[ Nightmares aren't something that are unusual, considering. There's plenty to cause her a lack of sleep, to keep her up at night. But even when she does manage to sleep, some nights there's often little peace for her. Some bad dreams come and go with little fuss, not too terrible enough to disturb her and she's able to shake them off when morning comes. Others bring her out of sleep with soft whimpers, burying herself against Peter and hiding in the slow steady beat of his heart until sleep takes her once more. And then there's ones that are too sharp, too much — and she wakes clamouring for breath and tearful, not wanting to return to bed.
The house is dark and strange, and she is afraid. Somewhere, somehow, she knows that it's not longer safe here. He is here. After all the time and work spent into making it as safe as possible, he's here in her house. She searches, room to room downstairs — looking for him. Moves a quickly as she can but every step and movement is painfully sluggish, as if she were underwater. The urgency is almost painful, her body screaming at itself to move faster but she can't.
— she can't find peter where is he where is he where is he
A voice cries out her name. Or she thinks its her name; a sound that seems like her name. Upstairs, high up above her. Luna cries out back, and she races for the stairs. Climbs up and up but never seeming to make any progress, the steps stretching higher up before her eyes and even still — she moves so painfully slow. She has to get to him, she knows he has Peter — she has to get to him, keep him safe. Save him. It seems like an age of climbing, she makes it to the first floor landing and then hurries down the corridor, turning up the next flight of stairs to climb higher up — she needs to keep going, he's higher up please don't have him, please let him be safe—
The staircase ends into nothingness, the dreamscape shifting from her home to an open space of blackness. Something more abstract, sensations and textures: the cold, unpleasant scratching feel of stone brickwork, the biting chill of winter snow, the stale, damp air of a cellar. Things unpleasant, feeding the anxiousness within her
— something bad is going to happen something bad bad bad
Peter whimpers softly, held in a headlock by a tall figure. The scraping of metal on stone, two gold glowing eyes in the dark. Luna raises her wand, only to find her hand empty. She can't move. Maul grins, fangs bared. She doesn't want this. Please leave him be, let her have him. Don't take him away. Don't hurt him. His fingers sink into his temple as if it were sand, then twisting and tearing at something in one sharp, violent action. His voice echoes, distorted and snarling: And I'll tell you this, since you seem to be ignorant of what I am: Sith Lords do not take orders from anyone. I will do what I want and destroy anyone who gets in the way of my goals.
(Her breaths come shallow and quick through her nose, face tipping into more upset. A soft sound escapes her lips: frightened, pleading.)
She can't scream, can't move. A deep horror within her swallows her whole no no no no, please. Peter strains against his hold, too-familiar black eyes swollen and wet and furious. Maul whispers something to him, releases the straining boy after her
—not peter not peter. gone. gone gone gone.
they collide violently; heavy, the air knocked from her lungs. she's stuck beneath him, too heavy, too much, too sharp. hands scrambling at her throat, trying to crush, nails trying to tear at soft, fragile skin— stop stop i love you come back don't go ]
murder jhey time cw: body horror + attempted neck injury
The house is dark and strange, and she is afraid. Somewhere, somehow, she knows that it's not longer safe here. He is here. After all the time and work spent into making it as safe as possible, he's here in her house. She searches, room to room downstairs — looking for him. Moves a quickly as she can but every step and movement is painfully sluggish, as if she were underwater. The urgency is almost painful, her body screaming at itself to move faster but she can't.
A voice cries out her name. Or she thinks its her name; a sound that seems like her name. Upstairs, high up above her. Luna cries out back, and she races for the stairs. Climbs up and up but never seeming to make any progress, the steps stretching higher up before her eyes and even still — she moves so painfully slow. She has to get to him, she knows he has Peter — she has to get to him, keep him safe. Save him. It seems like an age of climbing, she makes it to the first floor landing and then hurries down the corridor, turning up the next flight of stairs to climb higher up — she needs to keep going, he's higher up please don't have him, please let him be safe—
The staircase ends into nothingness, the dreamscape shifting from her home to an open space of blackness. Something more abstract, sensations and textures: the cold, unpleasant scratching feel of stone brickwork, the biting chill of winter snow, the stale, damp air of a cellar. Things unpleasant, feeding the anxiousness within her
Peter whimpers softly, held in a headlock by a tall figure. The scraping of metal on stone, two gold glowing eyes in the dark. Luna raises her wand, only to find her hand empty. She can't move. Maul grins, fangs bared. She doesn't want this. Please leave him be, let her have him. Don't take him away. Don't hurt him. His fingers sink into his temple as if it were sand, then twisting and tearing at something in one sharp, violent action. His voice echoes, distorted and snarling: And I'll tell you this, since you seem to be ignorant of what I am: Sith Lords do not take orders from anyone. I will do what I want and destroy anyone who gets in the way of my goals.
(Her breaths come shallow and quick through her nose, face tipping into more upset. A soft sound escapes her lips: frightened, pleading.)
She can't scream, can't move. A deep horror within her swallows her whole no no no no, please. Peter strains against his hold, too-familiar black eyes swollen and wet and furious. Maul whispers something to him, releases the straining boy after her
they collide violently; heavy, the air knocked from her lungs. she's stuck beneath him, too heavy, too much, too sharp. hands scrambling at her throat, trying to crush, nails trying to tear at soft, fragile skin— stop stop i love you come back don't go ]