#warning: mentions of injury

[achenetype]

Hihi can you please do a Luke x reader where it’s basically an unrequited love like reader is so in love with Luke and he has no idea so she moves on and years later she’s over him and confesses to him like a oh I thought you should know and the whole time Luke had been in love with her, kinda base it off that one TikTok audio where it’s like “I’m not in love with you anymore” “I never knew you were” 🩷🩷

OHH YOURE FEEDING MY ANGST BRAIN WITH THIS ONE. buckle up lets break some hearts

edit: this ended up being WAY sadder than i originally intended. i am so sorry anon oh my god

i gave you a rare gift (but you didn't want it) — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

content: angst, major character/reader death, unrequited love, mutual pining, reader is part of kronos' army, luke and reader are doomed by the narrative, [Y/N] used (sparingly), alcohol mention, description of injury

listening to: bloodfest (from mizumono) by brian reitzell

You are twenty-two years old, sitting on the rocky beach of a lake somewhere in the forests of upstate New York. Light, gentle fog hangs in the air around you, and the only sound is the tap-tap-tap of Luke skipping rocks across the water.

Come dawn, the world will burn. The gods will be dethroned. Every demigod will either be free, or dead.

But now, at midnight, you are twenty-three and Luke turns to you. He's holding a small, squashed cupcake in one hand. "Happy birthday," he says, "to my right-hand man." He pauses. "Woman. Right-hand woman."

He holds the pastry out to you and smiles, but something behind his eyes is empty. Hollow. He hadn't been sleeping recently. As much as he tried to hide it, he couldn't stop you from seeing when he came to you every morning for a cup of coffee and to debrief for the day.

Perks of being the revolution leader's best friend, you think. His right-hand woman.

Luke's eyes flick from the cake to your face. "Do you like it?" He asks, and for a split second, you swear there's a note of hope in his voice. "I wanted to do something, y'know," he says. "Twenty-three is huge. It's a monumental age."

You nod, but stay quiet.

He pauses for a second. "You remember how you always said you wished you never had a birthday?"

When you were twelve, nearly thirteen, your mother drove you across the country to go to summer camp.

"It'll be like a road trip," she said, tossing your duffel bag into the back seat of her battered car. "And then, hey, you'll only stay at camp until the end of August, and then you can come back and go to school. See all your friends again." She squeezed your shoulder and pushed the car door closed. "How about that?"

"Sure," you said. "Super fun."

And it was; you were actually kind of excited. You'd never been to New York. It seemed a million universes away.

And it was your birthday tomorrow. Maybe this was a gift, something that your mother had put together to make up for the years of being too tired and too drunk to make a cake, or get presents, or anything.

Your mother put her hands on her hips and sighed. "You know how I feel about the attitude, yeah? Let's not do this today."

"I wasn't even trying to—" You cut off as your mother glared at you, her face tense. You knew that look: the biting-the-inside-of-her-cheek, trying-to-be-understanding, trying-to-be-a-good-mom-despite-it-all look.

You hated that look.

"Just..." She sighed. "Just get in the damn car, [Y/N]."

You did, fighting back the tears building in the corners of your eyes, and the slam of the car door closing was as loud as thunder.

Twenty silent minutes of city streets and highway merge ramps and cold, empty stretches of asphalt and concrete passed before either of you spoke.

"Mom," you said, thirty-three seconds into minute twenty-one, "I'm sorry for talking back earlier." Your voice was quiet, shaking, cupped in your throat like a scared animal.

She didn't answer, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

"I don't like being like this, Mom," you said, looking over at her. The silhouette of her through the driver's side window, backlit by the streetlights, was shapeless. Impassive. "I don't like doing this with you all the time."

She scoffed.

You pulled your legs to your chest, tucking your head between your knees, and tried to find sleep.

You weren't sure how long you slept, but you woke up to the sound of music playing softly over the speakers. Exit signs whizzed past you at what felt like breakneck speed. You wondered, briefly, if you would break your neck if you jumped out of the car right now.

Ultimately you decided against it. You didn't want your mother's last words to you to be, get in the damn car.

That would make her feel guilty, you thought, and that guilt would make her hate me even more.

"I don't wanna fight," you tried instead, picking at a loose thread in the cuff of your jacket sleeve. "Mom, I'm sorry, okay? I don't want us to be mad at each other anymore," you said. A sob caught in your throat, heavy and wet and choking.

Your mother sighed and reached one hand from the wheel to tuck your hair behind your ear. "I know you don't, sweetie," she said. "I don't want to be mad at you either."

"Then why do you do it," you asked.

When she turned to look at you, her eyes were wet. She smiled, or tried to. "Sometimes, certain people just…can't help but fight," she said. "It's just part of who we are, I think."

"Did you fight with Dad?"

Your mother inhaled, quick and sharp through her nose, as she flicked the turn signal to right and guided the car down the exit ramp from the highway, her eyes locked ahead. "Yes," she said. "Sometimes. Sometimes I think that's where we get it."

You swallowed. "Do you ever miss him?"

She doesn't peel her gaze away from the road. "Every day."

The two of you made your way through bustling streets and across too many bridges to count. You thought you fell asleep again, for a minute or maybe a year. Maybe it was all a dream.

"Mom," you asked as she turned onto a worn dirt road, the sunrise barely stretching over the horizon, "why are you bringing me here?"

She didn't answer for a moment. Two moments, then three. Through the leaves, you saw one tree standing impossibly tall. A pine tree.

Your mother parked the car and turned to you. "Because I don't know what to do with you, [Y/N]," she said. "I don't know how I can keep you," she paused, "safe. How I could do this, on my own, in any normal way."

She got out of the car and grabbed your bag, shoving it against your chest. "Camp is just up that hill there," she said, gesturing in the direction of the large tree you'd seen earlier. "They’ve got people up there waiting for you."

"Mom," you said. "Wait, I—I wanted to talk to you—"

She shook her head. "I can't come with you, sweetie." She smiled, the curve of her mouth falling just short of her eyes. "You just remember that I love you, okay?"

At that moment, you knew: she was going to leave you here.

“No,” you said, tears rolling down your face. “No, no—Mom. Mom, please.”

“Before you go,” she said, her voice tight and sharp, “I wanted to give you this.” She reached into the back seat and pulled out a jacket, worn leather with patched elbows. “It was mine in college,” she explained, not meeting your eyes. Like she was reading from a play or book, and you were the unfortunate audience. “I figure, it doesn’t fit me anymore.” 

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Happy birthday, baby.”

It was the first time you had ever felt like your mother loved you. You knew she liked you, sometimes. But you were never quite sure if she loved you until that moment. 

And then she got back into the car with one final, teary nod. 

And you never saw her again.

“Yeah,” you tell Luke, shrugging. “I think I’ve got a pretty good reason, though.” Your lips curve into a smile.

He laughs and tilts his head. It’s a habit of his; he’ll say something and twist his neck just a fraction, narrow his eyes. A nervous tic that not even years of training and fighting and killing could stamp out.

You used to think about kissing his neck when he did it, but now you’re not sure whether you would know the difference between kissing and ripping his throat out. 

“True,” Luke concedes. You laugh, too, unrestrained and loud. “Gods, your sense of humor is dark.”

“You laughed first,” you remind him. He grins.

The cupcake he offers you, despite its lumps and smears of frosting, is pretty good. You split it apart with careful fingers and hand half of it back to him.

“You’re celebrating with me,” you laugh, “so you get half. That’s the rule.”

Luke simply smiles at you and takes the crumbling cake from your hand. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, grinning back. “Damn right.”

Luke’s laugh rings out again, sharp and bright against the night sky. Firelight flickers across his face, painting him in brilliant streaks of orange and gold. 

“After tomorrow,” Luke murmurs, pulling his knees up to his chest, “we can do this whenever we want.” The wind ruffles his hair almost fondly, floppy brown curls stirring and settling back against his skull.

You raise an eyebrow. “This?”

He gestures in a wide arc. “Be here, like this. Just be people, instead of demigods or heroes or revolutionaries.” Luke’s voice picks up, conviction surging into his words. “I mean, seriously—when was the last time you thought you would ever have a normal life?”

You’d never understood the demigods who joined Luke’s cause without knowing him. The plan itself seemed crazy—the only way anyone would follow it was if they knew their leader could pull it off. 

You have to know Luke to know he was capable of that, you think.

Until now. Now, you see what you think everyone else sees—a real leader, a revolutionary. A force for change with a silver tongue.

He makes it all seem so possible. You almost think he might pull it off.

Luke looks over to you. “We’re going to change everything,” he says. 

Almost.

“We’re going to change the rules,” Luke said, spreading the map over an empty cot in his cabin. “If we want to win, we need to be thinking six steps ahead of the enemy.”

A few of the campers huddled around the makeshift table shuffled and coughed awkwardly. 

“Every strategy’s been done before,” a tall girl with bubblegum-pink hair and an eyebrow piercing shouted from the back of the group. “How are we going to out-war the god of war’s kids?” 

Murmurs rushed around the table, soft and susurrant. There’s no way we’re going anywhere here. We’ve gotten our asses beat six weeks in a row. What are we even doing?

Luke smiled. “Ares is the god of war,” he said, “not strategy.” He slung his arm around one of the campers next to him and inclined his head in the direction of the map.

Quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear, he murmured into the girl’s ear. “Don’t doubt yourself, Bethy,” he whispered.

You learned three things in the ten minutes that she spent explaining your team’s new strategy—

—one, your team was going to kick some major ass—

—two, your strategist’s name was Annabeth Chase, and she was the smartest eight-year-old you have ever met—

—and three, Luke was right.

Annabeth’s plan took the rules of Capture the Flag and threw them out the window. She split the team into four subgroups, each with a delegated leader. Luke nodded along as she talked, marking the map with a stubby pencil. 

When Annabeth’s eyes, dark and piercing, searched the crowd and landed on you, you felt your heart stop.

“You,” she said, “are you good with a sword?”

You raised your eyebrow, pointing to yourself—just to confirm this genius child was speaking to you—and Annabeth nodded. 

“I guess?” You said, shrugging. “I know some basic stuff, and I’m good at disarming.”

Annabeth’s face broke into a smile. “Work with Luke on the first wave of offense.” She gestured to the map. “You two will take points B and B-one,” she explained. “My group will take the A-points. You wait for our signal to move in.”

You met Luke’s eyes across the table. Hey, you mouthed. 

His eyes flicked up and down your form. Hey, he mouthed back. You ready to win?

You smiled and nodded.

Good, Luke said, all teeth. Let’s go.

He stood and grabbed his helmet. You did the same.

“I’m [Y/N],” you said as you followed Luke through the forest. “We, uh—we met when I first got here, like, a year ago.” I was sobbing my eyes out because my mother abandoned me, you didn’t add. It was kind of pathetic. I think I threw up from crying so hard.

You suddenly hoped Luke didn’t remember meeting you, actually. That would be less embarrassing.

He turned and caught your eye. “You live in the same cabin as me. ‘Course I know you.” 

Of course he remembers.

You laughed, flushing red. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

The silence was so thick, you could have cut it with the sleek bronze of your sword.

In the end, it was Luke who broke the silence. “You wanna play a game while we wait out here?”

You shrugged. “Sure,” you said. 

“Twenty questions,” Luke replied. “So we can learn enough about each other to actually work together.” He smiled. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you said, your voice just barely taking on a teasing tone. “It’s green.” 

Luke laughed, loud and full and bright. “Apologies,” he said; mirth crept into his words, staining everything with a tinge of that laughter. “I’ll go for the more gut-wrenching, intimate questions next time.”

You flushed red again. Intimate questions. What the hell does he mean by that?

“My turn,” you said instead. “What do you want to be when you get older?”

“We’ll be heroes,” Luke whispers. “Real heroes. Not figureheads propped up by the gods.”

You wish you could believe him. He’s lying on the beach next to you, his head resting in the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Over the treetops, the stars are beginning to fade from the sky.

It’s almost time.

Your throat feels like someone has sanded it down to expose your vocal cords. This is a bad idea, you want to say. We shouldn’t do this. Tell me we can still not do this. 

“Wanna play twenty questions?” You say, crackling and hoarse.

Luke turns to look at you. “Yeah,” he murmurs. 

“My turn first,” you whisper. Luke nods.

You take a deep breath, in and out. “Are we going to die doing this?”

Luke inhales sharply. “Maybe,” he says. Slowly. Deliberately. “But we’ll do everything we can to make sure we don’t.”

“I got another question,” you say. Luke raises an eyebrow. His knuckles brush yours as you sit up.

“Are you scared?”

It’s your birthday. 

You think you’re going to die. 

Luke is kneeling over you, the palm of his hand pressed against the wet opening in your stomach where someone had caught you with a spear. The shaft of it is still sticking out of you, you think. You’re afraid to look down, afraid to see it. 

“No,” Luke gasps, “no, no, no.”

You watch as the gold fades from his eye, leaving behind the honey-dark brown you remember. His hands are slick with blood—most of it’s probably yours, it has to be yours. You’re bleeding out, after all. 

You tug on Luke’s sleeve weakly. “Hey,” you breathe. “Luke. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No,” he says. “You’re—you’re hurt.”

“I know,” you rasp. “I know it hurts. I’m the one—” 

You break off as a cough sticks in your throat. It feels wet. Oily. Desperate to get out. You taste the blood in the back of your throat before you can even take another breath.

“—I’m the one who’s feeling it,” you finish, your voice tilting up at the end. A joke. Gods, your sense of humor is dark.

Luke laughs weakly. “Don’t talk,” he says. “You’re gonna be just fine, [Y/N], just fine.”

He meets your eyes. You see him realize it in slow motion.

Tell him. Tell him now. He’s never going to know otherwise—he could die any minute—

“Luke,” you murmur. “Luke, did you know I loved you?”

He freezes. “What?”

You cough again. Blood spills over your lips. “I loved you,” you repeat. “Since we were campers. Had the…the biggest, stupidest crush on you.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, no,” he says. “You—”

“You’re my best friend,” you continue. “Whatever feelings were there, you’re my best friend.”

Luke’s palm against your stomach is warm. It feels safe. It feels like sleeping side-by-side in the cabin, like shared meals and shared secrets. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Luke says, “why are you—why?”

You blink, just once, but it takes everything you have to open your eyes again after closing them. “Because I’m going to die,” you whisper. “And even if—even though I moved on, I wanted you to…to know.”

Luke bows over your body, pressing his forehead to yours. Tears slip from his cheeks and fall onto yours, driving little rivers through the blood smeared there.

He’s crying. Why is he—

“You idiot,” Luke says brokenly. “I loved you too. I loved you too.” He cradles your head in his lap, brushing your hair away from your face. “[Y/N], I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes slip shut.

I loved you too, Luke’s voice echoes. I loved you too.

[aphidclan-clangen]

part 2 out of 3

[ninjigma]

QuinFox Week Part 4/7 - First / Previous / Next

Day 4: Keeping the Other Alive + Fox find's Quin's Lightsaber Track: 'Escape From East Berlin' - Daniel Pemberton (Spotify / YouTube)

"You have to stay with me Vos, come on!"

He really was trying, promise.

"I know, just... focus on keeping up. I'll do the rest, okay?"

Quinlan took a slow breath, focusing on just putting one fast-paced foot in front of the other. His awareness was muted in his attempt to mask his pain, and at this point, all the energy he had was being expended in keeping ahead of whatever droids were left on their tail.

Suddenly he was being hauled up and forward, aware of the ladder only when its rungs were suddenly beneath his hands.

"Up!" Fox barked, shots ringing out after his words. 

Quinlan obeyed the sharp order without hesitation. He was around three floors up when his awareness flared and he wrenched backward, a hand flailing wildly as he lost his hold on the wet durasteel. A new slew of blaster fire came from the end of the alleyway, backup arriving and causing further chaos. Moving purely on instinct he reached for where his saber was clipped to his belt-

And found nothing.

The sound of his saber igniting drew his gaze downward, the green flashing and lighting up across the red of Fox's armor. The clone must have picked it up earlier when Quinlan had nearly collapsed, no time to do much more than grab the saber in one hand and pull Quinlan back to his feet with the other. Now Fox was moving with deadly accuracy, cloak fanning out around him, and Quinlan noted how even without Force sensitivity Fox was plenty skilled with the blade. He was precise and sly in his movements, expertly incorporating the blaster to dispatch another droid with a bullseye to the head, the sight inspiring some rather unique feelings in the base of Quinlan’s stomach.

"I said up Vos!"

Right, he was supposed to be climbing. Without another thought he continued moving, easily trusting Fox to cover him. That simple piece of knowledge that Fox was with him was enough to assure him they had a chance in all of this mess, was enough to motivate him forward.

He made it to the roof without further incident, slipping over the edge and sliding across the wet surface. The way it momentarily muffled the sound of the alleyway and how the rain thrummed against Quinlan's skin brought the Jedi a moment's respite, a second of clarity in the fog where he tried to parse out what they needed to do next.

He wasn't dead, not yet anyhow. But now they were on a rooftop and rather exposed to any air support the Separatists may have in the area. They needed cover, Quinlan needed medical attention, and most of all they had to get back to the ship and out of this damned sector.

All too soon Fox was joining him, Quinlan only having a few moments to breathe before Fox had grabbed his hand and yanked them both across slick metal and tile. Fox was still holding his saber, playing their escape purely on the defensive, and Quinlan was again truly impressed with how well Fox was handling the blade, continuous sweeps that blocked blaster bolts out of the sheer speed of the weapon's arc. 

Though Quinlan knew this wouldn't last long. Already he could see the end of the street coming up with a gap they definitely couldn't jump across. Fox had been guiding them as best he could, but they would be stuck with nowhere to go now, and would end up surrounded and outnumbered in seconds. They wouldn’t last long.

Unless...

Fox had begun to slow, head whipping around in search of some way out of this besides fighting straight back through the droids. Thus he was a bit surprised when Quinlan somehow found an extra burst of speed and began pulling Fox along after him instead.

Fox wasn’t dying like this, for something Quinlan had done, not while he was still drawing air.

"General?!" Quinlan managed a rather unhinged smile at the surprise in Fox's tone, though the commander followed without any other complaint. If anything he sped up, keeping pace directly toward the edge of the building, even when it became clear that was exactly what Quinlan was aiming for.

Trust me.

It may have been a trick of his mind, his single focus on getting them both out of this alive, but Quinlan could swear Fox squeezed his hand before leaping off that roof with him.

Always.

The feeling of free falling wasn’t unknown to Quinlan, but the struggle not to succumb to dizziness as he stretched out a hand and slowed them was an interesting first. He gave all of his attention to the presence of Fox, adding it to his own awareness and willing the Force up to meet them. In a rather graceless move the Force answered, just before they reached the street, and they were suspended perfectly in the air a moment before falling the last foot to safety. 

Quinlan staggered, would’ve fallen if not for Fox immediately tucking into his side and pushing them ever onward. Now the Jedi really was stumbling, his energy burning up faster than he could think.

Then they were stopped, hands were on his shoulders. Black spots dotted his vision, but things were quiet finally and Quinlan could swear he wasn’t standing any longer. All that really mattered was how he could still sense Fox, reaching out and focusing on that steady and clever soul in order to find the motivation to keep moving. 

Well, they must be safe if Fox had stopped them, had begun pressing something against where Quinlan knew his shoulder should hurt but only felt the dull sensation of Fox’s hands.

He always thought Fox had nice hands, strong and sleek with a small scar on his right palm.

Maybe Fox would let him kiss it, just once.

“Don’t- Quinlan!”

[kriimhild]

We gone too far #15-16

See more on Patreon

tw:

threat a specific human

torture

blood

scars

foul language

adult themes mention

violence

i'm terrible at English sorry about that.

Page collection 1-9

Page collection 10-14 15

16 tw: blood/scars

[spymeister]

It's that time of year where I think about Bayverse Jazz surviving the whole incident with Megatron, and legit dragging his half-torn body out of the Mariana Trench. Granted, he would have survived by consuming what he could from the other frames dumped there with them.

The pain, abandonment and desolation would literally turn him into the worst version of himself.

[ingapotejtoo]

art postin postponed until monday </3

[lilmargieandboo]

Tw: Animal d--th/injury mention

If you see a listing for these self-cleaning litterboxes on ANY website, I implore you:

Do not buy them. These litterboxes have actually been trapping and ending the lives of cats and kittens due to their dangerous design. The original Amazon listing is gone, but this company (or group of companies) keeps rebranding and even editing negative reviews in order to cover their tracks.

I encourage you to watch the video. It explains things better than I ever could and has demonstrations as well as stories from owners whose cats were harmed.

[dutybcrne]

Kaeya is learned ambidextrous. He was originally left handed, but when his left hand became injured during his fight with Diluc, he learned to use his right until it healed. He considers it a blessing because now he can switch up which hand he writes with whenever one gets tired.

[su-gu3]

PT. 1

So uh...

Not the right character for this but I guess it'll attract people— I made a silly AU... lots of warnings although. They'll be in the tags.

I'll put the post into parts because of how long it is— Let's start with introducing the characters!

Abyss

Appearance: Abyss has a fearsome presence, with shadowy wings that appear tattered and frayed, as if scorched by corruption. Her eyes glow with a burning intensity, and her form is shrouded in dark mist that seems to pulse with her anger. Her features are sharp and imposing, reflecting her inner turmoil.

Personality: Abyss is the embodiment of wrath, her once-creative spirit now driven by aggression and a thirst for power. She resents Krait, blaming him for their fall, and is determined to drag Y/N into the darkness to accelerate the corruption process. She embodies the lyrics "Let's create a masterpiece, breathe life into your dreams," but in a twisted, sinister way, urging Y/N to give in to darker impulses.

Role: Abyss acts as a tempter, trying to push Y/N into making choices that will further corrupt the haven and themselves. She thrives on the chaos and feeds off Y/N's doubts and fears.

------

Thennn, we have her brother — MASSIVE warning. His whole existence would trigger some people 😓

------

Krait

Appearance: Krait's body is marked by his self-surgeries, with crude, hastily healed scars running along his chest and abdomen. His appearance is unsettling, a mix of elegance and rawness, with eyes that have seen too much pain. He often wears loose, dark clothing that hides most of his form, but his hands, stained with his own blood, are always visible.

Personality: Krait is quiet, introspective, and deeply conflicted. He bottles up his anger, directing it inward through self-surgeries that serve as both punishment and release. Krait resents the control their creator had over him, and his surgeries are a way of reclaiming agency over his body. He was once the creator's muse, and this betrayal cuts him deeply. His relationship with Abyss is fraught with tension and unresolved emotions.

Role: Krait is a tragic figure, offering Y/N glimpses of the pain and corruption that lie beneath the surface. He is the more sympathetic of the two, though his methods are disturbing. Krait represents the twisted beauty of what was once pure and now distorted.

--------

Sun

Appearance: Sun's form is radiant yet eerie, with a halo that flickers like a malfunctioning light. His golden robes are stained with dark, rust-colored patches, and his smile is unsettlingly wide. He moves with a jerky, unnatural grace, as if barely holding himself together.

Personality: Sun is obsessive about cleanliness and order, reacting violently to any mess or disruption. He is deeply angered by the corruption of the haven, particularly when the "machine of process" is turned on. Sun sees himself as a guardian of the old order, but his methods are harsh and unforgiving.

Role: Sun acts as an enforcer, punishing those who contribute to the chaos. His interactions with Y/N are tense, as he tries to impose order on a place that has long since fallen into disarray.

------

Moon

Appearance: Moon is ethereal and ghostly, with dark, flowing robes that seem to merge with the shadows around him. His eyes are half-lidded, and he rarely moves, appearing almost statue-like in his stillness. When he does awaken, his movements are slow and deliberate, exuding an air of menace.

Personality: Moon is lethargic and avoids conflict, preferring to sleep through the chaos. However, when awoken, he becomes a force of quiet, cold fury, dealing with intruders and disruptions in a methodical, almost detached manner. His wrath is slow-burning but deadly.

Role: Moon serves as a looming threat, the embodiment of repressed anger. He is a ticking time bomb, and when Y/N encounters him, it’s usually a sign that things are about to go very wrong.

-----

Dusk

Appearance: Dusk is a fusion of light and shadow, with a face that is half bathed in light and half obscured by darkness. His form is elegant, almost regal, with robes that shift colors depending on his mood. He moves with a smooth, calculated grace, always exuding an air of confidence.

Personality: Dusk is manipulative and charming, using his charisma to bend others to his will. He feels deep shame and resentment towards what he has become, a being tainted by hatred. Dusk is constantly at odds with himself, hiding his true feelings behind a mask of control.

Role: Dusk is the most complex of the demons, torn between his desire to manipulate and his lingering guilt. He sees Y/N as a challenge, someone who might resist his influence, and this both frustrates and intrigues him.

----

Plot Concept: The story could begin with Y/N returning to the underground haven, driven by memories of its former glory and perhaps a sense of responsibility for what it has become. As they navigate the corrupted halls, they encounter Abyss and Krait, both of whom have their own agendas and deep-seated issues.

(Basically)

Next post ... Will have the rest (The backstory gets it's own post... So a part 3 eventually)

Also, if anything is a problem please correct me or say something — I perhaps used an AI (properly) to write this stuff. I had the information and basic ideas but didn't like my writing... It wasn't elegant 😓

[pfhwrittes]

Snippet of 'That Time I Fell into Another World and Found Out the Video Game I Only Know Exists Because Of Sleep Token Is Real and Saved One of My Favorite Characters But Then They All Read the Smut I've Written and Saved on My Tablet About Them and Now I Want to Die' (yes that is the whole ass title,)

Rough Draft

When you wake up in the hospital (at least you hope it's a hospital) everything feels gross and just ew. From your greasy hair and itchy scalp to your somehow both oily and ashy skin. The cannula in your nose that you can feel go into your stomach to feed you. Your mouth that is sour cotton. The sticky leads on your chest that connect to the EKG that's beeping your heartbeat. The feeling of glue and stitches on your abdomen from the gunshot (OH LORD YOU HAD BEEN SHOT) wound. The weird compression device that is massaging your calves in a way that makes you think of how a butcher massage meat while cutting it. Honestly though the biggest discomfort is the damn catheter and plastic IV tube in your hand. You desperately want to rip them out but can't. Cracking open your eyes and lord the crusties along your lash line makes you want to gag.

Next to the non-stabbed with an IV tube hand is the bed remote along with the nurse bell. Pressing it desperately hoping the nurse will come soon because the feeling of gross is just overwhelming.

Looking around the room your eyes settle on a familiar blue cap. Oh. Oh no it was real. The cap is pulled low over his eyes arms crossed legs spread, god he is beautiful. He seems to have heard you waking as a small smile spreads across his face.

"morning visitor from another world."

"how." Swallowing trying to keep your voice from cracking. "How do you know that?"

He looks up and when your eyes meet you want to fall into them. The video game didn't do him a lick of justice. Self-conscious with how much you must look like a warm pile of shit. Why do you have to be in such a sorry state when you're meeting one of the prettiest men alive? What deity did you piss off to be cursed like this?

"your laptop." He popps the p lingering on the letter as horror blooms in your chest. "And e-reader were surprisingly easy to crack. Was a bit surprised to see ourselves as video game characters not to mention those stories." He purrs the last sentence and nope this is worse than your sorry state. "those stories are a treasure pet. What nasty little things you are desperate for us to do to you." His eyes gleam with a tricksters light.

Oh fuck, you really wish the truck has killed you now.

HEY FOLLOWERS COME GET SOME FRESH WIP WEDNESDAY STUFF FROM THE WONDERFUL STIGGY of @stigandr-the-cat FAME! (that includes you @mortuarywriting!)

stiggy i LOVE this whole concept and i'm beyond honoured that you decided to share it with me! i'm hooked and jeeeesus i am DYING from the second hand embarrassment already.

[ninjigma]

QuinFox Week Part 3/7 - First / Previous / Next

Day 3: Knight in Shining Armor + Goodbye Message Track: 'Now - Connor' - Nima Fakhrara (Spotify / YouTube)

Vos's lungs burned.

He was racing down side streets, slipping and sliding around corners in the heavy rain, and trying not to think about Fox going in the opposite direction.

"You have to leave Fox! Get the information back-"

"I am not leaving you-"

"Now Fox!"

He could feel himself getting dizzier, and a shot finally made it past his saber as he rounded a corner. He was forced to jump and run along an alley wall past more of the deadly droids, managing to decapitate two of the four, for what little it will do with the three still tailing him.

"Quinlan-"

"No Fox, I'm sorry. I'm giving you the chance to get back. You have to take it."

"But I-!"

"Goodbye Fox." Voice soft despite his pain, with a weight Quinlan spent most of his life always hiding. "Thanks for being my... my friend. One of the best."

The way the holocron shattered as his lightsaber ignited through it had been gorgeous in and of itself, red shards flickering to dullness around the green blade. He wished he could have kept it but there had been no time for anything more as in an instant the museum had been swarming with droids. Much more than had any right to be there, and the feeling it had been a trap itched at the back of his preoccupied mind.

He hadn’t prepared enough, had gone after the prism on a whim and with no aid or plan. He had rushed the display and in his haste the droids had managed to land a sharp blow across his thigh that left him now struggling with blood loss. He hadn't made it far before they had cornered him again and swung at him with electro staffs glowing and blasters firing with no hesitation. But despite as much pain he suffered escaping and the certainty of death he faced now, he knew he would make the same choices in a heartbeat.

His only regret had been those final words to Fox before he destroyed the mask and the link to the Commander.

That in the end he hadn’t lied, but he still hid the truth.

Quinlan stumbled to a halt at the end of an alley, the roof line too far for him to jump in this state. And that wasn’t his goal now anyhow. It was to die giving Fox enough time to make it off the planet, to get the information that would help the Republic back safely. Specifically to Obi-Wan and the 212th, which may have selfishly been the reason Quinlan had volunteered so easily in the first place. He may have his own issues and reservations about this war and how things seemed to be going for the Jedi in it, but he would take on the droid army all by himself if it meant protecting what little family he felt he truly had.

So as he turned to face the droids hot on his heels a hand fell to the deep wound on his inner thigh and tried to keep a pressure strong enough to allow him one last fight. It was wet, hot, and burned at the touch, but he barely registered it as his saber blazed to life and his heart set itself in stone.

He supposed he had gotten his wish of not having Fox taken away. But as he blocked blasters and watched the droids advance he regretted that he had been too vague about not leaving Fox behind himself. That, as sure as he was in the decision to destroy something that could bring the Sith to greater power, he regretted the pain he had inflicted on Fox, knowing the man well enough that he would agonize over how this all could have gone better, things he could have done to save him as if it hadn’t been Quinlan’s choices every step of the way that brought him here.

As another shot landed on his shoulder and his lightsaber fell, he found one last moment to close his eyes and revise the wish he had made only a few days before.

‘May he find peace, even if I am not there to see it.’

The sound of blaster fire-

-then the snap of metal.

Quinlan's eyes shot open in shock and watched Fox, who had dropped in front of him with a foot landing perfectly on the weak point of the droid's neck seconds after shooting it in the chest. The droids were unprepared and Fox was as precise as ever, taking out the squad in quick and deadly movements. Faced against the last and most recovered droid they exchanged fast hand-to-hand before Fox dropped to a knee and delivered a final shot to the chin of the droid, the heavy thud drowned out by the shuddering of rainfall.

As Fox turned to look at Quinlan, careful and taunt, all the adrenaline and joy rushed out of the Jedi and he dropped fully to the ground.

He was safe. Even as his vision went black and the pain flared, Quinlan knew, with Fox, he was safe.

@foxquinweek

[sweettoothcandystore]

got hurt :(

[hatsi-write-and-write]

Whumptober Day 3 Prompt: No.3 "I Warned You" and No.29 Fatigue, Burnout

"Shinobu, slow down or something will happen. I am serious." "And I'm serious," Shinobu insists, "I'm fine" --- Shinobu has a lot on her plate. Running the Butterfly Estate, caring for her friends, learning and honing her medical skills. The responsibilities are great, the to-do list is long, her pen is missing in action, but that comes with the job. If everyone else could understand, that would be wonderful. (seriously, has anyone seen her pen?)

Part two of the series posted during Whumptober! In this AU, just the once, everybody lives! Or more accurately: everyone survives, living takes a little learning.

[natural-harmonia-posting]

hi alder! Hows n doing? Is she alright? Are you alr?

She's struggling, I won't lie. Ghetsis.. I don't want to get into the details without her permission, it's not my story to tell, but he did quite a number on her. Tried to take them down with him, left them with a traumatic brain injury. She may be blind in one of her eyes. It's heartbreaking... But they're safe now, and the worst is over. Team Plasma is done for.

As for myself, I'm taking it all one day at a time. I was lucky to not really get all that hurt in the battles. I've mostly been at home taking care of N, while Drayden continues spearheading the search for Ingo. It gets a bit lonely, but I'll live. Thanks for asking.

[seolinah]

muse: sebastian pierce-waldorf • 25 • brand marketing assistant open to: f / m / nb (21+) plot: i secretly do underground ring fights to let off steam from my stuffy life and i'm badly injured, so can you like fix me up? (friends, co-worker, family friend, fwb) posted with beta

It wasn't Sebastian's first choice to go to them, but he didn't have anywhere else to go. The hospital would likely ask questions and if he went home... Well then he'd be stuck answering questions from his family who'd inevitably hear about it from his staff. He barely let them get a word in when he showed up at their place, pushing their way inside rather rudely. "Look, can you not ask questions and just help clean me up?" he sighed. "I need to know how fucked I am for that stupid charity event tomorrow night."

[thesiblingsoftheblackandwhite]

[[SEXUAL HARASSMENT (NO ACTUAL R*PE), VIOLENCE, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF GORE, MURDER, IMPLIED MASOCHISM (?), “BIG BOY” AS A FLIRTATIOUS NICKNAME]]

The man hadn’t stopped following him.

Bliklotep hadn’t expected him to. It was nothing short of annoying. He just wanted to feed his brothers, and now he had to deal with this.

The man stumbles closer, clearly intoxicated. Ah, that explained it. Blinky watches him and weighs his chances before swaddling the raw meat in his sweater pocket to protect it. He walks away from the cover of the building he had been observing from.

Excuse me.

Looking closer, the man’s eyes are bloodshot and shaky. Blinky studies him silently. He’s certainly muscular, though the alcohol could diminish what strength he has. Blinky thinks of what to say.

I…saw you a few streets down.

He tries to go for a less “repulsed” look.

I saw you following me. And…

He bites his lip.

I think that was extremely attractive.

His own words displease him. The guy looks stunned and confused, but Blinky mostly catches a hunger in his eyes. His eyes flick to the empty beer bottle clutched in his fist. Sensing an entrance, he reluctantly pushes himself onto the man and wiggles the bottle out of his hand. It’s surprisingly easy.

You won’t be needing that.

He tosses it behind him. It shatters.

Now-

He blanks on what to say. Something flirty, most likely. Or at least something that will get him horny enough, not that that’ll be too hard.

Uh - daddy-

The term leaves a sour taste rising in his throat. He swallows it down, though it doesn’t fare much better swirling in his stomach.

I’m…all you need for your pleasure, understood?

He drops his voice low and attempts to shove the thoughts away. Blinky moves a hand to run it up the man’s burly chest over his shirt with a forced smirk.

The guy asks him a slurred question. Blinky shushes him quietly and harshly.

Let’s…

His eyes scan for a secluded area.

Take this somewhere more…private, hm?

The narrow alley they end up in stinks of rotten food and urine. It’s not unlike the one Bliklotep had woken up in days ago. Street lamps barely manage to illuminate the dumpster, trash cans, and old pieces of cardboard tucked away in the deeper parts of it. Perfect.

Blinky shoves the guy against the wall with little effort, regrettably half-straddling him to keep him firmly in place. It works in his favor - he seems to enjoy that. Bliklotep grits his teeth. He can barely see him in the low moonlight, but the sharp tang of some sort of vice that Bliklotep has no want to pinpoint is much more than enough to guide him toward this scumbag.

Blinky hadn’t seen the actual act of sex, but he had seen enough cringeworthy teens and foreplay beforehand to have a vague idea of what to do. He doubted this guy would care much, anyhow, drunk off his ass as he was. Bliklotep slipped a hand under the other’s shirt and twisted his nipple with a force that was sharp and strong, barely bothering to soften the blow. He still grins with too many teeth.

Do you like that, big boy?

He nods dumbly. Bliklotep chuckles in response. The guy mumbles something, clearly pleasing himself from this, and then moans in such a way that any passersby would have certainly heard. Bliklotep cringes.

Good.

With nothing more to do, he tries to feel him up with nothing but his hands, mostly focused on his upper body and neck. They share clipped sentence fragments through ear-grating, drunken, moans. Blinky attempts getting a pain-stimulated response again via more nipple-twists and general skin-pinching with expected success. He may be too harsh with it, but that hardly matters with how much the drunkard’s getting off on it. It’s sadistic, familiar, and most importantly gives Bliklotep a sense of normalcy.

You like that? I bet.

He tries to add a lilt to his words to express enthusiasm that isn’t there. The guy’s face is red and blotchy under the faint light, disgustingly blemished with pores across his cheeks and half-closed eyelids. Disparagingly and easily pleased mortals, they simply annoyed Bliklotep. And they made up a majority of humanity anyway. Or at least what Blinky had seen of Hatchetfield in his centuries of observation.

As he keeps him firmly pushed into the wall, he fails to notice that the other party is getting handsier and needier. Blinky freezes when something burning and hard grinds against his lower body area. It touches a certain part; tingles trickle down Blinky’s leg unprompted. Dread pools in his already ill-feeling stomach as the grinding doesn’t stop, even as he attempts to pull away. When he tries again, a beefy hand moves down to grope his ass. He finds, with panic for the first time that night, that he can’t move away. He’s physically overpowered, and this man’s intentions are sickening and clear. Blinky forces his breathing to slow, looking around for escape routes as he gently tugs himself away. The heat in the area builds. A flash of fear and worry mix with the annoyance from earlier. Blinky decides, impulsively, to keep playing along. At least until he gets his chance.

Bliklotep slides a hand over the one touching him and manages to pull it away and secure it back against the wall, his own hand holding the wrist. It isn’t difficult - he just has to put on a willing, very willing, facade. He does the same to the other hand, keeping both at enough of a distance to where they aren’t physically touching in any other areas, and goes in to lick his neck, though he grazes it more than anything. It’s sweaty and sour. Blinky shudders.

Wasting no time for a countdown, Bliklotep sinks his teeth into the side of the neck and bites down hard.

The body underneath him spasms with surprise. Unfortunately, he didn’t manage to do more than break some skin, meaning he would have to-

A knife shines in his peripheral. Bliklotep yanks his mouth away to rotate off the man into the wall, just barely missing the uncoordinated swing. It’s a small knife, but he doesn’t doubt that it would hurt like a bitch. He ends up in the alleyway corner and quickly slides out of it before he can get trapped. Apparently, the man isn’t drunk enough to not try and attack back. He charges, furious, neck bleeding and steadily staining his shirt, toward him with his knife. Blinky runs to the other end of the alley, eyes trained on the weapon. He feels behind himself for a similar weapon and finds one - a trash can lid. He lifts it to use it as a shield for a while until he can get another hit in. Blinky’s fast, managing to zigzag around the attacks by trailing the movements without leaving the alley. Leaving was for cowards, and Bliklotep would hardly show that to a measly human. He had a feeling he had the upper hand here either way.

Metal clangs on metal as Blinky blocks, dodges, and swerves another hit. Getting tired of this, he pulls the lid away from his body and instead flings it with as much force as he can into the arm holding the knife. It echoes. The knife falls through loose fingers, and then Bliklotep strikes. Backing up some to get a running start, he flings and clings to the man and makes sure to wrap their legs together and hold him tightly so he can’t get shaken off.

Messed with the wrong fucking god, bitch.

Hot copper floods his mouth this time. Bliklotep almost swallows before thinking better of it. He lets himself spit it out onto the ground, though some of it spills back onto the wound. He bites down once more for good measure. His tongue tastes metallic, as blood often does. With that, he gets off him. The man no longer speaks or makes noise - he’s unable to, and Blinky loves that thought. He sways on his feet and inevitably topples, almost limp, and takes Blinky down with him. Bliklotep winces a little at the rough fall, but it doesn’t last long as he hears the loud crunch of bone on pavement as the man’s head bounces.

Dull, lifeless, eyes shine in the streetlight. Bliklotep grins and gets back up. He rolls the body to a more secluded corner of the alley and wipes his blood-stained mouth and hands with the inside of his sweater, thoroughly satisfied. He finds the knife, abandoned again, and hinges it closed before pocketing it.