim of his boot, catching it in his fingertips before quickly scanning it over the binds. They unlocked with a series of clicks, giving him the time needed to tuck himself back in his pants and shoot to his feet.

But you were already at the edge of the railings, standing on the handle and staring down. The red dress billowed in the winds as you looked back at the Mandalorian as he walked onto the balcony, hand outstretched as if that was enough to stop you from jumping.

"It's been a pleasure, sweetheart," you said with a smile, wiggling your fingers. "Find me if you ever want a... distraction."

He broke into a sprint.

You turned towards him and with a smile, fell back over the railing.

The Mandalorian lurched over the edge, his body drawn tight as if he believed that you actually jumped. When he saw you sitting comfortably in a speeder, his shoulders fell and his hand slammed against the railing in frustration.

You smirked and with a roar of the speeder, dashed into the rush of Coruscant traffic and dancing lights.

The first time you heard it was in a cantina on Tatooine.

Your job was done and you were treating yourself with a drink at the bar, basking in the comforting silence of being alone. In the months since your encounter with Mando, you noticed a rise in employers. People from within the guild, calling you to join teams and do brief jobs where sticky hands like yours were needed.

It wasn't a coincidence. You weren't ignorant enough to pass it on as good luck, considering all of the newcomers were guild masters were coming to you, addressing you by the name that you had earned all those months ago.

While your name was being tossed from hand to hand, you remained unknown within the Underworld...

...until that moment in the cantina.

Through the muted chatter and clinks of glass, you heard the voices echoing from the booth closest to the door. It made your head snap up, eyes darting in their direction.

The Aqualish and human were deep in conversation, unaware of your attentive gaze as they whispered back and forth.

"They say Red stole Lars Yukan's famous painting from his safehouse."

"I heard she stole the Hutt's prized speeder from Nal Hutta."

"Maybe that's why he's been asking for her?"

"The Mandalorian? Fuck, wouldn't want to get caught up between those two. Imagine being the poor fucker who goes missing and loses all of his expenses? Fuck that, man."

Tossing a couple credits onto the counter, you downed the rest of your drink and sprinted out of the bar with a smile on your lips.

I got you, Mando.

taglist? taglist! ft. mutuals <3 @a-c-lee @corona-one @zinzinina @eloquentmoon @frietiemeloen

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian #the mandalorian smut #mando #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #sw smut #star wars the mandalorian

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hopepetal · 2 years

Text

Little teaser for the double life angst I'm working on :)

---

Speaking of red names, however...

Pearl heard them before she saw them, the glint of armor and the shine of bloodred eyes that lusted for death. Keeping her voice light and nonthreatening, she called out, "Do I have some red names around my base again?"

Bdubs whipped around, his eyes shining. He gave her a toothy grin. "Helloooo, Pearl!"

Pearl gently pulled on the reins, bringing her donkey to a stop. "Hi... you're not here to burn it, are you? The server is burning!" Because everyone decided to make wooden bases as usual, having clearly learnt nothing from the previous games. And now that the majority of the server was red, the fire wars had begun.

Bdubs shook his head. "I can't burn a tower!" As he spoke, Impulse rode up beside him on a horse. Pearl felt herself tense again, now alone with not one but two reds. That was never a good predicament, even if she did have her dogs.

Opening her mouth to speak, Pearl was interrupted by the little 'ding' of a notification on her communicator. Checking it briefly, she had to do a double take. Judging by the exclamations from the soulbound pair in front of her, they were doing the same.

"Falling stalagtites?!" Bdubs shouted, saying stalacite completely wrong. "Wait, was that it?! Did they just-?"

Pearl gripped her communicator tightly, ghosting her thumb over the names on her screen. "They just- they just died! To a stally- to a stalitite!" What? It was a hard word to say! "When was that?" After a moment to process, Pearl urged her donkey forward. It had become night during the course of their conversation, and she was itching to get home. "You get your butts out of here and go check on whatever's going on! Oh my gosh..." Briefly watching to make sure both Impulse and Bdubs were riding away, she turned back toward her base.

#my writing #double life fanfic #trafficblr #pearlescentmoon #pearl #bdubs #impulse #double life #angst

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bastillewolf · 4 years

Text

Shinigami Eyes (I)

Pairing: Corpse Husband / Reader

Summary: When you’re paired up with Corpse as imposters in a game of Among Us, you seem to somehow apprehend each others strategies even though it’s the first time you’ve ever played together. He appreciates a good impostor.

Notes: I know I still have many fics I need to finish, but I just wanted to throw out a quick Corpse one because sad to say I’ve been simping for him too. By the way, this is my interpretation of him and this is just for fun. Also, I haven’t written for second person in a while, so I’m sorry if this sucks.

TAG LIST CLOSED!

Shinigami Eyes - Oneshot

“Hey, I wanted to invite Corpse,” Sean said right as the Among Us theme started playing on your computer.

“Great vooooice,” Grease called out.

“Oh, I haven’t played with him before,” you said. It was true, but you’d heard of his legendary voice before and your viewers had been asking for him. You’d only allow it because No Simp September was over. Chat was already going mad.

“You’ll love him. Unless he murders you, because he’s a great imposter,” Sean replies. “He’s too good,” Felix adds.

After a moment, you heard the familiar noise of someone joining the Discord. “Hello everyone,” a deep rumble greeted. The group all said their welcomes, while you introduced yourself. “Very nice to meet you, Corpse,” you added. You didn’t want to comment on the obvious. He must hear it all the time. But you couldn’t deny it was like silk to your ears.

“Nice to meet you to. You make great vids.” A blush spread across your cheeks, “You shouldn’t say things like that, chat is already jealous.” He chuckled.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Impostor

Great, you’re instantly sweating. Thankfully, though, it seems you were lucky enough to have been teamed up with the king of lying himself. Corpse’s name is as bloodred as yours.

You decide to follow him after Toast and Sean, and think about how it was Sean who ironically invited the person who was going to murder him in just a few moments. All four of you were being decontaminated below lab, when Corpse made stepped a tad closer to him. You almost synchronically chopped their heads off, and you squealed in excitement. 2 down, 4 to go. As long as no one would find their bodies for a while, you still had time.

Next thing, you’re out of the South entrance and you’ve split up. You join Sykkuno in electric and just wait on him to do his task. Felix joins you afterwards in the next room. That’s when Toast’s body, and ultimately Sean’s, is reported.

Corpse had run back and self-reported.

“Corpse and I just ran into decontamination and found Sean and Toast,” Rae announced.

You were still muted. “Oh god, he’s playing a dangerous game.”

Sykkuno decided it would be the perfect time to call you out. “You and Felix only joined me a while later and decided to stay. Kinda sus of you.”

“No, she was with me at the beginning. I watched her do a task in office,” your fellow impostor vouched. They’d been right, he’s a damn good liar. He manages to hide any sliver of emotion in that deep baritone.

“I don’t trust Corpse anymore, he does stuff like this all the time when he’s impostor,” Lily noted.

“Stuff like what?” He huffed in amusement.

The group agreed the accusation made was a bit vague, and it had affectively directed the attention away from you and onto Felix. After another round of some serious investigating and threatening you all decided to skip.

“Corpse makes me feel less nervous about being an impostor,” you tell chat, “He seems so chill about it.” You ran down to Weapons, but decided against killing anyone when you found three people doing tasks there. You shoved yourself into the clump of bodies and waited until everyone had finished. Running back up to centre with both Lily and Rae, you felt restless that you would eventually have to kill one of them. You just hoped they wouldn’t take it personally.

Corpse ran past, alone. Your characters didn’t have eyes, but somehow they showed a mutual understanding. He killed Lily, you killed Rae. You sputtered and chortled and followed right on after him down into the venthole. He met you in the bathroom stall. “Cosy,” you joked. Until Grease walked in. “Oh, that’s awkward.” You realized you were still standing suspiciously over the venthole. “Shit.”

You didn’t know where Grease had gone, but your first instinct was to hit the red emergency meeting button in the Office. “Grease was in the bathroom stall hovering over a vent.” You may not have your fellow impostors emotionless tone, but you knew laughing through your accusation usually worked.

“Are you kidding me?! I just saw you and Corpse standing in there doing I don’t know what!” Grease yelled.

“That’s a bold statement. You know I’d never cheat on Sykkuno,” Corpse said. “Wait, what?” the man in question replied. Corpse ignored him.

“Corpse was with me when I found you there. On another note I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people vent at the same time before.” Two truths, technically.

“Alright, I’m voting Grease,” Felix said, “I’m sensing liar voice.”

Sykkuno suspected Grease and you, but promised he’d vote you out after if he was wrong. “We have to vote now,” you reminded them.

Grease was ejected.

You met Corpse again in laboratory, where only Felix was doing a task. No one moved. “Oh no, you may have the honours,” you gracefully called out to an unsuspecting impostor. He seemed to get the message through however, and swiftly killed Felix when the Kill button was set to press again.

Defeat.

“Oh my god, that was so stressful,” you cried out. Corpse chuckled, “Don’t worry, you did great.”

“Hey, don’t you dare steal him,” Sean threatened, “He’s my impostor mate!” You laughed.

“You murdered me and Lily almost synchronically,” Rae sputtered, to which Sean added, “Oh my god, same here. It was some nasty psychic shit.” “Corpse and I just have the Shinigami eyes,” you explained. You saw Corpse’s name flash in the top left corner, but only heard him exhale in amusement. It was cute.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Impostor

“Oh… my… god.” Has this ever happened before in this game? Either way, no one will suspect both of you to be it again. You imagine he was feeling similarly, as he hadn’t moved from the spawn point yet. “How in the fuck…?” Chat was confused, but seemed to enjoy the spectacle.

You and corpse split up this time. Don’t use the same tactics twice.

You followed Felix and Sykkuno into Office and faked a task. They decided to wait for you, and you kept your eyes on the green bar until it moved. You travelled trough Admin and Decontamination until you met up with Lily in Labs. “Shit,” you murmured, “There’s too many people. I’m gonna look suspicious.”

Corpse showed up. Lily and Sykkuno left. You killed Felix. Toast walked in, and unfortunately at the hands of your teammate, he did become toast.

You ran in a circle around him and hoped it was enough of a hint for him to follow you. He picked up on it and followed you into the bathroom stall. But neither of you vented. You let a smile slip, almost forgetting you had a face cam. Awkwardly clearing your throat, you explained to your viewers in a very non-convincing way this was just a good impostor strategy. They’d do well to learn from it.

The bodies were reported instantly, and you cursed under your breath. Lily was the one who reported it. “So, I found Felix in Labs and there were only two other people in there before me and Sykkuno left.”

“I went down through Decontamination,” you explained, “I lost Corpse back at Labs.”

“I went back North, I passed you on the way there, Lily.”

Lily was sus of you. “What? Why?!” You asked. “Because I didn’t see anyone in Decontamination and there’s no way you could’ve gone through there that quickly. I wasn’t gone that long,” she said.

Well, shit. “Weren’t the lights off? You couldn’t possibly see me in Decontamination. I’m wondering why you walked back into Labs anyway, Lily.”

A series of ‘ooh’s were heard through the Discord call.

“But I was running up that hallway, I didn’t see you come out,” Grease suddenly spoke up.

“Why were you in there, Grease?” Corpse asked, but you knew it was already too late.

“I was running up to do my task in Labs. I didn’t see her come through the doors before the body was reported.”

“I wasn’t out of Decontamination yet,” you ground out. It was of no use, however. More than half of the people left voted you out, including Lily, Grease, Sean and Corpse, since he had an image to maintain as fake crewmember.

HeartEyes was ejected.

You decided, both out of your own interest and for content’s sake, to follow Corpse as a ghost. He seemed to be having the same trouble as you, suddenly being surrounded by a group of people. “That’s rough. He’s gonna have to kill five more people.”

That was when he bravely decided to take action. Sabotage the reactor, follow everyone there, jump into the lump of people trying to fix the problem and kill so no one would know who did it. He self-reported it in the blink of an eye.

The group was indeed confused, to say the least. Grease had died. “Wait, who was the last to come in?” Sean asked. “It was me,” Corpse admitted, “But I did the handprint scan because no one else was doing it. Weren’t you standing there doing that with Lily?” “Yeah, I had to wait because it wasn’t working.”

“What?!” Lily exclaimed, in only a way she could, “I was doing the scan! It was Sean, then!” The two suspects were starting a heavy discussion, whilst your eyes were trained on the red of Corpse’s name.

The group decided to vote out Lily, as she was the one to report the last murder.

“Is he just… Killing the people who voted for me?” you muttered. Shaking your head, you continued, “Nah, it has to be coincidence.”

But then a body was found, and Corpse said he suspected Sean again. Was he actually working down the list? “Is he avenging me? That’s so sweet, no one has ever done that for me before…” Just a video game, you had to remind yourself. It was just a video game you were playing with friends. And a man with a very nice voice who’d just murdered everyone who did you wrong. Just a game, yes.

Turns out, Corpse really knew how to put his voice to use, as Sean was ejected. He managed to kill Sykkuno and Dave after that, and the game was won by the imposters.

“AGAIN?!” Felix yelled, “How did you two get teamed up again?!” “That’s bullshit,” Sean laughed.

You smiled, as Corpse said, “Us Shinigami’s have to stick together.” It made you blush. “Thanks for avenging me, Corpse. That was very sweet of you.” He chuckled, “Any time. I don’t mind killing people when I have a good teammate.”

“Hey! I’m still here too, you know!” Sean yelled upset.

“It was really fun playing with you guys,” you said, stretching your arms. You’d already been streaming for three hours, it was time to go. Everyone said goodbye, but you didn’t hear Corpse. And you wished it hadn’t twisted your stomach in the way it did.

You wished your viewers a nice day, and promised to update them on Twitter when you’d be streaming next. You were done for the day.

Yet, as you’d closed all tabs and were about to close Discord, you got a call. It was private, and it was from Corpse.

“Hey, miss me already?” you jokingly said.

He chuckled quietly. He suddenly seemed a lot shyer now, being extracted from the group. “Nice game.”

“Yeah, you really know how to keep your emotions hidden. I was impressed, to say the least.”

“You were really good, too. I can appreciate a good imposter.”

You bit your lip. “Hm, I hope to see some more of that appreciation in the future. It was rather nice having someone avenge me.”

“I’d do it again any time. Hiding in the toilet was a good strategy, by the way.”

You snorted at that, “Not good enough, it seems. They voted me out.”

“Big mistake. Nobody kills my teammate.”

“Aww, did the Shinigami catch feelings for the human?”

He rumbled, “I thought you weren’t human?”

You didn’t comment on the fact that he’d failed to answer the original suggestion you’d made. “Touché.”

It was quiet for a moment, and you wondered if you’d crossed a line there and made the wrong assumptions about where the conversation was going. You quickly added, “Are you playing again this week?”

“Yeah, Sean said they’d stream again this Thursday.”

“I suppose I’ll see you there, then.”

He hummed. You sensed there was more to it, though. He hadn’t made any indication he wanted to end the call yet. But then he finally said, “I hope we get teamed up again. So you can get your own revenge.”

“I hope so too.”

***

Might do a follow up to this oneshot, if anyone asks for it. Will definitely create more for Corpse, he’s a lot of fun to write.

#Corpse Husband #Corpse #Corpse x reader #corpse husband x reader #jacksepticeye #pewdiepie #youtube fanfiction

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is-the-snake-video-cute · 3 years

Note

ooooh can u please show us more corn snake colors... i wanna see how many options r out there

Hello hello - ask and you shall receive! :)

Corns have tooooons of morphs, so I can't possibly get them all, but I can show you some more of my favorites!

Anery red (this means the snake carries a gene BOTH for lacking red pigmentation and an additional red factor, and that contradiction makes the snake look siiiiick):

Bloodred ghost:

Fluorescent amel:

High-white reverse Okeetee:

Lavender ghost:

Motley Miami:

Pewter:

Anery tessera:

Motley ghost:

Striped butter:

#not a rating #cornsnakes #snake morphs

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algumaideia · 2 years

Text

Nico quotes- Mark of Athena

The air in the jar smelled of stale breath and tarnished metal. The only light came from the dim purple glow of a dark sword, its Stygian iron blade set against one side of the container. Huddled next to it was a dejected-looking boy in tattered jeans, a black shirt, and an old aviator jacket. On his right hand, a silver skull ring glittered.

“Nico,” Percy called. But the son of Hades couldn’t hear him. The container was completely sealed. The air was turning poisonous. Nico’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. He appeared to be meditating. His face was pale, and thinner than Percy remembered.

On the inner wall of the jar, it looked as though Nico had scratched three hash marks with his sword—maybe it had been three days that he’d been imprisoned? It didn’t seem possible he could have survived so long without suffocating. Even in a dream, Percy was already starting to feel panicky, struggling to get enough oxygen. Then he noticed something between Nico’s feet—a small collection of glistening objects no bigger than baby teeth. Seeds, Percy realized. Pomegranate seeds. Three had been eaten and spit out. Five were still encased in dark red pulp. “Nico,” Percy said, “where is this place? We’ll save you....”

...

Nico di Angelo trapped in a bronze jar, slowly dying from asphyxiation with pomegranate seeds at his feet. Hazel choked back a sob.

“Nico... Oh, gods. The seeds.”

“You know what they are?” Annabeth asked.

Hazel nodded. “He showed them to me once. They’re from our stepmother’s garden.” “Your step... oh,” Percy said. “You mean Persephone.” Percy had met the wife of Hades once. She hadn’t been exactly warm and sunny. He had also been to her Underworld garden—a creepy place full of crystal trees and flowers that bloomed bloodred and ghost white. “The seeds are a last-resort food,” Hazel said. Percy could tell she was nervous, because all the silverware on the table was starting to move toward her. “Only children of Hades can eat them. Nico always kept some in case he got stuck somewhere. But if he’s really imprisoned—”

“The giants are trying to lure us,” Annabeth said. “They’re assuming we’ll try to rescue him.” “Well, they’re right!” Hazel looked around the table, her confidence apparently crumbling. “Won’t we?” “Yes!” Coach Hedge yelled with a mouthful of napkins. “It’ll involve fighting, right?” “Hazel, of course we’ll help him,” Frank said. “But how long do we have before... uh, I mean, how long can Nico hold out?”

“One seed a day,” Hazel said miserably. “That’s if he puts himself in a death trance.” “A death trance?” Annabeth scowled. “That doesn’t sound fun.” “It keeps him from consuming all his air,” Hazel said. “Like hibernation, or a coma. One seed can sustain him one day, barely.” “And he has five seeds left,” Percy said. “That’s five days, including today. The giants must have planned it that way, so we’d have to arrive by July first. Assuming Nico is hidden somewhere in Rome—” “That’s not much time,” Piper summed up. She put her hand on Hazel’s shoulder. “We’ll find him. At least we know what thelines of the prophecy mean now. ‘Twins snuff out the angel’s breath, who holds the key to endless death.’ Your brother’s last name: di Angelo. Angelo is Italian for ‘angel.’” “Oh, gods,” Hazel muttered. “Nico...” Percy stared at his jelly donut. He had a rocky history with Nico di Angelo. The guy had once tricked him into visiting Hades’s palace, and Percy had ended up in a cell. But most of the time, Nico sided with the good guys. He certainly didn’t deserve slow suffocation in a bronze jar, and Percy couldn’t stand seeing Hazel in pain.

....

“Uh...” Leo shifted in his chair. “One thing. The giants are expecting us to do this, right? So we’re walking into a trap?”

Hazel looked at Leo like he’d made a rude gesture. “We have no choice!” “Don’t get me wrong, Hazel. It’s just that your brother, Nico... he knew about both camps, right?”

“Well, yes,” Hazel said. “He’s been going back and forth,” Leo said, “and he didn’t tell either side.” Jason sat forward, his expression grim. “You’re wondering if we can trust the guy. So am I.” Hazel shot to her feet. “I don’t believe this. He’s my brother. He brought me back from the Underworld, and you don’t want to help him?”

Frank put his hand on her shoulder.“Nobody’s saying that.” He glared at Leo. “Nobody had better be saying that.” Leo blinked. “Look, guys. All I mean is—” “Hazel,” Jason said. “Leo is raising a fair point. I remember Nico from Camp Jupiter. Now I find out he also visited Camp Half-Blood. That does strike me as... well, a little shady. Do we really know where his loyalties lie? We just have to be careful.” Hazel’s arms shook. A silver platter zoomed toward her and hit the wall to her left, splattering scrambled eggs.

“You... the great Jason Grace... the praetor I looked up to. You were supposed to be so fair, such a good leader. And now you...” Hazel stomped her foot and stormed out of the mess hall.

...

but Annabeth had never felt any attraction to Nico. He was too young and too moody. There was a darkness in him that made her uneasy.

...

When she had died, Nico became a homeless orphan, drifting through the world alone. Annabeth could relate to that.

...

She’s right,” Hazel said. “After today, Nico has less than two days. The fish-centaurs said we have to rescue him. He’s essential to the quest somehow.” She looked around defensively, as if waiting for someone to argue. No one did. Piper tried to imagine what Nico di Angelo was feeling, stuck in a jar with only two pomegranate seeds left to sustain him, and no idea whether he would be rescued.

...

The vision zoomed in again. Inside the jar, Nico di Angelo was curled in a ball, no longer moving, all the pomegranate seeds eaten. “We’re too late,” Jason said. “No,” Percy said. “No, I can’t believe that. Maybe he’s gone into a deeper trance to buy time. We have to hurry.”

...

and Nico di Angelo spilled out. The sight of his deathly pale face and too- skinny frame made Percy’s heart stop. Percy couldn’t tell whether he was alive or dead. He wanted to rush over and check, but Ephialtes stood in his way. “Now we have to hurry,” said the Big F. “We should go through your stage directions. The hypogeum is all set!” Percy was ready to slice this giant in half and get out of there, but Otis was standing over Nico. If a battle started, Nico was in no condition to defend himself. Percy needed to buy him some recovery time.

[...] Nico shuddered. Percy felt like a hellhound hamster wheel somewhere in his chest had started moving again. At least Nico was alive.

...

At his left sat Nico and Piper, her shoulder being tended by a nymph in a nurse’s uniform.

...

The demigods gathered around the helm. Jason bandaged Piper’s sprained shoulder while Hazel sat at the stern, feeding Nico ambrosia. The son of Hades could barely lift his head. His voice was so quiet, Hazel had to lean in whenever he spoke.

...

She helped Nico to his feet. He’d always been pale, but now his skin looked like powdered milk. His dark sunken eyes reminded Percy of photos he’d seen of liberated prisoners-of-war, which Percy guessed Nico basically was. “Thank you,” Nico rasped. His eyes darted nervously around the group. “I’d given up hope.” The past week or so, Percy had imagined a lot of scathing things he might say to Nico when they met again, but the guy looked so frail and sad, Percy couldn’t muster much anger. “You knew about the two camps all along,” Percy said. “You could have told me who I was the first day I arrived at Camp Jupiter, but you didn’t.” Nico slumped against the helm. “Percy, I’m sorry. I discovered Camp Jupiter last year. My dad led me there, though I wasn’t sure why. He told me the gods had kept the camps separate for centuries and that I couldn’t tell anyone. The time wasn’tright. But he said it would be important for me to know...” He doubled over in a fit of coughing. Hazel held his shoulders until he could stand again. “I—I thought Dad meant because of Hazel,” Nico continued. “I’d need a safe place to take her. But now...I think he wanted me to know about both camps so I’d understand how important your quest was, and so I’d search for the Doors of Death.”

The air turned electric—literally, as Jason started throwing off sparks. “Did you find the doors?” Percy asked. Nico nodded. “I was a fool. I thought I could go anywhere in the Underworld, but I walked right into Gaea’s trap. I might as well have tried running from a black hole.” “Um...” Frank chewed his lip. “What kind of black hole are you talking about?” Nico started to speak, but whatever he needed to say must have been too terrifying. He turned to Hazel. She put her hand on her brother’s arm.

“Nico told me that the Doors of Death have two sides—one in the mortal world, one in the Underworld. The mortal side of the portal is in Greece. It’s heavily guarded by Gaea’s forces. That’s where they brought Nico back into the upper world. Then they transported him to Rome.” Piper must’ve been nervous, because her cornucopia spit out a cheeseburger. “Where exactly in Greece is this doorway?” Nico took a rattling breath. “The House of Hades. It’s an underground temple in Epirus. I can mark it on a map, but—but the mortal side of the portal isn’t the problem. In the Underworld, the Doors of Death are in...in...” A cold pair of hands did the itsy-bitsy spider down Percy’s back. A black hole. An inescapable part of the Underworld where even Nico di Angelo couldn’t go. Why hadn’t Percy thought ofthis before? He’d been to the very edge of that place. He still had nightmares about it. “Tartarus,” he guessed. “The deepest part of the Underworld.” Nico nodded. “They pulled me into the pit, Percy. The things I saw down there...” His voice broke. Hazel pursed her lips. “No mortal has ever been to Tartarus,” she explained. “At least, no one has ever gone in and returned alive. It’s the maximum-security prison of Hades, where the old Titans and the other enemies of the gods are bound. It’s where all monsters go when they die on the earth. It’s...well, no one knows exactly what it’s like.” Her eyes drifted to her brother. The rest of her thought didn’t need to be spoken: No one except Nico

...

“It’s impossible. I’m the son of Hades, and even I barely survived. Gaea’s forces overwhelmed me instantly. They’re so powerful down there...no demigod would stand a chance. I almost went insane.” Nico’s eyes looked like shattered glass. Percy wondered sadly if something inside him had broken permanently.

...

Nico di Angelo shuffled over, leaning on his black sword. “Leo, they’re not dead. If they were, I could feel it.” “How can you be sure?” Leo asked. “If that pit really led to...you know...how could you sense them so far away?” Nico and Hazel shared a look, maybe comparing notes on their Hades/Pluto death radar. Leo shivered. Hazel had never seemed like a child of the Underworld to him, but Nico di Angelo—that guy was creepy.

#nico di angelo #mark of athena #for me

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