#slash quake

[devilrose]

Collection: characters in red, 2020-2024

Top to bottom, left to right: May (Pokemon) - Lance (Pokemon) Visor (Quake III Arena) - Lavinia (Record of Agarest War) Titania (Fire Emblem 9 & 10) - Lukas (Fire Emblem: Shadows of Valentia) Lyude (Baten Kaitos) - Juste Belmont (Castlevania: Harmony of Dissonance) Slash (Quake III Arena) - Flame Atronach (The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion)

See, I am a hummingbird. It's official. You show me a character in red and I will scream out of my little beak MINE!! I don't know whether to be amazed or ashamed by how consistent my tastes in characters are.

If you love my art, please consider offering me some fruit juice and a bouquet of hibiscus flowers.

[helpallthenamesaretaken]

moral of the story: dont mention percys mom and lukes dad while youre about to fight/fighting them

[luxlightly]

Slash cosplay came out AMAZING. I'm so overjoyed. I so often have these big plans for elaborate cosplays with lots of parts and details and they end up falling really flat or being okay but just messy and amateurish. But this came out pretty much exactly the way I wanted. It looks amazing. I look great in it, and, best of all, I have light up heelies and hair that glows under blacklight so things are going pretty great for me rn.

[loudmound]

i miss quake so bad you don't understand

[oneirataxia-girl]

pov you might just be an itty bitty bit too obsessed with your own ocs

[herricasat]

quick Slash study ig

[mftango]

Wanted to do 10 different franchises to, just for good measure

Name ten female characters you like, you get zapped if it's jsut a male character you call a babygirl or other feminine nicknames because I can't see people calling Lestat coquette again

[xtrachloenary]

Nadel gefilzte SLASH (QUAKE Franchise)

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | iv.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

"Put the phone down. On speaker," Ghostface orders.

The device almost slides right out of your clammy palm when you place it by your sock-covered foot. 

"Now…"

His voice dips, its intimate echo rippling across your skin.

Tension clogs your throat as you await his next command, a mess of shivering limbs on your bed.  

Whatever he asks you to do, you know you’ll hate it, and yourself. 

But there’s no other option when your friends’ lives hang in the balance. 

No choice besides yielding to the killer’s whims, however sick and twisted. 

"I want you to touch yourself, princess."

Puzzled by his request, you blink and parrot his words back to him,"Touch myself?"

He unleashes a dark laugh, a chill dancing on your spine at the sound. 

"Let me explain it in terms even my airheaded little princess can understand," he rasps, blatantly condescending. I want you to shove your fingers in that tight pussy while I watch you do it…and make yourself come." Your eyes widen in shock. "If you don’t come…" Your open thighs tremble as an air of malevolence saturates the air. "Goodbye Mindy and Anika."

The heavy, searing weight of his threat sits in your gut like hot coals. 

Your lip wobbles, a tear escaping the confine of your lids. 

"I’ll do it," you mutter, your quivering hand already inching to your exposed center. 

"Hey, no need to rush," he chuckles. "Take your time, princess. After all…I want to enjoy the show."

He sighs and a zipping sound followed by a muffled rustle reaches you. Relief flows from his inflection as he instructs, "Why don’t you start with rubbing your hand up and down your pussy?"

Sticky wetness coats your fingers as you glide them over your folds. 

Heat flares in your cheeks as Ghostface’s gruff moans rise from the phone. 

Though you can’t know for sure, you suspect from how breathless and hoarse he sounds, he may be touching himself too. 

You grow more embarrassed at the thought. 

"Unbutton your shirt and grab your tit." He lets out a throaty purr as you undo the buttons of your blouse. You palm your breast and rub your thumb over your pebbled peak. A hiss floats from your lips at the sensation, your core clenching. 

"Fuck…you’ve got the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen. You know that, princess?" He pauses, seeming to choke on his own breath before chiming, "Bet they’d look even better covered with my cum."

A shuddering breath escapes your mouth. 

"Put one finger inside. Tell me how it feels."

As you keep fondling your breast, you sink one digit inside your wet heat. You gasp as you graze a sensitive, spongy spot that makes your breath falter. 

"Wet. Tight…" Reflexively, as you rock inside your walls, they squeeze around your fingers. Ragged moans climb up your throat. 

Pleasure builds in your belly as it tenses. 

"Put a second one," he urges, his words punctuated by a gravelly whine and the faint, sloppy friction of skin against skin on the other side of the phone. 

Your face ignites. While you’re not the brightest bulb, it’s not hard figuring out what he’s doing while talking to you. 

A wave of sickness threatens to overwhelm you but you quell it.

You add a second digit to the first. Your lids quake, a sharp pain rippling through your core at the burning stretch.

You hardly ever touch yourself there, much less with more than one finger.

"It hurts," you sob. "Please…"

Your whimpers only appear to arouse him more, a moan following your admission. 

"Oh…Fuck." You hear him swallow and exhale rapidly. "Keep going. Don’t you dare stop. Play with your clit at the same time."

Letting go of your chest, your other hand creeps between your thighs. Cheeks aflame, you start rubbing your swollen, sensitive nub in circles.

Your breath stutters. Your hips wiggle as your stomach tightens. 

"Rub it harder." You chew on your bottom lip as the lustful pants leaving your throat swell in volume. Disapproval vibrates in Ghostface’s distorted, gravelly voice. "Don’t keep it in. I want to hear you loud and clear, princess."

Reluctantly, you free your lip, allowing every moan and whimper to spill out unchecked. 

Your fingers pump in and out at a faster pace and the wet squelching of your cunt mingles with the shameful sounds rising from your mouth. 

You massage your clit, growing slicker as your vision gets hazy. 

"Remember what I said. What happens if you don’t come, pretty girl."

This incentivizes you to try even harder. 

You play with your pussy with more fervor than before, teasing that tender spot inside you that has your vision sway. 

You can tell how close you are to your pinnacle, the coils in your belly tight and warm tingles swirling at the apex of your thighs. 

The patterns your fingers trace over your sensitive parts turn hectic and desperate. 

"Tell me you can’t wait for my fat cock to ruin your tight little pussy," Ghostface rumbles through the staccato of his uneven, raspy moans. 

Tears adorning your lashes, you repeat his words between strained lungfuls. "I c-can’t wait for your f…fat cock to ruin my little p-pussy, Mr. Ghostface."

His elated laugh cascades across your flesh. 

"Come for me, princess."

The air dwindles in your lungs as your eyes roll back. The dam shatters at once, your legs quaking as waves of pleasure scatter through your lower body. Your body jolts and falls limply on the sheets, your back arching as your climax hits you. 

"Ah, shit," he says. 

The killer’s long, throaty sigh lands in your ears, the sound of him relieving himself strangely making your bundle of nerves pulse. 

"Good girl," he lauds, mirth and lust radiating from his deep timbre.

His choppy breaths mingle with yours through the phone.

As you lie on your side on the bed, the haze clears and a vast well of shame blooms inside you. 

After a few minutes of silence, he laughs again. 

Satisfaction drips from his tone.

"I’m proud of you for playing my little game," he says. "And now, we have our first souvenir together, in 4K."

Your brows knit as you shakily pick up the phone.

"What do you m-mean?"

He doesn’t reply, instead humming softly, "Goodnight, princess."

The call ends as he hangs up. 

Quivering lips bound shut by stupor, you quickly grab your bear and hold him against your chest. You bury yourself under the covers as quiet tears roll down your face. 

You don’t get much sleep if any that night, tossing and turning when you’re not drenching the sheets with the salty streams pouring from your eyes. 

Despite him never entering the room, terror paralyzes you. 

He might as well have, his sinister presence coiled around you and the power he held over you tattooed into your very bones. 

You bolt awake in the morning, the wild drumming of your heart blaring in your ears.

The first thing you do is rush to collect  your phone. But frustration roars inside you when you realize it died during your fitful sleep. 

Heart in your throat, you scramble in search of your charger. Once you find it in a forgotten corner of your bed, a relieved exhale ripples through your lips. 

Impatient, you groan as you wait for the lightning bolt icon to shift to one percent. The painful sluggishness of it escalates your blood pressure even more. 

You bounce on your bed as your phone takes what seems like eternity and beyond to turn itself on. 

When it finally does, you don't even have to look through your contacts to find Mindy, your best friend appearing in your most recent calls.

You punch the number and chew your nails anxiously. 

Ghastly thoughts lurk about your mind with each lingering, torturous second. 

What if he lied? 

What if he toyed with you for no reason? 

Of course, your roommate picks this opportune moment to knock on the door.

"Hey! Did you lock me out? Open the fucking door!"

Startled, your head snaps up.

"Not now, Vanessa," you yell, herding your focus back to your phone. "Pick up, pick up, pick up…"

You hear your roommate mutter 'bitch' on the other side of the door and kick it one last time before walking away. 

All your calls go to voicemail after a few rings. You lose hope, already picturing the worse. In your sleep-deprived, frazzled brain, the image of your friends’ lifeless forms lying sprawled on the floor is conjured. 

Your gaze fills with tears as you plummet at the end of your bed. 

While the sun’s basking your room in light, your world has never been this dark. 

It’s the pathetic state you remain in as you amble across the hallways later, no cheer in your step as you drag your feet to class. 

Each of your thoughts is asieged by your friends’ fate. Who knows if they even made it through the night, despite your best efforts to comply with Ghostface’s sick demands.

Your dispirited trek comes to a sudden halt as you catch sight of them, strolling to your first class with their arms linked. 

You all but tackle Mindy into a hug after racing down the hallway. 

"Mindy!" you shriek, overwhelmed with emotion at having her in your arms, safe, whole and - most importantly - alive. 

She laughs, both she and Anika casting you a puzzled stare. 

"Wow, is something wrong? Not that I mind random hugs but…"

You punch her in the rib and rear back with a scowl. 

"You didn't answer your phone, dingus! I was worried sick."

Mindy winces in response to your outburst. 

"Ouch. Sorry, mom," she jests, but when she notes the way your eyes fill with tears again, concern invades her features. Her tone softens as she elaborates, "Anika and I were…busy last night, so our phones were on silent."

They share a secret smile, hands twining. Your cheeks warm as understanding dawns over you. 

You approach them and give them a tight hug.

"I…I’m just happy to see you both, that’s all," you mumble between quivering sobs. You take a minute to soak in the fact that they’re okay, that you can feel their beating hearts against your own. 

Your friends are okay. Ghostface kept his promise. 

Despite how humiliated and violated last night made you feel, at least there is one perk…your friends lived through it. 

Anika rubs soothing circles on your back.

"Well, we’re happy to see you too. Always." She tilts her head and studies you. "Wanna grab lunch later? Talk about what’s really going on with you?"

Gulping a pacifying breath, you fall back. You look at both their faces, scrunched in worry. You’re thankful for them…but you can’t talk about last night to anyone. 

In fact, you’d rather toss the whole ordeal into a well of oblivion. You feel dirty enough as it is. Tainted. 

Still, spending time with them is just what you need. 

"I’d love that," you chime, swallowing your tears long enough for them to disappear from view. 

But as soon as they’ve vacated the hallway, the ephemeral mask of cheerfulness you donned before crumbles. 

You shrink into a mess of tears in a dusky corner of the faculty, hiding behind a set of stairs no one ever uses. 

"I have tissues if you want. I have t-three tissues."

"Ethan?" Your mouth parts as Ethan’s staggering presence crowds your vision. He’s crouched in front of you, that same lopsided, bashful smile he had at the party decorating his lips. Sun beams hit his dark curls, highlighting the russet and chestnut hues of his thick mane. 

You slowly blink, noticing his outstretched hand and the tissues in it. 

You accept them gracefully and dab your eyes with one. 

"Hey." He sits next to you under the stairs and leans against the wall. "Wanna talk about it?"

You sniffle and shake your head in response. 

Ethan nods in acknoledgement. You appreciate that he doesn’t push, settling for sitting with you as you cry in your hand.

"Okay," he says when your weeping alleviates. "Then, maybe we can go to a café and study? Since you’ve missed our first session anyway."

Embarrassment surges inside you. Right. You and Ethan agreed to meet at the library two days ago. 

You were caught amidst your guilt spiral regarding Connor’s death at the time. 

You squeeze his arm and bunch your lips apologetically. 

"I’m so sorry, Ethan. It totally slipped my mind."

He waves a dismissive hand in the air. 

"It’s okay. You were dealing with a lot. I get it."

Deflating, you release his bicep and sigh. 

"Still, that’s not okay. You were so nice to offer."

"Don’t worry about it. Besides, I’ve got time now," he informs.

Hugging your knees, you flash him a hollow smile. 

"Thank you. You're a really good friend." You grimace. "I'm sorry Chad and Mindy gave you such a hard time the other day."

He gives a nonchalant shrug. 

"It's okay. Could be anyone, right?" He pauses, scrutinizing your face. "Even me."

This draws the first genuine laugh of the week from you.

Ethan being Ghostface? The mere idea is ludicrous. 

There is an ocean of differences between the monster who coerced you into doing dirty things last night and the sweet boy who handed you tissues today. 

They could never be the same person. That’s silly. 

"I’d find that very hard to believe," you say between watery chuckles. 

The only reply you get from Ethan is a wide, tight-lipped smile as he slants his head sideways, his gaze lighting up as it runs over you. 

~

[groupiewhoreee]

Hi! if you have time would you write getting caught with izzy smut cause he needed you so bad

hiii!!!!! omg surr! i'd love to do this! also i have been getting so many izzy requests LMAO people are just so downbad for izzy ig

Heat Of The Moment

Pairing: Izzy Stradlin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, P in V, unprotected sex, just smut.

Summary: In request by a lovely anon <3

Note: I didn't read over this or anything since I was busy at the moment! So its bad.

One of Izzy's hands were entangled in your hair, tugging it ever so slightly and yanking your head backwards. His other hand was rested on your hip, gently caressing your curves that you had to offer. Soft, but yet quiet moans of pleasure escaped the airplane bathroom, grunts, and low pitched groans could be hear too, mixing together with your moans. Your legs shook, and quaked, as you were leant over the small sink that was cramped into the tiny bathroom. He pounded away at you at a rough but fast pace. "Fuck, Izzy-" You moaned out in a high pitch, your voice cracked alongside it. Izzy took his hand / fingers out of your hair, releasing his grip and immediately over to your mouth, covering it. "Shh, be quiet baby. You don't want them to hear, don't you? Unless you want them to hear.." Izzy chuckled lightly into your ear, continuing to go at a rough pace. You simply nodded, moaning into his hand as it was muffled. You didn't know if the other boys were awake, yet. Izzy sweet-talked you, "Your so pretty baby, I just can't resist you.. wearing skirts so short," He hummed with a smirk. Before you got into the bathroom with the male, Axl, Duff, Steven, and Slash were all asleep, snoring away. You assumed they couldn't hear you. .. or maybe they could? You let out a pleasured sigh, your eyes rolled back into your head. Izzy's mouth went to your neck, sucking at the skin, and making purple, but almost pink love bites. He bit into your skin, leaving harsh bite marks. You were close, and Izzy was too. "I'm close, sweetheart." He hummed in your ear, before going back to burying his face into your neck, his long and flowing black hair fell over his face.

Maybe after a minute or two, you climaxed, and cum dripped down your thighs. Izzy still wasn't there yet, so he continued to thrust into you. Little did you know, you didn't lock the bathroom door. Why? You forgot since it was so rushed,, and he needed you. Bad. Izzy grunted, about to cum until Axl, opened the airplane door. You two immediately looked over at him. "-Holy shit," Axl said, now covering his eyes, but he began to laugh. "I see you two we're having fun?" He asked to you, and you frowned. "Get out!" You shouted. "Okay okay, jesus, i'm leaving. Maybe lock the door next time, dumbass." Axl rolled his eyes, and closed it. After a minute, Izzy went back at it and came inside of you, not asking if you wanted him to or not. You two got all dressed and ready, and when you guys walked out, they were all snickering and staring at you. Axl had told all of them what happened. "So I-" Duff didn't get to finish, "-Shut up." Izzy huffed and went to sit with you in the very back. He let you have the window seat and held your hand. "Sorry, I forgot to lock it. I just needed you so bad," He chuckled. "It's okay," you hummed in reply. "I love you, babe." He told you, and kissed your cheek. "I love you too, Izzy," You replied and kissed his nose.

[devilrose]

Slash & the BFG10K

Every time I draw her she gets cool new clothes.

[dogblessyoutascha]

HOW HAS IT BEEN ALMOST A YEAR SINCE I'VE DRAWN THESE TWO??? CRIMES! Anyways 500 word drabble under the cut.

Elendil’s horse was forced out from under him with a sundering blow — his sword quick to follow as he was swarmed with orcs. From every direction they came, overwhelming the trees and the earth in dozens until there was no more riding trail to follow.

The palantir had foretold of Elendil’s own narrow escape from the quaking of Numenor’s fall. It spoke of a forest he did not recognize and a trail he was to wander alone. Without his children. Without Tar-Miriel. Without any close family friends. His only company was a borrowed horse, once belonging to a dead compatriot, and the vast forests of Middle Earth.

It would be easy to give in to this, but he had failed to be calm before the storm. He had failed to weather so many trials and tribulations that a stubbornness took hold and demanded of Elendil that he at least manage this one simple task. He swore an oath.

Catching himself on his feet, Elendil ducked lower than his back would normally allow in order to dodge the swing of a mace…

… And to fetch a dagger from his boot.

The blade was comically small in his hand, but it was all he needed to set things right. Stripped of his titles or not, his body never forgot its training. Not as he smashed two orcs’ heads together and certainly not as he whirled around to slash at the next nearest foe. These creatures were a blur of motion in his eyes, nothing familiar about their techniques that he could count on.

Only one being stood steady on the field, and Elendil made certain to keep watch upon him as he grew closer. He’d seen the tainted elf before when first he rode in aid of the Southlanders, but that man, Adar, had been the quarry of Galadriel and Halbrand. If he had survived the volcano erupting-

-A lump welled up within Elendil’s throat. Elendil wanted nothing more than to find Isildur here. To find him alive. To no longer be alone.

The moment Adar was in reach, Elendil grabbed the elf’s shoulder with one hand and spun him into an easy submission. With one arm, he pinned Adar’s shoulders. With the other, Elendil pressed the tip of his blade into Adar’s neck — as strangely pliable as it was. Adar leaned back into Elendil’s grasp, humor obvious in the rumble he emitted.

“Twice in one season? Lucky me.” Adar’s droll words took Elendil aback, causing concern to overwrite the ferocity of his expression.

Lowering his voice, Elendil spoke practically into Adar’s cheek. “Twice? Do you find yourself in this position often?”

“Define often.” It was a simple quip as Adar’s body pressed tighter to Elendil’s until their armor grinded together as scales on steel. As Elendil’s fingers gripped Adar’s shoulder tighter and his dagger drew blood, Adar simply tilted his head to meet Elendil’s gaze. “All humor aside-” Adar swapped his languages to Sindarin so fluidly that it took Elendil’s mind a moment to catch up. “You do not wander these roads aimlessly. We meet on this day to aid one another against a larger threat.”

[kaynanarie]

JourneyTober! Day 4 - Bear

            It took days to climb the mountain, hurtling every obstacle and defeating any and all demons that blocked their path. The monkey proved to be an exceptional fighter, taking on every threat with an unshakable determination. With such dangers lurking around every corner, Jen was thankful he allowed her to travel with him. He never spoke but also never rejected her company; as long as she kept up and stayed out of the way, her presence seemed tolerated. Jen only hoped whatever mission he was on would aid in her own quest to find a way home.

            Countless struggles later, they reached the top of the mountain. One of the demons had put up a challenging fight but retreated as a dark cloud once Monkey gained the upper hand. Crumpled stone steps led the way to a once magnificent temple, now left in ruins on the mountain peak. High walls of stone encircled the space, cracked and covered in creeping vines. Ancient trees loomed along the path, gnarled and twisted from the roots up. In the center of it all was a towering pagoda, and overseer to the temple’s decline. To make the desolation worse, everything had been set ablaze, filling the air with smoke and overwhelming heat.

            A booming voice echoed off the walls, taunting and cackling as the black gust of wind returned. When it crashed to the ground, the shape it took wasn’t the manlike demon from before. Instead, a giant bear, dark as night with bloodred eyes, roared before thundering towards them. Jen only had time to see a raised paw before she was shoved to one side, Monkey dodging the other way. The bear demon crashed into the arched gateway, collapsing the entrance and trapping both of them inside.

            Within seconds, Monkey had recovered and launched into the fight, leaving Jen to find a hiding spot. Between the fire, the smoke, and the constant tremors of the warriors trading blows, it was hard to navigate the battleground, much less vacate it. As the fight escalated, Jen took shelter behind one of the burning trees.

            The bear was the size of a building, each heavy step shaking the ground. But while he was larger, Monkey using his smaller size to his advantage. Every dodge and strike from his staff irritated the demon more and more. Until his composure snapped. Stomping his massive paws, the ground quaked and plumes of fire exploded all around like fiery geysers. One close to Jen’s hiding place sent her scrambling out of reach with a yelp.

            Too late, she realized her mistake. She was sprawled out in the open, nothing to hide her from the demon’s glowing red eyes. A menacing grin was Jen’s only warning before he lunged. Terror froze her in place; she couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t even scream. Flame covered claws slashed down at her, the light and heat stinging her teary eyes.  

            At the last second, the paw was struck by Monkey’s staff, diverting the attack. A second strike landed on the bear’s nose, staggering him back. Before he could recover, the golden light of Monkey’s freezing spell held him in petrified rage.

            Jen had barely blinked before she was scooped off the ground and rushed across the flaming courtyard. Monkey hurried into the pagoda, stopping inside the doorway to set Jen on the ground. His dark eyes held a newfound concern as they scanned over her shaky form.

            “I’m fine,” Jen mumbled, just as much to herself as to him.

            Outside, the spell broke with a sound like tinkling glass. An enraged roar followed. Glancing between Jen and the door, Monkey looked conflicted, his tail lashing in agitation.

            “Go, I’ll be fine,” Jen said, forcing a small smile. Monkey frowned, not quite convinced so she gave him a small shove. “I’ll wait here. Just be careful, okay?”

            Nodding in agreement, Monkey gripped his staff and disappeared out the door to finish the fight. Soon enough, the bear was on the ground, groveling in utter defeat.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------(More Black Myth Wukong specific stuff. This was a fun one to write but I was so tired by the end. I'm enjoying getting to develop Jen's character through these. Everyone else's OC have been so fun to see, it makes me wish I could draw.)

[honey-on-your-tongue]

The Last Time

A/N: okay, I know I've got requests and all, but this popped into my mind and if I don't write it now it'll fade. Anddd I'll write a part 2 for this as well, so don't be too heartbroken.

Summary: Just as you and widowed Jake Sully had found love and companionship and a home in each other, he's forced to go to the Metkayina clan in order to keep the Omaticaya safe from the Sky People. All too soon, you have to say goodbye.

Warnings: Angst. Smut. Angst. Angst. Angst. I'm so sorry 😭 and I didn't proofread it sooo don't see any mistakes

-----

Jake doesn't have to say anything. He walks into your shared tent and takes one look at you and he knows.

Your eyes are red from crying, tears streaming down your face. Your arms are wrapped around yourself, and you sob softly.

He'd wanted to be the one to tell you. He wanted you to hear the news from his mouth. But it seems someone else beat him to that.

He sighs softly, approaching you, his emotions torn between aching melancholy and searing rage. He doesn't want to leave, but he has to. Fuck, he has to. It's for your own safety. The humans will never stop until they're through with Jake. And he can't risk you—or anyone else in the clan—to be collateral damage.

“Baby...,” he starts quietly, but he quickly realizes that he has nothing else to say. He doesn't know what to say, what to do. He's breaking from the inside out and, what's worse, he's breaking you too.

You sniffle, a soft sob leaving you. “Please, don't go,” you tell him, voice weak and broken. “Please.”

Jake shakes his head as he reaches you, holding your face in his hands. “I can't stay,” he replies, the pain clear in his strained voice. “I can't stay.”

You sob. “Then take me with you,” you reply, placing your hands on his waist and pulling him closer. “You don't have to leave without me. I'll go with you, and I'll adapt to the Metkayina clan, I promise.”

Jake smiles, but it's a sad, tearful smile. His eyes well up, and his voice grows ragged with ache. “No, baby. You'll stay here. This is your home—”

“You are my home,” you cut in, sniffling.

He shakes his head. “I won't do this to you. You deserve to stay here with your family, with your friends,” he tells you. “You deserve a life I can't offer you.”

You sob, lower lip trembling, and you shake your head. “No,” you say, voice wavering. “No. Jake, please...”

He closes his eyes, the pain slashing through his heart. He places his forehead against yours, his nose nuzzling yours. “I'm sorry, baby.”

You sob, your body quaking, and you hold onto him for dear life. Jake's own heart is tearing itself into pieces, shreds that, like leaves fallen from trees, slowly crumble up and die.

Little by little. It's a painstaking, excruciating death. And he wishes you didn't have to feel this too.

He kisses your forehead, then kisses your nose. “I'm sorry,” he says quietly. “I wish things were different, but...I'm sorry.”

You sniffle, nodding. “I know, I know,” you reply, crying.

He takes one look at your broken expression and he feels as if his chest were caving in. He kisses your lips softly, gently. He's so familiar with the feeling of them against his mouth, his shoulder, his forehead. He tries to commit them to memory, knowing that this is probably the last time he'll kiss you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close. He places his hands on your waist and softly caresses your hips.

His touch is electrifying. Every time he grazes your skin with his fingers, you find your body alight with burning desire. A love that seems to ignite a spark somewhere in your heart, a place reserved just for him.

He holds you tighter, pressing your body to his. He wants to sear the memory into his mind, wants to feel your body against his forever.

His hands move from your waist to your ass, softly caressing you, and then his mouth is devouring yours. He slides his tongue into your mouth and kisses you passionately, slowly, taking his time to taste and memorize you.

He slowly begins to lower you to the ground, and you cry more, sobbing. He keeps kissing you. “I love you..I love you.”

“Don't-don't say it like it's a goodbye,” you hiccup. “Please, don't.”

He gets you on your back on the ground, kissing your neck. “Let's say it's not the last time,” he says softly. “Let's forget about tomorrow and just live in the moment, okay?” He kisses your lips tenderly. “Only thing that matters is tonight. You and me.”

You sniffle, heart cracking into a thousand little pieces that lodge into your lungs, making it painful to breathe. But you nod. You nod because this is all you're going to get with him, this is the last thing you can give each other.

You kiss him, pulling him on top of you. His hands roam over your waist, feeling your skin. Every single curve and edge, every dip and rise. It's all memorized in his fingers, but he just wants to touch it all one more time.

He kisses your jaw, your neck, inhaling your scent thay he's always loved. A mix of rainforest and flower, something earthy and sweet that brings him peace. He softly kisses your shoulder, the same one he'd always kiss when you were out and about. If he ran into you at any given time, he'd kiss your shoulder.

He kisses it now, pretending this is one of the many causal kisses he's delivered to that particular spot. But he knows it's not. So his lips linger there for longer than necessary, feeling your skin, wishing it weren't the last time.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, softly caressing his head. You're still crying, tears of agony and frustration, a sour taste in the back of your mouth that feels awfully like grief.

He kisses your collarbone and then wanders between your breasts. He undoes your top gently and takes it off you, revealing your perfect chest. He's always loved this about you, ever since the first time he saw you naked. How many times has he kissed them? How many times has he nuzzled his face between them? How many times has he fallen asleep on them, listening to your steady heartbeat?

He kisses then each slowly, licking his way to your nipple. He sucks on it softly, his tongue rolling around it as he softly pinches your other nipple with his fingers.

You arch your back slightly, pushing your chest further into his face, and he smiles against you.

He moves to your other breast, paying it the same ardent devotion.

You close your eyes, just feeling his mouth around your nipple, remembering all the times you two have done this and wishing you had more time.

He kisses down the center of your torso, licking your stomach. He rubs his cheek against your tummy, feeling that familiar buzz of delight he always gets when he does it, but now it's pierced by that inevitable ache of loss. He's missing something he hasn't yet lost, but he knows it will happen eventually, and that's what hurts the most.

He makes his way lower, kissing over your womb, and it's here that he finally loses it. Quiet tears start falling from his eyes as he remembers all the moments where he'd place his hand there and promise you to start a family. And he remembers the glow in your eyes as you'd smiled.

He's grieving a family he never had. A void in his soul that he'll never get to heal.

He kisses your thighs, his tears falling onto the soft skin. The many times he's placed his head on them, his hand. The many times he's held onto them while you were on top. The many hickeys he's left on them.

His fingers are nimble as they undo your loincloth, gently pulling it off and leaving you bare.

He takes a moment to just stare at you, all of you on display for him. He takes his time, eyeing every single inch of you.

He tries to hide the pain in his face, but you can see it. His ears folded back, his tail dropping, his somber eyes...

You smile gently, signaling him to join you. He grins slightly, lowering himself between your thighs. He kisses just above your clit before licking up your slit.

You moan softly, hands softly caressing his hair. He smiles against your pussy, sucking on your folds, taking in the taste of your slick, the smell of you.

He's going to miss this, tasting you, eating you out, having you writhing under him...

His huge hands splay across your thighs, kneading the gentle flesh while his tongue delves into your velvet walls.

You whine softly, hips jerking as he presses his nose into your clit. His tongue is precise as it flicks against all your favorite spots. The sensation is familiar to you, one of the many things that Jake likes to treat you with.

You realize he's no longer going to be around, that you won't be able to give him bracelets and necklaces you've made yourself. Won't be able to take night strolls in the forest under the moon. Won't swim in the river. Won't climb trees. Won't race around in your ikran.

You cry silently, torn between pain and pleasure as he continues eating you out. You relish in the sensation of his hair between your fingers, the warmth of his wet mouth on your cunt, his hands on your thighs.

Jake works you up slowly, having the ridiculous sensation that he can't leave if you don't come on his mouth. So he drags it out, tries to make it last longer for you.

But no matter how slow he goes, or how much he wishes he could stop you from it, you come, body shuddering. You gasp, moaning softly, fingers tugging at his hair.

Jake kisses your pussy, your thighs, his face coated in your slick. He places wet, open-mouthed kisses up your stomach.

He then climbs on top of you, caging you beneath his large, warm body, and he kisses your mouth. You hold his face in your hands, kissing him back, sobbing softly as you hold onto him.

“Shh,” he coos, placing one of his hands on your upper back, pressing your body against his. “Shh. It's okay, baby. It's okay.”

You want to yell. You want to cry and kick and scream because it's not okay. It's not okay. You're losing him and it's not okay.

But you don't say that. You kiss him softly, basking in the feeling of his lips on yours. It's home. Peace. A safe haven...

He undresses himself and you run your hands over his torso, tracing every scar, knowing you're going to miss each and every one of them.

All of those spots you've kissed, you've licked. Every inch of his that you've loved and admired. You can't believe he's slipping through your fingers.

He kisses your neck, whispering in your ear, “I love you. I love you...”

He teases your folds with the bulbous head of his cock, tracing over your slit before sliding into you.

You moan softly, wrapping your legs around his waist, nails digging into his back. “I love you,” you reply. “So much.”

He groans softly as he fills you, tears spilling down his face. “I know you do, baby. I know you do...”

You sob softly, wishing you could keep him here forever. In this tent. In your arms. In your life.

You keep crying and Jake licks them away as he starts to softly thrust into you.

You hold him tight, hyper-aware of every single place where his body meets yours. You take in all the sensations. The warmth of his body, the roughness of his hands, the gentle kisses of his lips...

You can't help yourself. You really try to, but you can't pretend you're not going to lose him.

“I don't want you to go,” you say, sobbing. “Jake, please. I don't want you to go.”

Jake sniffles softly, kissing your forehead. “Baby, I know. I don't wanna leave either,” he responds. “But I have to.”

You sob softly, your hips grinding against his, moaning quietly. You try not to cry, try to keep the pain at bay, but it still shines through.

With every kiss, you cry more. With every touch, you break. With every single second that passes, you can feel the entire future you'd planned crumbling away.

Jake fucks you slowly, enjoying the feeling of your body. This is one of his favorite things to do with you. Not only because of the pleasure, but because it allows him to actually be with you. To connect deeply, to say thousands of words without speaking once.

The pain within you is almost unbearable. But the pleasure softly, gently overcomes it. You find yourself trembling slightly, moaning as you feel your orgasm growing within you.

“Jake, Jake...,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut, back arching.

“I know, baby,” he says, feeling your cunt tighten around his cock. “Come for me, yeah? I know you can do it, love.”

You mewl, biting your lower lip as you come, shuddering and squirming. You see little stars dancing behind your eyelids, your heart echoing in your ears. As you slowly come to, you feel the tears on your face, still falling.

Jake keeps going until he comes, his load spilling inside of you, and he grunts softly.

You hug him to you, your body shaking violently as you hold him tight. “Don't,” you whimper. “Don't...”

“I know, love. I know,” he whispers, hugging you back. “I don't want to. I don't want to, but I can't risk them hurting you. I can't...”

They already have, you want to say. They're taking you from me. Death would be a more merciful fate.

“I know,” you say softly. “I love you. I always will.”

He kisses your forehead, trying to keep himself from breaking down in front of you. He wants to stay strong, wants to let you know that everything will be okay.

Jake lies down beside you, spooning you where you lay. He traces his fingers over your hip, feeling your skin, exploring your body and admiring you. He's going to miss you so much. Those eyes of yours, your voice, your laugh...the way you talk. The way you wake up with your hair all messy. The way you pout when you get upset...

He waits until you fall asleep in his arms to cry. He cries silently, sobbing quietly, feeling his heart crumble to mere ashes, leaving a dark, dank, dead space in his chest.

The sun begins to rise on the horizon and Jake wants to push it away. Wants to stop it. He wants to pause time and stay in this moment forever.

He knows he can't. As the Pandora forest begins to wake up, he knows it's time to go.

As gently as he can, he slips away from you, standing quietly. He stares down at you, at your sleeping figure, watching your steady breathing. He wants to lie back down beside you, to stay here, forget about everything else.

But he wants to keep you safe more.

In the years to come, Jake will never know how he was strong enough to walk out of that tent without looking back.

-----

I swear I made this so sad for no reason. I'm so sorry.

You can find part 2 here

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@kamcrazy123 @yagirlheree @sweetllamaparadise @neytirishottie @crazy4books1 @letsloveimagines

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Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 12

Part 12 | Ao3

Thanks @witch-and-her-witcher I love you!

Feyre had the good sense to shift her ears in the chaos between the attor breaking through her door and dragging her from the dark room into the blaring lights of the hallway. It was still deep in the night by the looks of the sky, the stars twinkling down on them as if in laughter. The claws dug into her arm, but Feyre was focusing on what she could see, what she could hear. Some of Lucien and Andras’ first lessons for her had been about not panicking when things began to fall apart.

“Keep your wits about you, always,” Andras had said after another clean sweep from Lucien had flattened her on the ground. “You panic when you lose the upper hand, and it makes your thoughts frantic and your movements inconsistent. Always view it as you having the advantage, you just don’t know how yet. The confidence will make things easier.”

“How the hell can I have confidence when you’re all built like oak trees?” Lucien and Andras had laughed at her comment, but it was Lucien who clapped a massive hand over her shoulder, nearly knocking her forward with the momentum.

“The key is to focus on what’s around you. Take in only the details, and don’t project–not your fear, not your worry, not your next move. Only the facts, then go with what you see--what you know. Let that help calm you while you choose your next move.”

Feyre had rolled her eyes then. It was easy enough to say things like that, but in practice? How was she supposed to calm herself and take in details when a fae male the size of a small horse was barrelling towards her?

But even with the claws of the attor clamped around her bicep, the terror and pain rolling turbulently through her, she tried her hand at it now. She could see the hall, a flurry of motion with fae she didn’t recognize running amok. She could hear Calla screaming from her room, calling out for Tamlin in a shriek that pierced the air. She could smell blood and something sharp and sour in the air. Was it the panic? The fear?

The attor thrust her violently towards the stairs and Feyre took in the wreckage below. The manor had been ransacked, furniture and vases broken and shattered to pieces on the floor, the beautiful paintings of the foyer slashed purposefully and horribly, ruined beyond repair. There was blood smeared on the floor.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, the attor practically threw her at Tamlin and Lucien, her arm shredding under its claws in the process. She cried out as Lucien caught her, preventing her fall. She looked up at him, and his wide, scared eyes mirrored everything she was feeling as another creature began throwing furniture from the balcony to see it shatter on the floor below. Feyre could still hear Calla screaming, three fae males holding Tamlin back as he snarled and attempted to break free when she crested the top of the stairs.

It was suddenly so loud, so overwhelming, and the steady gush of blood from her arm as Lucien tore a shred of his shirt and tried to bind her wound made her head swim with nausea.

“Hang on, Feyre. I’ve got you.” It was the most he had spoken to her since their fight, she thought with a sudden clarity before all the sounds around her crawled in again. Calla had been tossed down the last of the stairs, now quaking in Tamlin’s arms. It was so loud, so loud, and Feyre could hardly form a thought through the voices cascading around her. Why was it so loud?

She realized, then, that she wasn’t hearing talking, but the thoughts of those around her, the panic opening her mind to the horrors that everyone around her was experiencing. It was an onslaught of every thought flitting through the minds of the people in the manor. Low and horrifying was the growl of the attor, his thoughts quiet but bloodthirsty. He was thrilled that he was at the helm of this–he expected the praise from Amarantha would be worthy of something great. Tamlin’s thoughts were worried, angry, and frantic. The words barely came through, but the emotions did. Calla’s thoughts were pure terror, and Feyre realized she was at the biggest disadvantage of them all. Not only was she fully human with no powers to protect herself, but she was unarmed, and entirely unaware of the situation at hand. She had no idea who Amarantha was or what horrors were waiting. Lucien, standing closest to her and projecting his thoughts the most loudly, was sick at the thought of going back to Amarantha, the panic squeezing her heart as she nearly felt it through her own veins.

She wanted to hold him tight, comfort him, but the barrage of sound was burrowing into her very mind. She felt like she might vomit, might pass out here on this floor, and there would be nothing anyone could do to stop it.

The sounds rose so loudly they blurred into a roar like rushing water, her eyes squeezing shut and the edges of her consciousness beginning to darken and close in.

Then, like a great tolling of a bell, Tamlin’s voice–suddenly louder than all the rest–rang through her head clear as day.

Block it out.

The command of the High Lord was laced through his tone, his words, her body aching to follow it. But she didn’t know how.

“I can’t. I can’t!” She was screaming the words, not in her head but to the chaos of the room around them.

Build a wall. Construct it in your mind. Visualize it, Feyre, as real as you can.

She tried to listen, tried to take a deep breath, but the world was spinning. She felt like she was going to be sick all over the floor. But she tried. She yanked on all her magic, visualizing a tall, black wall like the one around her family home. She imagined the stone climbing higher and higher until she couldn’t see the top anymore. She wound it around her mind, until the screams became whispers then stopped entirely. The silence in her mind was the best thing she’d ever heard, despite the screams and crashing still happening around her. Her eyes met Tamlin's worried ones, and she realized she’d fallen to the floor at Lucien’s feet, her hands clawing at her ears and hot tears tracking down her face. She’d gotten overwhelmed, and something had broken a boundary in those strange daemati powers she’d gotten from Rhys.

Calla was behind Tamlin, his arm out to protect her from the chaos of the room as Lucien helped her up. She fell against him, the adrenaline of her panic making her legs shaky and unstable. Fae she’d never seen before and more creatures like the attor tore things off the walls, ripping wallpaper and leaving great gouges in the gilded paint. They laughed as they did it, the panicked screams of the staff seeming to give them joy as they fled into the night. Feyre felt her heart breaking as her home was destroyed, and she wrapped her arms around Lucien who seemed to sink into her, needing the comfort as much as she did. She felt the warmth of magic twist around her bicep, partially if not mostly healing the massive tear in her flesh. She wasn’t sure if it was Lucien or Tamlin who’d done it, but she was grateful nonetheless as the pain lessened.

The sounds began to die as Feyre struggled to get her breathing under control, the exhaustion creeping over her now. The attor, seeming to have had his fun, stood in front of them. Feyre lifted her chin, refusing to cower in his presence though a terrifyingly gruesome smile split his face as he took the four of them in.

Two others flanked him as they closed in on them.

“Time’s up,” he spoke darkly, then they reached out to grasp them and winnowed away.

+++

They hit the ground in the dark, the air damp and musty around them as Feyre tried to adjust her eyes. She could hear dripping in the background, and the cold of the cave seeped into her bones. She could feel Lucien’s warm hand find hers in the darkness, their fingers entwining and holding onto each other for dear life as the guards pushed them violently down what must be a hallway. She didn’t dare speak to him, but she gave his hand a little squeeze and received one back. It would need to be enough for now.

They wound through a maze of what appeared now to be tunnels as Feyre’s eyesight adjusted. The walls were hewn from stone that shone with condensation and moss. She could hear Calla’s occasional whimpers behind her, and she hoped that she was still with Tamlin the way Feyre had found her way to Lucien. She wondered if she could slow down in the small, cramped tunnel to bring them all closer, but she was unwilling to risk whatever punishment drawing attention to herself would carry with it.

Feyre’s heart hammered wildly in her chest as they soldiered on, the halls seeming to never end. At one point, Calla tried to speak, and a sharp slap, a yelp, and a growl from Tamlin followed. Feyre swallowed audibly as the attor growled “no talking”, and they pressed on.

After what seemed like hours of walking, they came to an abrupt halt. Feyre’s feet were aching painfully, her arches screaming and the need to lean against the disgusting wall behind her overwhelming. Her arm had started to throb even healed from the massive laceration earlier, and she was worried about how much longer she could keep up.

Before she could even finish the thought, she was once again being torn away violently, Lucien’s knuckles clicking against hers as he was pulled in the opposite direction. Calla was shrieking and fighting on the side of her, and through the darkness Feyre could see Lucien and Tamlin being hauled off. Feyre rushed to lower that wall she’d sloppily erected in her mind, hoping it wouldn’t be a violation to reach out to Lucien and Tamlin this way.

I will take care of her. Try to tell me what you find out if you can.

The exhaustion was immediate; she had not used this skill nearly enough to flex it this way, and she reeled in the male guard's arms as she pulled back. But Lucien and Tamlin’s eyes shot to hers, a quick, bewildered nod from Lucien and an expression of unreadable emotion on Tamlin’s face as the attor led the two males off.

Though the guard holding her was still rough, he lacked the claws of the attor and Feyre was thankful that he’d left them to these guards. The hallways twisted, the walls becoming more roughly carved and Feyre had the feeling that the floor was sloping down ahead of them. She took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising panic as they dipped further and further beneath the ground. Before long, she could hear distant moans and screaming, her entire body clenching with anticipation.

Surely they wouldn’t have bothered to bring them here just to kill them? They could have easily done so at the manor if that was the end goal all along.

They were shoved to the left, and the cell door clanged shut behind them before they could even turn. Calla threw herself at the bars, gnarled with rust, shaking them in her hands as though they might bend for her.

Feyre had never more fully and painstakingly understood the implications of their mortality than she did in that moment. She winced against the impact of the unforgiving stone on her aching body. She might have powers, but she was still fully human. Calla was even less protected. They’d need to play this as carefully as they could if there was any chance at all for them to survive.

“Don’t get used to the company; it won't last long.” The taller guard sneered as the other turned and began to walk away. “We’ll see what our queen wants to do with you soon enough.” He shot them a terrifying grin and then walked away too, the massive iron door at the end of the hall shutting with finality.

Calla whirled on Feyre immediately. “Where the fuck are we?”

“Under the Mountain.” She was immediately up and looking around the cell for weaknesses, for any way out, trying to ignore her baser instincts and rising panic as the urge to rattle the bars and scream took over.

“Feyre.”

She ignored Calla, quickening her pace around the small room, running her hands over the stone walls and metal bars.

“Feyre!”

“WHAT?” She turned, hissing, shocking even herself at the anguish in her voice. She’d known it was coming, but the impact of their predicament was crashing into her all at once. She felt destabilized, everything shifting beneath her.

Was Rhys close? Would she dream of him here?

She wanted to close her eyes and cry and rage and scream. What had made her think she was capable of this? She’d barely arrived, and she was already in a dungeon.

“We’re in Amarantha’s court. Time ran out.” Nothing stopped her from speaking this time. The curse was over, and none of it mattered anymore–no magic bound her. Calla looked lost–so small–for the first time in the confined of the dark, dirty cell. Feyre’s shoulders dropped.

Feyre came and sat in front of her on the ground, taking Calla’s hand in her own. There was no use fighting this. They would return for them when they had need, and until then, she needed to focus on being calm and keeping her promise. If she couldn’t escape from here, she would never find Rhys anyway.

Keep your wits about you, always.

I’m trying, Andras, she thought.

“How do you know where we are?” The accusing tone in Calla’s voice stung, but she owed her answers.

“Do you remember the blight?”

Calla nodded.

“It’s more than that, too.”

So, Feyre told her everything about the curse, the light dying in Calla’s eyes at each revelation. By the end of it, Feyre was leaning against the wall, exhausted and sad and trying to use the rest of her energy to fight off the impending feeling of hopelessness crawling in her veins. She had known this was the end point, had known she would still come here for him, but being trapped down here, feeling as though her days were numbered, gave a base reaction she felt powerless to fight against.

“Gods, stupid. I’m so stupid. I could love him. I might. I almost said it last night when we...fuck, Feyre. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We couldn’t. It was part of the curse. Until today, we could no more have said a word about it than you could have grown wings to fly.” Feyre just sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the unforgiving wall. It was cruel how close they’d come.

“Maybe it isn't too late.” The hope in Calla’s voice was somehow worse than the accustation.

Feyre gestured at the dungeon cell around them, “What makes you think that?”

Calla gave her a look, but before she could respond, the door to the stone hallway clanked open, the iron of it groaning as steps drew closer.

“Hope you brought your court dresses. Time to meet the queen.”

Feyre was deciding on all the different ways she might kill the attor as he shoved them from the cell, a different guard now on each side taking their arms so violently she knew there would be bruises. She wasn’t sure how long the walk would be to wherever they were to meet Amarantha, but Feyre was already pulling inward. In the silence, she was drawing on the magic within her, feeling it swell and swirl and expand in her chest. She would need to be smart about this; everyone’s lives hung in the balance.

She tried to prepare herself–tried to think of all the ways this could go: Amarantha might kill them immediately, knowing they didn’t add anything but perhaps entertainment to the court Under the Mountain.

She tried to think of a second option and failed. Two humans in a court of fae ruled by a cruel queen who loved violence–there weren’t many additional outcomes.

Feyre checked to make sure that her glamour held and her ears were still pointed. She glanced back at Calla. Could she glamour her too? She tried to stretch that magic out, make it reach for Calla, but she hit an invisible wall, the tether of the magic refusing to extend to someone else. She sighed. It was for the best. She wasn’t sure even if she could extend it that she could hold it. She was glad she’d practiced on herself. Covering the tattoo had paid off, and she barely felt the tax of disguising her ears as well.

All she could do now was hope it held through whatever awaited them ahead.

The halls began to get taller and wider the longer they walked, the light burning Feyre’s eyes a bit as they shuffled towards it. They weren’t put in any restraints or chains, a testament to just how weak they were amongst the company here.

They were led through towering doors, taller than even the manor had been, the top of the cave seeming dark and endless, like Feyre might see the stars of the night sky if she looked hard enough. But once they were through the doors, the stone shifted, turning light and smooth as it reached towards the heavens. The room was cradled by pillar after pillar, each supporting the grandiose ceilings and massive throne room they were walking into.

The floors were lacquered, shining red, looking for everything like the color of freshly spilled blood. The light from the various chandeliers splashed across it, leaving strange shapes and patterns of opulence cast out where the floor wasn’t occupied by throngs of High Fae.

In some strange way, it seemed that they were having a party, mingling, even. There was a crowd further in the room that seemed to be circling something, quick flashes of movement catching Feyre’s eyes, but the blur of activity between her and them made it impossible to see what was going on. There was food and drink and music, the air humming with spice and sound and something that sounded horrifyingly like merriment. The High Fae parted to form a path and looked at Feyre and Calla as they passed, some with interest and some with disgust. Feyre made sure that the wall in her mind was up and strong, then made sure the magic glamouring her ears was working. She held her chin high. She would not appear here looking afraid. She had not come all this way to die scared.

She fought the urge to scan the crowd for Rhys and lost, her eyes poring over the faces of fae as they watched her too. But he was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t sure if she was more relieved or disappointed. If she were going to die, it would have been nice to see his face again.

As they reached the front of the crowd, a silence fell across the throne room, even the discordant music stopping as though to listen. And there, in front of them on a black, warped throne, sat the queen.

Amarantha.

Feyre was shocked that she wasn’t prettier; she looked nothing like she’d made her up to be in her mind. She had a shock of blood red hair that cast a sharp contrast against her pale skin. It matched her lips and nails, both painted to look like they were dripping with blood. Her face was elegant, but pressed into a permanent sneer, making her look like something just this side of gruesome. But it wasn’t her appearance that caused Feyre to freeze.

There, on the throne next to hers, sat Tamlin. Feyre frantically scanned the crowd for Lucien, as she heard Calla squeak next to her. She found him standing near the foot of the dais, his head bowed but eyes pointed squarely on her. She almost brought her walls down to reach out for him, but the nearly imperceptible shake of his head stopped her.

Tamlin, for whatever reason, did not look at the two of them, instead choosing to seek a place beyond their heads, out over the crowd. His face was cool, impassive, strangely bored in this macabre setting.

He didn’t look horrified, didn’t look angry. Just looked…unimpressed.

Feyre saw Calla take a small step forward.

“Stop.” The whisper was so low that only Calla could have heard it, and she did. As everything fell entirely silent, Amarantha leaned forward on her throne, hands curling over the armrests of it.

“Oh? What’s this?” Amusement glittered in her eyes, and it was a sight more horrible than anything else Feyre could imagine somehow. “Move back,” Amarantha spoke to the crowd, gesturing waving them off with a flick of her hand. The High Fae complied without a word, leaving Calla and Feyre and their guard exposed and in the open.

“These are the two we brought in with them,” the attor jerked his grotesque, receding chin at Lucien. Feyre could feel Calla trembling next to her, and she looked back at her to see her eyes fixed to their left where the crowd had just parted. Feyre caught the garbled gasp in her throat, clenching it between her teeth and desperately trying to fix her face.

The fae had been beating–torturing–a human woman, marred now almost beyond recognition. The pool of blood was smeared across the floor around her, as though she’d been tossed around. She wasn’t moving, and Feyre couldn’t tell if she was still alive.

“Clare.” The word was a hushed whisper Feyre was sure no one had heard but her. She knew that Calla’s next step would be towards the girl, the one whose name Tamlin had offered up to save them.

She ripped a block from that wall in her mind, tunneling into Calla’s.

Don’t.

A strangled noise left Calla, her eyes wide enough to burst from her head as she heard Feyre’s soft voice in her mind, then narrowing with hurt as she turned on her.

You had powers the whole time.

It wasn’t a question.

I’m sorry, Calla. Don’t show fear, don’t let her see how it affects you.

She could see Calla aching to ask more.

Later.

And Feyre pulled from her mind before she could say or hear anything else.

Amarantha’s voice boomed around them from the dais and both their attention snapped back.

“What a delightful treat. It seems you’ve brought me the wrong human.” The attor and the guards turned their heads down apologetically, supplicating themselves to her. Feyre held her sneer. Her wall was slipping with her nerves, and she could still hear Calla’s racing thoughts.

My fault, mine, my fault, as Clare lay on the floor. Be brave, be brave, be brave.

“Now tell me,” Amarantha leaned forward, “What brings you here?”

Be brave.

Calla stepped forward, her chin jutting out and shoulders back, though from this close Feyre could see her shaking.

“I am here to claim the one I love.” This was Calla’s last effort, the final possible hope before all hell broke loose. Feyre had never been much for praying, but she bid every god and entity that might be listening to help them now.

Amarantha’s smile was wild, mocking as she whispered. “And who might that be?”

“The High Lord of Spring.” Feyre let her eyes wander to Lucien and then Tamlin. Tamlin’s face remained impassive, but Feyre saw him trying hard to hide the flicker of concern in his eyes.

“Oh, Tamlin?” She averted her gaze to the male sitting next to him, and she smiled, a cruel, wicked thing. Feyre could feel the rage pouring off of Calla beside her. “Seems he’s busy at the moment.”

All the air rushed from her lungs when Amarantha’s predatory eyes moved to Feyre. She steeled herself. If she served no purpose here, would she kill her outright? She was disguised as fae, so perhaps not. Would it be better to serve a purpose, even if it was a dangerous one, if only to keep her useful? She remembered what Lucien had called her: a bargaining chip. She knew the history between Lucien and Amarantha, the story of it fresh in her mind.

She could feel Amarantha’s appraising stare from head to toe. She had to make a choice.

“And what are you here for, little fae?”

Feyre’s eyes locked on Lucien’s, and he registered what she was going to do a second before she did it.

“Feyre, don’t!” he yelled, but it only lent credence to her plan.

“I am here with Lucien.” Her voice was braver than she felt, the eyes of the fae around the room all on her.

“Delicious.” Amarantha all but hissed, the sound reminding Feyre of a snake ready to strike. “Did you hear that, boys? Your brother seems to have found another activity for you.” Feyre traced Amarantha’s sight line to a group of males, the copper color of their hair could only mean one thing. Lucien’s head dropped. “We’re going to have a lovely time with you.”

Feyre refused to let the fear show on her face, the defiant mask the only one she allowed through.

But Amarantha only smiled, making the anxiety coil in Feyre’s gut despite her outward appearance.

“Oh, Rhysand?” And all Feyre’s blood froze.

From the shadows at the side of the throne, he materialized like a ghost from the darkness, strutting in that same way that he had in Spring when Feyre had seen him through Tamlin’s memories. It was arrogant, leisurely pacing, as though he had no cares in the world. Feyre thought, even so, he looked even more beautiful in person–a regal prince of night. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him, his presence making the magic in her chest run wild and hammer through her heart. But even beneath the catlike smile, she could see the exhaustion around his eyes. She wondered if anyone else could.

She saw the moment it registered for him.

He had been elsewhere, the call pulling him from something else. She wasn’t sure if he could sense her presence, or if he could smell her, but the change-up was nearly imperceptible. His jaw clenched, a tightening beneath his ear, and she noticed his knuckles whitening as his eyes scanned the crowd. When he found her, almost immediately, she saw his throat bob as he swallowed, never changing pace or expressions.

“Yes, my queen?”

For a moment, Amarantha seemed to be deep in thought, no quick, cloying reply on her tongue. The fae of the throne room waited, and she blinked one, twice, then that putrid smile spread across her face.

“I have a task for you. A gift, if you will.”

“You honor me, my lady. I am undeserving.” He sketched a bow so small it towed the line of mocking, but his eyes, his expression, showed nothing.

“We have Lucien’s beloved here. It seems he’s finally managed to move on.”

“Is that so?” The voice was measured, equal parts mocking and cautious, and again Feyre wondered who here might be able to parse that out aside from her.

“It is. I would like for you to take good care of her.”

What? Feyre’s head swung up as though on a swivel. Could she truly have mistakenly wound up under Rhysand’s care simply by way of choosing the most dangerous route? How could she have failed upwards so incredibly hard? She ripped an opening in that wall in her mind, practically screaming at Lucien.

Make it convincing. Please.

He didn’t hesitate. “No!” The satisfaction on Amarantha’s face was immediate, but Rhys’s was undercut with something else, something she could almost taste on her tongue as she looked at him. Was he jealous?

“Oh, Lucien.” Amarantha tutted at him. “You should have known better.”

“Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Yes, you will.” Feyre worried about him, worried about Rhys, worried about everyone, but she had managed to control the smallest part of the situation for now, and the rattling of her heart in her chest seemed to quiet for the first time in hours.

Amarantha was already focused back on Calla, her predatory eyes looking up and down her bedraggled, human form appraisingly. “Now, what will we do about you?”

Calla’s face showed set determination that Feyre genuinely felt awe to behold; she could feel the fear coming off her in waves, but she was holding her ground admirably, unflinchingly.

“I’ll make a bargain with you, human. You complete three tasks of my choosing–three tasks to prove that human love–loyalty–truly exists, and Tamlin is yours.”

“I want his curse broken, too.” Amarantha’s eyes glittered in amusement while Calla spoke. “If all the tasks are completed, his curse is broken, and all of us can leave here and remain free forever.” Feyre was genuinely impressed by her specificity. She had learned quickly.

“Of course, I’ll even give you a bonus for fun. Just to see if you’re smart enough to deserve a fae male. I’ll give you a way out, girl. If you can solve a riddle of my choosing, the curse will be broken instantly, and they’ll all be free. But if you answer incorrectly…” She twirled her finger to point at Clare’s broken body, and Feyre saw Calla swallow.

Calla was quiet, her eyes distant as she debated internally. She looked at Tamlin, his face still unbelievably uninterested in the events unfolding in front of him.

“If the answer to the riddle is spoken at any point, everyone goes free, no questions asked?” Amarantha smiled as though she was speaking to a child, clearly believing Calla to be too stupid to solve whatever puzzle she would give her.

“Of course.” Feyre could hear the chuckles from the crowd as Amarantha’s patience with Calla tinged with taunting. “Is it agreed, human?”

“Agreed.”

The smile on Amarantha’s face held a promise of something horrid. “Perfect.” She steepled her fingers together. “Solve this, human, and everyone goes free.”

Through pain of resistance, through struggle apart The plan of the cauldron, a true work of heart Firmer than steel but lighter than feathers Equal in measure but stronger together Unbreakable vows, both spoken and soundless A link to each other, an agreement that's boundless A treasure through time, through trouble and hate No matter the circumstance, you can't outrun fate

Feyre took the words and tried to memorize them, puzzling it over in her head as she saw Calla’s mind working in tandem. She’d never liked tricks of logic, nor had she been particularly good at them. Nesta used to pour over them in their study time until her mother or school teacher beat her hands bloody, but Feyre had never understood the allure. She’d avoided them like the plague, preferring just about anything else over logic puzzles, but she was kicking herself for it now.

Perhaps Rhys could help her.

“You'll both do menial labor in the interim. Can’t have you staying here for nothing, now can we?” The words were saccharine, but the evil twist in Amarantha’s eye was enough to make Feyre’s body shudder involuntarily. “Enjoy your stay. We’ll be seeing you soon.” She waggled painted nails at them, then snapped her fingers.

Feyre felt a sudden rush of cold at her back before his scent hit her, overwhelming now that he was so close. She was wrapped in it, the smell of oranges and salt and spice wrapping around her like a blanket before his hands did.

I’m sorry for this, echoed in her head as he roughly tugged her hurt arm. She yelped involuntarily as he brushed against the tender, barely healed skin from the attor. But no sooner had the sound left her mouth than she felt the pain soothe away immediately.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Amarantha nod to the creatures that had been flanking them, seeing them close in on Calla.

“Wait! Calla!” Feyre heard Calla’s screams as Rhys pulled her from the throne room. Her mind went into overdrive, her only instincts telling her to fight, to get back to help Calla. She couldn’t abandon her there. She looked back up at Tamlin through the chaos, sitting motionless in his throne.

What the hell was he doing?

She scanned the crowd for Lucien, kicking and screaming as Rhys pulled her effortlessly from the room.

Stop fighting. She was furious with Rhys suddenly, a feeling unfamiliar to her. Please, Feyre. His voice was soft in her mind, comforting, but the rage she felt at being unable to help Calla, now entirely swarmed and invisible within the chaos, was overwhelming her. She stopped thrashing as he tugged her through the massive doors, the exhaustion suddenly overcoming her making her want to cry.

Calla’s screams faded into echoes as he pulled her through the halls. The second they were out of everyone’s sight line, that sweeping, sickening feeling overtook her again like it had in the woods with Vilja, and she was suddenly in a dark room. It looked nearly unlived in, apart from the large fireplace and great bed–no weapons or books or personal touches to be found. There was no light either, save for a few flickering candles. But it smelled overwhelmingly of Rhys.

“We have to go back. I have to–” A sob crept from her throat unbidden, and in response, Rhys held her to him, smoothing his hands down her hair.

“She’s okay. I took her pain from her. I did the same for Clare before I left. She’s not suffering. I can heal her once she’s back in her cell.”

“We can’t just leave her–” He took her hands in his.

“We must, Feyre. Or they’ll kill you both. We have to let it happen.” She deflated like sails on a windless sea, the tears tracking hot trails down her face as the fight went out of her.

She drew back, staring at him. She couldn’t believe he was here–here, the two of them together at last. But the furrow between his brows deepend, something akin to anger burning hot around him.

“What are you doing here?” The words came out as a snarl, a tone he’d never used with her before, and rather than be shocked that rage built right back within her.

“Weren’t you sending me dreams??”

“Yes, to prepare you if something horrid were to happen! Not to tell you to seek out a way to come here yourself!”

She couldn’t believe that she was finally here, and he was going to argue with her about it. She’d expected he would be upset with her for taking matters into her own hands, but it didn’t hurt any less now that it was happening in front of her. “Well, you didn’t exactly leave clear instructions.”

“You said you would wait.”

“Yes, and wait for what? You were never going to be free of her. I had to do something.”

He scrubbed his hand over his face, tired, pacing.

He turned so quickly she could barely register the movement before he pulled her into his chest, some of that affronted rage melting away as he whispered her name like a prayer. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.” And there it was–that peace she’d expected to feel once they were together for good, no longer simply touching through their dreams. The magic stirred within her, rumbling as though it was purring, and she molded around his form. They stood, holding each other for what felt like hours, the quiet sound of their breathing the old thing between them.

“I could see you in the dreams, but it was all faded, warped. I couldn’t tell if it was real. I couldn’t tell where you were.”

“I knew if you found me you’d send me home. I’m sorry.”

He sighed deeply, burying his face back in the crook of her neck. She smiled as he inhaled deeply.

“I didn’t want you to see this part of me. I didn’t want you to know me this way.” His voice was muffled, but she could tell it was rough with emotion. Feyre pulled back to look at him.

“I meant what I said, Rhysand. I see you–I see beneath the mask. You don’t scare me.” His violet eyes found hers, the power of the vast span of galaxies contained within them and focused entirely on her.

He averted his eyes, and she could feel his vulnerability cloaking him–feel his dislike for it. But still he held her, sunk into her embrace. “Why were you in Spring?”

And so she told him everything, from the night of the ball to now. At one point he walked them to the bed, silk sheets that she recognized from her dreams sliding against her skin. They sat, then they laid back, the level of comfort seeming as natural as though they’d done it for years.

As she spoke, he healed her arms, the bruises from the guards and the tender slash from the attor smoothing away as though they’d never happened at all. She told him about Vincent and Vilja and the bargain to give her magic. She told him about how Lucien and Tamlin, and eventually Calla too, had become family to her. She explained how everything had just come to a head the night before, that they’d been mad at her and none of them had been on speaking terms when the attor had come bursting through the doors of the manor, and she wasn’t sure where it left them all now. She finished it all with a sigh; she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt this tired in her life, the shock and adrenaline finally wearing off now that she felt marginally safe.

“How did you find out who I was?”

“I was reading books on all the courts while I waited in Spring. I thought it was smart to know as much as I could about Prythian.” Rhys smiled down at her with something akin to pride.

“Smart girl.”

“I had saved the book on Night for last,” she laughed. “I assumed I didn’t have much reason to learn about the High Lord of the Night Court because he sounded scary, and I was sure you wouldn’t make me live in such a terrifying place.” She smiled up at him and found amusement dancing in his eyes. “Imagine my surprise…”

“I’m sure they didn’t hesitate to tell you, but Tamlin and I aren’t exactly on the friendliest of terms.”

“Oh, they told me.” Rhys laughed at Feyre’s tone. “They tried to talk me out of it, but nothing was going to change my mind, and I told them as much. At the end of the day, though, I know they were trying to keep me safe. I don’t agree with them, but I can’t fault them for caring for me.” Rhys nodded in agreement.

“Perhaps once we leave here, I can find it in myself to thank them for helping look out for you.” The sentiment of it all had Feyre grinning back at him.

“Gods, it’s all been so much for the last months waiting to come here, and even so I was so unprepared. What luck that her evil plotting led me right to you, hmm?”

“It wasn’t luck.” Rhys’s words were sharp and immediate.

“What do you mean?”

“The second I saw you, I delved into her thoughts. She was going to have me hold your mind while Lucien watched and his brothers had their way with you, very publicly. She’d have had me kill you after that.” Feyre gasped, the nausea crawling up her throat. “I influenced her. Made her see the prolonged emotional torture we could inflict if she gave you to me as a plaything.”

Feyre had been so stupid, and that overwhelming feeling of being entirely out of her depth overtook her once again. She felt sick to know what had almost happened, embarrassed at the blind relief she’d felt. She was so ill-equipped for this–how could she possibly play any part in setting them all free?

You must be strong, unbreakable, cunning in the name of love, or you will not succeed.

She remembered Vilja’s words, almost constantly. Was she any of those things? She steeled herself. She had to be. She would be.

“Didn’t you lose your powers?”

“Not all of it. I can’t do anything earth shattering with my magic anymore, but small, insignificant influences can still be done to her. I just have to be careful about it. If I set off any red flags for her, it would be a matter of life and death.”

“You would risk that?”

“For you, I would.” He tucked her into his side, his smell surrounding her along with his arms, and Feyre felt that bone-deep exhaustion once again.

“Do you know the answer to the riddle?” Rhys nodded. “You can’t tell me, can you?”

“No, I cannot.” She should have known Amarantha wouldn’t leave any loose ends. It was a problem for tomorrow, her mind unable to keep thinking things through.

As sleep began to take her, she heard him ask “What’s your end of the bargain, then?”

“Hmm?” She yawned, eyes already falling closed.

“The bargain with Vilja, what's your part in it?”

“Oh, right. You just have to…” but her throat closed, that familiar feeling of halting magic gripping it. “You just…” she couldn’t, the panic ripping through her as she realized what was happening. “You need to–” But the words wouldn’t come. The tears did.

She couldn’t tell him. These stupid fae bargains were going to be the death of her.

“Shh shh,” he saw her panic and pulled her close. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out. I will do everything I can to keep you safe here, Feyre. We will survive this.” He held her hands in his, running his fingers over the knuckles until they caught and he looked down. She felt the moment he recognized the ring she wore. “You kept it.”

“I did.” Her voice was thick with tears.

“I’ve had it for centuries–it was a gift from my mother. It always reminded me most of home before I met you.”

She didn’t miss the hope in his eyes.

Hope.

It spread through her body, her chest, her very being. She would need it, every bit of it, as the panic around the predicament she found herself in began to tug relentlessly at her heart.

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[yelesomeblue]

Finally part 5 of Fazbear "wins" but not really.

Here we go based in @sinclairmaxwellao3 "Lambs and Slaughters" mafia au fanfiction

After using magic to rip Fazbear off of Moon, Kill Code showed no mercy in using a few binding spells to pin the bear to the wall and with a clenched fist and a sharp yanking motion ripped the robotic Bear's core from his chest. He watched with cold clinical eyes as the life slowly faded from the sick bastard's eyes. Kill Code quickly turned his attention to his trembling moonlight. He snapped the golden chains tying up Moon's arms and broke the ones connecting his ankles then scooped him up into his arms holding him close. Moon's form quaked and shook in the larger animatronic's arms as he sobbed silently, the only sounds being his vents roaring as they worked overtime to cool him down.

The Bloodmoon twins launched themselves toward Moonrise and Sun. The twin with the star hat slammed into Moonrise with all the force of a semi truck while the twin with the striped hat snatched up Sun before he could fall and hit the ground. The star twin proceeded to duke it out with Moonrise, he ripped off half of Moonrise's right arm, slash his side with his claws, and he's pretty sure he dislocated one of his knees. Moonrise wasn't about to go down easy and managed to stab the star twin in the eye. The twin screamed in pain and rage and plunged his hands into Moonrise's chest and started ripping out whatever he could grab.

Sun flinched hard when the twin screamed and let out soft wheezing sobs. The striped twin held him closer tucking his head under his chin and whispering soothing words though he glanced to his twin in concern but found he had already finished and was walking back over to them.

"We're leaving," Kill Code commanded walking out the ruined doorway with Moon cradled in his arms. The twins followed right behind carrying their own precious cargo. Eclipse and Ruin fell into step with their family as they left this godforsaken building A message was sent for the repair bay to be prepped.

(Got a little bit carried away bit here y'all go, hope y'all enjoyed this little thing my mind dreamt up)