#smooth green snake

[wutz]

Once again I am snake posting bc it is snake season. Get snaked!

[sorrcha]

smooth green snake 🐍

[morroodle]

I've been pretty inactive for a while and i do kinda expect that to continue but I need to share this

I CAUGHT A SNAKE!!!

I named him Pesto and I love him so so much. He's a young smooth green snake, not a full baby but too small to be an adult. He's such a sweet little fella <333 I found him under a rock and scooped him up. He was confused and wiggling but after a few moments calmed down in my hands (I think he was enjoying my warmth). I'm on vacation on an island I've been going to every year (minus covid) for like 9 years and every year I have tried to catch a snake and now I have finally succeeded!!! I brought him to the little animal education center on the island and they're gonna hold on to him for a few days and let him go at the end of the week so don't worry. More Pesto pictures coming soon probably.

[birdblues]

Smooth Green Snake

[still-queen]

Think I might have to go with NOT SNAKE. But wasabi is still pretty freakin cute

[photobiophilia]

Unusually hot April weekend brings all the reptiles to the (Frontenac Provincial) Park.

April 15-16, 2023

Eastern Gartersnake (1 & 6)

Blanding’s turtle (2 & 3)

Northern ribbon snake (4 & 5)

Smooth green snake (7)

Not pictured: grey ratsnake that got away too quickly, and a million midland painted turtles.

[katyunderthebed]

A jewel among the brush

[boys4pelefan]

some tiny herps from this spring/summer bc most of the pics i have of bigger snakes are on my digital camera. i might be uploading some of those in the future

[yellowplumfruit]

design progress <3

[ancientstarrydynamo]

Outtake from the Reptile Zoo

[asparoh]

Medusa by Rubens

i really love this painting

-there's a salamander in the bottom left corner with it's paw up like it's saluting

-the snake that's coiled just shy of center has a ferret face, i don't know if it's really painted like that or if it's about perspective but it's a... thing

-between these bad boys lay some really freaky critters; a giant tick and a giant... i wanna say lice, i don't know but imagine the horror of having that on your body sucking blood (on hundredth thought they might be spiders; there's also a scorpion creeping about)

- the orange conjoined twins have membranes on them, they look like the fish who crawled out of the ocean in every biology textbook idk but at least they look benign

-there's a green snake that looks like it's eating a cucumber; it might be molting but it's funnier to think of it as a vegetarian

-there's one snake tail that i first thought might be shitting but on a zoom inspection it might actually give birth to another snake; kinda freaky when you remember snakes lay eggs (so i did a little bit of googling and oh no! snakes can be both oviparous and ovoviviparous meaning some lay eggs and some keep the eggs inside and then they birth live snakeletsTM - apparently that's a word too)

-and the battle of the century - the two bad boys (or ladies) fighting for dominance, territory or whatnot. or eating eachother idk. i initially thought it was a mutual biting situation but it looks like the red one is winning

-it tickles me pink to see that Medusa's blood drops gives birth to little baby snakes

And to the fancy one biting into Medusa's forehead, chill bro, your hinges aren't that big!

[cherrygirlfriend]

black widow pairing: wife!reader x husband!rafe synopsis: rafe gets a call from reader screaming about a spider, only to realize it really is that serious. warnings: fluff, spiders - wc: 1k i thought it'd be an interesting premise if it was an actually venomous spider!! i also decided to write this about husband!rafe, hope that's alright! thank you for requesting!

rafe was sitting in his chair, listening to yet another old man nitpick his way of doing business and giving his two cents where it really wasn't wanted, a small part of the man just wishing there was a sniper on top of some roof, getting ready to finish the job so he wouldn't have to listen to this crap.

he felt a soft vibration in the pocket of his trousers, digging out his phone and looking at the screen, your name lighting it up with an incoming call, the entire board of directors turning their attention to him, and he was conflicted about what to do; sure, this meeting was the last thing he wanted to be at, but he couldn't just ignore it. rafe sighed, pressing the red button and muttering a quiet apology, the meeting continuing like nothing happened.

but only a few seconds later, he felt his pocket start vibrating again, and he knew something was off; you never called him again after he declined your call, especially while he's at work.

"excuse me, i have to take this." rafe muttered, standing up and ignoring the judgemental looks the men were throwing his way, as he made his way out of the glass-walled meeting room, smoothing a hand over his short hair as he presses the green button with urgency, bringing his phone to his ear, "baby? what's wrong?"

the last thing he expected was to hear you scream.

"baby?" he asked, already starting to make his way to the elevator, knowing that whatever it was, he'd deal with it immediately, "baby, talk to me, what's happening? are you in danger?!"

"rafe!" you exclaimed on the other line, sounding breathless, "you gotta come home, you gotta come home right now."

"what is it? what's happening?" every single alarm bell was ringing inside rafe's head and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears; what if someone hurt you? what if you were getting robbed? what if you were in danger?

"there's a- eeeeek!" you exclaim, "there's a spider!"

rafe's hand drops from the elevator button, a dumbfounded look on his face as he held the phone to his ear; he couldn't believe he'd just rushed out of a meeting only for you to be calling him because of... a spider? he let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"baby, you're a big girl. i'm sure you can handle one damn spider. you know, i can't just ditch an important meeting because you're too sweet to kill a damn spider, it's-"

"no, rafe!" you groaned into the phone, "it's not just a damn spider, i'm pretty sure it's a venomous spider!"

"what? how do you know?"

"you know, it's that one redhead from the avengers! it has- it has a black body and a red hourglass on it's stomach, and i searched it up, and it's a venomous spider!"

"fuck..." rafe sighed, getting into the elevator and pressing the button for the bottom floor, "alright, baby, i'm coming but it's gonna take me a bit, i'll get someone to come take care of it right now."

luckily, rafe knew that a guy who lived a few houses away from you was a pretty prominent zoologist, having gotten stuck listening to him talk about snakes for almost an hour at a party his wife had held, and for once, he was thankful for weird-ass neighbors.

after thirty minutes of driving through red lights and ignoring stop signs, rafe slams the driver side's door closed, immediately spotting you sitting on the steps in front of your shared home, your head in your hands, gazing down at the ground. he made a beeline towards you, kneeling down in front of you.

"baby?" he asked, his hand on your shoulder, coaxing you to look at him. even though you'd grown up on the cut where they were practically everywhere, you'd never been too fond of bugs, and whenever they invaded your home, it was rafe who got the job of getting rid of them. he gently placed his hand under your chin, lifting your face up so you were looking up at him, your pretty lips turned down into a pout that would've looked annoying on anyone else, but on you, it was strangely endearing. anything you did was like that. "everything alright?"

you nodded, letting out a small sigh, "yeah, christa's husband came to help me with it and took it away."

"alright, so why do you look so sour?" rafe practically cooed, "c'mon. let's go inside." you let out a small sniffle, reluctantly letting rafe pull you up and lead you inside. honestly, you really didn't know why it seemed like such a big deal to you in that moment; the spider was gone now, and it wasn't like it got anywhere near you. yet, somehow it felt like the end of the world.

soon, you two were tangled on the couch, your head in the crook of his warm neck, rafe's hand carding through your hair. "everything alright?" he asked, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. "the spider's gone now, sweets."

"yeah..." you fiddled with your hands, deep in thought as you listened to rafe's steady heartbeat underneath you. "i don't know why i got so... fussy over it. i just haven't been sleeping properly, so i guess i'm more emotional."

"oh, i've noticed your little mood swings." rafe guffawed, "i still remember last week when your package hadn't arrived so you gave me the silent treatment like i was the damn mail man."

"to be fair, you managed to get it to me the very next day."

"anything for my grumpy cat." he pressed a kiss on the tip of your nose, "but i wasn't the one who made it late in the first place."

suddenly, the sentence he'd just spoken started ringing in your head, one word especially seeming to stick with you like glue.

late.

[g0dlyunsub]

holding on.

the six times that spencer squeezed your hand, and the six times you fell for him even deeper.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: mentions of bioweapons, undercover missions, injuries, blood, angst, fluff

word count :: 1.6k

author’s note :: my one brain cell has been occupied by protective!spencer as of late, so this is what we’re dealing with

accompanying song :: ugotme by omar apollo

the first time he squeezed your hand, it was during a handshake. 

you had just joined the bau, and as is customary in introductions, you held your hand out for a round of handshakes. with a tight-lipped smile, you looked into his face as you introduced yourself. 

“f/n l/n.”

his eyes — a charming shade of brown — stared right back at you. 

“i’m doctor spencer reid.”

he grasped your hand for only a fleeting second, but still gave it a gentle squeeze.

---

the second time he squeezed your hand, you were talking behind erin strauss’ back.

if it were hotch or any other member of the bau, spencer would’ve let everything play out and watched your panicked reaction with an amused smile. but it was erin strauss, and spencer could see that she was visibly agitated.

“a good section chief should have faith in the team’s decisions,” you pouted and looked up at spencer, who was chewing on a cookie and humming in agreement.

“she’s been telling me to call her every hour for an update on the case. last time, i was a minute late — a minute late, spence — and she just had to rub it in my face!”

you angrily rubbed the bridge of your nose, sighing as you vented to your colleague. his brows perked up, but you didn’t take note of it; in fact, you started to speak even louder as the rage continued to pile at the back of your throat.

spencer cleared his throat once, but you thought he was just trying to swallow his food. 

“honestly, spencer, do you think i should tell her?”

he blinked rapidly this time, hoping you would get the signal. but when you were still rambling by the time strauss was only a few feet away from your desk, spencer reached for your hand and squeezed it once.

you looked up in surprise, eyes widening as you waited for him to explain his gesture. 

but the voice that spoke up was strauss’.

“agent l/n, i would like to speak with you in private. now.”

you stood frozen for a few seconds, exchanging a panicked glance with spencer.

he gave you an apologetic grimace, but squeezed your hand once again, as if to wish you good luck.

---

the third time he squeezed your hand, it was during your first undercover mission. 

earlier that morning, swat had silently raided the home of two unsubs – a couple that went by the names of mr. and ms. stone – that were covertly collecting harmful biological agents.

after uncovering the news that they were planning to trade their bioweapons with a team of buyers, you and your team decided that the exchange would not fall through. the team revised the plan and decided that you and spencer would pose as the couple and intercept the trade.

so here you were, dressed in a dark green dress, the hem of the fabric flowing in the cool wind of the air-conditioned hotel lobby. spencer stood next to you in a black suit, hair falling in front of his eyes in the form of slick, wavy strands. 

time seemed to still when he reached behind you and squeezed your right hand four times – each to let you know how many possible targets were standing to your three o’clock.

that was all the signal you needed to get into character.

the two of you were a couple only for the night, but you put on a show that would’ve convinced any onlooker otherwise.

you snaked your hands around spencer’s neck before rising on your tiptoes and whispering, “are you ready, mister stone?”

he moved his hands to rest them around your hips, and ran his fingers through the smooth texture of your dress.

he dipped his lips near your ears, so close that his breath tickled your skin. 

“i am. are you, miss stone?” 

---

the fourth time he squeezed your hand, it was because you asked him to.

glass had struck your sides during the explosion, leaving a deep and dark gash in your flesh and surrounding it with a sticky stream of crimson red.

you tried to muster the strength to push yourself up, but it was too much. with a heavy sigh, you crashed back onto the ground.

thankfully, spencer was next to you in seconds.

he softly brushed over your cut skin, and when you flinched at the pain, he tried to console you by saying that the medics were almost here.

“almost?” you wheezed, struggling to keep your eyes open but still able to see that spencer had ripped a part of his dress shirt to wrap your split skin.

when he circled the fabric around your torso and started to apply pressure, you had to bite back a scream. you bit down on your bottom lip so hard that blood seeped through and filled your mouth with its metallic taste. 

“spencer- spence,” you gasped, and wrapped your hands around his.

“it’s okay, it’s okay,” he repeated, trying to reassure you as he continued to apply pressure to your sides.

“squeeze my hand.”

when he didn’t move his hand, you tried again. “please. i need a distraction.”

he furrowed his brows and gave you a hesitant look, but when he noticed the desperation flashing in your eyes, he complied. lifting his hands that were now stained with your blood, he gripped your hand and squeezed.

it felt like electricity coursing through your arm, but it didn’t hurt.

it felt oddly serene to have your blood sandwiched between your skin and his, to feel warmth amidst the draining cold.

---

the fifth time he squeezed your hand, you were on the verge of tears.

you and spencer were just about to regroup with the rest of the team to deliver the profile, but as the two of you were walking across the hallway, the victim’s mother leapt in front of you and yelled in a fit of rage.

“my daughter’s been gone for more than two days, and you haven’t done anything to find him!”

she pushed against your shoulders and you flailed your arms in an attempt to regain balance.

“you just sit around and pretend to work, but you don’t actually care. if anything happens to my monica, i’ll make sure you’ll never work this job ever again.”

that was the last strike that tipped spencer over the edge.

you didn’t even get an attempt to reason with her, because spencer grasped the fabric of her shirt around her shoulders and pushed her into the waiting room.

it wouldn’t be another five minutes before he stepped out, but you could see his face was flush with anger and disbelief.

yours was hot with shame.

approaching you with a concerned expression, spencer put his hand on top of your palm and squeezed. “that was completely inexcusable on her part-”

“it’s okay. i know.” you moved your hand away and forced a smile. 

you could see the words written all over his face — it’s not your fault, you did nothing wrong. yet you still couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt, of the terrible pain that comes with knowing that you’re doing everything you can but still failing miserably.

you walked as fast as you could to the nearest bathroom before spencer could stop you, tears already streaming down your face as you locked yourself up in the stall.

---

the sixth time he squeezed your hand, spencer showed a different side that you’d never seen before.

you and spencer were dating now, so showing affectionate gestures in public wasn’t a foreign concept to the two of you. however, the workplace was a different story. 

both of you did your best to adhere to professional conduct, as it was fundamental to being a federal agent. and although it took some willpower, you refrained from your usual hugs and playful nudges with spencer.

but the detective at the local p.d. was on your tail, unrelenting with his attempts to flirt with you.

“how does dinner at seven sound?”

he flashed his teeth at you and smiled, and it took everything you had within to not retch in front of him. 

“can we please focus on the case here?”

“can’t we talk about both at the same time?”

you sighed, your fingers itching to grab him by the collar and subdue him to a deathly hush.

“no, we cannot, and i’d appreciate it if you would stop-” you waved your hand in an annoyed gesture, “-stop whatever you’re trying to do.”

“you know you could’ve just said no.”

“i don’t think it would take any extra deductions to figure that she’s turning you down, detective.”

your shoulders lifted ever so slightly at the familiar voice, and you had to suppress a smile from surfacing on your lips when spencer took a seat beside you and squeezed your hand.

“it’s just friendly banter, agent. one that you’re not concerned with,” the detective spat back, his stare still fixed on you.

“doctor. it’s doctor,” spencer retaliated, “and i believe that i do have the right to be concerned when you’re making my team member uncomfortable.”

you were so fed up with listening to the detective ramble on and on, choosing to ignore your and spencer’s words. you stood up, braced spencer’s hand, and nodded your head towards a closed-off room.

“come on, babe, i’m tired of this. let’s talk about the case in private and grab dinner together later.”

spencer nodded, a proud gleam shining in his eyes as he stood and placed a hand behind your back. 

you felt your body warm up with fuzzy excitement when the detective tore his gaze away from you defeatedly and clamped his lips shut, and you smiled as spencer followed you out of the room with his grip lying on your hips.

---

every time spencer squeezes your hand, it’s a heartfelt reminder of how much he cares about you.

you don’t ever have to question it.

he knew he would care about you from the beginning, a fate decided by the stars when he locked hands with you for the very first time.

and he’ll prove it to you time and time again, all six reminders a testament to his dedication.

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - A Dragon's Den

Summary - Seeking allys in the North, Jace and his wife contemplate alliances and family honour. Seeking comfort, they discover a hidden cave with a serene hot spring, where they share an intimate and passionate moment, reaffirming their love during turmoil.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!), strong language

Word count - 2133

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Naejot" I commanded, my voice firm as the majestic dragon landed gracefully on a mound of snow. Vermax touched down beside her, and Jace and I dismounted simultaneously. Forward

"My beautiful girl," I murmured, stroking Silverwing's cool, shimmering scales as she retreated to the shelter of nearby trees, Vermax close behind her.

"They grow restless," Jace observed, his arm snaking around my waist for warmth.

"It's the cold," I replied, rubbing my gloved hands together. "Dragons of any kind aren't accustomed to it."

"We won't be here long," Jace assured me. "Lord Stark has offered 2,000 of his men," he continued. I cleared my throat and nodded earnestly.

"My brother cannot prevail," I said resolutely as Jace took my gloved hand in his interlacing our fingers. "This is not what my father wanted."

 We began walking slowly, the snow crunching underfoot.

"He honoured his pledge to uphold Rhaenyra's claim to the throne until his last breath. I refuse to believe my mother heard otherwise," I insisted, my voice tense with conviction. Jace halted, turning to face me.

"You do not need to keep repeating yourself. This is not your fault," he said, his hands cradling my face with gentle insistence.

"Yet I remain the traitorous bitch of a sister, according to my brothers," I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. I found myself explaining my actions frequently these days, especially to Jace.

"My sweet wife, do not shed tears over the words of a usurper," he murmured, wiping away the few tears that escaped, his touch tender and reassuring, before pressing a soft, comforting kiss to my lips.

"Where are we headed anyway?" I asked, glancing back at the dragons, now resting peacefully on the bed of snow.

"I thought we were simply going for a short ride," I added, puzzled. Jace smiled, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

"Lord Stark has informed me of a special place," he said, raising my curiosity. "Come," he urged, pulling me along as we ventured through the untouched, crunchy snow.

We stopped before a cave, and Jace turned to me, his smile wide and mischievous. I gave him a quizzical look, curiosity piqued.

"Come on," he urged again, leading the way inside. 

As we walked deeper into the cave, the air grew warm and steamy, a contrast to the biting cold outside. Soft glows from the cave walls cast an ethereal blue and green light that bathed everything in a dreamlike hue.

At the heart of the cave was a serene hot spring, its clear, deep blue water gently bubbling. Smooth stones lined the edges, perfect for resting. Lush ferns and vibrant flowers thrived in the humid environment, adding to the beauty.

"This is beautiful," I said in awe, my voice barely above a whisper. Jace laughed softly, a warm, rich sound that echoed in the cave.

"It is, isn't it?" he replied, his eyes sparkling with delight.

Without hesitation, I began to pull off my gloves, feeling the rough texture give way to the smoothness of my skin. Next, I kicked off my boots, their thud against the cave floor a reminder of our solitude.

I undid the buttons of my dragon-riding attire next, each one coming undone with a soft, satisfying click. The cool air brushed against my skin as I stood bare in the cave, a shiver running down my spine.

I took a couple of tentative steps toward the water, the ground cool and uneven beneath my feet. Pausing for a second at the edge, I took a deep breath before gently lowering myself into the inviting warmth. 

The water enveloped me, its heat soothing and comforting.

Jace watched me intently, his gaze unwavering and full of admiration. His eyes traced the curves of my body, and I could feel his love and desire in his look.

"Are you simply going to watch, or are you going to join me?" I teased, a small smirk playing on my lips. 

The words snapped him back to reality, and he blinked, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"How could I resist such an invitation?" he replied, his voice low and warm. 

He began removing his own clothes, his movements deliberate and unhurried. I watched as his fingers deftly undid buttons and buckles, revealing the strong, familiar lines of his body.

When he finally stepped into the hot water with me, the steam rose around us creating a mist that cocooned us.

I sighed, throwing my head back and closing my eyes, savouring the sensation of the water enveloping my body. It felt like all the stress and fatigue melted away.

In moments, Jace appeared in front of me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me closer. 

"Jace, if you pull me any closer, we will surely become one," I laughed as he nuzzled his head in the crook of my neck.

"Are you saying you do not wish to be close to your husband?" he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. I exhaled in contentment.

"I wish we could stay here forever," I murmured as he gently pulled away to look at me.

"I would want nothing more than to have you naked in my arms forever," he whispered, his eyes momentarily drifting to my chest, completely visible through the clear water.

"Perhaps we can settle for just the next couple of moments," I replied, running my hands through his brown locks.

I leaned in, capturing his lips with mine. The kiss deepened, our mouths exploring one another with increasing urgency. 

His hands moved from my waist to my breasts, squeezing softly and eliciting moans from deep within me. His fingers expertly pinched and flicked my nipples, sending a whirlwind of sensations through my body.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling the heat of his body pressed firmly against mine. His hands shifted to support my weight, fingers resting securely under my thighs, holding me as if I were something precious.

"Jace, please," I whispered, my voice a pleading murmur against his lips, desperate for the sensation of him inside me.

With a smooth, deliberate motion, he obliged, sliding into me with a controlled grace. A gasp escaped my lips as he filled me completely, the sensation both comforting and electrifying. 

"Perfect," Jace whispered, his voice warm and encouraging.

He started slowly, each thrust measured and deep, his movements purposeful as the pleasure built steadily. Gradually, his pace quickened, becoming more urgent and relentless, the water around us rippling in response.

"You feel incredible," he panted, his breath hot against my ear, his voice edged with raw desire.

The echo of our moans and groans reverberated off the cave walls, mingling with the soothing sounds of the bubbling spring. I met his thrusts eagerly, moving my hips against him in perfect harmony. 

Each movement was a dance of ecstasy, making me feel as if I were floating, my senses heightened to every touch and sensation.

"Turn around," he murmured, his voice rough and tinged with need.

I hesitated for a heartbeat, then slowly unwrapped my legs from his waist, feeling the water's warmth as I shifted. Jace's hands guided me with a firm, reassuring touch until I faced the smooth stone edge of the spring.

I braced myself against the rock, its cool surface a sharp contrast to the fevered passion of my body. Jace's hands traveled down my back, caressing each curve with a possessive touch before settling firmly on my hips.

He entered me again from behind, and the sensation was electrifying, each thrust deep and powerful, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me.

"Seven hells," he moaned, his hands gripping my hips tightly.

I pushed back against him, matching his intensity with every motion. The new angle heightened every sensation, making me feel even more intimately connected to him. My fingers dug into the rock, anchoring me as I surrendered to the rhythm of our movements.

"Yes, Jace, just like that," I encouraged breathlessly, my voice barely more than a whisper, carried away by the rising tide of ecstasy.

His hands roamed over my body, one slipping around to tease my breasts while the other found its way between my thighs. The dual sensations were overwhelming, pushing me closer to the edge with every passing second. 

His touch was masterful, knowing exactly how to drive me wild with desire.

"Jace," I moaned, barely able to articulate my pleasure as it built to a crescendo. His name was a fervent plea, a silent prayer, and a triumphant declaration all at once.

He responded with a deep growl, increasing his pace, his breath ragged and urgent against my ear. I felt the coil of pleasure tightening within me, on the brink of snapping.

"Let go," he urged, his voice filled with need. "I want to feel you."

Just when I thought I couldn't bear any more, Jace shifted again, pulling me up so my back was flush against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close as he continued his relentless rhythm.

The new angle sent shockwaves of pleasure through me, and I cried out, the sound echoing off the cave walls like a primal declaration.

Jace's grip tightened as he drove deeper, his breath ragged and fierce against my ear. "I can't hold back," he groaned, his voice raw with unbridled need.

"Don't," I whispered urgently, my voice trembling with both excitement and anticipation.

With one final, powerful thrust, we reached our peak together. The release was intense, a surge of pure bliss that left us both shaking and breathless. We collapsed against each other, the water soothing our overheated skin as we rode out the aftershocks of our climax.

Jace held me close, his forehead resting against my shoulder, our breaths mingling in the steamy air. His hands traced gentle patterns on my skin, a comforting touch that anchored me in the moment. 

We stayed like that for a while, basking in the afterglow, the water gently lapping around us, a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to our slowing heartbeats.

After a while, Jace's lips brushed against my ear, his voice a soft murmur. "Are you alright?"

I nodded, a smile playing on my lips. "More than alright," I whispered back, turning slightly to meet his gaze. 

His eyes were filled with tenderness, a look that made my heart swell with love and contentment.

"You are incredible," he said softly, his fingers gently caressing my cheek. "The way you move, the way you feel... everything about you is perfect."

A blush crept up my cheeks at his words, and I looked down, feeling a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the hot spring.

He lifted my chin, his thumb brushing lightly over my lips. "I mean it," he continued, his gaze unwavering.

"Perhaps we should stay here a little longer," I murmured, a smile playing on my lips.

"Perhaps we should," Jace agreed, his eyes filled with love and contentment. He gently turned me to face him, our lips meeting in a tender kiss.

As we pulled apart, a thought crossed my mind. 

"So, tell me," I began, a teasing glint in my eyes, "did Lord Stark tell you about this special place because you mentioned you wanted to bed your wife?"

Jace threw his head back and laughed, the sound was infectious, and I found myself grinning along with him.

"Those weren't my intentions, I swear," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I must admit, this is the best possible outcome."

I chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the tranquil cave, feeling a lightness in my heart that I hadn't experienced in a long time. 

"Well, it seems you have a talent for finding perfect hideaways," I teased, running my fingers through his damp hair, which still carried a hint of the spring's warmth.

He pulled me closer, his touch gentle yet firm, as if he never wanted to let go. 

"I wanted to give us a moment of peace," he said softly, his gaze earnest and filled with warmth. "A place where we could forget everything else and just be together."

"You've certainly succeeded," I replied, my voice filled with gratitude. "This place is magical."

We settled back into the water, letting the soothing warmth envelop us once more. Jace's fingers traced lazy patterns on my back, creating a comforting rhythm that matched the gentle lapping of the spring against the cave walls. 

I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, a reassuring sound that anchored me in the moment.

"I love you, Jace," I whispered, the words carrying the weight of my emotions, each syllable a testament to the depth of my feelings.

"I love you too," he responded, his voice a tender caress against my ear. "More than words can say."

A/n - Dragons get you there, but a hot spring gets you thereee, he did indeed tell Lord Stark he wanted to bed his wife 🫶🏼

[amaranthineghost]

HE’S SO PRETTY WHEN HE GOES DOWN ON ME ( charles leclerc. )

charles leclerc x reader

charles goes down on her and she can't help but admire his pretty eyes staring back at her.

warnings: smut, mostly google translate french (highschool does NOT teach us how to talk dirty okay, bare with me)

author note: as much as I would've wanted to write this for lando, it HAS to be charles, and I feel like this is so different from my usual thought and emotion heavy writing! incoming charles obsession??? like if people requested imagines for him, I'D WRITE IT...

HIS GREEN EYES MIMICKED THE SHIMMER OF PALE EMERALD. sunlight peeked through the curtains, though in a few hours time, it would fall from its peak in the sky and the room would eventually begin to darken.

his biceps filled out the sleeves of his freshly-washed blue shirt, straight from the load of laundry she had done hours ago. veins like lightning under his tanned flesh to suggest his touch was rough, yet his callused hands were so gentle against her skin.

goosebumps crept across her body with every graze of his body on hers, every small breath against her ear as he mumbled something dirty to her in french. though she didn't know exactly what, she could pick up on the cognates between languages.

he tasted faintly of chapstick, her chapstick, that transferred from her lips to his as he couldn't keep off of her. with lips as swollen and pink as hers, he graced nearly every part of her body with his kiss. she was his oxygen and he was deprived.

but it was hard for him to ever be deprived, considering how even when they weren't in such a position, he was glued to her, hands grasping or resting at her sides and his breath down her neck.

when he'd reluctantly part from her sweet-tasting lips, his veined hand would snake down from the long strands of her hair in his palm, coming to rest on her jaw. prominent veins in his arms would indicate force was used to push her head up to expose the smooth skin of her neck and collarbone, yet his touch was tender.

still, he felt her gulp under his palm.

light trails of saliva from his kisses down her jaw to her collarbone and neck, leaving red marks of irritated skin that would later bruise.

he knew she wouldn't be able to cover it up. he nipped at her skin with the purpose of showing it off, and she could get him to stop if she really wanted. but she didn't want that.

the hand on her neck reminding her of the easy power he had over her, and how she loved the gentle dominance he displayed.

because it hadn't taken much convincing earlier to get her into their bedroom. despite it being midday, he wanted to take care of her, in more ways than one.

she didn't object, she wouldn't when he looked at her with those damn eyes. his strength and her weakness.

now laid on her back with his body looming over her, his knee between her legs to put pressure just enough, but still not satisfying the desperate need to have him. and yet they had both managed to stay clothed all up untill this moment.

kissing up the staircase, his hands grasped at her waist, hoisting her into his arms, and gotten them to where they were now.

the tension had been building with every step he took, his pretty eyes watching her squirm, though he was the one to be so eager to please her. he couldn't give a shit about himself.

disheveled hair and tired, green eyes while his greedy hands roamed down her clothes, grasping at the skin of her thighs. still, he took his time as he usually did with his hands over her body, memorizing every dip in her skin.

fingers teasing under the edge of her white laced tank, bumps rising on her stomach as the material rode up her torso. he watched her nipples harden through her top, feeling his sweatpants getting tighter as he watched her subtle reactions. subtle reactions that gave him more than a little confidence in his attempts to please her.

because if he didn't then what was his purpose of living if not to please her?

his eyes remained on her the entire time, even if hers didn't meet his. she felt the burning sensation of his gaze over her heated skin. desperation for him between her thighs became increasingly unbearable, she wanted him. she needed him.

but he always took his time. it was agonizing, but she always came hard because of it.

from teasing her barely exposed skin to massaging into her ribs, he watched her expression every step of the way. it was slow, as per usual, agonizing.

his hands finally found her breasts, gently squeezing the flesh in his palms while he circled her sensitive nipples with his thumbs, exerting small noises from her.

removing one hand momentarily, he pulled down the lace of her tank, leaving messy kisses down from her collarbone to her other breast. but he didn't give her that little satisfaction, not yet.

“shhhh, patience, mon amour,” he spoke with a rasp in his voice, muffled slightly as she felt the vibrations of his voice against the flesh of her breast.

fixing her top with his other hand still teasing her chest, his hand caressed her waist under her small shorts.

trailing down the joint of her hip, his fingers traveled slowly down to and along her inner thigh before dipping under the fabric of her shorts. he played with her panties, pulling the hem away from her slick cunt. she whined at the contact of air to her core.

he bit his lip at the sight of her, fuck she was gorgeous lying before him and so desperate for a simple touch of his hand.

his knuckles brushed over the wet patch - that he caused- on her underwear and she inhaled a sharp gasp. he tsk’d at her reaction, shaking his head with a smirk on his face.

“tu es une petite chose désespérée,” (you are a desperate little thing). he chuckled breathlessly, eyeing her body squirm at such simple actions from him, “très sensible…” (very sensitive).

he teased her with words she could only guess the meaning of, pulling the hem of her panties back only to release it from between his fingers to slap back onto her skin. the sound filled the silence of the room and she flinched slightly at the feeling.

though she didn't have much time to react in any other way when his two fingers ran up her wet cunt, her folds rubbing against the soft cotton of her soaked panties. he teased her clit, rubbing circles with his thumb in an agonizing pace.

biting her lip and grasping at the pillows above her head, she clenched her thighs around his hand, trapping his fingers out of desperacy to feel more.

he only chuckled at her need, her attempt for a sliver of control. because he knew she had none.

he still managed to slip his hands away from her core despite her desperacy to keep him close and use him, which he didn't mind, but he preferred to have control. the warm hand from her chest emerging from the bottom of her lace tank to pry her legs apart, which didn't take much force from him. though she whined at the lack of contact.

hands placed on her knees, sliding his callused hands down the front of her thighs to rest at the point on her waist the top of her shorts rested. firmly grasping handfuls of the flesh of her hips, he tugged her body sharply against his.

unfortunately for her, his hands left her side - which she objected to - for merely five seconds to slip his blue shirt from his torso.

“calme,” (quiet) his tone was firm, yet a smirk etched its way onto his face as he saw the way her face changed as his toned torso was now in full view for her to marble at.

he let her as her fingertips barely reached his skin. she returned the smirk as she saw the rising goosebumps from the sensation of her nails down his abs before reaching where his v-line was interrupted by the tops of his sweatpants.

he shook his head at her actions, catching her wrists with both his hands and pushing them into the pillows above her head. “it's your turn now, belle,” his voice was raspy as he whispered in her ear. fingers fidgeting with the hem of her tank as he waited for her permission.

instead of giving it to him, she’d rather try to turn the teasing back on him, but unlike her, he loved the show she gave as she peeled her top from her body slowly.

on contact with the cold air, her nipples hardened again and charles could swear he salivated at the sight of her bare chest, as if he hadn't seen it plenty of times in the past.

“tu es trop jolie pour moi, ma chérie,” (you are too pretty for me, my dear) he muttered under his breath, hands full of her breasts as he couldn't resist himself.

okay, maybe her slow strip-tease did work on him a little bit. a little too well because now he wanted to see all of her.

shuffling his way till he stood at the foot of the bed, hastily slipping off his sweatpants without breaking his gaze on her body. the rise and fall of her bare chest, her hands returned to their spot on the pillows, her legs now crossed and hips moving to find friction against the cotton of her clothes to give her something to go off of. biting her lip as she tried, all while he watched.

the sound of his sweatpants hitting the floor as he disregarded them across the room, his attention on her never faltering as she watched him crawl across the bed back to her.

his toned shoulders and biceps, veiny forearms and hands, eyes locked on hers, disheveled hair and half-lidded eyes. the heat of his gaze made her squirm as he crawled back up to her, bodies pressed together as his head once again dipped into the crevice of her neck.

kissing down her body, he went further, and further, and further till he stopped at her stomach, hands on her hips to her thighs to unknot them just enough. hands back to her hips to lift her just slightly and with his fingers around the hem of her shorts and panties, slowly slid them down.

he's so pretty when he goes down on her, green eyes watching as he dipped lower, and lower, and lower. gold-skinned eager baby, blue shirt out the laundry now across the room.

his warm breath against her stomach as he watched her carefully, analyzing every little movement and subtle reaction. every brow crease, mouth twitched, nose flare, every swallow and gulp that traveled down her throat, small fly-aways from her hair starting to matte down to her skin.

biting her lip as he lowered down her body, dangerously close to the spot between her thighs. close enough to feel his breath against her thighs, and he could feel the warmth radiating from her.

anticipation building in her stomach, hips rolling to close the gap from his face to her cunt, but his hands holding her down firmly stopped her. a whine in desperation slipping past her lips, pushing her head further back into the pillow in anguish.

“regarde-moi, chérie.” (look at me, darling) he spoke so sweetly, yet so tauntingly, like he'd never give in to what she wanted if she didn't do what he needed her to.

“charles, please…” she begged because she wasn't entirely paying attention to what he was asking of her, especially when he spoke another language. she didn't have time for translation.

he shook his head, pressing his face into her inner thigh as he chuckled at her tone, so needy and only for him.

“look at me, amour,” he repeated in english after kissing her thigh.

now propped up on her forearms, watching her beloved monégasque boyfriend looking back at her with a smug smirk on his face.

she scowled back at his expression, opening to make a snarky comment about it. her jaw hung open after he finally closed the gap after waiting too long, his tongue licking a single stripe up her cunt.

she rolled her eyes in annoyance, falling back down into her pillows as she groaned in annoyance, “fuck you, charles.”

“i’m sure you'd love to, darling,” he teased before tasting her again, humming into her cunt which incited a hand through his hair, pushing him closer and a whine to slip past her lips.

when he'd done enough teasing for his own enjoyment, he indulged further into her core. his hands snaking around to the crevice where her thigh met her hip to pull her further into him.

squeaked moans barely making it out of her mouth as he worked away at her clit, her hand in his dark hair to push him closer in fear he would stop.

nips at her folds and whines whenever he would do so, tugging a little harder on his hair causing groans from him. vibrations of his groans through her clit, stimulating her more and more.

legs trembling as her thighs clamped tightly around him, and he didn't dare stop her. he was in heaven. she was sweet, perfect in contrast to her bitter attitude only seconds ago. he nearly broke eye contact when he was first reminded of how she tasted.

caressing her hips, he refused to part with her cunt, his lips coated with her slick as he heard the pattern of her moans falter.

she was so easy to tie in knots, and so easy to untangle too, shuddering harshly as she barely let out a moan. tugging tighter at his hair, pulling him closer as if he would leave her unsatisfied as she came undone on his tongue.

he didn't stop after the first, or the second. it wasn't until she was close to her third that he even considered a break. after the second, his pace slowed to small movements from his tongue, lightly teasing her now sensitive clit.

soft tears ran down her cheeks at the overstimulation between her legs, but she didn't stop him. it felt too damn good.

the third came the slowest, but hardest as he managed to coax it out of her patiently.

by the time he had pulled away, his hair was even more messy than before, her slick covered his lips and chin, his tongue licking away the remnants of her on his face. his shoulder slightly red at her barely clawing away at his skin.

by the time he had pulled away, tears streamed down her cheeks, hair matted to her forehead, her arched back dropping down the sheets, and her hands that were previously in his hair now gripped tightly at the pillows by her head. her eyes, hazy and tired, her chest rising and falling with hastened breaths as he crawled up to her, running a hand through her equally-matched messy hair and wiping stray tears that he caused, even though he knew it wasn't a bad thing.

without a word, he got up, leaving to slip into their bathroom. she heard the faucet run from her position on the bed and she rolled to the edge, peeking at his actions.

she knew he would take tender care of her, no different to how he did so every time.

—

proofread by @foreveralbon <333

[historiaxvanserra]

In Hades I Am With You | Chapter One

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: With rising tensions across the sea causing unrest in the capital, the two warring factions of the Night Court must come to terms.

Reader is the ill-fated daughter of a cruel Lord of Night; plagued with prophetic dreams and cursed with rare, arcane gifts. Azriel is the stoic spymaster; forged from violence, lethal and honed to a fatal sharpness. The pair find themselves bound to one another through sacred oaths. For better or worse.

Tags: Forced proximity, strangers to lovers, Night Court lore, Priestess reader, discussions of SA and abuse, discussions of sex work, criticism of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms, eventual smut, slight corruption kink, reader is incredibly romantic and horny.

Please let me know what you think. This chapter and readers powers are heavily inspired by Poppy from From Blood and Ash.

I was born on a night like this, I think. 

Storm-streaked, he had once called me. If only he could see me now; standing at the foothills of the mountain, wind-beaten and with the acrid taste of seafret on my lips. When I was a girl my father had told me that I came into the world the way the Old Gods had. Born from the merciless, blue-green depths of the sea. 

To be beautiful and cruel, and fearless.

Now fear is all I know.

The streets of the great mountain city are plagued by a feverish summer storm and, at the fatal peal of thunder I cast my eyes skyward. A terrible dread coils in the pit of my stomach. 

The visions come with the storm; fleeting images of an unforgiving tempest as it ravages all in its wake. The dark figure of a man, who whispers my name like a prayer. 

The God of plagues and prophecy.

Death had first come to me in a dream. Haunting and prophetic. Shrouded in seraphic blue light. 

Heat swells beneath the surface of the hydrangea clouds and the dark waters of the Sidra turn violent. Ivory seafoam coils and contorts violently like the tendrils of some grotesque sea-snake. I think of an old story my father had told me once. A human princess from the continent. She had been beautiful once. Until some dark, deathless God had lay claim to her. A monstrous thing. Rising from the depths of her watery tomb to lay waste to the men who had hurt her. Thrashing and writhing as the waves crested over the port of this wretched city. 

The crack of forked, white lightning against the darkening horizon breaks my reverie and Scylla nestles into my side with a bruising force. I smooth a hand flat on her muzzle. Her lustrous dark mane feels soft under my tender touch and she exhales a hot breath that rises like steam in the wet heat of the Summer storm. 

“Calm, Scylla.” I whisper tenderly to the mare I had taken to mount. My lips graze her dappled coat along her muzzle and I welcome the earthy fetor as it fills my senses. 

“Gentle, girl.” I reaffirm, patting the mount affectionately as I tie the reins to the crumbling statue of some prince long dead. 

“I’ll be back soon.” I promise. My voice wavers with another rumble of thunder. 

When I was a girl, my father had told me to count the moments between the cacophony of thunder and the flash of white lightning to work out how many leagues away it might be. 

At this moment I know that I am standing in the eye of the storm. 

Scylla watches warily as my figure disappears into the darkness of the lower city. I still hear her in the distance long after I am gone. Cloistered in the darkness of the city’s narrow alleys I remove the onyx veil that shrouds my features. I bury it in the folds of the plain, grey cloak I had stolen from Leda. 

I weave through the long, winding streets. I observe the world in flashes of cruel light and sound that permeates the suffocating darkness that saturates the lower city. I hear the echo of it in the lurid shouts of merchants, and the vulgar songs of sailors, coming home from the docks at the mouth of the Sidra. I listen to them all; as they beg, barter and brawl in the filthy streets. The fetor of decay lingers in the air like festering fruit flesh in the feverish heat of the slums. Throngs of beggar children chase the merchant's carts as they roll through the putrid pools of waste upon the wet, cobbled stone. Though, I only catch fleeting glimpses of them each time the cruel, seraphic light cuts through the blanket of the dark. 

As I pass through the Streets of Silk, I hear the bawdy rhymes of the painted whores as they call out into the night like a siren song; all sultry-eyed and dressed in lace that billows in the wretched breeze like the tendrils of a monstrous chimera. Fated to lure wayward sailors to their watery tombs. 

It is then, as the city bells toll their mournful song, that I reach my destination. 

The building stands as one of the last unsanctioned pleasure halls in the city; its weary slate facade is cut from the same dark stone as the mountain that oppresses the city. Its neglected roof tiles gleam in the pallid silver faelights like moonlight on the murky-green depths of the Sidra. Above the door, I observe the pillory that bears the establishment's name. The Jade Pearl, painted in varying gaudy shades of green and gold. 

The pleasure hall on the outer banks of the mountain city is alive with sordid activity. The whores in their fine silks twirl and dance in merry rings like water nymphs, and the serving girls sing sultry harmonies like siren songs, as they fill up the cups of patrons with sticky, honeyed mead. The high-arching melody of lyres and harps cut through the cacophony of carnal sounds; the officious laughter of Darkbringers, the vulgar curses and honeyed words, whispered into the skin of wind-beaten sailors and fat merchants. 

I traverse the narrow corridors that run like veins into the heart of the tavern. Its dark antechamber is bathed in shadow and dying fireglow that casts the word in a pallid light. The emerald bar curves around the hall in the shape of a crescent moon and the tables dapple the room like stars. 

“What a pretty creature you are, Mistress.” A beautiful wraith compliments, tugging and the long sleeves of my stolen robes. With tender touches and whispers the wraith works the buttons of my robes until I am left in the thin champagne shift I had worn beneath my cloak. 

She’s a slender looking creature, with pale blue eyes that look almost silver in the dying light of the hearth. Her long, white hair is braided over her shoulder like the tendril of some mythical siren. 

Dangerous and inviting. 

“Whatever you desire, be it wine or women, I will procure for you tonight,” She purrs, her voice low and sultry as she looks at me with those pale eyes. She’s dressed in the gauzy, silk robes of a whore. The garment flows like water over the curve of her hip and with a deep slit in its middle that exposes the graceful swell of her breasts beneath. And through her guise of beauty and seduction, I see the chains that bind her.

As I am bound. To this court. To the mountain that we call home.

“A drink would be nice,” I acquiesce, sliding a gold coin across the polished surface of the bar, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It is no trouble at all, mistress- but this far too much coin.” The wraith begins to untether the cracked leather coin purse from her hip. She begins to exchange the gold for smaller coins of silver and bronze, counting them in her open palm. 

“Please - keep it -- I’ve no use for such things anyway.” I command, nodding towards the coin in her hand. The wraith shakes her head and tries to protest but a call from the brutish looking owner draws the girl's attention away from me. I look up from my spot, across the painted emerald surface of the bar, to the games table. A voice, thick with mirth and malice, beckons my attention. 

“There are rumors amongst the legion that the High Lord will return to Court by the moon's turn.” The cruel laugh of a Darkbringer draws my interest as they sit around an emerald table. Crimson cards and dice litter the surface of the table and in its center a collection of coins. The male at the head of the table is dressed in his court robes; a dark overcoat with silver embroidery along the collars and cuffs. The others have abandoned their stifling robes in lieu of casual black tunics and pants. It is only through the tendrils of dark that shroud them in shadow that I know what they are.

These men are members of The Night Court’s legion of Darkbringers; and servants of the High Lord’s Steward. The larger of the three, unsheathes his dagger and places it atop the pile of coins in lieu of money. 

A reminder of their lethal potential. 

A vein of dark power that speaks to a coming vision plagues me in those spaces between the seconds. Untethered and adrift in the ether I allow my fragile mind to wander. I see a lake from which the dead rise like a devastating tempest. I see a King atop a dias, and a throne of splintered bone. And, through the blanket of the dark, I see the gleam of Illyrian Steel and age worn bone. 

Then, that tenuous connection to the Otherworld is severed. 

“The commander of the city watch says that tensions in the lower city are rising.” The deep timbre of the Darkbringer rouses me from thought again.

“I heard that the Lord Protector plans to broker an alliance with the Death Lord himself,”

“ if only to free himself of Rhysand’s leash.” 

“--bring him and that bitch of his to heel morelike.” The youngest of the three smiles malevolently.

“Enough of that, boys, we’re in the presence of a Lady.” The leader implies dangerously and at once, three heads incline in my direction. There are no Ladies allowed in this part of the city. The females of this forsaken city are bound to the Moonstone Palace. Forced to our knees in deference to our male oppressors. The only women that still dwell in the lower city are whores and exiles. Of which I am neither. 

Something dark and terrible roils in the pit of my stomach as the male approaches. I pull the hood of the austere, grey cloak to veil my face in shadows. The pale eyes of the Darkbringer meet mine through the din and his smile curls around the sharpness of his teeth.

The cold, amethyst hilt of a dagger kisses the tender flesh of my thigh beneath the many lawyers of dark fabric and I am reminded of my own lethal potential. The dagger had been passed from my grandsire some years ago. Made and forged from the ancient power that dwells beneath the mountain that we call home. The dagger itself had been set in a hilt of dark wood, trimmed with silver and precious gems; amethyst, sapphire and onyx. Its blade was fashioned of Illyrian steel and honed to a fatal sharpness.

“What a pretty little bird, she is.” He taunts as he approaches, his manner imposing and vindictive as he takes my chin roughly between his fingers. 

“I am no Lady, Ser.” I swallow thickly. It is true, of course. I am no Lady of the Night Court. I had been a babe when they found me. The cursed daughter to a cruel lord and some terrified nymph. 

My mother died giving me life and left me at the ruined Temple of Beara, the Mistress of Storms, deep in the foothills of the mountain. In the hopes that the Priestesses would shelter me from the cruelty of this court. After the temple fell I was brought before the Lords of Night and given to the Temple of Astarion on account of my rare and ancient gift. 

“Then perhaps you might regale my friends and I with the tale of how a pretty thing like you ends up here.” The Darkbringer replies, sliding a coin across the table. His gaze drops to the rings that adorn my hands; fine rings of onyx and amethyst, mined from the wretched bowels of the mountain that I have come to call home. The mark of my good breeding. 

“I assure you Ser, I am no whore either.” I chastise, sliding my hand beneath the folds of my cloak. The lust that pools in his eyes is a dreadful thing. Lecherous and heinous. Though I take comfort in the knowledge that my true identity is concealed. 

As the Pythia of the Night Court a dark veil typically obscures my features from the view of men; save from my eyes, which are heavily darkened with kohl and pigments of sapphire and amethyst that hail from the mines of Illyria. The veil protects me as much as it oppresses me. For if male like this knew of the power I possess, they would seek to control it, to covet that power until I were a vessel of their ill intent. That is why I was given to the Temple as a child. Why my estranged father and the Steward of the Night Court seek to make me their weapon. I know then that if I am discovered I will suffer for it. The kind of suffering that only exists here, in the rotting depths of Hewn City.

“No, I see that now.” Devilment darkens his pale gaze and the cut of amethyst shines in his dark eyes, he releases me from his bruising grip with a dark laugh. 

“Curious little thing.” One of the men whispers. 

“This is not the place for a gentle creature like you, Lady” He whispers, his pointed finger ghosts the cut of onyx on my hand,  “luckily for you I am feeling quite merciful.” 

“I am not as gentle as I look, Ser.” I warn. The three Darkbringers laugh cruelly. I turn to leave when a firm hand closes around my wrist and twists me so I am held in the Darkbringers bruising embrace. His lips drag a tortuous line along the side of my jaw. 

“Now, now little bird,” He coos mockingly against the shell of my ear as I struggle violently against him, “flighty little thing.” 

Bile rises in my throat as the Darkbringer’s companions laugh and fingers dig into the knife at my thigh, unsheathing it in a moment and pressing it against the male's pale throat. Unshed tears line my eyes like flecks of silver starlight as his hands still on my waist. 

“That is what you call mercy?” I laugh bitterly at the man, his eyes hardening as the Illyrian steel blade glints in the dim light. 

“Let go of her, Aeres.” The eldest of the three orders and the Darkbringer unhands me at once.

“Now fly back to your cage, little bird.” The elder male nods towards the rear exit beyond the bar. 

On uncertain feet I Traverse the narrow aisle of the tavern I find myself adrift amongst the dancing tide of patrons. A throng of women, clad in gauzy robes and underthings, twist and contort like columns of technicolor seafoam. The cruel laughter from the dance floor pulls me deeper into the wretched heart of the pleasure house. Lurid whistles and a series of vulgar gestures rouse my attention. A female; dressed in spider silk and lace coils around a portly merchant at the games table. She slips into his lap with a serpentine grace. I watch as the merchant’s weathered hand traces the line of her throat to the swell of her breasts. Smacking his hand away, the woman laughs, it is a beautiful, false thing that glitters in the pallid light.

“Well, girl I hope you fuck better than you play cards.” The merchant complains, laying down his deck of crimson cards. The female curls a painted hand around the cuffs of his tunic and whispers into his ear and the merchant's mouth curves into a lurid smile. One thick hand draws down her stomach, the other brushes the flesh of her thigh, slipping under the folds of her robe between her legs --

Oh.

I avert my eyes at the scene as a blush kisses its way along my neck and chest at the intimacy of it. The merchant rises from his seat at the table, taking the female slender hand in his. The whispered words they exchange are too low for me to hear but her answering smile is enough to know it was something wicked. The female rises leads the merchant towards the sleeping chambers beyond the emerald curtains. 

I watch as the merchant's shadowy figure is swallowed by the darkness as the curtain is drawn. My attention lingers far after they are gone, leaving only the smell of salt and jasmine in their wake. 

I am overcome with a strange, prophetic awareness.; dreams of shadowed light and a bleeding star, scarred hands that track the constellations as they reign over the black tapestry of the sky.

The high-arching symphony of strings and lyres blossoms in the feverish heat of the tavern. The soft melody of the lyres seems to echo off of the high, domed ceiling, as the heavy beat of a drum joins the cacophony of sound. It’s a hypnotizing, deeply sensual beat, that is unlike anything I have ever heard. 

Primal and carnal. 

I find myself adrift in the sway of the dancing sea. Slowly, I make my way along the length of the bar, reaching out to touch the gauzy jade curtains, parting them slowly --

“I don’t think you want to go in there, Mistress.” The lilting voice of the wraith warns. 

“Why not?” I ask curiously, lowering my hand from the curtain. The wraith laughs prettily, her cerulean eyes glinting in the dying light of the fire. 

“Some don’t appreciate an audience, Sweet girl.” 

“An audience?” I ask. 

Through the darkness of the antechamber, I see the silhouettes of the whores and their patrons, writhing and undulating with the beat of the drum. The music is punctuated by panting breaths and lilting moans, and the vulgar sound of men as they find their pleasure. 

“Oh.” The wraith laughs again, her painted lips curl into a wicked smile.

“Is it your first time here, Priestess?” The wraith leans in, the rich tenor of her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. Fear coils in my stomach and my grip on the emerald surface of the bar tightens. 

“I’m no priestess.” I try to emulate her melodious laughter and my eyes narrow in faux concern. 

“You needn't lie to me, Pythia. Your secret's safe with me.” Her words resound in my head and realization dawns. She’s daemati. 

“That type of secret is not safe with anyone.”

“What could I gain from exposing it to anyone? I wish you no ill will.” She returns. 

“You’d earn the Lord Protector's favor, of that I am certain --.” 

The wraith's face twists into a grimace and her sapphire stare hardens to a cold, wicked thing. “I have no need for that viper’s favour.” The venom laced in her voice speaks to the malice she holds for this place, its patrons and the cruel light of Hewn City. Many within the court resent the way in which we live, clinging to the slivers of power we are allowed, cowering in the darkness of the mountain. 

Things are changing as of late, war looms ever closer and whispers of dissent from the continent bring about unrest in the people. Many turn to the High Lord and his Lady for liberation from the dying vestiges and brutal traditions of this court. For many years I myself have lived in servitude and isolation, serving Keir, The Lord Protector and Steward of the ancient mountain city. 

As his coveted oracle; a conduit for his own power.

A cruel wind cuts through the heat of the pleasure hall as the doors open to announce an influx of new patrons. Three men, dressed in court robes enter through the archway, each shaded in shadows and dark wisps of power. My heart hammers thunderously in my chest as the men enter the heart of the establishment. 

“A flagon of wine and some dice, Arik.” The Darkbringer announces to the man behind the bar. My face pales from where I stand. These men are of my personal guard; formidable and unwaveringly loyal to my keeper. 

These men, these good men, are sworn to a monster, and they must do monstrous things to survive here. 

As we all must. 

I veil my face with the hood of my stolen cloak, tucking my hair into the collar so that it is concealed from view, and my face obscured almost entirely. If they were to discover me they would be duty bound to drag me back to the Moonstone Palace and throw me down atop the emerald dias for Keir and my father to punish as they see fit. 

I take another tentative look across the room and observe the men crowded around the game table with women hanging off them, like a swarm of beautiful and merciless harpies. 

“That one’s usual girl looks like you--” The wraith whispers to me, casting her own gaze to Ares who stands alone near the fire rather forlorn for a male in the middle of a brothel.  

“She’s busy with her favorite client upstairs. Perhaps you might retrieve her and make your escape.” Slowly, I turn to the wraith who takes my hand gently and leads me along the length of the bar. 

“You will find Aelle on the second floor -- take sanctuary there. I’ll come for you when your friends are occupied.” 

I hold her hand fondly and press a gold coin into her palm. 

“Thank you.” I say. She presses a chaste kiss to my cheek and ushers me up the stairs. 

As I ascend the steps of the pleasure hall, I slip a hand between the folds of my cloak, fingers ghosting the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh once more. 

The upper levels of the house are painted a deep emerald color and the flickering fae lights saturate the long, narrow corridors in onyx wisps of shadow. The room at the end of the corridor is stepped in near darkness, veins of indigo and navy that obscure everything in a shroud of blue-darkness. The mantle is hung with half-burned candles and a garland of foxglove and jasmine. The antique furniture looks as though it has been carved from the black wood of ash trees and the armchairs in front of the dying hearth are embroidered with dark floral motifs and silver threads. 

I draw in a sharp breath and the scent of pine and night-blooming florals shrouds me in its winter kiss. 

A flash of seraphic light illuminates the room and a deep voice, shaded in nightshade calls out from the blue-darkness.

“I’ve been waiting for you,”